Chapter 40 – Taobao Madam Customer Service

As soon as these words were spoken, everyone in the car sensed an unusual atmosphere.

Long Dongqiang glanced at them, silently put on his earphones, and pretended to be a fat otaku who paid no attention to the outside world. Qian Tianyi stopped playing with his phone, slowly raised his head, and leaned lazily on Long Dongqiang’s shoulder, half-opening his eyes to watch the drama unfold. Yao Chaowu was caught in a dilemma, his gaze flickering uncertainly between his current manager and former manager. He opened his mouth awkwardly and said, “Wei Lai, have you had breakfast?”

Wei Lai sat down and fastened his seatbelt, replying, “No.”

Yao Chaowu handed Wei Lai a piece of chocolate and said, “Have this to tide you over first.”

Wei Lai hesitated for a moment before turning to take it, but Chen Meixian snatched it away first, smiling insincerely as he said, “If I remember correctly, dogs can’t eat chocolate, right?”

Wei Lai: “…”

Yao Chaowu forced a smile to ease the tension. “Old Chen, what kind of joke is that? Wei Lai isn’t a dog, haha.”

This “haha” was so painfully awkward that Wei Lai suspected the two of them had rehearsed a script just to mock him.

Chen Meixian said, “If he’s not a dog, why is he picking up someone else’s leftovers?”

Chen Meixian calling Wei Lai a dog was something Wei Lai could tolerate for the sake of the production team’s reputation. But comparing Chu Yin to leftovers? Wei Lai immediately flared up like a mother hen spreading her wings to protect her chick.

Wei Lai rolled his eyes, first covering Chu Yin’s ears before launching into his tirade, speaking with exaggerated politeness: “Darling, are the two holes in your face actually assholes? If you can’t even tell the difference between a dog and a human, then stop wasting food. How dare you even call someone leftovers? You might as well starve to death on the streets and fertilize our great motherland’s mountains and rivers.”

Few people dared to curse at Chen Meixian. His expression darkened, and he gritted his teeth. “You dare…”

Qian Tianyi chuckled lazily and drawled, “Ahhh—no—cursing—okay?”

Wei Lai, like a perfectly polite “Taobao Madam Customer Service,” replied sweetly, “This one usually doesn’t curse, unless someone isn’t human. It is recommended that Mr. Chen return to the factory for a remake~”

“Wei Lai, just you wait.” Chen Meixian pointed at him. “I won’t stoop to arguing with a sissy like you. We’ll see.”

Wei Lai flashed a row of neat white teeth: “Hehe~”

The show hadn’t even started yet, but the feud between Wei Lai and Chen Meixian had already escalated beyond repair. The production team had originally invited both Yao Chaowu and Chu Yin just to stir up some drama for the show’s ratings. But who knew the guests would be so difficult—what kind of mess was this?!

Still, they had to smooth things over. The director forced a laugh and said, “Haha, now that everyone’s here, you’re all amazing! Buckle up, we’re about to set off!”

Wei Lai still respected the crew, so he fastened Chu Yin’s seatbelt and responded cheerfully, “Let’s go!”

Chen Meixian clenched his fists. If not for the crowd around them, he probably would’ve already punched Wei Lai.

Chen Meixian and Wei Lai had been enemies for years, their working styles as opposite as W and M.

Chen Meixian excelled at smear campaigns, dragging others down, and shipping scandals for clout. The artists under him all followed the “blackened red” route—getting bashed, countering the hate, playing the victim, baiting fans, and solidifying fan loyalty—constantly refining their followers’ devotion while raking in the traffic. That was why, in Chu Yin’s early debut years, he was relentlessly attacked. Saying his singing sounded like a chicken’s squawk was already considered merciful—personal insults and doxxing were rampant. It got so bad that Chu Yin was afraid to go outside or go online, making it easier for Chen Meixian to control him.

Wei Lai, on the other hand, specialized in “pimping.” Take, for example, a movie where the male lead had already been internally decided as Chu Yin—until Wei Lai pulled some strings and got Yao Chaowu the role instead. He had an uncanny ability to predict which works would be hits and which had potential, and he shamelessly pushed his artists into them by any means necessary. Yao Chaowu relied on his work to speak for itself, earning him decent public favor. But his reputation within the industry was… questionable. He was frequently subtweeted by other celebrities, sparking fan wars. Even when the drama turned toxic, Yao Chaowu didn’t care, and Wei Lai was happy to let it happen.

Though their methods were polar opposites, they led to the same result. Both Chen Meixian and Wei Lai operated underhandedly, but their tactics were undeniably effective. As the saying goes, “One mountain cannot accommodate two tigers,” and the same applied to their entertainment company—there was no room for two top-tier managers. People always compared the two, and indeed, Chen Meixian and Wei Lai were fundamentally incompatible, fighting tooth and nail for resources.

Chen Meixian stubbornly believed that Wei Lai had stolen from him. He glared venomously at Wei Lai, as if trying to kill him with his gaze.

For someone like Chen Meixian, ignoring him was the best way to piss him off. Wei Lai leisurely pulled out a small pillow printed with Orunju’s face, tucked it under his head, leaned against the window, and started catching up on sleep.