Chapter Twenty-Four: This Slap Was Not in Vain

The atmosphere in the small apartment’s living room was a little awkward.

Chen Fang and Xi Yuanyuan stared at each other, neither willing to give an inch.

Pang Tong looked on, his face filled with confusion.

What was wrong with these two?

How could it feel like, in the span of a single night, they’d become enemies?

“Pervert.”

“Weirdo.”

Xi Yuanyuan sneered coldly.

Chen Fang immediately bristled. “First of all, that’s my room. It’s perfectly reasonable for me to enter my own room. Secondly, why were you in my bed? That’s trespassing, young lady. What if I had, say, some little toys lying around? That would be an invasion of my privacy.”

Xi Yuanyuan crossed her legs, her smile icy at the corners of her mouth. “He gave permission, so it wasn’t trespassing.”

He? Who?

Which dog dared do that?

The next moment, Chen Fang turned to look at Pang Tong.

Pang Tong stared up at the ceiling, whistling as if he’d never seen anything so fascinating in his life.

“Fatty!”

Chen Fang’s eyes were dangerous.

Pang Tong let out a few embarrassed laughs. “The young lady said there were no hotels or inns nearby, and I figured you wouldn’t be back that night. So I let her stay for the night. I never told her to sleep in your bed—she climbed in on her own.”

Chen Fang narrowed his eyes, his gaze conveying: Why didn’t you let her sleep in your room?

Pang Tong waggled his eyebrows in response, as if to say: She refused.

Chen Fang: ...

Coward!

A thief at heart but not in courage.

With a sigh, Chen Fang withdrew his gaze and looked back at Xi Yuanyuan, a faint smile on his face. “Really, we’re both at fault here. How about we each take a step back? I only accidentally touched your...”

“That’s enough!”

“I forgive you,” Xi Yuanyuan interrupted quickly, cutting Chen Fang off before he could say any more.

Any further and her secret would be out.

Touched?

In an instant, Pang Tong’s gossip radar went off.

Clearly, something untoward had happened between these two, which explained why Xi Yuanyuan was glaring daggers at Chen Fang.

Ignoring Pang Tong’s curious stare, Chen Fang smiled. “Shall we talk about the contract now?”

At that, Xi Yuanyuan pulled a contract from her bag.

The document was lengthy—naturally so. The higher the contract level, the more detailed and complex it became. Reading through the whole thing carefully would take dozens of minutes.

Chen Fang was particularly meticulous.

He had no choice. As a former entertainment company boss, he was all too familiar with the traps buried in contracts.

If you weren’t careful, you could sign away your future and the rest of your life.

Xi Yuanyuan didn’t rush him.

Half an hour later, Chen Fang put down the contract. “Overall, it’s fine, but I have an issue with one clause.”

“Go ahead.”

“Clause 23. It says that as an artist and a musician, I’m required to produce a certain number of songs for other artists in the company. I have a problem with that.”

He didn’t mind writing songs for others. In fact, Future Star had valued his creative ability from the start. But he couldn’t accept being forced to create.

Moreover, “a certain number” was far too vague. Even if they demanded a hundred songs, it would still be “a certain number.”

Xi Yuanyuan considered for a moment. “How would you like it changed?”

“I want to be free to create at my own discretion, and choose which artists are best suited to perform my songs.”

What Chen Fang wanted was autonomy.

Signing a contract shouldn’t mean selling himself into servitude. Only by keeping his autonomy could he maintain the upper hand in the future.

Xi Yuanyuan stood up, taking out her phone. “Just a moment, I’ll make a call.”

Chen Fang nodded.

She stepped aside.

Pang Tong nudged Chen Fang with his elbow, whispering, “So, what exactly happened between you two in that room?”

Chen Fang shot him a glare.

If it hadn’t been for Pang Tong, he wouldn’t have gotten slapped.

Suddenly, Chen Fang raised his hand and squeezed the air, as if recalling something. “Those buns had a nice feel.”

Buns?

Pang Tong scratched his head, confused.

See? That’s the problem with people who only know theory from watching videos but have no practical experience.

Chen Fang shook his head. Xi Yuanyuan was a “bun,” and You Nianwei was a “mung bean.” No wonder they were such close friends—they were made for each other.

A few minutes later, Xi Yuanyuan returned. “The company agrees. You can amend the contract by hand—it’s still legally valid.”

Chen Fang took a pen, crossed out Clause 23, and added his own sentence.

“I’ve signed.”

At the end of the contract, his name flowed in bold, elegant strokes: Chen Fang.

Xi Yuanyuan, finally relieved, had managed to lure Chen Fang into the company. Now things would be much easier. “Remember to send me photos of your ID and bank card.”

“By the way, who’s going to be my manager?” Chen Fang asked offhandedly.

It wasn’t specified in the contract.

Xi Yuanyuan’s smile was bright, pride glinting in her eyes. “I am.”

Chen Fang was momentarily stunned.

“From now on, I’m your manager. If you need anything, contact me.” Xi Yuanyuan slipped the contract into her bag, preparing to leave.

“Actually, I think there’s something missing in the contract. Mind if I add one more line?” Chen Fang reached toward her bag, but Xi Yuanyuan’s cold stare made him awkwardly withdraw his hand.

“Good boy,” she teased. “Be sure to come to the company tomorrow.”

She patted his head, then, in good spirits, left.

Doomed! He’d have to face this “Bun Xi” regularly from now on. But come to think of it, she was pretty easy on the eyes—seeing her every day wouldn’t be so bad.

Pang Tong hopped around excitedly. “Chen Fang, I knew you could do it! Come on, let’s go out and celebrate with a nice meal!”

Chen Fang looked at him in silence.

Pang Tong suddenly felt a chill, as if a murderous aura had swept over him.

So cold!

He shivered.

Chen Fang smiled, draping an arm around Pang Tong’s shoulder and patting his large belly. “Fatty, didn’t I say yesterday I’d help you lose weight?”

Pang Tong’s eyes widened in fear.

He’d only been joking about losing weight before.

Are you serious, Fang?

“Forget it,” Pang Tong muttered.

But Chen Fang’s arm tightened, not letting him escape. “Fatty, don’t you think Xi Yuanyuan is good-looking?”

“She is.”

“Want to chase after her?”

“I do.”

“Then lose the weight. No woman in the world likes a man with his own built-in flotation device. If you plan on watching videos for the rest of your life, forget I said anything.”

In truth, there was a much easier way for Pang Tong to slim down—a “Physical Conditioning Elixir.” But Chen Fang couldn’t guarantee when he’d get one next, and counting on luck wasn’t practical.

Hearing this, Pang Tong’s expression shifted as he struggled internally. On one hand, if he didn’t lose weight, he’d spend his life relying on his own “craft.” On the other, if he worked hard to slim down, he could become a CEO, marry a rich, beautiful woman, and reach the pinnacle of life.

What choice should he make?

“Lose it!” Pang Tong shouted.

Good!

Chen Fang felt gratified. At last, he’d found a way to pay Fatty back for that slap.