Chapter 44: A Wave of Resignations

"President Ning, do you agree with this termination agreement or not?" the suited legal officer inquired, his tone as deferential and obsequious as ever. Yet behind the lenses of his glasses, a cunning and sinister glint flickered in his eyes.

Ning Cai furrowed her brows, then replied, "I'll sign."

Absolute rationality dictated that the losses must be minimized. Losing Wu Fan was no great matter, nor was letting the penalty fee slide. But if this incident were truly dragged into the spotlight, she herself would suffer the greatest loss.

Temporary suspension and fines were secondary; being targeted and swept into a storm of public opinion would leave her company with no hope of recovery.

Wu Fan let out a hearty laugh. "I must admit, Ning Cai, you’re clever. Signing is best for everyone."

Just as the agreement was signed, there was a knock at the door. Soon after, a popular actress under the company walked in. "President Ning, I’d like to terminate my contract too. But mine’s not complicated; my contract’s expiring and I won’t be renewing."

This actress, Zhang Li, had been pursuing a film and television career. She'd appeared frequently on screen in recent years, starring in several movies—though all had been harshly criticized as flops.

Ning Cai shot her a brief glance. "Very well. The contract is terminated."

She swiftly signed the papers without even looking up. "Go to finance, settle your final payment, and then you may leave."

Zhang Li threw a flirtatious glance at Wu Fan, and he returned it. Clearly, the two had come to some private arrangement.

With Zhang Li’s departure, more artists began to trickle in to terminate their contracts or resign—almost all were those usually close to Wu Fan. Even so, Red Queen Entertainment, as a whole, offered a massive amount in penalty fees.

The total sum was about 200 million.

In this wave of departures, a total of thirteen artists and managers left.

But that was not the hardest blow for Ning Cai. The real devastation was when several shareholders began to withdraw their investments, pulling out of the company’s operations and decisions.

This sudden exodus threw Yian Media’s cash flow into crisis.

With the funding chain strained, there were no longer any noteworthy artists left—neither in film nor in music.

The only unaffected department was her marketing team.

When the conference room finally quieted, Ning Cai looked at Shen Xian. "We’re back where we started."

She had built this company from a small artist studio, investing untold energy along the way. Now, overnight, it had all collapsed.

Even Shen Xian couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for her. "Honestly, it’s better that these people left now. If they’d stayed, they’d have been ticking time-bombs—no telling when they’d blow up."

Ning Cai nodded. "It’s alright. I’ll rise again."

Shen Xian laughed. "It’s just artists, after all. I’ll think of something for you."

"You’re giving me Wang Tianqi?" Ning Cai asked.

"Xianyun Studio doesn’t need to exist anymore," Shen Xian replied. "What if I buy into Yian Media instead?"

Ning Cai fixed her gaze on him. "Are you serious?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. But give me some time—not too long. How much for twenty percent of the shares?"

"One hundred million," Ning Cai answered.

Shen Xian sucked in a sharp breath. "That much?"

"I’m basing this on the registered capital at the time—five hundred million," she explained.

Shen Xian pondered, then said, "Alright, give me a month."

A hundred million in one month? For most, it would be impossible. But for Shen Xian, it wasn’t so daunting.

After all, "Guangdong Love Story" was bought for just five thousand, and Rain God made him a hundred million, though it took over a year. Still, his mind teemed with hit songs.

"If you really invest in Yian Media," Ning Cai said, "you’ll be the third largest shareholder. The second is Zhou Wan, with twenty-nine percent—she plans to invest as well."

Shen Xian laughed. "See? We still have artists. With the Queen’s capital and influence, our troubles are only temporary."

"Alright, I’ll wait one month," Ning Cai replied. She had no idea what means Shen Xian would use to make that much money so quickly, but she instinctively believed he could do it.

A knock sounded at the door. Shen Xian went to open it.

There, standing gracefully in the doorway, was Zhou Wan.

She wore a pale pink, fitted, long pencil dress, paired with black pointed heels, her raven hair cascading casually over her shoulders.

The light color of her dress made her skin look almost luminous, her legs long and shapely.

Seeing Shen Xian, she visibly froze; the hand she’d raised to knock hung awkwardly in midair.

Shen Xian was surprised to notice her pupils contract sharply at the sight of him, her slender white neck flushing visibly red.

A myriad of emotions flashed through her eyes—panic, complexity, confusion.

Was she afraid to face me?

Shen Xian didn’t dwell on it. He stepped aside. "Hello, Queen Zhou. You’re here."

Zhou Wan, proud as ever, gave a soft "Mm" and composed herself before striding in. "Cai Cai, please take me in."

"Stop joking," Ning Cai replied. "You’re the second boss now."

Zhou Wan whimpered, "The company took back all the rights to my old songs. Many of them have been pulled from the music platforms, and I can’t perform them at commercial shows anymore. That Qi Zhengqing is ruthless—swift and merciless.

"The worst part is, I have a concert in five days, and I still don’t have any suitable songs. I’m at my wit’s end." Still complaining, she clung to Ning Cai’s arm.

Zhou Wan and Ning Cai each possessed their own distinct beauty.

Zhou Wan had a mature allure from a distance, a regal air; but up close, there was a touch of innocence, a hint of young womanly charm in her features.

Ning Cai, in contrast, was icy—almost like an artificial intelligence, emotionless and unflappable.

But her figure was just as tall and her curves as exquisite; in certain respects, she more than equaled Zhou Wan, perhaps even surpassed her.

Her skin was delicate as water, and looked almost intoxicating.

"Don’t you have the Postman’s contact?" Ning Cai suggested. "Ask him."

Zhou Wan said, "Oh, I feel bad always bothering him. He seems to think quite well of me now, and I don’t want work to make things awkward—he only writes love songs, after all."

"Postman thinks well of you?" Ning Cai asked.

Zhou Wan nodded. "He loves me dearly. He’s watched over me silently for three years, too afraid to confess, thinking he’s not good enough. But how will he know if I’ll accept if he never asks?"

Listening on the side, Shen Xian shuddered, goosebumps crawling over his skin.

When did I ever love you?

What on earth did I do to give you that illusion?

He rubbed his chin, thinking he’d better put an end to Zhou Wan’s overactive imagination.

Lost in thought, Ning Cai’s phone rang. She answered, and her face instantly turned to frost.