**"The Path of Life"** initially garnered almost zero attention. After all, the original novel wasn’t popular, its fans were low-key, the director was unknown, and the cast lacked star power.
Yet, against all odds, this seemingly doomed drama gained traction—thanks to **Sheng Quan**, a famously wealthy fan who became its most vocal cheerleader.
The mere gimmick of *"a rich superfan personally overseeing the production"* was enough to hype up audiences long before the show even aired.
Of course, there were naysayers. Some urged everyone not to get their hopes up, and one highly upvoted comment under a pre-release discussion thread for **"The Path of Life"** summed it up:
*["Let’s not kid ourselves with that ‘trust the taste of the wealthy’ nonsense. Watching TV and making TV are two entirely different things. Just because someone’s good at enjoying dramas doesn’t mean they can direct one. How many big-budget films backed by rich amateurs have flopped? And let’s not forget—Sheng Quan isn’t even a professional investor. She’s a complete outsider in the entertainment industry. Sure, she started a company, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s an amateur meddling in experts’ territory. Frankly, I can’t imagine this ending well."]*
The comment resonated with many, earning its high upvotes. Compared to blindly optimistic takes like *"This actor looks hot, I’m sold!"* or *"A book fan’s investment guarantees quality!"*, their skepticism seemed far more rational.
No one disputed that **Sheng Quan** was wealthy—that was undeniable.
But did wealth automatically mean her drama would be good? Not necessarily.
Forget the low odds of the show being decent; just consider this: when expectations are sky-high, disappointment hits harder. It’s like expecting a gourmet feast and getting fast food instead—even if the food’s okay, the letdown stings.
Given this, plenty of viewers remained skeptical, not out of spite but logical reasoning.
And so, **"The Path of Life"** premiered under this cloud of mixed anticipation.
The pressure on the crew was immense. In showbiz, pre-release hype is a double-edged sword: if the final product underperforms, all that initial excitement curdles into resentment.
The higher the pedestal, the harder the fall.
Even **Wan Bao**, who had mostly recovered from surgery, was too nervous to check any devices after the first six episodes aired.
He’d been confident in his work—even while bedridden post-op, he’d remotely supervised filming, spending over five hours daily on calls with the assistant directors. The moment he could walk, he rushed back to set, barely resting as he scrambled to make up for lost time (thanks only to **Yu Xiangwan**, the strict production supervisor, who reined him in).
Yet, for all his confidence during filming, the premiere left him uneasy.
Sure, the licensing fees had far exceeded his expectations, but more than money, he craved recognition for his work.
He wasn’t alone. The cast was just as anxious.
*Did I flub that one scene?*
*Was my character interpretation off?*
*Did I nail the subtle details?*
*Will the audience hate my character’s flaws?*
For everyone involved, this project was *that* important.
Their hopes were modest—if the show just performed *decently*, met the bar for a *good drama*, they’d be thanking the heavens (and **Chairman Sheng**).
But after the first six episodes dropped, the show didn’t just *do well*—it exploded.
You don’t need backend data to gauge a drama’s success; audience reactions tell the story.
Within hours of the premiere, fan edits and creative tributes sprouted like wildfire, and the novel’s dwindling popularity surged back to life.
When viewers love a show, their enthusiasm is unstoppable. They become unpaid, *overzealous* promoters, flooding every platform (and real-life conversations) with impassioned recommendations.
No studio payments needed—these *"organic advocates"* (or *"word-of-mouth armies"*) outdid any hired marketing team with their genuine excitement.
Right now, **Sheng Quan** was scrolling through this very avalanche of fanfare across social media.
【So heartwarming! I cry every episode, but not out of frustration—it's the kind of crying from being deeply moved. It's been so long since I've seen a drama that makes you slow down and truly immerse yourself, making you feel like these characters are real. At first, I thought Teacher Ma was too harsh—balding, strict, and a bit untidy. But when Xiuxiu got her period and he gruffly draped his coat over her, "punishing" her to clean the bathroom, then awkwardly waited outside the convenience store for the owner to open so he could ask her to deliver pads to his student... I just melted. Having a teacher like that is such a blessing!】
【Same here! Especially when Xiuxiu realized she’d stained her pants in the bathroom—she was so embarrassed and didn’t know what to do, begging the "Toilet God" to save her. Then suddenly, the store owner passed pads under the stall! The look on Xiuxiu’s face, shocked and relieved, made me rewind that scene so many times. I initially thought it was just luck the owner was there, but the ending flashback revealed it was all Teacher Ma’s doing.】
【Teacher Ma = Toilet God】
【Earlier, when Xiuxiu told her classmates the Toilet God was real, I laughed. But after seeing the ending... sob, having a teacher like that is everything.】
【This reminded me of my middle school teacher. She seemed scary too, and I was terrified of her back then. But when I lost my lunch money, she secretly brought me meals every day. Makes me want to visit my alma mater now.】
【My first thought after finishing: Where’s the next episode?! My second thought: This is my new go-to show for mealtime! I’m watching it with every meal from now on!!】
【Me at first: "These kids actually believe in a Toilet God?" Me later: "SOBBING THE TOILET GOD IS REAL!!"】
【Police Officer Qin is so, so, SO handsome—important things must be said three times!】
【As a die-hard fan of the original novel, I’m thrilled—it’s incredibly faithful! Every character feels alive, like they’ve stepped right out of the pages. This is why adaptations need input from book fans!!】
【Aloof Police Officer Qin acts indifferent to everyone, but he shields his new colleague without hesitation during a crisis. He buys useless hair clips from an elderly street vendor just so she can go home early. No wonder Sheng Quan fell for him—I’m smitten too!】
【Already started the novel. Finishing it tonight!】
【Such a heartwarming show. Only flaw? Why just six episodes?!】
【As a 20-year veteran drama viewer, I’ll bet anything—if the quality holds, this will be HUGE! Tearjerking yet funny, every character richly developed, acting so natural. No messy love triangles, just relatable flaws and virtues. Only six episodes in, and I’m already rewatching. Maybe even a third or fourth time—it’s that rewatchable.】
【This show radiates warmth: Teacher Ma mooches snacks and sneaks reads confiscated comic books, yet buys pads for a student and hides his kindness. Police Officer Qin enforces rules rigidly but helps vendors pack up early. Even Wu Qin, the tattletale everyone dislikes, bravely shouts "Cops are coming!" to scare off bullies...】
【Just realized—this gem only has 32 episodes?! Tragic!! Meanwhile, trashy padded dramas drag on for 50+. Why must the good ones be so short?!】
【To the above: Maybe it’s precisely because it’s not padded that it’s only 32 episodes.】
【AHHH!! I need more! Release the remaining 26 episodes NOW!!!】
Sheng Quan nodded along, liking every positive comment, then expertly switched to a burner account (courtesy of 006, 100% secure) to gush praise. She wasn’t shilling for her own show—she was fangirling as a genuine viewer.
Before the premiere, she’d been all about promotion strategies. But once it aired, the transmigrated CEO had an epiphany: this was a real world now.
In the novel, *The Road of Life*’s success was summarized in a few lines, just enough to explain its appeal. But here, she could experience it firsthand.
Watching the drama, Sheng Quan was flooded with joy.
This world’s entertainment industry was even more cutthroat than her past life’s. For *The Road of Life* to stand out in such a competitive landscape? It exceeded every expectation.
Sheng Quan felt utterly exhilarated while watching.
No wonder this was a drama that, despite being shelved for years in its original adaptation, could still explode in popularity when finally aired.
It was just too good!!
The perfect binge-watch!!
Its addictiveness was practically on par with 'Lao Gan Ma' chili sauce—too bad this world didn’t have 'Lao Gan Ma,' or she’d definitely buy a jar to mix into her rice while watching.
Turns out, the greatest joy in life wasn’t just arriving in a brand-new world where she could enjoy countless classic, high-quality old works (including TV dramas, films, novels, comics, anime, and so much more).
No—it was getting to watch those classics *and* having the power to invest in even better, even higher-quality new works.
And the best part?
These works didn’t just satisfy her—they also made her money!
Could there be anything more blissful in this world?
Well, actually, there was something even better.
After finishing the sixth episode without a hint of urgency, Sheng Quan pulled out her phone, located the relevant department, and—seeing that Director Miao was the highest-ranking official—tapped her contact.
**[Director Miao, is there a full backup of *The Road of Life* in the archives?]**
Director Miao, who was at her computer assigning tasks to her team, was interrupted by the notification. Annoyed, she muttered, “Who’s this? If you’ve got something to say, just say it—no need for the ‘tap’…”
A subordinate glanced over and widened their eyes. “Director, I think it’s Chairwoman Sheng contacting you.”
Director Miao took a closer look and cleared her throat.
“As expected of Chairwoman Sheng. This ‘tap-to-message’ method is worth promoting—efficient, quick, and ensures the recipient sees and replies immediately.”
After swiftly saving face, she hurriedly replied:
**[Yes, Chairwoman Sheng. A full backup of *The Road of Life* is indeed stored in our company’s archives, handled by our department. Is there an issue you’d like to address?]**
Was there a problem with the full series? A leak, perhaps? It couldn’t be from their end—she’d supervised everything tightly. Maybe the editing company or the streaming platform was at fault.
As Director Miao’s mind raced with possibilities, two new messages popped up from Chairwoman Sheng’s account:
**[I’ve been binge-watching, but there are only six episodes available.]**
**[Since you have the full series, I’ll have Little Zheng come by later. Could you arrange for him to get a copy?]**
Ah, yes—the *real* pinnacle of happiness. As the investor, Sheng Quan didn’t just get to enjoy the show; she could also, after devouring the six episodes released to the public, simply pull the complete series from her own company’s archives and binge the rest in one go.
Director Miao blinked in surprise before remembering: their chairwoman was only in her twenties. Of course she’d be into binge-watching dramas.
Just as she was reflecting on this, a red envelope popped up in the chat with the note: *For your trouble.*
Instantly, her overthinking transformed into sheer delight at this unexpected windfall.
She didn’t bother with the usual polite refusals—“It’s just part of my job,” “No need for a reward,” etc. Though she hadn’t been at Starlight long, everyone knew the chairwoman always sent red packets when asking for personal favors—even for minor tasks like this that barely disrupted work.
For salaried employees like her, the amounts weren’t jaw-dropping, but free money was free money! Who wouldn’t be happy?
Plus, Chairwoman Sheng *always* asked for these favors during work hours.
Director Miao had earned her position through skill and experience, having worked at other companies before. She’d seen plenty of leaders demanding personal errands from staff after hours—no red packets, not even a polite “thank you.”
But at Starlight, the culture trickled down. Because of the chairwoman’s habit, managers now followed suit. If they needed help with personal tasks, they’d either send a red packet or treat their team to a meal, coffee, or tea.
The kind of boundary-blurring, exploitative behavior Director Miao had witnessed elsewhere simply didn’t exist here.
Feeling smug, she once again applauded her own quick thinking for applying to Starlight the moment she saw their hiring notice.
Then, staring at the chat, an idea struck her—one that could boost the popularity of *The Road of Life*, their company’s investment.
But this fell under the Entertainment Marketing Department’s purview, not hers.
At her old company, she’d have swallowed such a cross-departmental thought immediately. *Not my problem. Just do my job. The show’s success doesn’t affect my paycheck.*
If she meddled in another team’s work, they might even resent her.
But now, with her growing sense of belonging at Starlight, her good rapport with colleagues, and her understanding that Chairwoman Sheng was approachable, Director Miao hesitated for only a few seconds before placing her hands back on the keyboard:
【President Sheng, can our conversation be shared publicly?】
****
On Weibo, an ordinary lifestyle account posted a seemingly mundane update that quickly sparked speculation and discussion among netizens due to the intriguing details it contained.
As the post circulated, it turned into a collective guessing game.
The content was brief—just a casual work-related rant—but packed with juicy tidbits:
【Me binge-watching a drama vs. my boss binge-watching a drama.
My boss and I are following the same ongoing series. I’m obsessively waiting week after week for the next episode, while my boss just waltzes into our company’s archives and gets the entire season.
The kicker? I can’t watch it too! Confidentiality rules forbid it! AHHHHHH! Not only can I not watch, but I also have to escort the boss’s secretary to retrieve the files, then watch in agony as he delivers the full season to her while I’m left counting down the days till the next episode…】
The post included a screenshot of a chat log—names, drama title, and episode numbers redacted—showing only the part about fetching the files.
What seemed like a trivial work anecdote quickly went viral, with netizens both envious and curious about details like “boss gets full access to ongoing dramas,” “company archives,” and “the boss even gave a bonus for running this errand.”
Some envied the boss; others envied the poster.
【Is this how the rich live? I’m over here suffering weekly waits while they get the whole season upfront (sobbing).】
【SO JEALOUS!!! As someone currently following a drama, I’d kill to switch places with that boss!!!】
【Am I the only one fixated on the fact the boss gave her a bonus? And even said ‘Thanks for the hard work’! ‘Thanks for the hard work’!!!】
【My boss treats me like a janitor, babysitter, and free tutor for his kids, while other bosses hand out bonuses for minor errands.】
【What drama? What drama what drama? Is it the one I’m watching? Is it???】
【There are quite a few ongoing dramas lately, but if both the boss and OP are hooked, it must be good. I’ve already narrowed it down to a few titles—so, uh, can we all get access to the full season?】
【I don’t even watch dramas, but now I’m curious. What’s so good that even a big-shot boss with her own archives is obsessed?】
【OMG WHAT A DREAM BOSS!!! The timestamp shows this happened during work hours, and she still gave a bonus as a ‘thank you’—do bosses like this actually exist?!】
The OP selectively replied to a few comments:
【Our company culture is like this—clear boundaries between work and personal matters, set by the boss. So it’s not just her; all managers give small bonuses or treats when asking for personal favors.】
【Yeah, the boss is loaded, but she’s also genuinely nice. She chats and jokes with us at work, and oh yeah—our overtime pay is double the standard rate.】
【I’m jealous of my boss too, lol. Seriously considering buttering her up next time to see if she’ll let me peek at the full season out of fellow-fan solidarity.】
【Won’t name the drama—don’t wanna get busted by the boss.】
The OP seemed to reveal nothing, but netizens, armed with internet microscopes, went full detective mode, piecing together clues:
【An ongoing drama, probably high-quality if the boss is into it. Plus, OP said ‘she’—female boss alert.】
【Also, the redacted ‘Episode X’ formatting suggests it’s a single-digit number, meaning the drama has fewer than 10 episodes. Recent dramas under 10 episodes and worth watching? Only two: *The Road of Life* and *The East Manor*.】
【Full-season access would only be with the production team, editors, or platforms. Did some digging—the editor for *The East Manor* is a female boss, but she’s in her 50s. Doubt she’d use cutesy chat stickers. *The Road of Life*, though? Funded by Sheng Quan.】
The deductions snowballed:
【Sheng Quan’s company has legendary employee perks—fits perfectly!】
【Plus, Sheng Quan’s a known fan of *The Road of Life*’s original novel. Of course she’d binge the adaptation.】
【HOLY CRAP, if this is Sheng Quan… Boss, are you hiring?! Fresh grad here, bonus-ready!!!】
【NO WAY! Just looked up Sheng Quan’s Starlight Entertainment benefits—wait, scratch that, *my* boss’s benefits. Are they hiring?! I’ll fly there NOW!】
【Gimme the full season too!! I wanna watch!!!】
As the buzz peaked, Sheng Quan tweeted:
Sheng Quan: 【Yep, that boss is me (facepalm). Gotta say, binge-watching is pure joy. Can’t share the full season, but I talked to the platform—two extra episodes dropping tonight. Happy watching!】
The announcement sent drama fans into a frenzy.
【Ahhhh more updates please!!!
Sheng Quan, I love you!!!!】
【OMG! What amazing content is this?! Is this the legendary power of money at work?!】
【President Sheng enjoys her soup but doesn’t forget to share the meat with us—true loyalty!!!】
【Haven’t watched *The Journey of Life*—is it really that good? Even Sheng Quan is binging the full series!】
【Hey, upstairs anon, it’s SO good! Absolutely incredible!! Highly recommend! I just finished my second rewatch, wuwuwu I also want to see the remaining 26 episodes!!! Sheng, take me with you, please!】
【Take me too, Sheng!】
【Me first!!】
【Pick me!!】
That night, hashtags like *#ShengQuanDemandsMoreJourneyOfLife* and *#ShengQuanBingeWatching* once again trended on social media.
This left industry peers utterly speechless—because the buzz was undeniably organic, not paid promotions, just genuine hype fueled by netizens. Like before, the trend sparked discussions about everything related to Sheng Quan, from her past ventures to her current influence.
Most crucially, the trending topic didn't just amplify the already skyrocketing popularity of *The Journey of Life*—it also served as free publicity for Starlight Entertainment.
One glance was enough to see that Sheng Quan, both the major investor of *The Journey of Life* and the chairwoman of Starlight Entertainment, was winning big.
Even industry insiders who’d already been impressed by the drama’s success now regarded her with renewed awe.
“Damn, I should follow Sheng Quan’s lead and invest in that fantasy film—this woman has some serious luck on her side.”
While other companies’ employees airing grievances on social media tarnish their reputations, her team’s posts somehow turn into profit, fame, and a surge of fans.
And the most infuriating part?
This time, she didn’t even have to spend a dime.
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