Chapter 37

Sang Yu actually made it to the office today — rare.

The gaming addiction had finally let up, but his fingers and wrists felt completely hollowed out. Time to recover.

He hadn't been in for a while, so he figured he'd hang around, handle some stuff, then hit the gym.

Such a successful-person schedule. Genuinely felt like growth. Mm.

Except — aside from knowing how to spend money — he had zero traits of a successful person.

Business warfare? Nope.

Cutting deals? Nope.

Playing the stock market? Nope.

Just throwing cash in every direction.

Maybe casting the net wide enough triggered some kind of pity mechanic — because The Favored One actually paid off.

Without overseas rights: small win. With overseas rights: big win. Either way, Sang Yu was happy.

So this is what success tastes like. Smells amazing .JPG

Sang Yu's confidence: unlocked.

Time to go big.

In terms of buzz, he'd managed to elevate an infinite-flow film to the same cultural height as the Aurora Fairyland full-scale theme park.

...It won't flop, right?

Because like, how unlucky can one person be — the stuff you put real effort into tanks, and the stuff you threw together randomly hits.

Sang Yu: '...'

Wait, that's backwards?!

He'd been so poisoned by grade-school thinking he almost forgot his whole philosophy — watch what's fun, make what's fun. That's the only rule.

Whether it flops or not has nothing to do with what he actually wants. No stress.

Still, objectively — this project is genuinely hard.

There was a document in front of him: a preliminary analysis of the 3D infinite-flow film series.

'Soft supernatural' content — mystery, folklore, mythology — could potentially get approved. But it all depended on the final review.

So: 'infinite-flow 3D blockbuster' confirmed as one seriously tough bone to chew.

He was going to chew it anyway. (Rebellious energy.)

Building the world eats budget. Complex sets. Ensemble casts. Harder to shoot — bad for capital on paper.

But from the audience's perspective? Completely the opposite.

Sang Yu had never considered himself pure capital. More like a hybrid of capital and audience — anyway, the point was: budget should serve the experience.

The viewing experience had to be good.

Even if there was only one person in the theater — technically a private screening by default — it still had to be worth watching.

Otherwise why go to the movies at all?

You're there for the atmosphere.

If you sit in an IMAX theater and watch something generic, boring, not even as entertaining as a dumb family comedy — you might as well stay home.

Infinite-flow burns money, sure. But if you can make every scene pulse with tension, one beat snapping into the next — worth it.

With 3D modeling, you don't have to worry about actors' schedules, stamina, or physical limits.

Most infinite-flow protagonists are constantly burning both brain and body, sprinting through one scenario after another.

Compared to live-action, getting that right means finding actors with the right look AND the physical endurance.

That kind of actor might be harder to find than the budget itself.

So the more Sang Yu thought about it, the more he believed that 3D infinite-flow film idea — the one that had flashed into his head out of nowhere — was straight-up genius.

At current tech levels, a 3D film takes at least three years to produce.

By comparison, the time spent on the script is nothing compared to the time spent on effects.

Three years.

Sang Yu rolled those two words around on his tongue. Way too long. He needed a fast-forward button — where was it?

Maybe buy an IP for the script?

Faster than writing from scratch, at least.

And for the post-production rendering — could they outsource that? Sang Yu, total outsider, didn't really know the workflow.

If they outsourced enough, couldn't multiple tracks run in parallel?

For that question, he turned to his professional assistant: Yin Rong.

Yin Rong was different from his other assistants — hired later, specifically to help Director Sang manage Aurora Entertainment as a dedicated company assistant.

Yin Rong quickly drafted his thoughts internally, then spoke at a carefully calibrated volume and tone, doing his best to explain it clearly.

'In theory, yes — you can partner with outsourcing companies and run parallel tracks to compress production time. Hollywood and Disney do it too.

But even without outsourcing, there's one unavoidable challenge: coordination and consistency.

Beyond modeling, things like rendering parameters and color grading all need to follow the same unified spec.

Otherwise the final cut will feel patchy — one section clashing with another.

If any link in the communication chain breaks down and an outsourced team works off a shifted standard, you risk having to redo everything.

That coordination layer is where reliability matters most.

I'll do an initial screening first — identify domestic companies that balance reputation and quality and have worked on international Class-A projects.

Their quality control systems and project management processes tend to be more mature, which means fewer do-overs.

How does that sound?'

Sang Yu nodded.

You really do need the professionals.

Look at Yin Rong — every word counted.

No filler. All signal.

He validated the idea first, then flagged the challenges — and didn't just leave them hanging, he came with solutions.

So satisfying to listen to .JPG

Sang Yu: 'Sounds good. No rush — once I lock in the IP for adaptation, the project officially kicks off.'

Yin Rong smiled and gave a small bow. 'Understood.'

After that brief exchange, the office door clicked softly shut, and Yin Rong's lean silhouette disappeared behind it.

Sang Yu rolled his chair — the wheeled kind — into the break room behind the office.

He threw himself onto the couch-bed, kicked off his shoes, and let out a long sigh.

Pulled out his phone. Started looking for something short to read — no wait, something short to watch — no, short to read.

Work stuff. Sure.

Hadn't read any infinite-flow in ages.

Time to find some.

The infinite-flow stuff Sang Yu used to read wasn't even called infinite-flow back then — wasn't it called horror-flow?

Thinking back to a few he'd read before...

A psychiatric hospital that opened a new floor every night, super eerie, protagonist's main quest was to clear each floor.

Some had ghost collisions — ghost train (reincarnation train scenario), ghost bus (death bus scenario), that kind of thing.

Things had evolved since then.

Sang Yu tapped open the app. On the front-page rankings, there was an infinite-flow title: I Am Live Streaming in the Infinite Flow.

They're incorporating livestream elements now?

Actually fresh.

Sang Yu tapped in.

The first scenario was called 'Human Honey' — wait, honey produced by humans? Great title. One look and you're hooked.

He checked the setting...

A traditional Chinese manor, multiple generations under one roof. A kind-faced matriarch, filial children and grandchildren — a wealthy family raised in a honeypot of privilege.

Except every branch of the family had their own agenda.

Protagonist Fang Lan enters the scenario, dropped in at the start as a new servant sold by a people-trafficker.

Smooth prose, comfortable pacing, not a wasted line — genuinely gripping. Sang Yu read through several chapters without stopping.

Then at a certain point he suddenly registered: protagonist Fang Lan is a girl... wait? Had he wandered into a women's fiction site?!

Sang Yu quickly backed out to check.

Oh. His bad — this front-page ranking didn't filter by protagonist gender.

When he looked for stuff to read, he basically never read the synopsis. If the title seemed interesting he'd just tap in. No 'consequences' to worry about.

The author Chihong Chen really could write — he genuinely hadn't gone looking for that female-A male-O genre on purpose. Total misunderstanding.

...Ahem.

Sang Yu didn't read women's fiction.

First, men's fiction had sheer volume — plenty to fill up on.

Second, back in the day the female-lead genre was mostly princesses, spies, concubines — genuinely not his thing.

That habit had just stuck.

But honestly... this one was pretty good...

Sang Yu took exactly five seconds to accept the new territory. Wasn't there an old saying? 'Habits are made to be broken.'

Keep reading — !

...

No flaws except one: it was too short.

Only 700,000 characters?

Sang Yu had spent — he glanced at the time — from the afternoon until now, and the sky outside had gone dark.

The successful person decided the gym could wait until tomorrow.

First: order delivery.

The second scenario wasn't finished yet.

The first scenario, 'Human Honey,' and the second, 'Double Happiness Funeral' — both nailed that distinctly Chinese horror vibe.

Sang Yu flipped to the last page, saw the 'Add to Shelf?' button, and tapped it without hesitation. Following for updates.

He put his phone down but still felt the itch. Sang Yu followed his gut and opened the tipping page — time to give the author a little love.

The tipping options were laid out like livestream gifts — dazzling, overwhelming.

Sang Yu had no patience to scroll. He went straight for the most expensive option on the first page: 'Hot Air Balloon,' with the number 999 underneath.

This app didn't need currency conversion — the symbol in front of the number was the yuan sign, ¥.

Quantity was customizable though.

Pull it to ×100.

Whoosh —

Gone.

A pop-up appeared on screen.

'Congratulations! You've successfully gifted 100 Hot Air Balloons, helping I Am Live Streaming in the Infinite Flow climb to #4 on the monthly tipping chart. You are currently ranked #1 on this novel's tipping honor board, promoted to Level 3 Super Fan — just one Carnival away from leveling up to Level 4 Super Fan! ~·v·~—'

#4?

Bad number.

Again.

'Congratulations! You've successfully gifted 100 Hot Air Balloons, helping I Am Live Streaming in the Infinite Flow climb to #2 on the monthly tipping chart...'

Hm. So close?

How close exactly?

Sang Yu stopped guessing, followed the monthly gold chart link, and decided to just round up and cover the gap directly.

#1: Nightmare Club — 298,425.

#2: I Am Live Streaming in the Infinite Flow — 271,391.

#3: Nine Phases Immortal Core — 270,668.

#4: I Have a Treasure Eye — 57,412.

...

Starting from #4, the numbers dropped off sharply. The top three were in a league of their own.

Oh wow.

Sang Yu clocked a possibility — the #1 and #2 spots had been neck and neck like this for a while. Were they actually going to war on the tipping chart?

He'd watched men's fiction authors go at it in fan-ranking battles before. Brutal.

Text is small and abstract — no visuals. You'd think people would finish reading and move on, not get emotionally invested enough to throw money at it.

Especially since the number of people who even have a 'pay for content' mindset is low.

But the feelings that text transmits — whether it's satisfaction, heartbreak, or a wild new concept — hit the emotions hard.

Readers who pay for novels on legit platforms will eventually have a moment where something hits just right, and they tip the author.

And if an author has a good track record, writes well, has genuine charisma — their pen name alone draws a loyal following.

New novel, first chapter posted — and loyal readers will shower it with tips like rain. Showing up for the new book.

Maybe it's a kind of fandom economy...?

The competition between authors isn't just 'big' — it's vicious.

Chart rankings, money, status.

On webnovel platforms: update volume → exposure → popularity → standing. The ones below are pushing up; the ones on top are holding their ground.

During a chart-push period, 4,000 characters an update isn't enough. 8,000 isn't enough. 10,000 barely passes. 20,000 finally hits the baseline.

Beyond the author grinding out updates, reader tips matter too.

Whoever gets more tips sits at the top of the homepage — crushing everyone else's exposure.

Drop one 'nuke' tip, and not only does the author's ranking jump — the whole site gets a notification: 'Big spender XX just tipped XX novel.'

The blast radius rivals a hospital's banner of gratitude. Widest possible advertising. Pulls in new readers.

All upside, no downside.

So some readers, fighting to get their favorite author to #1 on the monthly chart, will even run a 'raid' strategy.

— Hold off on tipping, lull the rival into thinking the race is over, wait for them to let their guard down, then go all-in right before midnight to snatch the top spot.

That's how you lock in #1 for the month.

Sounds a bit like modern group livestream battles or influencer PK matches — but this was already a whole established culture in author circles years ago.

So the moment Sang Yu saw those rankings, something pinged.

Had he accidentally walked into a warzone?

How awkward...

Just kidding.

Not his problem.

Was he supposed to hold back on tipping a novel he genuinely loved just because two authors were going at it? Come on.

There was a 20k gap.

Fine. 100 more Hot Air Balloons. He wanted the author at #1.

Actually — Sang Yu realized he hadn't set an ID this time. He was using the app's auto-generated random ID. Would that invite another round of drama?

Like, 'the author suddenly got a huge tip from a suspicious alt account' type of thing?

Bring it on then.

Sang Yu: =w=

Life needs a little face-slapping satisfaction sometimes.

Sang Yu had already played out the whole satisfying scenario in his head. He scrolled down, scanning the rest of the tipping chart — everything below was under 20k.

Then his finger stopped.

#18.

'Reborn: I'm a Big Spender in the Entertainment Industry.'

Weirdly familiar premise.

Sang Yu admitted he was a little curious — maybe he could pull some inspiration for his own entertainment-industry project.

After all, he'd promised fans he'd make something they'd love, and there was supposed to be a freebie attached.

He was scanning the chart for material — if nothing topped I Am Live Streaming in the Infinite Flow, that one was locked in.

But the freebie still needed a source.

Gotta find something fast.

So Sang Yu, carrying that thought, tapped into the novel — and this time, he actually read the synopsis first.

Male lead. Good.

But the synopsis...

Gave Sang Yu a serious case of déjà vu.

Protagonist opens a Weibo account to flaunt wealth, his beloved drama adaptation gets ruined, gets challenged by fans, then makes his first investment in the entertainment industry.

Huh?

...Huh?!

Because Sang Yu wrote fiction himself, he knew you couldn't call plagiarism just from a blurb.

Couldn't put a label on someone else like that.

Big spender + entertainment industry was a trope that blew up years ago.

Protagonist bonded to a big-spender system, opening an account to flaunt wealth — that tracks with normal logic.

Original novel fans investing in the industry after a bad live-action adaptation — also logical.

He needed to read the actual content.

Sang Yu sat up and tapped into the main text.

...

The protagonist's name was Xue Bang. Director Xue.

Completely different name.

But the plot direction was fundamentally, entirely, completely, [identical] (bold) — !

Whether it was the stuff posted on the Weibo account or the entertainment projects being invested in.

Sang Yu found a match for everything.

They hadn't even bothered to properly change the premise of A Demolition Office Is Not Ordinary — they just wrote 'The Yin-Yang Affairs Office' instead.

Because in real life, Sang Yu's investments beyond The Demolition Office and The Favored One were still limited — the novel didn't have many works to pull from yet.

Only 'Rich Parents Pushing Marriage? Let My Female Roommate Pretend to Be My Blind Date' had come out.

Sang Yu: '...'

The audacity was overwhelming.

Bro.

Granted, 'Reborn: I'm a Big Spender in the Entertainment Industry' only had two dramas — but the word count had hit a staggering 500,000.

Why so long? Not padding — it was stuffed with more romance subplots than seeds in a watermelon.

The male lead didn't understand love, but women kept falling for him anyway — for his money, his face, his talent.

Including but not limited to: a rich heiress, a café owner, a delicate delivery worker, a charming next-door neighbor.

They even made a point of specifying that one of the female side characters — a celebrity — had set her sights on the male lead, schemed to push out the female lead, and insisted on throwing herself at him.

Then she accidentally broke one of the male lead's watches and was scared out of her mind.

That watch? The one Sang Yu had worn in The Favored One's behind-the-scenes footage.

...

Sang Yu: '...'

Full-body goosebumps.

Absolutely unhinged.

Sang Yu felt like this protagonist had put on his skin and was walking around in it.

Using his whole identity as a costume, going off and flirting with all those female characters.

So deeply weird.

Like, genuinely, deeply weird?!