The investors: "..."
Xu Man, still torn between "The set design is amazing" and "But it’s way too expensive," while also muttering, "But the set really is incredible,": "..."
She stared at the seemingly endless expanse of land ahead: "...All of this is?"
Yu Xiangwan maintained his polite smile: "Yes. As Director Xu knows, Chairman Sheng places great importance on *Cultivator*, and she’ll likely visit the set frequently. However, given her busy schedule, choosing a location in another city would be far too inconvenient."
He turned slightly, gesturing toward the bustling construction site ahead: "So, upon learning that the production team hadn’t finalized a location yet, Chairman Sheng purchased this plot of land."
Xu Man: "..."
The investors: "..."
So, just because Sheng Quan didn’t want to fly back and forth, she bought an entire piece of land to build the *Cultivator* sets?
A whole plot of land.
In *Shanghai*, no less.
Even if it wasn’t in the city center—or even close to it—the price of land here was still exorbitant. They had winced at the thought of renting, yet Sheng Quan had outright *bought* it.
And buying land wasn’t as simple as snapping up a bargain. Every available plot had fierce competition, so the fact that Sheng Quan had secured such a massive piece meant she’d outbid countless rivals.
The group, who had been seizing every opportunity to nitpick along the way, fell into stunned silence.
Yu Xiangwan, however, turned to them with a perfectly composed expression: "Rest assured, everyone, this expense was covered by Chairman Sheng personally. It doesn’t come from the production budget."
The investors: *…As if the production budget could even cover a fraction of this land.*
Yu Xiangwan continued smoothly: "As for the construction costs of the Ten Great Immortal Palaces, those are also personally funded by Chairman Sheng. However, since she is both an investor and a close friend of Director Xu, the completed sets will be provided to the production team free of charge."
Xu Man, suddenly mentioned, was both shocked and elated, never having expected Sheng Quan to treat her so generously:
"No wonder she’s been so secretive lately! Every time I asked, she’d just say she was preparing a surprise gift. So *this* is what she meant."
The investors glanced at the lively construction site ahead: *…Gifting an entire set of Ten Great Immortal Palaces. Well, that’s a new one.*
*Is it too late to become friends with Sheng Quan?*
It didn’t take much thought for the investors to realize that this land wouldn’t go to waste. Once the Ten Great Immortal Palaces were built, they wouldn’t be dismantled. The site could be repurposed—into an amusement park, a commercial street, a hotel, a film studio, or even all of the above. And if the movie became a hit? The profit potential would be astronomical.
They understood the logic. The problem was, even *without* building the Ten Great Immortal Palaces, this prime Shanghai land could be developed into *anything* and still rake in massive profits—perhaps even *more* than what Sheng Quan was doing.
Yet Sheng Quan wasn’t interested in alternatives. She was determined to use this sprawling, ultra-valuable plot in Shanghai for *movie sets*.
Luxurious.
*Extravagantly* luxurious.
The investors, who had originally planned to haggle for more benefits, suddenly lost all desire to nitpick. Their earlier complaints and demands had been about securing more influence within the production.
Sure, Sheng Quan was the primary investor, but when it came to film, *they* were the seasoned veterans. Around a younger figure like her, they’d assumed they could assert some dominance.
But now?
One look at *this* land.
*This* equipment.
*This* scale of construction.
The group: "..."
Slowly, the realization dawned on them.
The framework of the palaces was already half-built, meaning the land purchase had been finalized a while ago. Yu Xiangwan, responsible for site selection, had remained tight-lipped all this time—*precisely* to solidify Sheng Quan’s absolute authority.
By revealing it only *after* they’d joined the project, and presenting them with the awe-inspiring skeletal structure of the palaces, even the most scheming among them would grasp the unspoken message: *Know your place.*
It was an open strategy, but under these circumstances, it worked flawlessly.
Sheng Quan might be young, but she clearly wasn’t just some reckless spender throwing money around.
Once they pieced it together, the investors exchanged glances, their attitudes toward Yu Xiangwan instantly warming:
"Chairman Sheng truly doesn’t act unless it’s with grandeur. Color me impressed."
"With Chairman Sheng backing *Cultivator*, we can rest easy."
"Exactly! We’ll just follow Chairman Sheng’s lead. She takes the meat; we’ll happily settle for the broth. Hahaha!"
Under the shadow of the colossal palace framework, everyone was all smiles, showering praise on Sheng Quan—the "newcomer" to the film industry—as the atmosphere brimmed with harmonious goodwill.
As for fighting for control over the production?
*Hahaha… The future of film belongs to the young, after all.*
****
Sheng Quan *had* intended to make a statement with her display of resources.
But it wasn’t quite as grand as Yu Xiangwan made it seem. She didn’t actually have the funds to buy land—that plot had been a reward from the system, unlocked once Yan Hui’s career progress hit 50.
The higher the career progress, the harder it was to increase. Yan Hui’s had been stuck at 49 for ages. If not for *The Path of Life* releasing behind-the-scenes footage and Yuan Zixin securing him a particularly flattering interview, breaking past 50 might have taken even longer.
The system’s rewards were randomized, but one thing was clear: aside from the initial "newbie bonus," the higher the career progress, the more valuable the prizes became.
Take, for example, the "50 million yuan top-up at Love & Care Hospital." While 50 million *sounded* impressive, the fact that it was locked into a private hospital made it far less useful in practice.
Her next two rewards had been a luxury car worth tens of millions and a decade-long lease on a prime commercial space in Huaxing Building’s opposite wing (which she’d since converted into the company cafeteria).
But once Yan Hui’s career progress crossed 50, the reward quality jumped significantly.
Luxury cars and leased properties gave way to *plots of land*—some large, some small.
She hadn’t drawn the biggest prize, not even close. In fact, what she got was middling at best.
But Sheng Quan was far from disappointed.
Because the land came with *construction services*. Though there was a spending cap, she wasn’t greedy enough to demand another Huaxing Building. The allocated budget was more than enough to build the shooting locations she needed.
Now, as she watched the auditions, she idly chatted with 006: **[With those guys properly intimidated, the financial burden of *Cultivator* is shared more evenly. In about three or four months, we can start looking for a new candidate to sponsor.]**
006 immediately expressed its wholehearted support—though, being a system, it technically had neither heart nor hands.
Sheng Quan’s current lifespan was entirely sustained by the "returns" from Yan Hui and Jin Jiu. But the higher their career progress climbed, the slower it rose. Based on their calculations, reaching 100% would likely require *global fame*.
In other words, her current lifespan income was barely keeping her afloat. And with Xu Man being a director, tangible results wouldn’t come until the film’s release. 006 could practically see the future where Sheng Quan’s lifespan ran out *before* the movie even hit theaters.
If the host wasn’t panicking, *it* certainly was.
【I should have found a new beneficiary long ago. I know the host wants to accumulate a lot of lifespan all at once, but what if it runs out before then?】
Sheng Quan comforted the system with practiced ease: 【Don’t worry, I’ve got a backup plan for that too.】
【If I could propel Yan Hui, who had nothing, to success, surely I can push Xu Man, who already has several works under her belt, into the spotlight?】
006 thought it made sense and immediately felt reassured, but soon began worrying again: 【But the host only has a month of lifespan left now. To avoid any accidents, why not boost the beneficiary’s career progress a bit right away?】
Sheng Quan had the same thought.
To be precise, from the moment she secured this piece of land, she had already planned her next steps.
【Let’s wait a little longer. Once the Ten Great Immortal Palaces are completed, it’ll be our time to shine.】
Question: How fast can ten nearly lifelike, massive Immortal Palaces be built, along with the surrounding scenery?
Answer: With enough funding, as fast as you’d like.
And clearly, their funding was more than sufficient.
Over the following days, the construction site transformed almost overnight. The number of workers far exceeded what Xu Man and the investors saw, as they were divided into two shifts, working around the clock.
Of course, this was all government-approved.
China’s infrastructure capabilities were truly awe-inspiring.
Even the representative sent by the foreign investor in the crew couldn’t help but praise it for days, visiting the site of the Ten Great Immortal Palaces every time he came to the set, as if it were some fascinating novelty.
Naturally, it wasn’t just him. The other investors, including Xu Man herself, the director, made frequent trips there as well.
The reason? It all looked incredibly real.
Because Sheng Quan had said she “wanted to see the Immortal Palaces described in the script,” Yu Xiangwan had faithfully recreated them exactly as written.
Not to mention the sheer scale of the palaces, there were the jade-like steps (he insisted on calling them “spirit stones”), towering celestial pillars, and even the intricate mechanisms described in the script—details that were supposed to be handled by the special effects team. Given how complex the descriptions were, it should have been nearly impossible to recreate them physically. Yet, Yu Xiangwan somehow managed to assemble a top-tier design team, notoriously difficult to hire.
To this day, Xu Man couldn’t stop singing Yu Xiangwan’s praises to Sheng Quan, showering him with compliments for pulling it off.
Having directed several projects, this was the first time she’d experienced what it felt like to be a director at the peak of satisfaction—even before filming had officially begun.
The hardest part of filming was nailing the details. After all, movies and TV shows were about using illusions to create a believable world for the audience. But illusions were still illusions, and there were always slip-ups.
Too many slip-ups, and the audience would be snapped out of the immersion.
Take *The Road of Life*, for example—its meticulous details, repeatedly praised by viewers, were the result of Director Wan and the entire crew laboring tirelessly over every little thing, down to the pen caps on the desks.
And this production?
Xu Man stood with her team before the newly completed Ten Great Immortal Palaces.
The overwhelming grandeur of the towering palaces pressed down on them. The pristine “white jade tiles” paved the ground, and ahead, a dragon coiled around a celestial pillar, its scales glistening with uncanny realism, its eyes seemingly alive as they stared right at them.
She: “……”
The crew: “……”
Even Sheng Quan was stunned. She stepped forward to examine the craftsmanship of the dragon’s tail, then turned to Yu Xiangwan, patting his shoulder with undisguised admiration. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
“I knew you could pull it off, but I never expected it to be this flawless. It’s like you’ve brought the Immortal Palaces down to earth.”
Without exaggeration, Yu Xiangwan seemed to glow under Sheng Quan’s praise.
Slowly, slowly, he gave her a smile—bright and utterly genuine.
“As long as you’re pleased.”
The head of the props team, who had once been on the receiving end of Yu Xiangwan’s disciplinary measures, shuddered and muttered to his subordinate:
“Every time I see him smile, my hair stands on end.”
“Boss, I don’t think Supervisor Yu smiled like this last time.”
The props head thought for a moment. “You’re right. The way he smiles at us is more like… a dominatrix flower, but now he’s practically blooming like a peony. Tsk, this guy—way too good-looking. It’s unfair.”
The props assistant nodded in agreement. “Supervisor Yu is so biased. He’s all stern with us, but with Chairwoman Sheng, he’s all smiles.”
“Exactly! And why does a grown man have to smile so prettily anyway?”
“Boss, what’s with the face twitching?”
The props head rubbed his cheeks.
“Oh, just practicing. Chairwoman Sheng might come over soon, and it’s not like Yu Xiangwan’s the only one who knows how to smile.”
“Just wait till I flash her a full-blown chrysanthemum grin.”
