Chapter Thirty-One: Your Cooking Is Delicious, So Whatever You Say Is Right!

The reason Li Shixin said those props were wrong was simply because they didn’t fit the era of the 1970s at all! Take that certificate being artificially aged, for example; the content printed on it featured the portrait of the great leader, surrounded by red flags, at the top, awarding the “Four Good” prize. On either side, there was a couplet: “A boat sails the seas, relying on the helmsman.”

Heaven knows, a prize like that in the 70s was extraordinary! To exaggerate only a little, possessing such a certificate would allow its recipient to stride through their workplace, head held high, ignoring department leaders. Moreover, since the certificate bore the leader’s portrait, it deserved to be framed behind glass, hung on the wall, and polished daily!

Then there was the nylon bag. It was obviously a modern purchase, hastily modified to look old, but why was there a painted panda eating bamboo on it? For a household that had won a “Four Good” prize, at the very least, the bag should display a bold “Shanghai.” The word “Shanghai” printed on a bag in those days was the equivalent of LV or Gucci today. That’s what gave one face!

There were also items like thimbles, thermos bottles, and enamel mugs—serviceable, but lacking the true spirit and character upon close examination.

Seeing Li Shixin raise his hand, about to educate the prop master he’d just hired at a high salary, Zhang Ying quickly pulled him aside. “Godfather, if you’re free, you can head home. I’ll be home for dinner tonight.”

Hey?

Li Shixin squinted at the girl, who kept sending him meaningful glances. She hadn’t even managed her own staff yet.

“All right, I’m just being an old busybody. Ying, go do your work. Don’t worry about me; I’ll help tidy up a bit and then head home to cook.”

With Li Shixin’s reassurance, Zhang Ying breathed a sigh of relief. She’d previously managed the shop with only an apprentice, and had finally spent eight thousand a month to hire a skilled worker—someone worth pampering. If the old man drove him away with a few harsh words, where would she cry then?

Watching Li Shixin brush the dust from his clothes and shift the finished, messy props to one side of the workbench, Zhang Ying shook her head and returned to her own tasks. This batch of props had to be delivered tonight; she hadn’t the time to placate Li Shixin.

Meanwhile, as Zhang Ying and her team busied themselves, Li Shixin glanced at the items stacked in the corner and smiled slightly. Picking up a thimble, he considered it, then grabbed a piece of sandpaper from the tool box on the shelf, and after rummaging, found a small electric drill.

...

While Li Shixin was puttering around in Zhang Ying’s studio, in Runfengyuan Villa District, Liu Xin—having received notice from the company that the chairman wished to see him—arrived at the gate of Villa 11, accompanied by his agent, Song Ji, and rang the doorbell.

The door was opened by a young man in a black suit. Before the pair could speak, the bodyguard-like youth said coldly, “The chairman is in the second-floor study. You have half an hour.”

“Thank you, please lead the way,” Song Ji nodded politely.

The man didn’t even glance at him, turning straight into the villa.

“So arrogant?” Liu Xin frowned.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Song Ji scolded, then followed.

Passing through a meticulously manicured garden and a long hallway, they finally reached the villa’s second floor. The study door was open, and inside stood an elderly woman, hands clasped behind her back, gazing intently at a piece of calligraphy on the wall.

“Chairman Zhao, they’re here,” the bodyguard knocked gently, entered, and bowed slightly to the figure.

“I know, you may go,” Zhao Jinzhi replied, turning with a smile and waving him away. Her gaze settled on Liu Xin.

“I heard you had some health issues last night. Are you all right now?”

Her refreshing smile, so unlike the stern executive she was reputed to be, made Liu Xin nod, “Thank you for your concern, Chairman. I’m feeling much better. It’s just...”

Before he could finish, Zhao Jinzhi’s gaze shifted past him to Song Ji. “I hear from the branch office that you’ve recently had some complaints about the company?”

“Ah!” Song Ji quickly forced a smile. “Not exactly complaints, just...”

“Exactly!” Liu Xin interjected sharply. “A bit-player in the ‘Dead End’ crew deliberately staged an incident to defame me on set. I could have chalked it up to accident, but then the production didn’t clear the air—instead, they used the promo to hype that bit-player, exploiting the situation for publicity at my expense! I’m really unhappy with how the crew handled it!”

Zhao Jinzhi smiled faintly at Liu Xin’s accusations. “So what would make you feel better?”

Her measured tone unsettled Liu Xin; he glanced at Song Ji for reassurance.

“It’s like this, Chairman. We don’t have any other demands. We’d just like the crew to issue a statement confirming that the old man was indeed staging the incident, and to clear Liu Xin’s name.”

“What if not?”

“Then... cough, cough, Chairman Zhao, excuse me?”

“I said, what if not?”

“If not, we’ll be at a disadvantage in public opinion... Chairman Zhao, you know Liu Xin’s career is doing well. He earns the company quite a bit every year.”

Song Ji didn’t spell it out, but the implication was clear.

Zhao Jinzhi glanced deeply at Song Ji’s ingratiating smile and Liu Xin’s sullen expression. Then she beckoned them forward. “Come, take a look at this calligraphy.”

Unsure of her intent, they approached.

It was a running script couplet, delicate yet bold—a woman’s hand, but with a certain grandeur. The content seemed familiar to Liu Xin.

“‘Peony blossoms are lovely but only for the eye; jujube flowers are small but bear fruit.’ Chairman Zhao, this is...”

Liu Xin’s expression soured. Wasn’t this the phrase that old man had quoted in his video?!

“Last night, the branch office called me about your situation. I wasn’t familiar with the details then, so I didn’t rush to summon you,” Zhao Jinzhi said, still calm. “Now, I’ve looked into it. I called you here to tell you: the company will not instruct ‘Dead End’ to issue any statement regarding this matter. Moreover...”

Her smile faded. “I advise you to recognize your place.”

“Don’t think that a bit of popularity entitles you to negotiate with the company. Remember, if the company can pour resources to make you famous, it can just as quickly ruin you. Yes, you’ve earned a lot for the company. But don’t forget, your earnings are the result of the company’s investment. There’s a year and a half left on your contract. Continuing to promote you for profit is one option. Shelving you and reallocating your resources to other artists is equally... an option.”

The steely edge suddenly revealed in Zhao Jinzhi made Liu Xin shudder.

Only now did Song Ji recall that, despite recent rumors of her impending retirement, this old woman had been the famed “Iron Lady” of entertainment capital a decade ago!

Seeing Liu Xin’s foundation-paled face blanch, Zhao Jinzhi slowly took the calligraphy from the wall and tossed it at his feet.

“The words Li Shixin gave you clearly didn’t sink in. Now I’ve spelled them out for you. Whether you keep them in mind is your choice. But let me remind you: don’t think that your current fame means you can do as you please. In these twenty years, I’ve made countless stars. But I’ve ruined plenty, too. Wu Qiaoen, Ma Jingming, Han Zairan—each was more famous than you are now. But...”

She raised her brows, eyes narrowing. “Where are they now?”

Liu Xin broke out in cold sweat.

He knew exactly who Zhao Jinzhi referred to.

One was a popular idol singer in 2010, who reportedly clashed with his agency and planned a defection—soon after, scandal broke, and he retired. Another was a mainland actor who exploded in popularity around 2012, starring in several fantasy dramas and hailed as the “prince of period costumes.” For reasons unknown, he was shelved by the company at his peak; recently, he survives only by taking minor urban romance roles, his career ruined. As for Han Zairan, that was recent—once a promising starlet, she ignored company orders, took endorsements that didn’t fit her persona, attended unauthorized events for cash, and was sued into bankruptcy. Now, she scrapes by, rushing between crews, earning just enough to pay off debts—a tragic sight.

As Liu Xin trembled, Song Ji stepped in.

“Chairman Zhao! We were thoughtless this time. Liu Xin meant no harm—just worried that the crew’s hype would damage his reputation, which is a loss for the company, since we all eat from the same pot...”

“I’ve said all I need to say. Think carefully about your future actions.”

“Thank you, Chairman Zhao, for the guidance, we...”

Tiring of Song Ji’s rambling, Zhao Jinzhi turned away.

“Get out.”

Immediately, the bodyguard entered, gesturing for the bewildered duo to leave.

...

“Chairman Zhao, I’ve completed the investigation into the bit-player,” the bodyguard reported, returning to the second-floor study after Liu Xin and Song Ji had fled with the calligraphy.

“Speak.”

“This man does indeed suffer from serious carotid artery thrombosis. According to the hospital, his children refused treatment. After leaving the hospital a few days ago, he came to Rongdian. Based on these facts, his video statement appears quite credible.”

Quite credible?

Zhao Jinzhi recalled the image of a man nearly at death’s door, then suddenly lively after chewing a piece of gum. Thinking over the recent uproar, she nearly laughed.

“In this world, nothing is entirely true, nor entirely false.” Turning, she smiled at the bodyguard. “People believe him—not so much because he’s truthful, but because his skill surpasses Liu Xin’s, and his acting is convincing enough to fool most.”

“You’re right, Chairman. But if you know he’s staging it, why did you...”

“It’s not about whether the incident was real or fake. If I don’t knock Liu Xin down a peg, people will think I’m so old I belong in a coffin. The branch office reported a mess that any general manager could handle directly to me—do you know what that means? Some are testing me with this challenge.”

Zhao Jinzhi exhaled, unwilling to elaborate further, and asked, “Any other information about Li Shixin?”

“Not much else. He’s currently living in Jianhong Community, at a group leader’s place, and has just registered as a temporary actor with the actors’ union.”

“Oh.” Memorizing the address, Zhao Jinzhi waved her hand. “I understand, you may go.”

“Yes.”

“Wait.”

“Is there anything else, Chairman?”

“Have the company contact the union and upgrade him to a special contract actor. At his age, being a temp is a bit much.”

“...Yes, I’ll handle it right away.”