Chapter 42: Tragedy or Comedy?

Hearing Chu Luoxi’s complaints, Xiao Jingxuan pondered thoughtfully, realizing that her words made perfect sense. Most of the audience was moved by the unwavering devotion and willingness to sacrifice of immortals and demons. But as for the mortal protagonists—what had they really given? More often than not, they were the ones dragging their feet and causing trouble!

“So, which do you prefer—the story as a comedy or a tragedy?” Xiao Jingxuan nodded and asked.

“Which do I prefer?” Chu Luoxi was momentarily taken aback, then smiled. “When it comes to romance, of course I’d like a happy ending. Still, I have to admit, tragedy leaves a deeper mark in the audience’s heart—a perfect tale tinged with regret can be even more moving, unless…”

“Unless what?” Xiao Jingxuan frowned, growing more confused. Was a happy ending better or a tragic one?

“Unless the perfection of the process can blur the impact of the ending. In that case, a grandly happy conclusion can be a real treat. Take ‘The Legend of the White Snake,’ for example—it’s still a classic today, even though the visuals are so dated they’re practically falling apart…” Chu Luoxi spoke with excitement, then suddenly caught herself. She pressed her chopsticks lightly to her lips and blinked. “Brother Xiao, you’re not actually thinking of turning this story into a TV series, are you?”

Though she’d had such thoughts back in her previous life while watching music videos, they had always remained just fantasies—a side effect of reading too many web novels, she supposed. She’d always felt that the world of online fiction was too disconnected from the world of television and film, which led her to daydream. But Xiao the Great had never produced a TV drama before.

“Didn’t you say it had great potential?” Xiao Jingxuan raised an eyebrow, leisurely picking at the food in his lunchbox, though he didn’t actually eat.

“Well, that’s just my personal opinion. Everything they make these days is the same old thing over and over. Apart from technical advancements making the visuals more pleasing, the rest really isn’t worth watching. Honestly, I hardly watch dramas anymore,” Chu Luoxi sighed, muttering under her breath. It was a common affliction among novel readers—always feeling that TV and movies were full of clichés. Aside from occasionally admiring the scenery, there was hardly anything to catch her interest.

“So, you’re saying there’s a considerable market behind this. I’ll think about it,” Xiao Jingxuan’s eyes narrowed with a captivating intensity. “You know, Scenic Entertainment is mine. The entertainment industry is full of factions, and as a new company, breaking through is no easy feat. Now that I’ve found a new angle, there’s no reason not to try. After all, I have a whole company of people to support!”

At these words, Chu Luoxi felt a pang of resignation. She knew all too well how successful Scenic Entertainment would become in the future. Though she didn’t know the details, she knew that with Xiao Jingxuan at the helm, his behind-the-scenes maneuvering would be formidable. Established entertainment companies had once tried to join forces against Scenic Entertainment, hoping to curb its rapid ascent, but they hadn’t slowed it down in the least. Clearly, the man behind Scenic Entertainment was both impressive and unstoppable.

Besides, if a company could really thrive on just one TV series, wouldn’t that be a bit too simple? The entertainment industry was hardly that easy to conquer.

After dinner, Chu Luoxi finally got her phone back. Unlocking it, she saw over twenty missed calls—clearly, she wasn’t the only one anxious.

“Hello? Judging by your reactions, you’re all a bit over the top!” Chu Luoxi, confident in her heart, spoke with a relaxed tone.

“Heh, sounds like you guessed it. But, Luoxi, what happened to your phone? We called so many times and you didn’t answer—we thought you’d lost it!” Zhu Xueshuang’s voice was brimming with excitement, still trembling with the thrill of it all.

“It’s nothing. I was helping someone shoot a music video, and left my phone in the van. Also, I probably won’t be back for a couple of days. You all study the script carefully! Since we’ve got this chance, we should make the most of it. If I’m not back by Monday, I’ll call Professor Tang and you can hand in a leave note for me,” Chu Luoxi said calmly, brushing her hair back as the night breeze lifted it.

“Huh? You’re shooting another MV? It can’t be for Ji Yanjin again, can it?” Zhu Xueshuang sounded surprised. How had Chu Luoxi’s connections suddenly become so impressive, as if she’d instantly melded into the industry?

“Of course not. Things don’t move that quickly!” Chu Luoxi laughed, careful not to reveal the name. “You’ll know when I get back. By the way, when you went to the audition, were there others?”

“Oh, plenty. Even the popular Jade Girl, Zhou Yuying, was there. There were lots of actresses, both big and small, and some newcomers too—we really didn’t stand out. But thank you, Luoxi. If you hadn’t helped us analyze the script, predicted which audition scenes Director Li might choose, and explained his preferences, we wouldn’t have stood a chance!”

“That’s right! You deserve most of the credit, Luoxi! You have no idea—Director Li is such a perfectionist, nitpicking every detail. He’s downright petty!” Liu Yujia exclaimed, her exaggerated expressions and gestures almost visible through the phone.

“Ha, exactly. Zhou Yuying played confidence as arrogance and weakness as indecision, and Director Li scolded her right there—even before it got really harsh, she turned around and left with her entire entourage,” Zhu Xueshuang said with some awe. Today, she’d really witnessed a top star’s diva behavior.

Raising her brows, Chu Luoxi hadn’t expected such a scene. Zhou Yuying, a rising star who had just made it to the first tier, auditioning for a low-budget drama meant to promote the male lead? Chu Luoxi strongly suspected that Li Shuangmu just didn’t want to pay a sky-high fee for a female lead, so he drove her away. That was exactly the kind of thing Li Shuangmu would do.

Everyone in the industry knew Zhou Yuying had been propped up—her popularity was inflated, built on her looks, with no truly impressive works to her name. Her status was just barely first-tier. She desperately needed quality work to secure her position, or she’d soon slip back to the second tier, maybe never to rise again.

But having been pampered like a princess since her debut, how could she tolerate Li Shuangmu’s lack of courtesy? Most likely, she’d left with tears in her eyes.

“Ha, don’t trouble yourselves over other people’s business. Being a big star isn’t as easy as it looks!” Chu Luoxi’s eyes darkened with amusement.

The higher you’re lifted, the harder the fall. In fact, Zhou Yuying’s scandal was set to break next month—her affair with the higher-ups at her agency would implicate many others in the industry. In the end, she’d vanish from entertainment altogether, never to show her face or seize another chance.

To make a living under the magnifying glass of the camera, one can hide nothing unless one has done nothing.

Li Shuangmu’s swift decision to let her go was a blessing for the series. Otherwise, “Crystal Romance” would have been notorious even before airing—and for all the wrong reasons.