Lu Xiaobu transmigrates and becomes an 18-year-old high school delinquent.
In his previous life, he was a top director backed by billions in the domestic entertainment industry. Now he’s back, armed with his memories.
“In this business, I make the rules.”
Make a top-tier starlet cry on set? The System awards him [God-Tier Shot Composition]!
Humiliate a big-shot director from the capital’s inner circle in public? The System drops [Award-Winning Screenplay]!
Push a cool, aloof Best Actress to the brink of a breakdown? Congratulations, you’ve unlocked [Hollywood Pass]!
Someone asks him: “You treat women like trash. Why are they still so devoted to you?”
Lu Xiaobu lights a cigarette and smiles through narrowed eyes:
“I can make them cry, but if anyone else wants to make them shed a single tear, they’d better ask the iron bar in my hand first.”
At an audition, he slaps the assistant director to the floor, then turns around and slips a piece of brown sugar to his stepsister. “Here, be good. Is it sweet?”
At the victory banquet, he uses the Golden Image Award trophy as an ashtray, flicks off the ash, and says, “You can play these childish games yourselves.”
The bosses of Hollywood’s eight major studios freeze for three hours outside his hotel. Meanwhile, in his room, he gives an actress notes on her performance: “Even God has to hit his mark.”
“Don’t talk to me about art. Art is about making money.”
“Don’t talk to me about rules. My rules are the rules.”
When Lu Xiaobu stands on the rooftop overlooking Times Square and surveys the entertainment empire that belongs to him, five women behind him each have their own thoughts.
He stubs out his cigarette and grins:
“Go ahead, tear into each other. The nastier the fight, the more I’ll make on the special effects for my next blockbuster.”
