Chapter 1: This Shabby, Chaotic Entertainment Industry—You All Desperately Need Me
“Very well—a tattered era, a tattered home, and a brand-new, tender me...”
Fang Xinghe lounged indolently on a sofa riddled with holes, his gaze sweeping across the cramped main room.
The place was wretched. Mold crept along the corners, and atop a 1950s-style family heirloom cabinet sat an 18-inch spherical-screen color TV, a brand called Mudan, which he had never even heard of.
The abysmal resolution, the hissing static, and the nauseating lines from the show all combined to assail the mind and spirit of a Gen Z youth from every direction.
“Terrible acting, cringe-worthy dialogue, absurd plot—seriously, where did they dig up this male lead, some kind of recycling bin?”
Fang Xinghe tried to endure, but after only three minutes, he banished the 1998 adaptation of “The Return of the Condor Heroes” to the “never again” category. If he ever voluntarily watched another second, he might as well gouge out his own eyes.
Even setting aside the times and the plot, the male lead was appallingly unattractive.
If he were still living in 2030, Fang Xinghe would definitely have started a poll in the group chat: Wouldn’t it be better to have Huang Bo play the male lead in this drama?
“Tch, who on earth remembers this stuff as their childhood’s shining memory?”
As he moved to change the channel, Fang Xinghe’s sigh suddenly stuck in his throat. On the screen, a wildly unappealing Yang Guo flung himself at some unknown woman in black, crying out, “Auntie!” The youth felt as if lightning had struck his gut, making him nauseous.
If even a semi-professional like me finds this ridiculous, you all must have real skills—in all the wrong ways.
The gulf of eras made everything look wrong to Fang Xinghe, who lacked any childhood nostalgia filter.
In his previous life, he was a bona fide member of Gen Z, born in 2005. Diagnosed with leukemia in high school, he took a job as a chief engineer in online public opinion management to earn money and ease his family’s burden.
Well, in principle, you could just call him the head of an internet water army.
By the time his body finally gave out, President Fang was already an established, respected figure in the entertainment industry’s reputation business, even opening a real robotics factory in the South, with a true flair for stirring up trouble.
Illness was common and misfortune even more so; it was nothing worth lamenting.
What truly set Fang Xinghe apart was that, until his very last breath, he never stopped fighting.
Isn’t living wonderful?
Then, his fierce will summoned a miracle: an angelic system “father” carried his consciousness back to November 1998, merging it with a 13-year-old boy of the same name.
Young Fang had been dealt a cruel hand—father gone, mother dead, only a wretched uncle left.
Two dilapidated rooms, a small courtyard—his mother had refused to sell the house, even writhing in pain at the end, to leave him with a last refuge.
But the boy didn’t think his life was tragic.
School had waived all his fees, the teachers often invited him to dinner.
He had a few good buddies who all looked up to him.
Even two pretty girls cared about him from time to time, much to everyone’s envy.
Of course, there were also small troubles—half a year ago, rumors of demolition started, and his uncle came several times to make a scene, each time worse than the last.
Young Fang put up with it twice; the third time, he chased the man out with a kitchen knife.
Then that scum tried to apply for guardianship. The boy quietly procured half a bucket of gasoline, intending to treat his uncle’s family to a “barbecue.” He’d only managed to splash half before a neighbor returning from the night shift pinned him down, ending his grand enterprise prematurely.
Luckily, he was only thirteen and never actually lit the fire. After a severe scolding from the elders, the matter was dropped.
“Hey, a tough one—just like me!”
Fang Xinghe genuinely praised him. In his mind, he seemed to hear a shy chuckle, and the last remnants of their consciousnesses fused, never to be separated again.
Young Fang had died of a high fever. In the throes of death, Fang Xinghe crossed over, and both unlucky souls were granted a second life.
Fang Xinghe cherished this new beginning, though the times before him were so unfamiliar, so bleak.
Smartphones wouldn’t arrive for another decade.
A complete infrastructure overhaul would take even longer.
Delicious food, fun things, great shows—none existed in this era. Yet that also meant opportunity: the chance to become the richest man in the land with his eyes closed.
Fang Xinghe yearned from the depths of his heart to make money—big money—and he was sure he could do it.
But after getting to know the “system daddy” who had brought him back...
He had to change his plans. Immediately.
[Star Deity Assistance System (Damaged Version)]
[This system is dedicated to making the host the brightest star.]
[When fans marvel at your brilliance, the system will extract special energy from positive emotions to enhance your stats and abilities.]
[Fan count: 15]
[Starlight value: 126]
[You have a New Life Gift Pack. Please check your rewards.]
[Attribute Panel]
Appearance: Attractiveness 75, Physique 66
Physical Stats: Strength 52, Speed 79, Endurance 55, Agility 73, Flexibility 68
Hidden Stats: Coordination 71, Perception 58, Recovery 73, Immunity 54, Health 60
Artistic Attributes: Omitted...
Personal Abilities: Omitted...
As soon as Fang Xinghe saw the word “Health,” his dreams of untold wealth vanished, replaced by a thundering new vow: No one can stop me from becoming a great artist!
Those who’ve never danced at death’s door can never comprehend that terror; the chronically ill might grasp a tenth of it.
To live is the most primal desire, written in the very genes of life.
Though Fang Xinghe wasn’t in a rush to max out his health, he absolutely would, and would keep supplementing it year after year.
It was now 1998. Fang Xinghe was thirteen and a half. He wanted to stride briskly into his one hundred and fiftieth year, to see the world beyond the next century.
And really, what’s wrong with being a true polymath?
As long as he had enough Starlight, even the dullest person could live a life dazzling beyond compare. That was far more interesting than the monotonous road to riches.
He had decided: he would walk the Star Road!
With that, Fang Xinghe began to plan with excitement.
Step one, naturally, was to figure out how Starlight was accumulated and used, to set his pace accordingly.
First, accumulation.
According to the system: everyone has five levels of fondness for their idol—
Casual Fan, Loyal Supporter, Fanatic, Diehard, and Obsession.
General goodwill from strangers doesn’t count as fandom; this is universal.
All things being equal, each fan at these levels would provide roughly 1, 3, 10, 30, and 100 points of Starlight, respectively.
Next, activation.
That is: under what circumstances would fans generate a surge of Starlight for their idol?
By producing good works, or stirring significant discussion for some reason.
As a former water army boss, he understood this logic perfectly; the information at his fingertips would be overwhelming in this era.
...
Having sorted out the sources of Starlight, Fang Xinghe turned to the second step: which path to take?
He had little real understanding of this era—only a bird’s-eye view, no details. Clearly, moping at home was no way to get answers, so he grabbed his keys and change, slipped on his slippers, and headed out.
Northeast China in November was already bitterly cold. Snowflakes drifted down, and the unlit alleys were blanketed in white. His breath condensed into a unique twentieth-century frost.
It was romantic, in its way.
Everything seemed fresh to Fang Xinghe—the chipped iron gate, the crumbling courtyard wall. The decay felt oddly comforting.
Adapting materially to life in 1998 would not be hard; no matter the inconvenience, it was a hundred times better than waiting for death in bed.
If someone gave me five hundred years of life, I’d go back to the Ming Dynasty and gladly endure the monotonous life of three palaces and seventy-two consorts.
What was truly hard to get used to was the emptiness of spirit.
Forcing a Gen Z kid to watch ancient, bizarre TV dramas on an 18-inch color set was pure torture. He was desperate to find something to do.
He shut the iron gate, got his bearings, and set off for No. 3 Middle School.
The courtyard wasn’t far from the school, and the house was supposedly slated for demolition, though he had no idea how much compensation it would bring.
Did he need money?
Fang Xinghe pondered. He didn’t have a fortune, but he certainly wasn’t short of pocket money.
He had over 1,700 yuan in savings, and just days ago, his uncle—nose wrinkling—had handed over another 2,000 in compensation. The scoundrel had been truly frightened, not even daring to look the wild, furious, wolfish boy in the eye.
So, 3,700 yuan—in 1998, that was practically a fortune.
A bowl of noodles outside the school gate cost just 1.2 yuan. Amazing.
Thus, with no shortage of small change, Fang Xinghe strolled into the internet café at the back gate of the school.
“Power up the computer.”
“Three yuan for offline games, ten for online.” The admin sprawled lazily behind the bar, not even looking up.
Fang Xinghe slapped down ten yuan. “Online.”
The admin finally looked up, and the moment he recognized the customer, his face lit up with a sycophantic grin. He quickly pushed the money back.
“Oh, it’s Young Master Fang! No need to pay—sit wherever you like, I’ll get you connected right away!”
The internet café was crowded with kids either playing games or watching others play. Many turned at the commotion, but upon seeing Fang Xinghe, half immediately lowered their heads.
He was something of a local legend...
As Fang Xinghe reached the area with internet access, he heard whispers nearby, as if recounting tales of a legend.
“That’s Young Master Fang—the ruthless one in eighth grade, almost wiped out his uncle’s whole family the other day!”
“Damn! That hardcore?”
“He’s always been like that! Last term, he led thirteen hawks and swept through ninth grade—you didn’t know?”
“Damn! That’s epic! Does Boss Fang take in underlings?”
“No, but he’ll take protection money. If you pay, he’s got your back. If you get into trouble with older bullies, go to him—he’s the best.”
“Damn! He’s my idol!”
Fang Xinghe quickly took a seat in the corner. If he listened any longer, the secondhand embarrassment would kill him...
And yet, why did he feel a little pleased?
In his last life, he’d been a weakling, blown over by a breeze. Could he have a bit of that adolescent bravado deep down?
After a moment’s thought, he blamed it all on young Fang—it couldn’t be him, it was that wild kid’s fault.
Though, come to think of it, a cunning fox merged with a wild wolf cub was an unexpectedly thrilling combination.
Fang Xinghe cheerfully booted up the computer. After a long minute, the Win95 interface appeared and left him dumbstruck.
Well... not familiar, but usable.
Opening Internet Explorer left him stunned again.
There were only BBS forums and chatrooms. Sohu had just launched its news service. QQ was nowhere to be found. NetEase had just transitioned from a personal homepage host.
Fang Xinghe truly felt the weight of the times.
A mysterious heaviness pressed down on him—not painful, but prompting a sigh.
“So this is 1998, before all the legends everyone remembers even began...”
With the desktop’s guidance, Fang Xinghe awkwardly browsed Xici Hutong BBS, skimmed Sohu News, and gathered some information on the entertainment industry before trudging home.
This year, sixty percent of entertainment news was about “Titanic.” The great ship was still making waves across Chinese society.
It premiered in April; now it was November, and the cinemas still screened it, and people were still talking.
Of the remaining entertainment buzz, over sixty percent was devoted to the superstars of Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan, and Korea.
And domestic entertainment? It seemed to exist, but in truth, it didn’t.
A sense of indignation surged within him.
How could a true Gen Z youth, thirty years from now, tolerate this?
In his day, all those foreign waves had long since been swept away by the rise of Chinese pop culture. Web novels, mobile games, fantasy dramas, domineering CEO short series—all reigned supreme. Even Hollywood was forced to reflect in meetings: How is this possible?
Back then, Fang Xinghe never noticed anything amiss; he’d grown used to it all. But returning to this time, he found himself unable to accept it emotionally.
Well, not just emotionally—his aesthetic sense rebelled as well.
He was angry now; a fire burned suddenly within him.
This society didn’t care who became the richest man. The mighty, resplendent future of this nation had no need for a half-baked prophet. But this broken-down, pitiful entertainment industry...
You people need me desperately!