The Breakup Didn’t Stop Me From Owning the World - Chapter 26

“You…”

 

“I…”

 

They spoke simultaneously, then stopped in unison, their eyes meeting as the atmosphere gradually shifted.

 

Lan Muyu was startled by Li Ruonan’s sudden intrusion, but she quickly regained her composure. Remembering how she had fled in panic from Li Ruonan’s bedroom last time, and now that Li Ruonan had taken the initiative to barge in this time, Lan Muyu wasn’t about to let this rare opportunity slip away.

 

She tugged her loosely worn bathrobe up slightly and turned fully toward Li Ruonan, feigning annoyance. “If you wanted to join me for a bath, you could’ve just said so. Was it necessary to scare me like this?”

 

“That’s not what I—”

 

Lan Muyu didn’t give Li Ruonan a chance to explain. She took a small step forward, extending her hand toward her. As her arm lifted, the water droplets on her barely concealed chest shimmered with each breath, hinting at untold allure beneath.

 

This only made Li Ruonan even more flustered.

 

After all—

 

From childhood to adulthood, Li Ruonan had effortlessly conquered academic challenges and business ventures that others found insurmountable. Yet when it came to matters of the heart, she was utterly inexperienced.

 

The sole exception had been when her mother jokingly mentioned arranging a fiancée for her shortly after she came of age.

 

In the circles of Li Ruonan’s parents, children were often bound by rigid expectations—growing up according to plan, pursuing predetermined studies, and eventually inheriting the family business step by step.

 

But exceptions always existed, and Lan Muyu was that most troublesome child—the most unconventional and rebellious of them all.

 

Later, Lan Muyu defied her family’s wishes and enrolled in an art school with the highest college entrance exam score in Yan City—the perfect example of her defiance.

 

For someone like Li Ruonan, who meticulously planned every second of her life, coexisting with Lan Muyu seemed incompatible. Yet because their parents were close, the two had known each other since childhood and got along without much difficulty, treating each other like ordinary sisters.

 

As they grew older, Lan Muyu blossomed into an even more captivating beauty while her unorthodox personality became increasingly pronounced. Lan Muyu’s upbringing wasn’t lenient, so in those years, Li Ruonan became her protector.

 

It became habitual for Lan Muyu to flee to the Li household whenever she made a mistake, with Lan’s parents turning a blind eye. Li Ruonan would scold her while simultaneously covering for her—a routine that became second nature.

 

Through years of companionship, Li Ruonan instinctively regarded Lan Muyu as her own, shielding the girl as she grew up within her carefully drawn boundaries.

 

Lan Muyu lived freely, exactly as she pleased—something Li Ruonan had never experienced. In Li Ruonan’s world, people were complicated, each burdened with immense pressure. She wanted Lan Muyu’s eyes to always retain that lively sparkle.

 

Later, when Lan Muyu moved to Cloud City and built a new life—even severing ties with her family to annul their engagement—Li Ruonan’s visit wasn’t solely at the request of Lan’s parents. She also wanted to see if the girl she’d protected for so long had truly found happiness.

 

But everything in Cloud City… wasn’t quite what Li Ruonan had imagined.

 

Lan Muyu saw Li Ruonan standing there staring at her in a daze and couldn’t help but chuckle softly, asking, “Hmm… don’t you want it?”

 

Li Ruonan pressed her lips together tightly. In this short time, she had already regained her composure from the earlier stimulation. She reached out and meticulously straightened Lan Muyu’s loose bathrobe, pulling the sash tight and tying it securely, covering her up completely.

 

As Li Ruonan dressed her, Lan Muyu cooperated with the movements while moaning dramatically, “Ah~ Mmm… Ouch—that’s hurts.”

 

Li Ruonan remained silent, but Lan Muyu’s words made the tips of her ears grow increasingly red, as if they were about to drip bl00d.

 

Once Li Ruonan’s fingers withdrew, Lan Muyu tugged at the sash. “Ah, ouch…”

 

Li Ruonan clenched her hands tightly at her sides and warned in a low voice, “Stop making those noises.”

 

Lan Muyu pouted and walked toward Li Ruonan. “Wasn’t it you who suddenly barged in while I was peacefully showering? Wasn’t it you who yanked my clothes off so roughly? Wasn’t it you who nearly strangled me with the sash?”

 

“I—”

 

“Fine, I already provide a dining companion service. If you really want me to offer a ‘lovebirds’ bath’ service, that’s not impossible either.” Lan Muyu took another step forward, closing the distance between them until they could feel each other’s breath.

 

Li Ruonan retreated half a step, but Lan Muyu grabbed the hem of her shirt. “Let go.”

 

Lan Muyu teased, “What if I don’t?”

 

“You!”

 

“Were you peeking at me while I was showering? Did I look good?”

 

Li Ruonan was stunned by Lan Muyu’s words. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her tone steady. “I only came in because I heard you scream and thought something had happened.”

 

“Oh, that.” Lan Muyu turned and pointed at the scale on the floor. “I was weighing myself earlier.”

 

“Weighing… yourself?”

 

Lan Muyu sighed. “Yeah. Normally, I should lose weight after joining the crew, but lately, you’ve been ordering so much of my favorite food at every meal. Naturally, the numbers shot up. I was just expressing my shock.”

 

“Starting tomorrow, you eat your own food, and I’ll eat mine.”

 

Lan Muyu had only been joking, but the moment she heard Li Ruonan suggest eating separately, she panicked—how else would she mooch meals?

 

She declared righteously, “No, no! I promised to provide you with a dining companion service. I can’t go back on my word.”

 

“Oh? But didn’t you say you need to lose weight?” Li Ruonan’s gaze drifted meaningfully over Lan Muyu’s chest. “They’re already lacking. If you lose any more, there’ll be nothing left.”

 

With that, she turned and walked out without hesitation, leaving Lan Muyu flushed red.

 

One second, two seconds, three seconds passed. Lan Muyu glanced down, loosened her bathrobe for a quick peek, then swiftly tightened it again. What did she mean, lacking?!

 

It was just… a tiny bit smaller than Li Ruonan’s. That’s all.

 

She picked up her discarded clothes and headed for the door. Just before leaving, she glanced back at Li Ruonan—the tucked-in shirt perfectly outlined her upper body. Lan Muyu’s ears burned again as she recalled Li Ruonan’s earlier remark about her “lacking.”

 

No, I must get even. Lan Muyu placed her changed clothes on the nearby table, letting down her wrapped-up hair, and pointed at the bed. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to massage your shoulders?”

 

Li Ruonan turned around and saw Lan Muyu’s loosely tied bathrobe belt again, along with the large expanse of fair skin exposed at her collarbone. Her barely calmed breathing gradually quickened once more.

 

She averted her gaze and said coldly, “No need. I don’t want it.”

 

“That won’t do. You have no idea how much that internet water army company has been smearing me behind my back. You helped me so much—my parents taught me since childhood to know how to repay kindness.”

 

“I have work to do.”

 

Lan Muyu gazed at Li Ruonan meaningfully. “I know you’ve already finished handling your work earlier.”

 

Li Ruonan stood up to leave. “I still have documents to review.”

 

“You read yours, I’ll massage mine—no conflict there, right?”

 

Li Ruonan had no choice but to let Lan Muyu proceed.

 

True to her word, Lan Muyu had learned some basic techniques from people on set. Finding the right pressure, she managed to relax Li Ruonan’s tense muscles considerably.

 

Li Ruonan opened a financial report on her tablet. Curious, Lan Muyu leaned in closer, her half-dry hair lightly brushing against the skin of Li Ruonan’s nape, sending tingling waves of sensation.

 

As Lan Muyu’s fingers kneaded Li Ruonan’s skin, reveling in the silky texture beneath her touch, she couldn’t help but entertain other thoughts.

 

Her movements grew increasingly lighter, like a child unwilling to part with a beloved toy, playing with Li Ruonan’s shoulders in fascination.

 

Li Ruonan’s shoulders twitched as she scolded, “Stay away from me.”

 

Lan Muyu leaned forward, closing the distance even more, her warm breath fanning against Li Ruonan’s ear. “I want to see too. Let’s look together?”

 

Li Ruonan turned her head suspiciously. Lan Muyu usually avoided such reports like the plague—why was she suddenly interested tonight?

 

“Don’t you normally steer clear of these?”

 

“I… I just suddenly felt like learning?”

 

But since Lan Muyu had brought it up, she had no reason to refuse. “Fine, let’s look together.”

 

During their viewing, Lan Muyu progressed extremely slowly—by the time Li Ruonan finished, Lan Muyu had only gotten halfway through.

 

But slow as she was, she certainly wasn’t idle.

 

Under the pretense of pointing out data, Lan Muyu reached around from behind Li Ruonan’s shoulders to indicate something on the tablet. “How is this profit margin calculated?”

 

Later, claiming she couldn’t see clearly, she rested her head against Li Ruonan’s shoulder, justifying that it brought her closer to the tablet.

 

Li Ruonan’s grip on the tablet had long tightened. “If you want to look, then look. Stop being handsy.”

 

“Who’s being handsy?” Lan Muyu’s arm circled around again as she pointed at some specialized terms. “What does these mean?”

 

“You want me to explain?”

 

“Mhm. Oh, all-powerful President Li, master of the business world, please enlighten this ignorant little me?”

 

Li Ruonan snorted. “Only when you need something do you act halfway decent.”

 

“So will you explain it to me?”

 

“You don’t even know this? Here…”

 

By the time the lengthy explanation concluded, Lan Muyu was already nodding off, reminded of her tedious high school senior year.

 

Just as her head was about to drop completely, Li Ruonan asked, “Did you understand?”

 

“Mm-hmm, got it.” Lan Muyu couldn’t wait to end this session and fawned over Li Ruonan with exaggerated enthusiasm. “You explain so well! When my dad taught me how to review documents, he was never this detailed.”

 

“Since you understand, I’ll ask a few questions to test your comprehension.”

 

Li Ruonan’s words froze Lan Muyu in place, as if she’d been caught daydreaming during class.

 

She hung her head low, mentally cursing the version of herself who’d pestered Li Ruonan for this lesson in the first place.

 

Lan Muyu pursed her lips and nuzzled her head against Li Ruonan’s shoulder, making small whimpering sounds like a distressed animal. “Mmm… whimper…”

 

Having tutored Lan Muyu before, Li Ruonan immediately recognized this act.

 

She sneered, “Feeling unwell again?”

 

Lan Muyu blinked her eyes pitifully: “My hands are sore, and I’m a bit dizzy.”

 

“Then you should go to bed early.”

 

Relieved, Lan Muyu moved away from Li Ruonan and reached for the clothes she’d set aside earlier when Li Ruonan added: “I’ll test you tomorrow. No rush.”

 

Lan Muyu stumbled, nearly falling before steadying herself and fleeing Li Ruonan’s room at top speed.

 

Whoever heard of getting forced to study after giving someone a massage? Life was hard—better make a quick escape.

 

The next morning, Lan Muyu woke up unusually early. By the time Li Ruonan got up, Xiao Zhang had already taken Lan Muyu to the film set.

 

The internet was unusually calm today, granting the “Limited Edition” crew rare peace. Having memorized all her lines days prior, Lan Muyu found the morning’s filming went smoothly, especially with her dedicated co-star Chi Huai.

 

At lunch, the meal boxes were noticeably more lavish than usual. Gu Yan even generously provided everyone with a bowl of rich soup and posted photos of the spread online: “To clear my name, here’s today’s meal for the fans (photo.jpg)”

 

Fans of the cast quickly flooded Gu Yan’s microblog:

 

Hahahaha sisters, I can feel Director Gu’s desperation to survive.

 

Gu Yan replied—“Now look at the director’s meal” (attaching a photo of his completely vegetarian box lunch, starkly different from the actors’ feast).

 

Gu Yan, you’re the director! Must you be so humble?

 

Male lead Chi Huai swiftly commented—“Director Gu’s on a diet recently.”

 

These two comments reignited activity on Gu Yan’s microblog. Unlike the aloof mystique typical of famous directors, Gu Yan’s approachable demeanor won unanimous praise from netizens. Some even joked that if his movie flopped, he could always switch to stand-up comedy.

 

This crossed Gu Yan’s red line—his movie flopping?

 

He might fail, but his movie never would!

 

Rolling up his sunscreen sleeves, Gu Yan engaged in eight hundred rounds of online battle with fans—only to be thoroughly roasted by them.

 

As the lunch break neared its end, the official microblog of a prominent legal daily published breaking news. A solemnly dressed male anchor reported that police had raided and verified an entertainment company group responsible for disrupting online order and framing multiple individuals.

 

The video also included footage of Baige Media’s office being raided by the police. Initially, the employees in the office area cursed and refused to cooperate, but their expressions changed drastically when the police presented the relevant seizure documents.

 

The scene then shifted to the executives, who, after the police verified all the evidence, faced the cameras again, weeping and confessing everything they had done in hopes of reducing their sentences.

 

The most detailed account involved the Limited Edition production team. Baige Media’s executives admitted that they were first hired to smear Limited Edition with plagiarism accusations, then later paid to hype it up after the news about Cloud and Wind being adapted into a script broke.

 

Once the hype reached its peak, they issued press releases claiming that Shadows of the Republic was actually the adaptation of Cloud and Wind, while Limited Edition was merely riding the wave—thus framing it as plagiarism.

 

However, their plan didn’t go as expected. The second phase was interrupted by Lan Muyu’s interview.

 

After that, they received an additional six-figure sum to release more scandals and smear Limited Edition…

 

When these previously concealed truths were exposed to the public, countless celebrities who had been attacked saw their fans rally together, creating an uproar online.

 

The internet may be a virtual world, but the harm caused by online verbal attacks is no less severe than real-life wounds. Netizens had long despised such marketing accounts that twisted the truth, and today, seeing them officially shut down, they cheered.

 

Capitalizing on the public outrage, relevant authorities swiftly announced a crackdown on online misconduct, vowing to eradicate such malicious practices.

 

This stance from the authorities silenced any marketing accounts still testing the waters. Meanwhile, the capital behind Baige Media was also exposed, pointing directly to Tianhao Entertainment.

 

When insiders revealed that Tianhao’s executives had been taken in for questioning the night before, netizens remained skeptical, hesitant to jump to conclusions.

 

But when Baige Media’s shareholder structure and investor identities were dug up, the public could no longer stay calm. Recalling the confessions of Baige’s executives—how they had smeared half the entertainment industry yet never targeted Tianhao’s artists—it became clear: if Baige was under Tianhao’s umbrella, how could Tianhao be innocent?

 

Netizens began tracing Tianhao Entertainment’s activities, and soon, the production team of Shadows of the Republic was exposed—its lead actress was none other than Tianhao’s Fu Yao!

 

The pieces fell into place. Connecting this to the press conference where Lan Muyu had publicly humiliated Fu Yao over her infidelity, along with the exposure of Tianhao’s exploitative contract terms, it was obvious Fu Yao had been nursing a grudge for a long time.

 

The Shadows of the Republic set was swarmed by reporters, and Jiang Qianrou still couldn’t reach Fu Yao, infuriating Jiang Yu. But as her only granddaughter, Jiang Yu had no choice but to pull strings to salvage Shadows of the Republic, swallowing his pride in the process.

 

On Weibo, the hashtag #BoycottTianhaoEntertainment# kept gaining traction. Without any involvement from marketing accounts, it soared to the top of trending searches purely through the efforts of passionate netizens, even earning a “Burst” label.

 

Meanwhile, chaos erupted at Tianhao Entertainment.

 

News of Fu Yao being taken away by the police last night quickly spread within the company, leaving all its artists in a state of panic. If even Fu Yao wasn’t spared, could Tianhao still protect them?

 

Adding fuel to the fire, the online boycott against Tianhao Entertainment intensified. On-screen comments flooded the currently airing dramas of Tianhao’s artists—waves of red boycott messages lighting up the screen.

 

Endorsement deals also faced backlash. Posters were torn down, and netizens bombarded brands with boycott demands. Some even went as far as requesting refunds for products they had previously purchased, vowing to continue until the brands dropped Tianhao’s artists.

 

With numerous artists under its banner, Tianhao’s endorsements covered nearly every aspect of daily life. Brands, unwilling to be the first to act, chose to stay silent and observe.

 

By evening, things escalated when netizens resurfaced allegations of tax evasion against a cosmetics brand endorsed by one of Tianhao’s artists. Worse yet, the brand’s official Weibo had once supported divisive rhetoric about China’s territorial integrity—crossing a red line.

 

When it came to national interests, there was no room for idols. Even the artist’s own fans demanded the termination of the endorsement. Under mounting pressure, the artist had no choice but to voluntarily terminate the contract, compensating the brand with a hefty sum.

 

This incident became the tipping point. Brands grew increasingly anxious as netizens scrutinized them with a magnifying glass. For companies, maintaining a flawless record was nearly impossible—and they knew exactly what skeletons lurked in their closets.

 

To avoid collateral damage, brands rushed to terminate contracts with Tianhao’s artists, demanding no-compensation exits.

 

But how were the artists at fault? It was Fu Yao’s decisions that had dragged Tianhao into this storm. Even as employees, they refused to bear the losses on her behalf.

 

Soon, Tianhao’s artists began mobilizing, banding together to pressure the company’s executives, demanding contract terminations.

 

However, Tianhao Entertainment was ultimately controlled by the Fu family. Despite shareholders’ discontent, they had no authority to override the family’s decisions. Left with no choice, they turned to other members of the Fu family for help.