Chapter 9 Killing Three Birds with One Stone

Su Chen was in no hurry to head back.

From the moment he woke up today, then battled for two hours in the recording studio, he hadn’t eaten a single grain of rice.

Driving along, the rumbling from his stomach nearly drowned out the roar of the V8 engine.

He wasn’t exaggerating—at this moment, he felt as if he could devour two whole cows.

“Man is made of iron, and food is the steel that holds him together... If I don’t eat soon, I won’t even have the strength to press the gas pedal,” Su Chen muttered, rubbing his stomach.

A glance at the time told him it was already past one in the afternoon.

“Still time for lunch. I’ll just find a random place and grab a bite.”

With that decided, the Porsche 918 headed for an old neighborhood nearby.

There was a noodle shop there—cheap, delicious, and generous in its portions. Su Chen would occasionally come here to treat himself.

With a throaty roar, the flashy red 918 rolled into the neighborhood, drawing countless stares.

Su Chen parked the car and walked into the humble roadside noodle shop, which was almost devoid of any decoration.

The shop was small and crowded, but the battered tables and chairs, worn from who knew how many years of use, were clean enough to reflect light.

The owner was a migrant worker who had run this place steadily for over a decade.

“Su Chen, here for noodles?” the owner called out warmly as Su Chen entered.

“That’s right, Aunt Sun. If I go two days without your noodles, I feel unwell all over!” Su Chen replied with a grin.

“You and that silver tongue of yours! The usual?”

“Yeah, but I’m starving today—add an extra serving!”

“You got it!”

While waiting for his noodles, Su Chen finally had a moment to check his phone for messages.

He also meant to ask Han Jiangxue what she wanted to eat, so he could bring something back for her.

The screen lit up, and to his surprise, he saw several messages—all from Zhang Fuyu.

Zhang Fuyu: Su Chen, are you there?

Zhang Fuyu: Here’s the thing—you know I have good relations with Vogue Media. They just reached out to ask for your contact info. Seems like they want to sign you as one of their artists.

Zhang Fuyu: But this is your personal number, so I can’t give it out without your consent. I wanted to see what you think. If you’re interested, I’ll send it along.

“Vogue Media?” Su Chen paused, staring at the screen.

Even someone as new to the entertainment industry as he was had heard of Vogue Media; its name rang out like thunder.

Vogue Media was far bigger than Starlight Entertainment, which backed Lin Yanran, and its connections ran even deeper—a provincial TV station’s influence could be seen behind it.

If you compared them, it was like the difference between Tangren Media and Tianyu in his previous life.

“Wow, they’re casting a big fish right from the start…”

Truthfully, Su Chen wasn’t eager to sign with any company; doing so would mean being under someone’s thumb.

Having lived once more, freedom mattered most.

He was just about to decline when two more messages came through.

Zhang Fuyu: Speaking as someone with experience, I think it’s worth having a conversation. In today’s entertainment world, it’s nearly impossible to get ahead without a company backing you.

Zhang Fuyu: So, if you want to make it in this business, I think Vogue Media is your best bet.

Su Chen could sense the sincerity in her words—whether it was because of her ties with Vogue or genuine concern, he couldn’t tell.

But he agreed with one thing: there’s no harm in talking. The entertainment industry runs on connections; the more people you know, the more paths you have.

Especially when the company in question was a powerhouse like Vogue Media.

After a moment’s thought, Su Chen agreed to let Zhang Fuyu pass along his contact details. He also sent her a message:

Su Chen: I’ve finished the demo I promised you. I’ll send it to you in a couple of days.

Su Chen: Once you’ve listened, if you think it’s good, we can talk about what comes next.

The demo he’d recorded in the studio was meant for Zhang Fuyu.

He hadn’t intended to sell his songs at first, but with so many classic tracks in his mind, and being a man, not all of them would suit his own voice.

Besides, making music was expensive—the cost of renting a studio alone was proof of that.

To produce a song fit for release, even the cheapest would run tens of thousands. And the music video? There was no upper limit to those costs.

On top of that, Han Jiangxue had given him a hundred thousand. He’d never forgotten that.

Zhang Fuyu seemed agreeable enough, and letting her have the song wouldn’t be a waste; it would provide him with ample funds for his music. If all went well, he might even gain the friendship of a superstar.

Three birds with one stone—why not?

After a long wait, Zhang Fuyu finally replied with a simple “mm-hmm” and an expectant emoji.

Su Chen smiled to himself.

It seemed this young diva still doubted his abilities…

“Noodles are ready!”

“The condiments are on the side—add as much spice as you like!” Aunt Sun called out, then bustled back to work.

It was past one, but the noodle shop was still bustling.

Staring at the bowl of noodles as big as a washbasin, Su Chen put his phone aside.

Nothing in the world mattered more than eating.

Everything else could wait until after his meal.

By the time Su Chen finished and drove back to the upscale complex by the Qianjiang River, it was nearly three in the afternoon.

He parked in the underground garage, picked up the takeout noodles he’d bought, rode the elevator to Han Jiangxue’s apartment, and rang the doorbell.

“Ding-dong!”

“…Who is it? Hold on, coming!” Han Jiangxue’s voice called from inside, followed by the shuffling of slippers across tiles.

The door opened a crack. A slender, pale hand gripped the edge, nails painted a vivid crimson.

Then, under a tangle of messy hair, a face masked in black peered out at an angle.

In broad daylight, this eerie sight nearly made Su Chen jump out of his skin.

“…Back so soon?” Han Jiangxue mumbled through her facial mask, then left the door open as she wandered back to the living room.

It took Su Chen a moment to recover at the threshold. He gripped the doorframe with trembling hands and shut the door behind him.

“Miss Han, why are you doing skincare in the middle of the day? You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Su Chen complained helplessly.

“It’s your fault. You wore me out last night so much I didn’t bother with skincare. I’m making up for it now!” Han Jiangxue retorted, annoyed.

But then she realized the ambiguity in her words and fell silent.

Thank goodness for the mask—otherwise, her face would’ve been too red to show.

Su Chen didn’t notice. He set his car keys on the entryway cabinet, put the takeout noodles on the dining table, and pulled out a chair to sit down.

“I got you some noodles—better eat while it’s hot.”

Han Jiangxue looked surprised. “How did you know I hadn’t had lunch?”

“…I didn’t. I messaged you to ask what you wanted, but you didn’t reply, so I just brought you some noodles.”

As Su Chen spoke, Han Jiangxue was already unwrapping the package, and the aroma of noodles filled the entire dining room.

“Mmm, smells amazing! I’ll dig in, then!” Han Jiangxue grinned, not caring whether her mask was on or not, and tore it off to start eating.

Watching her cheeks bulge as she chewed, Su Chen couldn’t help but smile.

“…By the way, a company from the entertainment industry already contacted me. I’ll be able to pay back your hundred thousand soon,” Su Chen said.

Han Jiangxue waved her hand. “No rush. I told you, that’s for your album!”

“But if a company wants you, does that mean you’re about to become a star? Hehehe…” Han Jiangxue swallowed a mouthful of noodles and continued, “But I’ve heard some entertainment companies are pretty scummy. Which one is it? Don’t get scammed!”

“It’s a big company. Should be trustworthy,” Su Chen replied.

“It’s called Vogue Media.”

Clatter!

Han Jiangxue’s chopsticks dropped onto the table, her face frozen in astonishment.