That afternoon, Su Qianqian returned to her apartment at Cloud Heights.
Sunlight filtered lazily through the sheer curtains, spilling onto the plush carpet.
She changed into a comfortable light blue sundress and curled up barefoot in the armchair by the window.
Though she had searched online for information about the Gu Corporation, her understanding was still incomplete, and 007 was currently giving her a rundown.
The economy and technology of this world far surpassed that of her previous life.
S Country was the true global superpower.
Top conglomerates like the Gu family had long extended their influence across the world, their ambitions vast and far-reaching.
Su Qianqian sighed softly—those standing at the pinnacle truly had brilliant minds, always planning steps ahead.
"But being good at acting is impressive too," she murmured under her breath, as if reassuring herself.
She wasn’t as clever as them, nor did she share their ambitions.
For now, she just wanted to focus on acting and walk her own path steadily.
Her phone suddenly chimed, interrupting 007’s explanation.
It was a formal email from Director Li Mo.
"Su Qianqian, the production team of 'Chaos of War' officially invites you to play the role of Lin Wan, the female lead. We look forward to collaborating with you!"
At the same time, Li Mo, who had just added her on WeChat, sent a few messages.
Su Qianqian tapped to read:
"Qianqian, you must have seen the email. The role of Lin Wan is yours."
"But I need to be upfront with you about something."
"The production team is in a mess right now."
"After those two scoundrels suddenly got into trouble, most of the investors pulled out. The funding chain is nearly broken, and half the crew has disbanded."
"Qin Lang and Chen Jing are still hesitating too."
"I know this is a huge risk for a newcomer, but I, Li Mo, promise you—if this drama can be filmed, I’ll sell everything I have to make it happen."
"You’ve read the script. It’s worth taking the gamble."
After reading the messages, Su Qianqian’s delicate brows furrowed slightly.
In summary: no money, no people, and the added pressure of public scrutiny.
She knew better than Li Mo what had happened to those who’d suddenly fallen from grace.
Not just the producer and assistant director—everyone present that night had faced Gu Chengyu’s retribution.
But those two had been particularly notorious. With a little digging and some pressure from the Gu family, they’d ended up paying the ultimate price.
Su Qianqian set her phone down, her face scrunched up in frustration.
Of course she wanted to take the role.
But how could a hollowed-out production team even proceed?
Her gaze wandered absently to the nightstand, and suddenly, she remembered something.
Barefoot, she padded over and pulled open the bottom drawer.
Inside lay a black card.
The moment her fingertips brushed against it, her ears tinged pink.
She recalled that night in the bathroom, his unrestrained dominance.
In the heat of the moment, she’d dropped the card.
Exhausted afterward, she’d fallen asleep without remembering it.
But when she woke the next morning, the card had been placed neatly on the nightstand.
The card held ten billion.
S Country’s currency value was similar to that of her previous life—this sum was astronomical.
Investing even one or several billion into Chaos of War would surely be enough.
But was money alone sufficient? Su Qianqian bit her lower lip anxiously.
A drama couldn’t succeed just by throwing money at it.
Investors brought more than just capital—they brought connections, resources.
Things like a top-tier post-production team, or the necessary approvals to get a project past censorship…
Su Qianqian clutched the black card tightly, her lips pursed in a pout.
She didn’t want to deal with things she had no interest in.
She just wanted to focus on her role, perfecting every line, every subtle expression.
As for the rest—the professional matters—she’d leave them to the professionals.
Decision made, she stood up, gripping the card, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as she first slipped into her slippers by the armchair.
Then she turned and headed toward the living room, determined to wait for that certain professional to come home—so she could ask him properly, with a little coaxing.
