Chapter 37: The Correct Way to Open the Opportunity Handbook?

“From now on?”

“I understand perfectly right away.”

Zhang Yang watched as Nazha disappeared into the hotel before glancing at himself in the rearview mirror with a soft chuckle.

He started his car and drove to a nearby teahouse to meet Lin Feng. The two of them enthusiastically discussed set design, dialogue, and staging for their project.

In his previous life, Zhang Yang had been a director. Having experienced firsthand the lives of characters from his scripts through dream immersion, he offered insightful suggestions on scene settings that left Lin Feng internally exclaiming, “This man is a genius.”

“A-Yang,” Lin Feng said over dinner later that evening, his words carrying a fighter’s blunt honesty after a few drinks, “we met too late. Otherwise, I would have definitely recommended you for some action roles we had earlier.”

“Hey, sometimes these things just come down to fate,” replied Zhang Yang warmly, refilling Lin Feng’s wine glass without a hint of suspicion or hesitation.

After all, this was a man who had acted in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon during his days as a martial arts actor. Before becoming an action director himself, he’d served as stunt coordinator for numerous acclaimed series such as Fang Shiyu (starring Zhang Weijian), Sword and Fist (starring Li Yapeng), and The Heaven Sword and Dragon Sabre (starring Liu Yifei)—a testament to his extensive network within the industry.

It made perfect sense then why Lin Zuiwei, making her debut as a producer, had invited him to collaborate with Liang Xinqian on Prestige Imperial Concubine. Unfortunately, the drama was heavy on dialogue-driven scenes, leaving little room for Lin Feng’s talents to shine.

However, Zhang Yang’s additions to the script were like music to Lin Feng’s ears—they provided exactly the opportunities he needed to showcase his skills.

“Opportunities will abound in the future,” Zhang Yang said with a genuinely warm smile. “I hope you’ll support me along the way. Even if there aren’t roles for me, working as a martial arts coordinator would be fine too—I’d be more than happy to help out.”

Though he had another two years left at Tangren, that didn’t mean he couldn’t establish his own company. He could still sign artists independently, nurture their talents, and assemble a team to produce films and television shows—nothing was stopping him from laying groundwork now. While success wasn’t guaranteed, considering how both Tangren and Rongxinda would eventually decline, starting an entertainment firm wouldn’t be easy either.

Zhang Yang could rely on his foresight to secure valuable IPs and attract top-tier talent early, but cultivating foundational skills and industry backbone required personal connections built over time through direct interaction.

Lin Feng was an excellent networking contact; by befriending him, Zhang Yang could meet various individuals who might prove useful when it came time to launch his company.

Even in the worst-case scenario where Lin Feng merely provided high-quality acting gigs, Zhang Yang stood to gain significantly.

“You’ve earned yourself a brother here,” Zhang Yang declared sincerely, resonating deeply with Lin Feng. “Your talent is undeniable. When the time comes, I won’t hold back on opportunities for you. Here’s to our partnership.”

With a smile gracing his face, Zhang Yang downed glass after glass of wine without faltering.

By around 10 PM, he escorted Lin Feng back to his hotel room, arranged for his assistant to check in periodically, then retired to his own accommodations. After a quick shower, he drifted off to sleep.

Ding~Ling Ling

The alarm clock chimed at 6:25 AM sharp.

Zhang Yang opened his eyes, reached out to silence the alarm clock, then stared blankly at the ceiling for five minutes before getting up.

After a simple wash and dress, he donned his hat and jacket, heading towards Lao Hengdian Steamed Bun Shop—a renowned establishment in Hengdian known as a favorite among extras on set. Even some celebrities filming nearby would occasionally dine there.

Upon arrival, Zhang Yang was fortunate enough to find an empty table. He ordered soy milk with fried dough sticks and ten large meat buns.

As someone who practiced martial arts regularly, he had always possessed a hearty appetite. His body could easily burn through any amount of food without fear of gaining weight.

“Hey brother,” another man seated at the same table began conversationally, “you must be quite the athlete, aren’t you?”

“How did you guess that?” Zhang Yang replied with a smile, his gaze sweeping across the shop and its surroundings outside the door—an ever-vigilant observer.

“What’s so hard about figuring it out?” The stranger chuckled guilelessly. “With your looks, you certainly wouldn’t choose manual labor. You’re here in Hengdian to become an actor, right? And seeing how much you can eat, I figured training must be part of the deal.”

Zhang Yang nodded initially but then shook his head. “True, I do have some skills, but you’re not entirely correct, big brother. With these good looks of mine, I could indeed opt for physical work if I wanted.”

“What woman could possibly make you endure such hardship?” the man queried disapprovingly.

“Well, even if she doesn’t let me suffer hardships, we still enjoy our sweet moments together,” Zhang Yang said with a grin.

A look of bewilderment washed over the man’s face.

What physical labor isn’t bitter work for its sweet reward?

Before he could ask further, Zhang Yang suddenly stood up and headed towards the checkout counter.

At that moment, if anyone had checked their watch or phone, they would have noticed it was exactly 7 PM.

“Two meat buns, one bean paste bun, one cabbage-filled bun, and a cup of sweet soy milk—that’ll be eight yuan.”

The cashier packed the three small bags along with the cup of soy milk into a larger plastic carrier and handed it to the woman standing at the counter.

This woman had a round face, hinting at baby fat beneath—a youthful appearance full of collagen, giving her an almost plump allure. Her large eyes seemed capable of speaking volumes, lending an overall impression of cuteness and innocence. At first glance, she looked like a college freshman just starting university.

“Thank you.” The endearingly naive woman took the bag in one hand while reaching into her pocket with the other to retrieve money.

After fumbling around, she realized her pocket was empty. She switched hands to hold the bag and tried the opposite pocket, only managing to produce a cell phone.

A sense of foreboding washed over her as she reached down to check her pant pockets, finding them equally devoid of contents.

It dawned on her—she’d been so rushed when leaving home that she hadn’t brought any cash.

Staring at the neatly packed breakfast in her hands, she felt utterly embarrassed, toes curling in awkwardness enough to fill a three-bedroom apartment.

There was no way to return the prepared meal now; yet asking her to go back to her hotel room for money would take thirty to forty minutes round trip, ensuring she’d arrive late at the film set.

As for calling someone to help her out—her agent had refused to let her return to the set for free reshoots, so she’d come alone without anyone else around. In that moment, she couldn’t think of whom to call.

The woman may not have known what social death was, but she was certainly experiencing it now.

If only she could pay with her phone! Perhaps she should ask if this shop accepted Alipay from their owner?

Noticing her silence, the cashier spoke up again, “Hello? The total is eight yuan.”

“Um, I forgot my money today,” she admitted hesitantly, too embarrassed to meet the cashier’s eyes. She felt certain her face must be blazing red right then—and indeed it was, flushed like a ripe tomato. To make matters worse, some unscrupulous passerby had even recorded the awkward scene on their smartphone.

“You can’t get a refund once you’ve taken your order away,” the cashier said matter-of-factly.

Forgotten wallets were common occurrences when buying breakfast; after all, it wasn’t as though they couldn’t afford the meal later.

After a moment’s thought, the woman decided to leave behind her actor’s license at the counter. Her plan was to retrieve it after filming wrapped by bringing cash along as collateral.

Before she could explain her idea fully, however, a pleasant male voice cut through from beside her: “That’s eight yuan, correct? I’ll cover it for her.”

The woman turned around to find herself face-to-face with a tall, strikingly handsome man—his eyes sparkled with vitality beneath the sunlight.

This hunk produced eight yuan from his pocket and placed it on the counter before flashing her a smile. “Don’t forget next time,” he said lightly.

With that, he strode away without another word.

Stunned for a moment, she hastily chased after him. “Wait! Wait up!”

“What is it?” Zhang Yang paused, his footsteps halting.

“Thank you so much for covering my breakfast cost,” she said quickly. “Let’s exchange contact information; I’ll repay you later. You’re here filming in Hengdian, right?”

With looks like those, she thought, he must be an actor.

“No need.” Zhang Yang shook his head gently. “It was just eight yuan—not worth going through all that trouble over.”

“If you feel indebted somehow, just help someone out in a similar situation sometime soon,” he added with a warm grin. Then, he left her behind with one last dazzling smile.

As Zhao Liying watched Zhang Yang’s retreating figure, she felt a warmth spreading within her—a genuine kindness she hadn’t expected.

But moments later, her brow furrowed deeply into a frown.

“He actually refused when I offered to give him my number?” She muttered to herself, feeling perplexed. “Am I… not attractive enough?”