Chapter Eleven: Jing Tian to Play the Leading Lady

“Mom, it’s not a scam. My teacher and I are making a film together. If I don’t invest some money, I won’t get a role.”
“It’s really not a scam. Several big stars are joining the cast. How could my teacher or my homeroom teacher be a scammer?”
“That’s right, five million would cover half the investment. We’ll share the box office profits after it’s released.”
“If we invest less, we’ll get a smaller share, but that’s fine. We just won’t make as much if it turns a profit.”
“Three million? That’s too little. I might not even get the role.”
“Alright, four million it is. It seems you two have already discussed it.”
“Mm-hmm, don’t worry, I’ve grown up. Haven’t you seen how much I’ve changed lately? Trust me, I won’t be deceived.”

After much persuasion and thanks to his parents’ indulgence, Chen Ling finally got four million from them—almost a year’s worth of the factory’s profits. His parents even called the homeroom teacher to confirm it wasn’t a scam before handing over the money. Of course, Chen Ling’s good behavior over the past year since his transmigration played a part too. After all, their child was grown up and wanted to try his wings, so they didn’t hold him back.

Chen Ling's parents have always been somewhat indulgent. In his previous life, their support for his acting career led to the factory’s financial collapse. According to the original timeline, if Chen Ling hadn’t asked for this money to make a film, it would have been used to buy him a house. In the provincial capital and the city where he studied in his last life, they bought him two apartments. Years later, the value of those properties multiplied, but with the potential for future appreciation—and especially with that million Bitcoin to his name—he knew his family would become wealthy beyond imagination. So Chen Ling felt little guilt about asking for money.

Once his parents agreed, they didn’t delay; the money was transferred to Chen Ling’s account that very afternoon. However, there was still a two-million shortfall to fill—not too small, not too large. As Chen Ling wondered where he might find additional investment, Jing Tian called.

“Baby, how come you’re free to call me today?”
“Oh, the movie’s almost wrapped up? When are you coming back?”
“If you don’t come back soon, the other girls at school might steal me away.”

Without realizing it, Jing Tian had been away for almost a month. Her starring film, “My Beautiful Boss,” was a straightforward urban drama, nothing grand, so a month was enough for shooting.

“Who told you I was planning a film? I didn’t mean to keep it from you—it’s just that you were busy acting. I didn’t want to distract you, and the movie’s still in preparation. I was going to tell you face-to-face when you got back.”

“Chai Biyun told you? She heard it from the teacher? Well, news spreads fast.”
“Funds? I’ve pretty much sorted them. I got some from my family, and Zhong Ying invested a bit. It’s a small-budget film, just to get some practice.”
“You want to play the female lead, and you want me to be the male lead? You want to bring investment into the crew? Wait, baby, hey—hey—”

After hanging up, Chen Ling scratched his head, confused. He wasn’t surprised Jing Tian knew about the film. Whether buying rights from Bao Jingjing, discussing the script with his homeroom teacher, or dining with Director Cao of Zhong Ying, he hadn’t tried to keep things secret. So it was no surprise Jing Tian knew. Nor was it surprising she wanted to invest; with her love-struck nature, she’d surely rush to help her boyfriend make a movie.

But he was surprised she wanted to play the female lead and have him as the male lead. His own acting wasn’t great, but was Jing Tian even suited for the female lead? Could she handle it? Thinking of her acting skills, Chen Ling grimaced.

He decided to wait until they met in person to discuss it. Besides, he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but Jing Tian’s tone over the phone seemed off—more tired and melancholy than her usual cheerful calls. Maybe filming had worn her out? Perhaps it was just his imagination; after all, phone calls can be misleading. Chen Ling decided not to dwell on it and thought he’d better inform his homeroom teacher.

He asked his teacher not to contact Wen Zhang and the other actors for now, explaining he’d found a new potential investor—an actress—who wanted to invest and join the cast. The details were still being negotiated, and her specific requirements were to be kept confidential for now.

Mr. Lin, his homeroom teacher, paused all actor scheduling upon receiving Chen Ling’s message.

This matter would have to wait until Jing Tian returned and they could meet face-to-face. For now, the urgent task was to register a studio, otherwise producing the film later would be inconvenient.

Chen Ling rented two offices and hired an accounting firm to register a personal film studio, naming it Chen Ling Film Studio. Once the company was registered, he interviewed his first employee—a manager introduced by Mr. Lin. With the company set up and the film about to start shooting, an agent was essential, since making a film was no small feat and required attention to countless details.

The agent, Zhao Qian, was in her forties—a somewhat well-off woman. She’d previously worked in a crew at Xi Ying as a producer, later moved to Hua Yi as an agent, managed actors, then withdrew from the industry after marrying a few years ago. Now that her child had grown up, she needed to earn a living again.

Chen Ling valued her experience as a producer, since he’d need someone reliable to help oversee the crew during filming. After the interview, Chen Ling was very satisfied, signed a contract on the spot, and felt reassured by her competence and by the fact she was introduced by Mr. Lin—making her one of his own. He planned to cultivate her as a trusted aide.

Thus, the company’s ragtag team was assembled: two offices, one employee, and a single project in the works. But with a decade’s worth of foreknowledge as his foundation, Chen Ling felt confident in its future.

Time flew by, and soon Jing Tian’s return day arrived.

On the hotel’s large bed, the two lay breathless in each other’s arms, exhausted after barely quelling the passion of their reunion. After a long while, their breathing steadied. Lying in Chen Ling’s embrace, Jing Tian traced circles on his chest.

“Have you thought about what I mentioned before?”
“The movie?”
“Yes. We invest together, we star together—isn’t that great? Plus, with my investment, I can help secure screening slots when the film is released.”

Having lived a second life, Chen Ling was proud. He hadn’t told Jing Tian about the film at first because he feared rumors of him living off her. But if he also invested and led the project, it would be a partnership—perhaps even a future classic among fans, a tale of how their romance began.

So Chen Ling didn’t object; pride sometimes hardly mattered, and he wasn’t someone who cared much about others’ opinions.

After some discussion, they settled it: Jing Tian would invest three million under the name of Starshine Splendor Company. That way, when the film was released, securing screening slots would be easier—especially since Starshine Splendor’s owner, Lu Zheng, was also a major shareholder of Wanda Pictures.

As for Starshine Splendor, Jing Tian would handle negotiations herself.

Even if their acting was mediocre, with extra screenings, the box office might not be bad.

After finalizing their movie plans, Chen Ling, holding the girl in his arms, asked, “Baby, did something happen to upset you? You seem a little down.”

After their reunion, Jing Tian was unusually assertive in bed, her usually bright eyes now tinged with sorrow—subtle signs Chen Ling noticed with his keen sensitivity.

“You’re overthinking, nothing’s wrong. I just suddenly felt acting was so hard, and it hurt a little inside.”

In the past, Jing Tian always teased Chen Ling for being younger yet more mature. Whenever this happened, Chen Ling would joke about making her call him brother, but she never agreed—until now, when she obediently did so. Chen Ling was surprised.

“Brother, love me.” Before Chen Ling could ponder, Jing Tian’s words immediately drew his attention, and the flames of passion rekindled. Soon, the room echoed once more with their heavy breaths.