Chapter 111: Chasing Profit
August, A City.
The scorching sun hung high in the sky.
It was the peak of summer, and at noon, the asphalt roads were so hot that one could hardly set foot on them.
Wang Xi had just come out of her rented apartment. She had pedaled her bicycle the entire way to save time, sweating profusely in the process.
When she reached her destination, she stared at her messy hair, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. It took her a long moment to adjust her mindset from ‘Why on earth did I decide to come to the airport at noon? Am I insane?’
Making money wasn’t shameful.
She took a deep breath and told herself that silently.
After making sure she was composed, she picked up her camera—far more valuable than her own life—and entered the airport.
A City’s airport was the largest in the province, lavishly decorated, and even considered a semi-tourist attraction. At this moment, the beautiful and spacious terminal was bustling with hurried travelers.
She took a quick turn around the area and precisely located a gathering crowd.
Ignoring the curious gazes around her, she shook out the newspaper she had grabbed from home at the last minute, spread it on the floor, and sat down. Then, she lowered her head and began adjusting her camera.
Her phone vibrated—it was a message from her pinned chat.
She opened it. On the other end, as always, was someone full of enthusiasm and energy.
[Xibao, are you there yet? I saw an update from the front line saying Tingting’s plane has landed!]
She snapped a picture of the airport floor and sent it over. The angle made it look like it was taken by some crawling creature—completely unprofessional.
The reply came instantly: [Fangirl.]
Then another message followed: [I’ll be counting on you today! [Heart gesture]]
Wang Xi thought, It’s no trouble at all. It’s a few hundred bucks, after all.
With that in mind, she skillfully sent back a [flower emoji], then turned off her phone screen. Squinting, she gazed at the nearby announcement board.
—
Wang Xi was a professional paparazzi-for-hire.
She had only been in the business for six months.
A paparazzi-for-hire, as the name suggests, was someone who went to a location on behalf of a client to take pictures of their favorite celebrity.
When Wang Xi’s mother, who lived far away in G City, first heard of this concept, she scoffed at it, convinced that taking a few lousy pictures couldn’t possibly make much money.
Then, Wang Xi showed her the incoming payments in her account.
Her mother had nothing more to say.
Paparazzi-for-hire was a new industry.
And “new” meant that whether or not one made money depended entirely on the person.
Wang Xi was the kind who made money.
She had loved photography since childhood and had a natural talent for it. Her break into the industry happened when a casual photo she took went viral online. That very night, someone messaged her, asking if she accepted commissions.
Two months in, she quit her job and started her own account.
Her account photographed everyone—it was good for attracting traffic. On the side, she took private commissions, charging three figures per photo, and fans flocked to her.
They believed her pictures were worth the price.
And Wang Xi took photography seriously.
She wasn’t a fan of celebrities herself and had no idea why young girls these days were so eager to spend so much money on strangers. In her opinion, spending a few hundred yuan on a commissioned photo would be better spent on a nice down jacket for themselves.
But that money was going into her pocket.
So Wang Xi had no objections.
The wealthy woman she was texting today was one of her regulars.
Because Wang Xi was professional and never disrupted public order just to get a shot, this client had hired her multiple times—and always paid generously.
Wang Xi was more than happy to take repeat business.
Less hassle, more money.
Most importantly, this particular rich woman was a fan of an obscure D-list idol, someone so unknown that barely anyone showed up at the airport to greet him.
Which meant Wang Xi’s job was usually easy.
But today was clearly an exception.
For the third time, Wang Xi was nearly shoved aside. That was enough—she stood up decisively.
It was fine when there was space, but in a crowd like this, sitting down was practically asking for trouble. Clutching her camera, she moved numbly through the dense throng of people, fully aware that if her little idol hadn’t suddenly gone viral, then the only other explanation was that a top-tier celebrity just so happened to be on this flight.
After struggling to reach a slightly less crowded spot, she sucked in a sharp breath.
Wang Xi had a strange rule.
If a celebrity had too many fans, she wouldn’t take the job.
The reason was simple—she had social anxiety.
Before she started working as a paparazzi-for-hire, she once happened to be on the same flight as one of the country’s biggest stars at the time. The moment she stepped off the plane, she was nearly crushed in the chaos. She had felt like she was about to pass out. Ever since then, she had written this rule at the top of her pinned guidelines.
But…
Feeling lightheaded, Wang Xi thought to herself—
Even back then, were there this many people?
It had been crowded, sure, but at least it was still somewhat orderly.
Leaning against the railing, Wang Xi made up her mind—whoever this was, she was going to take as many shots as possible. She had to at least earn enough to compensate for the psychological trauma.
With that thought, she finally pulled herself together.
Just then, a commotion erupted at the exit.
While the people around her were still frozen in surprise, Wang Xi, ever the professional, reacted much faster—she immediately raised her camera.
The noise around her surged to an almost unbearable level. She frowned, forcing herself not to turn and run. Instead, she maintained a professional, focused gaze on her viewfinder.
Through the lens, she first saw a line of security guards and bodyguards passing by.
And then—
A strikingly handsome, yet cold face came into view.
The young man was so breathtakingly handsome that it was almost unbelievable.
Wang Xi wasn’t saying this lightly—this was the voice of experience.
The camera had a way of magnifying flaws—but sometimes, some people simply didn’t have any to begin with.
She had photographed countless idols before. Most of their final images required her careful editing and touch-ups. But this person—he was different.
His features were delicate and refined, the kind of soft beauty that lacked any aggression, which was usually a disadvantage in the industry. But the sheer perfection of his facial features completely overrode what little “flaw” that might have been.
His skin was pale, flawless, and looked almost translucent under the airport lights.
But the most striking feature was his eyes.
Just as she snapped the photo, he looked up—dark eyes meeting her lens with a fleeting sense of confusion. But within 0.01 seconds, he had already adjusted his expression, seamlessly switching into a gentle smile.
A smile so stunning that Wang Xi was still in shock.
When she finally snapped out of it, the first thing she did was check the photos she had just taken.
Her heart skipped a beat.
And then another.
Because what she had just captured were, without a doubt, two legendary shots.
In the first, his gaze was dazed, his dark eyes carrying a misty, dreamlike quality.
In the second, his lips curved into a soft, crescent-moon smile.
Even straight out of the camera, the photos were mesmerizing, carrying an indescribable atmosphere.
And most importantly—his face was simply too stunning.
Even for someone like Wang Xi, who spent all her time behind a camera, this was exactly the kind of visual perfection she pursued.
She couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Amidst the deafening screams around her, she randomly grabbed someone nearby and, as calmly as she could manage, asked:
“Who is this?”
The second the words left her mouth—
She felt the entire airport fall silent for a brief moment.
Countless heads snapped toward her in unison.
Every single person stared at her as if she were some kind of alien.
Wang Xi: “……”
The girl she had grabbed stared at her in shock for a moment before blurting out in disbelief,
“Sister, that’s Xie Xizhao from TP??? The most popular male idol in all of C-entertainment right now—literally no competition. No way… you seriously don’t know who he is?!”
—
Xie Xizhao slipped into the nanny van under the protection of his bodyguards.
By now, he was already outside the airport, but even beyond the security barricades, there was still a massive crowd of fans stretching as far as the eye could see.
He sighed. “Brother Cheng.”
“I know, I know.” Miao Haicheng held up a hand to calm him, then added, “Next time, we won’t let them gather. But you just got back to the country—we needed to prove your popularity.”
Xie Xizhao lifted his gaze, giving him a look.
Miao Haicheng coughed. “…And maybe get you trending while we’re at it.”
Xie Xizhao didn’t say anything.
Miao Haicheng knew he wasn’t happy about it, but there was nothing to be done now.
Tactfully, he changed the subject. “Straight to the red carpet?”
Xie Xizhao hesitated for a moment before replying, “No need.”
“I already told them we’d go together,” he added, his tone softening. “Let’s head home first.”
Miao Haicheng exhaled in relief. “Alright.”
The car smoothly pulled away, heading toward a familiar destination.
Inside the vehicle, Xie Xizhao lowered his head and sent a message.
Then, after a brief pause, he decided to roll down the window.
Facing the fans who were reluctant to see him leave, he smiled and said,
“See you tonight.”
—
This was TP’s third year since debuting.
And if there was any difference from when they first started—
It was that now, they were famous.
It wasn’t just the minor popularity they had gained during the survival show.
Nor was it the overnight success they experienced right after debuting.
This was a true breakthrough—an explosive rise to fame that shattered boundaries.
To put it simply, every time TP released a new song, it would instantly dominate the background music of shopping malls across the country.
As Miao Haicheng put it, they were “the one and only national boy group of the moment.”
Now, wherever Xie Xizhao went, there were countless cameras and fans trailing behind.
Gone were the days when he and his rookie teammates could go out for hotpot without being recognized.
Fame naturally brought traffic and attention.
Not just offline, but online as well.
Over the past few years, TP had become Shenghong’s flagship boy group, earning the company a fortune. Most of the time, Xie Xizhao was tolerant of the company’s decisions—except when it came to marketing and hype tactics. On that issue, he and the company were constantly at odds.
It all started with their first album.
Back when they debuted, Xie Xizhao’s involvement in the album’s production as a rookie idol had sparked intense debate.
There were two reasons for this:
First, he was an inexperienced newcomer, and a debut album was critical for a group’s success—letting a rookie participate in its production was a huge risk.
Second, he wasn’t even signed as an artist under Shenghong.
Because of this, Shenghong was praised as the most generous and fair company in the industry.
And to be fair, at the time, it really was.
During TP’s first year, Xie Xizhao’s relationship with the company could even be described as pleasant.
Of course, he knew the reason why—Shenghong wanted to make TP their signature brand.
And he had his own demands.
He wanted creative freedom.
Both sides had their own interests, and for a while, their cooperation worked well.
But at the end of the day, Shenghong was still a business.
And businesses always chase profit.
Xie Xizhao closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
His phone vibrated.
He glanced down—it was a message from their five-person group chat.
Xiao Ai: @ZhaoBao Are you here yet? I’m starving.
Xie Xizhao chuckled.
ZhaoBao: Go ahead and eat first. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.
Xiao Ai: Oh.
One second later, a private message popped up.
Qingyuan: I saw the news. There were so many people—it looked pretty dangerous.
Qingyuan: I’ll talk to the company’s operations team later. Every time, it’s always “accidentally” leaking your schedule. If they keep being this “careless,” I might just “accidentally” have someone dock their salary. 🙂
Qingyuan: Just come back first. We’ll talk when you’re here.
Xie Xizhao’s lips curled up slightly, a hint of helplessness in his expression.
Over the past year, his disagreements with the company’s management philosophy had become more pronounced. The fact that it hadn’t escalated beyond just a disagreement owed a lot to Ai Qingyuan.
When the young master decided to be arrogant, no one could stop him—not even the company dared to.
Xie Xizhao never actively asked him for help, but Ai Qingyuan had gotten exceptionally good at reading between the lines over the past two years. Most of the time, Xie Xizhao didn’t even need to say anything—Ai Qingyuan would notice on his own.
Just like now.
This whole situation was indeed frustrating.
Xie Xizhao wasn’t against airport receptions, and he could understand why fans wanted to see idols in person. But with their massive fanbase, things always got out of control if crowd management wasn’t properly handled. It disrupted airport operations, and with so many people, the safety risks were high.
Unless absolutely necessary, Xie Xizhao felt that private schedules should remain private.
At the very least, they shouldn’t be officially publicized.
He replied with a simple “Got it.”
Then, he added, “Almost there.”
After that, he turned off his screen.
His mind was still filled with the scenes he had scouted half a month ago—vast snowy plains, withered branches crushed under the weight of snow, and a wooden cabin standing alone in the distance.
They had never really done a winter-themed album before. Xie Xizhao thought it was about time.
As he envisioned the concept, he absentmindedly tapped the edge of the soft seat.
The car’s air conditioning hummed in the background, a steady white noise that felt almost soothing.
In the midst of this quiet, his phone vibrated again.
He assumed it was Ai Qingyuan, and with a touch of exasperation at the corner of his lips, he reached for his phone, ready to send another reply—only for his fingers to pause mid-air.
Sister Qing: Back already?
Sister Qing: [Document]
Sister Qing: This is the script. I’ve already coordinated with them. Take a look—if everything’s good, you can go in for the audition in a couple of days.
?