The most high-end design studios offer fully customized renovations, with even the smallest details tailored to the homeowner's preferences. As a result, the proposals submitted by several studios included references to their past design styles and cost estimates.
Zhong Ziyan skimmed through a few options and, after some thought, simply picked the most expensive one. However, after flipping through the pages, she couldn’t find any contact information on the proposal.
Upon learning this, the butler explained, "Once you’ve made your selection, they will visit at your convenience with the necessary materials."
The task of scheduling the design team was left to the butler.
Two days later, when Zhong Ziyan met the internationally renowned designer, she finally understood what the so-called "necessary materials" were.
It was a stack of questionnaires—enough to make an elementary school student burst into tears. The questions ranged from preferred styles and colors to minute details like whether she favored dresses or skirts, totaling several hundred items.
Zhong Ziyan glanced at it and set it aside with a blank expression.
Why was spending money so troublesome?
In her imagination, splurging was supposed to be a joyous affair!
The designer, a woman in her thirties, smiled understandingly at Zhong Ziyan’s reaction. "Though the initial preparations may seem tedious, the more thorough they are, the more satisfied you’ll be with the final result. My team has an exceptionally high satisfaction rate."
Zhong Ziyan: "..." With all this flashy nonsense, if it were Wei Hanyun’s status, he’d probably charge you for the consultation instead.
"Would you prefer an interview format instead? I’ll ask, and you can answer. How does that sound?" the designer offered, adapting flexibly.
Zhong Ziyan picked up scissors to open a package: "Go ahead."
Designer: "On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the highest, how much do you like the color red?"
Zhong Ziyan answered offhandedly, "Four."
...
"How important is furniture comfort to you?"
"Eleven."
"What about aesthetics?"
"Just make it expensive."
...
"How many children do you plan to have in the future?"
"None." Not only none, but we’ll also be divorced in a year.
The designer scratched her head.
...
After answering the barrage of questions, the designer capped her pen, and Zhong Ziyan finally exhaled in relief.
"Next, my team will conduct one to three on-site visits," the designer said with a smile. "Travel expenses will be covered by us. I heard your property is on a newly purchased private island?"
Zhong Ziyan nodded. "I haven’t been there yet."
The designer, accustomed to working with wealthy clients worldwide, took it in stride. "Then I’ll rent a helicopter for transportation."
"No need," Zhong Ziyan said, slicing open the last package. "A yacht and plane are already stationed on the island. There’s a management team there—just transfer to the island-bound flight after landing at the airport."
The designer’s lips twitched. "You haven’t even visited the island, yet you’ve already arranged all the necessary resources?"
Zhong Ziyan turned to her earnestly. "You might not believe it, but I only bought the island. Everything else was gifted."
The designer: "..." Though she didn’t know the homeowner’s identity, she understood that someone who didn’t even disclose their name was not someone to trifle with. She refrained from further questions and stood to leave.
"Wait." Zhong Ziyan pulled out a document. "Fang Nan said you need to sign this before leaving."
The designer opened it to find a non-disclosure agreement.
Many wealthy individuals prioritized privacy, so the designer wasn’t surprised. She had been briefed beforehand and had reviewed the agreement, so she carefully checked it once more before signing.
Then, half-jokingly, she asked, "Now, may I know your spouse’s name?"
Zhong Ziyan set the document aside. "Wei Hanyun."
The designer nodded knowingly. "Ah, that explains the NDA first—wait, Wei Hanyun?! The Wei Hanyun who, as the saying goes, ‘marry and divorce him, and you’ll instantly climb the Forbes rankings’?!"
Zhong Ziyan: "..." Now that you put it that way, I feel like my agreement was a bad deal.
Human greed truly knows no bounds.
Shortly after the designer was escorted out by the butler, Zhong Ziyan received a call from Li Ye, who informed her that the lyrics for the four-part musical were ready and asked if she had time to visit the company for a listen.
Considering she was the majority shareholder of Houtu Entertainment, Zhong Ziyan adopted a professional attitude. "I’ll head over now."
When Zhong Ziyan arrived at Houtu in yet another new car, she happened to run into Yu Qianshan.
He was equally surprised to see her and quickly stepped forward to greet her. "Ahem... Ms. Zhong."
"Yu Qianshan." Zhong Ziyan still remembered the name of this "nephew."
Besides, most of the shares she now held had been transferred from him.
"No need for formalities—just call me Qianshan, like Little Uncle does," Yu Qianshan said with a wave. Originally heading out, he turned around to walk with Zhong Ziyan inside, even rushing ahead to hold the door open for her.
Even though it was an automatic door.
As she approached the entrance, Zhong Ziyan suddenly glanced back outside.
She sensed an odd, watchful presence, though it didn’t feel hostile.
"Ms. Zhong?" Yu Qianshan asked, puzzled.
"...It’s nothing." This was a peaceful, low-martial world—no need to overthink it.
"Are you here for the music? Li Ye’s handling the production, right?" Yu Qianshan had done his homework. "If anything comes up, just give me a call."
Though Yu Qianshan had transferred nearly all his Houtu shares to Zhong Ziyan, he still retained managerial control for the time being.
As long as Zhong Ziyan didn’t want to replace him, his position would remain unchanged.
Not that Yu Qianshan particularly cared about an entertainment company, but with Houtu now in Zhong Ziyan’s hands, its significance had changed entirely.
Yu Qianshan saw Zhong Ziyan as a new golden ticket—one worth clinging to.
Zhong Ziyan stopped in front of the elevator. "I don’t have your number."
Yu Qianshan promptly presented his business card with both hands. "At your service."
Only after Zhong Ziyan accepted the card did Yu Qianshan relax. When the elevator arrived, he even held the door for her. Just as he was about to ask his assistant for a card to select the floor, he noticed someone already inside.
Li Ye, a cigarette dangling from his lips, showed no intention of stepping out. He lazily greeted Yu Qianshan with a "Young Master Yu" before turning to Zhong Ziyan. "I saw that car and guessed it was you. Came down to fetch you."
That stretch Cadillac from last time had left quite an impression on Li Ye.
Most wealthy folks stuck to Mercedes, Bentleys, or Lexuses as their business cars—who casually used a limousine for daily commutes?
Then, with a meaningful glance at Yu Qianshan, Li Ye mused that the Yu family certainly had the means for such extravagance.
Zhong Ziyan gave Yu Qianshan a slight nod and stepped into the elevator, tossing three words at Li Ye: "Put it out."
Li Ye: "..." Silently, he stubbed out the freshly lit cigarette against the elevator wall.
Yu Qianshan maintained a polite, smiling farewell expression by the elevator until its doors slowly closed.
The moment the elevator began ascending, Li Ye’s gossipy curiosity got the better of him. "How do you know Yu Qianshan?"
Zhong Ziyan pondered for a moment, unsure if Wei Hanyun intended to announce their marriage publicly, so she vaguely replied, "A sort of relative."
Li Ye raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with playful sarcasm. "Oh~ a relative. And Luo Yin?"
"A crush," Zhong Ziyan answered, using a term she’d recently picked up.
In truth, as Luo Yin’s birthday approached, Zhong Ziyan had been interacting more with his fan club and had unconsciously adopted some of their slang and speech habits.
"Luo Yin’s birthday is coming up. Any plans?" Li Ye asked casually, half-joking. "Like renting a giant LED billboard for a grand confession?"
Zhong Ziyan wasn’t particularly interested. "What’s the point?"
Li Ye shrugged. "It’s flashy. Not every celebrity’s fans can afford that kind of thing."
At the mention of "money," Zhong Ziyan finally perked up. "Expensive?"
"Charged by the second," Li Ye mumbled around the unlit cigarette between his teeth. "Sometimes fans of different celebrities even feud over it—those who can afford longer durations looking down on those with shorter ones."
Zhong Ziyan nodded. "Got it."
"If you booked half an hour, Weibo’s servers would probably crash again."
"Half an hour’s too short."
"Well, his birthday lasts twenty-four hours. If you’ve got the cash, book the whole day." Li Ye was just tossing out the idea when the elevator doors opened.
Assuming Zhong Ziyan was just playing along with his joke, Li Ye quickly moved on. As they stepped out, he switched to business. "Speaking of Luo Yin, the lyrics for his song are still being worked on. He’s been practicing for days but can’t quite capture the right vibe. That song of yours is tough—not something just anyone can sing."
Zhong Ziyan blinked. "What vibe?" Singing required a vibe? It wasn’t like fighting monsters.
"...Finding the right feeling?" Li Ye struggled to explain across their professional divide. "Like when you’re composing, that moment you catch the inspiration?"
"Inspiration?" Zhong Ziyan tilted her head. "I just pick up the instrument and it’s there."
Li Ye: "..." Get out of here, you inspiration robot with no emotions. "I’ve seen the song too. Even Song Xi’s scratching his head trying to write suitable lyrics. Both of them are holed up at home, going crazy."
"What if I sang—" Zhong Ziyan started, then cut herself off.
She could easily improvise a few lines in Elvish—maybe it’d spark inspiration for the lyricist and Luo Yin. But if it accidentally triggered some magical effect, that was the last thing she wanted.
"You sing?" Li Ye caught the beginning of her sentence. "Could work. You’re the composer—you might have a unique understanding. But we’d still need Song Xi to finish the lyrics first. How would you sing without them?"
"In a foreign language." Elvish.
Li Ye: "..." What kind of nonsense—even alien languages need lyrics.
After listening to Song Xi’s completed lyrics for the musical’s four-part series, Zhong Ziyan gave her approval—half as the boss.
"By the way, Houtu’s under new management," Li Ye mentioned idly, chewing on his unlit cigarette.
"I know." That would be me.
"People are restless. Bai Ling might cause trouble for you—watch your back." His warning was delivered with detached coolness.
He’d aimed for an air of effortless wisdom, but Zhong Ziyan just looked blank. "Bai Ling?"
Having wasted his breath, Li Ye held back a sigh, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "..."
