Chapter Text
Like Phoenix From Ashes by Master Shang Fei was not the worst novel Shen Yuan had read in his life.
It was, however, aggressively mediocre.
It ranked comfortably above the stallion-era trash that had once dominated the internet—looking at you, Airplane—but never quite reached the level where Shen Yuan could forgive it for its sins.
Reading webnovels was one of his guiltier indulgences, usually squeezed into the gaps between online meetings with the board. As acting CEO of Shen Inc., his job was less 'visionary leadership' and more 'make sure this doesn’t implode until my brothers crawl back from their extended vacations'.
He still couldn’t believe Da-ge had fucked off to Antarctica.
Webnovels, unfortunately, were the inevitable result of unchecked human creativity colliding with capitalism. Xianxia, wuxia, CEO romance, transmigration, isekai, murder mysteries—if you were brave enough, you could find anything.
Shen Yuan loved to hate them.
This one had started decently: a likeable protagonist with a zero-to-hero arc, a restrained romantic subplot, and an entertainment industry backdrop that almost flirted with critique. The antagonist, at first, even showed promise.
Then the protagonist became perfect.
Rivals lost brain cells by the chapter. Conflicts dissolved before they could matter. The antagonist—once positioned as a bitter product of the system—was flattened into a caricature, suddenly stupid enough to attempt murder just to make the protagonist look clever.
And then there was his namesake, Shen Yuan.
Another casualty of the entertainment industry. Another life snuffed out to fuel the protagonist’s righteous ascent.
By the time the antagonist faded into obscurity after losing a major film award, Shen Yuan felt like vomiting blood.
He cracked his knuckles, keeping the last of yesterday’s mantou between teeth, and left a scathing review. For a brief, vindictive moment, he entertained the idea of printing the entire novel on toilet paper and distributing it across the company offices.
Apparently, the universe really disliked petty revenge, because as he hit Enter, Shen Yuan choked on badly minced pork meat and fucking died.
One moment he was clawing for breath. The next, he stood beneath warm lights, champagne flute cool against his fingers, soft jazz drifting through the air.
A reception. No—too intimate for that. The room was tastefully understated in the way only obscene amounts of money could afford: dark wood, linen tablecloths, floral arrangements that looked expensive without trying. The air smelled faintly of alcohol and expensive perfumes.
A man—tall, refined, devastatingly handsome—met his dazed gaze with a gentle, unhurried smile.
“If xiao Yuan agrees,” he said mildly, “a little company. Nothing nefarious. In return, xiao Yuan gets the first male lead role.”
Shen Yuan stared, mind desperately trying to put this absurd situation into some kind of valid context. Was he being propositioned?
What company, you big-eyed wolf?
Do I look like an escort?!
“No,” Shen Yuan said sharply.
The man's smile froze. He actually had the audacity to look surprised.
Around them, conversation flowed on uninterrupted. Crystal glasses clinked. Someone laughed softly at a joke Shen Yuan couldn’t hear.
The man recovered quickly. His expression softened—not offended, but intrigued, as if Shen Yuan had said something unexpected rather than inappropriate.
“There seems to be some kind of misunderstanding.”
Oh, I bet there was.
“Wasn’t it xiao Yuan’s manager who approached me first?”
What manager? Don’t tell me this is a reenactment of ‘Transmigrated into sex worker, but the domineering CEO fell in love with me’ trope?
Shen Yuan narrowed his eyes.
“Even if that was the case, my manager doesn’t make decisions for me.”
“Is that so?” an older man in a designer suit stepped from behind Shen Yuan, visibly entertained. “You should think carefully, little star, lest you offend someone less forgiving than Yue-xiansheng.”
“No need to intervene, Tianlang-zong,” demurred Mister no-nefarious-purposes.
Supposedly Yue-xiansheng.
Shen Yuan might be jumping to conclusions but he couldn’t help but think of the last novel he read before his… demise, which both had someone surnamed ‘Yue’ who had dealings with a certain ‘Shen Yuan’. It felt like too much of a coincidence to dismiss.
Don’t tell me I truly transmigrated? And into that piece of trash novel?
Yue Qingyuan looked at him with a gentle smile, eyes crinkled. “Xiao Yuan is permitted to change his mind, anytime.”
Damn well, he is! I mean, I am!
“Thanking Tianlang-zong for his wisdom, I’ll take it into consideration.” Not.
By the chortle coming from Tianlang-zong, it seemed his unspoken message was received.
There was nothing more for him to do but try to find his wayward manager, interrogate him, strangle that bastard, and then have a nice evening meltdown over transmigrating into a dead man walking.
“Excuse me.” He placed the champagne flute onto the nearest table with perhaps a bit more force than necessary and turned away before both men could say anything else.
His heart was pounding.
If his memory of the novel was correct—and he was unfortunately very good at remembering things he hated—this was the CEO of Cang Qiong, a massive company specializing in public relations and lawyer services, widely known and used by major entertainment agencies.
Antagonist’s childhood friend. The man who, in the original story, offered his White Moonlight’s lookalike a back deal.
The same one that ended with Original Goods dead.
Absolutely not.
Shen Yuan reached into his pocket with hands that were only trembling a little and pulled out his phone. The screen lit up obediently, illuminating a face he saw every day in the mirror. He scanned his finger, biometry getting him access—all hail modern technology!
He scrolled through his last We Chat messages, quickly zeroing on ones from someone saved as “Manager Xiang”. Shen Yuan walked toward where he thought could be the exit, typing in the meantime.
To: Manager Xiang
⤾ I'm done for tonight. Please pick me up.
The reply came almost immediately.
From: Manager Xiang
⤿ Where are you?
Shen Yuan sent the location pin as he reached the outside.
Head down, he projected a ‘do-not-disturb’ aura, feigning being busy. Despite what seemed to be warm, summer weather, he felt a cold shiver travel down his spine as he thought of the earlier interaction.
He counted his breaths, all four hundred fifty three of them, until a black sedan pulled up and a man in his late twenties waved at him. Shen Yuan nodded with confidence he didn’t have, and sat in the front seat.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Xiang Fei said, eyeing him critically. “Or pissed one off.”
“Something like that,” murmured Shen Yuan, buckling the seatbelt. The car started with a faint rumble. He watched the world pass by out the tinted window, lost in thoughts.
They drove for a full minute before Xiang Fei spoke again.
“Yue Qingyuan spoke to you.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Shen Yuan replied anyway. “I refused him.”
The car jerked slightly.
Manager Xiang corrected it immediately, white knuckles gripping tightly the steering wheel.
“…You what?”
“I said no,” Shen Yuan repeated, facing the new bane of his existence with Are you hard of hearing or just stupid? expression. “Very clearly.”
“You—” Xiang Fei inhaled sharply. “You know he never backs anyone, right?”
“I do now.”
“Do you?” He was shot with a look that was equal parts disbelief and faint terror. “Because having him in your corner, especially this early, could—”
“I prefer to do it on my own merit,” Shen Yuan interrupted.
The words were not a lie—he did prefer to do things on his own. The thought of reaching some heights of career based on some underhanded means left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Xiang Fei was quiet for a long moment.
“…You know,” he said finally, “even though Yue Qingyuan thought you kind of look similar to Shen Jiu, you don’t need to act like him too.”
Shen Yuan frowned. “I’m not acting like anyone but myself.”
Xiang Fei sighed and pulled into the underground parking of a nondescript apartment complex.
“I was afraid you’d say that” he muttered, turning off the engine.
They walked in silence to the elevator, watching the floor numbers climb until it stopped at three with a soft ding.
Shen Yuan followed his manager as inconspicuously as he could—considering he had no idea which apartment was his, getting lost would have been disastrous. Worst case scenario, he’d pretend he’d had too much to drink.
They reached their destination. Shen Yuan took in the door handle and the small keypad set into the frame, then pressed his finger to the biometric scanner.
The lock chimed softly and the door opened with a muted click, confirming his suspicion that this was company-leased housing.
The invisible collar around his neck tightened.
He turned back. Xiang Fei stood awkwardly in the corridor, hands in his pockets.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning,” he started, before word-vomiting an entire list. “Don’t eat anything spicy. Memorize the script. Do your skincare. And get some damn sleep!”
“Yes, mom,” Shen Yuan shot back, despairing at the loss of a good meal.
“I’m serious, Shen Yuan!” Xiang Fei called as the door closed in his face.
Left alone, the baby transmigrator stood in the middle of the apartment and finally exhaled. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension, as he looked around.
It was a fairly standard company-leased apartment: a compact living area with a gray sofa pushed against the wall, a small kitchenette tucked into one corner, and a bedroom partially visible through a sliding door. Neutral walls, minimal decoration, and practical furniture made it feel more showroom than home, but the smart lock on the door and neatly organized space reminded him that someone cared enough to keep him secure—just not comfortable.
It wasn’t like he had to live there forever.
Speaking of which…
He started rifling through the drawers until he found a leather-bound organizer containing documents, including his agency contract. Shen Yuan skimmed through it, noting with faint amusement that he was supposed to be twenty years old again. His brief good mood evaporated as he reached the section outlining contractual obligations—thorough, and fairly generous for a complete newbie.
Maybe Xiang Fei wasn’t such a bad manager after all.
Shen Yuan quickly summarized the contents: as a Company asset, he would be provided with a manager, a company-leased apartment, and training to support career growth—acting, languages, and any other skills the Company deemed necessary—for three years, with the possibility of extension if both parties agreed.
He could refuse scripts or advertisements, but had to accept alternatives if offered, unless the agent confirmed no opportunities existed. Standard clauses about maintaining behavior that reflected positively on the Company were included, but there were no typical dating or drug restrictions.
He skipped to the last section: violations or contractual failures, including early termination, would incur penalties.
Shen Yuan opened his bank account app, and nearly felt thick black stress lines crawling up his face, anime-style. There wasn’t enough for even five hot pots—not to mention covering potential liability charges.
He put the binder back in the drawer and went to the bathroom in a daze.
Here goes the great plan to take a page out of his brothers and fuck off somewhere remote…
He showered on autopilot, thoughts churning in his head, feeling a bit better as the nearly scalding water brought out the scent of jasmine in the foggy room. He sighed at a set of unfamiliar cosmetics, silently praising the Original Goods for being meticulous enough to keep them in order of use.
Face sheet mask on, towel loosely draped around his hips, he collapsed onto the bed. As a normal millennial, the phone was in his hand in less than a second.
His official Weibo account was simply depressing.
A handful of followers, a company-approved profile photo. Carefully worded posts that were either written or vetted by his manager—not surprising, considering Xiang Fei probably had all his social media passwords.
“That will not do,” Shen Yuan muttered.
Ten minutes later, Peerless Cucumber was born under a new, untied to his name, email. He began his search for the Protagonist, but ‘Luo Binghe’ yielded nothing promising. Considering the timeline, it must be a few years before the novel’s plot.
Going full Internet stalker mode, he found Yue Qingyuan’s profile. Photo checked out, as suspected—good to have confirmation. He skimmed the bio, flicked through recent posts.
Wait. He scrolled back to the ‘About Me’ section. He’s thirty-one?!
It didn’t matter that before his death Shen Yuan had been in his late twenties—this body was not.
“Disgusting beast,” Shen Yuan spat, silently vowing to avoid that man at all costs. It wasn’t even about the age, but the coercion and clear imbalance of power.
That made him wonder about the lecher’s ‘White Moonlight’---Shen Jiu. Supposedly, they were similar in looks?
A few seconds later, Shen Yuan looked blankly at the photo.
Maybe, if I squint…
Saying he was similar to a man with such a face card was like comparing a house cat to a lynx. One could take it as a compliment—who wouldn’t, being called a lookalike of a peerless, cold beauty?
If Shen Jiu ever saw it mentioned in the novel—who was he kidding? The man definitely saw it, or at least his PR team did—he would be rightfully furious. How bold of Yue Qingyuan to try to bed a substitute, one that wasn’t even that alike.
Huh, Shen Jiu’s only twenty-eight? Seems like the CEO always liked them younger.
Shen Jiu’s Weibo was sparse. Most posts were obviously created by his team—promotional content, interviews, PR fluff—but even those drew thousands of comments from fans.
And then—
One photo.
Nothing special: a pale hand with long fingers petting a white, fluffy cat. The caption read simply: Xiao Bai. No tags. No obvious filters.
Shen Yuan stared at it for a long moment.
Animals were supposed to like good people.
Either Shen Jiu wasn’t as bad as the novel claimed, or the animal instincts in this world were severely compromised.
Any proper internet persona needed a solid cover to gather truly useful information. And the best source of gossip? Fan groups. It didn’t matter if they were antis or ‘true fans’—most had a fandom president communicating directly with the celebrity’s PR team to coordinate activities.
Perfect opportunity to gather intel and try to control his own future.
Shen Yuan clicked the cat picture, grimacing at hundreds of comments mentioning hands for some reason. The cat was cute, though.
Without thinking, he tapped the heart icon and followed the profile.
It wasn’t like he couldn’t fake being a fan, how hard would that be anyway?
I’ll need to start looking for an ‘in’ soon. The good type of groups are rather selective.
His phone buzzed, showing 10.57 pm and an unread message.
From: Manager Xiang
⤿ Are you in bed? Have you read the script?
In a fit of childish pettiness, he changed the contact name.
To: Nagging Mom
⤾ Yes
Shen Yuan put the phone away, taking the thick stack of paper from his nightstand, and started to read.
By page ten, he was already cursing.