Chapter 74: This is Zhao Liying, You Fake Fan

“If I could get dirt on him, I could control him.”

“Even now, I still despise him.”

Zhang Yang traversed the Hengdian Film Studios, effortlessly passing through checkpoints via facial recognition and entry permits. He arrived at the gate of the Ming-Qing Palace Courtyard, currently rented by the Palace Locks and Pearls production team.

Palace Locks and Pearls was the sequel to Palace Locks of Jade. The male lead, played by He Shengming, was the same character from the first part, while Yuan Shanshan was the new female lead. Yu Zhen once again wrote the script.

Yu Zhen, a graduate of the Shanghai Theatre Academy, was technically Zhang Yang’s senior from the same school. However, Zhang Yang felt nothing but revulsion towards him.

Yu Zhen was undeniably talented, but his achievements came at the cost of his integrity and moral compass. Most people wouldn’t like him.

Plagiarism, extortion, shameless attention-seeking—Yu Zhen had no qualms about such unscrupulous tactics. He shamelessly exploited his signed artists for personal gain.

Of course, Zhang Yang wasn’t a savior or a holier-than-thou saint; under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t waste energy on such people either. Otherwise, he’d end up managing half the entertainment industry.

His animosity towards Yu Zhen stemmed solely from a grudge carried over from their previous lifetime. Back then, Yu Zhen, leveraging his influence within the industry, had ruthlessly piggybacked on Zhang Yang’s breakthrough success. He insisted that Zhang Yang’s work was an outright copycat of The Legend of Lu Zhen.

“In this life, I’ll make sure you never get to produce Lu Zhen’s Legend,” Zhang Yang seethed with resentment.

But Zhang Yang’s resolve wasn’t the stuff of pipe dreams.

The production team for Lu Zhen’s Legend consisted of three key members: Gao Xi, the director and founder of Xi Century Film, responsible for financing; Yu Zhen, who led his own production studio, handling the main creation; and Zhang Wei, the screenwriter.

Gao Xi had previously served as the supervisor of Prestige Imperial Concubine—a show Zhang Yang had crossed paths with before. A few opportunities had arisen recently thanks to their connection, and Zhang Yang had assisted him on a minor matter.

With this relationship established, Zhang Yang was determined to find a way to thwart Yu Zhen’s plans.

“Don’t know who,” Zhang Yang muttered.

He positioned himself in a corner, then activated both the pinhole camera in his shirt collar and the one in his pocket, ensuring a dual perspective.

While waiting, he glanced at his Entertainment Industry Opportunities Handbook:

Location: Peninsula XX Bar, Room XX

Guide: (Locked/1 Character Point)

He decided to wait and see before unlocking the guide.

Reflecting on the opportunities he’d seized so far, he realized being a paparazzo could be quite promising.

Not only could he appear at the right time and place to help those in need, but he could also witness people’s mistakes.

Just ten days ago, he’d caught Zhang Han hooking up with a woman in a private room at a Modu bar.

Uninterested in selling the footage or exposing it to the media—such affairs were all too common in the entertainment industry—he’d kept it on his computer instead.

If Zhang Han ever crossed him, he’d have the perfect tool for revenge.

Or perhaps he’d need a news scoop to divert public attention; then it’d be time to whip out this hidden ace.

This incident inspired his hope of capturing Yu Zhen’s scandalous moments as well.

“Hm?” Zhang Yang’s expression shifted to one of surprise.

The guide had updated with new information.

“What’s going on here?”

“Can I repeatedly refresh opportunities?”

“Or is this place just full of incidents?”

Zhang Yang began scheming.

The Palace Locks and Pearls production boasted no shortage of actors worth mentioning.

He Shengming, Yuan Shanshan, Du Chun, Shu Chang, Zhang JN, Zhao Liying, and others, along with occasional appearances by Big Mimi and Feng Shaofeng.

A potential trigger for opportunities?

“Yang Mi! Yang Mi!”

“Big Mimi!”

“Mimi!”

”…”

Suddenly, a commotion arose at the entrance to the Ming-Qing Palace.

“Could this opportunity be linked to Miss Honey again?” Zhang Yang’s interest was piqued, but a hint of something peculiar crossed his face.

A woman emerged from the gate, dressed casually but with her hair parted down the middle and adorned with a hairpiece—she likely still wore remnants of her acting costume. Her expressive eyes conveyed a mix of exasperation and resignation.

Beside her, a young woman who appeared to be her personal assistant continuously addressed the agitated crowd.

calls for “Yang Mi” began to subside, yet they didn’t completely disappear.

Zhang Yang recognized the woman with the center-parted hair: it was Zhao Liying, who had contributed an opportunity point to him before.

Here’s the moment Zhao Liying got mistaken for Yang Mi among her fans and tourists—a classic case of mistaken identity.

Zhang Yang was well-aware of the feud between Zhao Liying and Yang Mi. In simple terms, Zhao Liying, unhappy about being confused with Yang Mi, had taken to Weibo to question this recurring mix-up.

This incident had occurred not long after the release of New Legend of Pearl, which had given Zhao Liying some fame due to her role as Qing’er. However, Yang Mi was already a top-tier superstar.

Yang Mi’s fans were irked and took to the internet to indirectly criticize Zhao Liying, later becoming the core members of Zhao Liying’s anti-fan base.

“I recall Zhao Liying clarifying in an interview that it took four consecutive days of being mistaken for someone else before she couldn’t help but post her frustrations. It was mainly directed at tourists.”

“Given Zhao-jie’s straightforward personality, I figured she wasn’t lying.”

“But Big Mimi never did anything wrong in the whole affair.”

“Yet their fans ended up with a mortal grudge.”

“Turned into perfect control groups overnight.”

Zhang Yang stroked his chin thoughtfully.

So this opportunity was about helping Zhao Liying clear her name? He’d have to strategize; rushing in wouldn’t do. Mind you, Zhao Liying had come a long way, now with her own driver and personal assistant.

“Yang Mi! Yang Mi!”

“Sign for me, Yang Mi.”

As Zhao Liying and her assistant got into the car, someone still ran up to knock on the window.

When the car drove off, those people seemed to mutter some curses.

Before long, there was another stir from the direction of the entrance.

The real Yang Mi appeared, her hair also parted in the middle and adorned with a hairpiece. Under the protection of several bodyguards, she climbed into a minivan.

Tsk. Zhang Yang smirked.

If only a security guard had shouted at that moment, “That’s Zhao Liying! You fake fans don’t even know your idols!”

And then Yang Mi could have chimed in, “Hello everyone, I’m Yuan Shanshan.”

He couldn’t even begin to fathom how utterly absurd the scene had been.

“Wrap it up for today. We’ll be back tomorrow.”

Glancing at the time, Zhang Yang packed up his gear and turned to leave.

“Hm?”

Inside the nanny van, Yang Mi stared out the window, her gaze fixed on the spot where Zhang Yang had stood just moments ago.

“Miss Yang, is something wrong?” the secretary asked, concern etched on his face.

“It’s nothing,” Yang Mi replied, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Just feeling a bit weary from all this rushing around.” The exhaustion in his eyes was palpable. “Pass me the script. It’s a rare chance to work with a director like Guy Ke, so I want to make sure I’m fully prepared for the audition. I need to familiarize myself with the lines…”

The secretary swiftly handed over the script, his eyes full of genuine care. “Miss Yang, Miss Yao mentioned you’re pretty much set for the role. Why don’t you take a moment to rest?”

Yang Mi shook her head, but as she began reading through the script, her eyelids grew heavy, and she soon drifted off.

Meanwhile, Zhao Liying’s secretary was offering words of comfort. “Miss Zhao, your fame is only going to grow. Eventually, no one will mistake you for anyone else.”

“It’s alright,” Zhao Liying replied with a soft, reassuring smile. “Yang Mi is a big star—I can’t compete with that. But isn’t the confusion a sign that I have the potential to make it big too?”

The secretary nodded understandingly.

Both women brushed off the minor mix-up.

However, the next day, when they found themselves facing the same situation in the same spot after another round of auditions, Zhao Liying’s expression turned noticeably sour.

“Is it their eyes or their brains that are malfunctioning?”

If Zhang Yang could hear her, he’d probably retort: “It’s clearly their moral character that’s the issue.”