Love? The Reborn Me Just Wants to Obtain Rewards-Chapter 861 - 359 Brother, You Play Really Wild_2

"What kind of resources can they even offer right now?"

"Eternal Love 2, Fuyao, Negotiator, The Flame’s Daughter, and some popular variety shows. Jiaxing has quite a bit of pull now, they’ve got connections everywhere."

Su Huai thought back carefully, feeling puzzled.

It was like he’d heard of all of them, but they didn’t seem to have made much of a splash—definitely not the kind of major hit dramas he could recall.

"What about Tang Ren?"

"They’re pretty much dead in the water." Tang Xian’er shrugged. "Mr. Cai has faded out of management to focus on family, and Tang Ren’s production team is all but dissolved. Right now, they’re in a kind of slouched-back attitude—

’Here’s what little we’ve got. Take it or leave it. If you don’t want it, go ahead and keep roasting Nazha online. It’s not like she has any noteworthy resources left waiting to be aired anyway.’"

"For crying out loud, unbelievable!"

Su Huai laughed out of frustration, feeling that this attempt to seize authority was laughably impotent.

Did they pull it off?

Sure, they pulled it off—there’s a tense atmosphere hanging over the entertainment industry, and everyone’s flinching at everything they see.

Whenever any celebrity starts to feel a bit cocky after blowing up in popularity, the agent just pulls up Nazha’s and Reba’s super-topic threads and plops them in front of them. "Go ahead, take a look." One glance, and you can bet they’re speechless, their brains buzzing.

Those so-called "Big Four, Big Three," those reputed "National-level Directors and Little Champs" are all quietly investigating: So is Xingyu’s water army responsible for this, or is it Yuji and her influencer fanbase?

Every day, there are folks setting up dinners, foot massages, and spa sessions for Zhang and Li from Xingyu, all to handle one thing: "Bro, could you pass me a business card?"

Honestly, to this day, no one believes it’s actually a water army.

Who in this industry hasn’t hired a water army before?

At 1.5 yuan per comment, that’s the current gold standard in the business. Go ahead and read those comments—they’re dry as a desert, neither quality praise nor innovative negativity.

But Reba’s and Nazha’s super-topic threads? What’s the deal there?

Uh, the latest update—two mysterious factions have started predicting this year’s Nobel Prize winner for literature. Citing references, they’re locked in a heated debate comparing Haruki Murakami, Canadian author Margaret Atwood, and Syrian writer Adonis.

Wait, no! Now there’s clearly a third faction!"

And then, a bunch of vaguely aligned chaos-stirrers secretly threw domestic author Yan Lianke into the mix, with the pitch being: ’We get it; our dear Mr. Yan won’t win the prize. But not including us in the discussion? That’s just disrespectful.’

They’ve gone off the rails—Jiaxing and Tang Ren have lost their minds, Reba and Dilraba Dilmurat have gone pretty crazy themselves.

Their fans didn’t even resist—they simply couldn’t get onto the field. And every time they tried, they’d quickly spiral into an inferno of intellectual trivia, leading to existential crises like, "Who am I? Where am I? What am I even doing?"

Things have blown up to the point where they’ve hit trending topics multiple times, drawing crowds curious to see the spectacle.

Logically speaking, having the masses flock to one’s social media square should be a positive thing—it raises awareness and can attract some new followers.

But those people? They’re not people; they’re beasts!

The moment an outsider joins the chat out of interest, they immediately pivot to an elitist, high-school-level assault of obscure advanced knowledge, coupled with sweeping cultural condemnation—quite viciously too.

As a result, the spectators can’t stick around. Not only do they fail to gain new fans, but old fans end up crying day after day, sobbing as they uninstall Weibo...

Which is why, whenever Xingyu is mentioned in the industry, people shudder.

This, no-doubt-about-it, isn’t a water army. But how did Xingyu even organize a community of high schoolers and college students like this?

It’s beyond unnatural—it’s terrifying...

Still, even after applying such pressure, Tang Ren remains indifferent, and Jiaxing? Sure, kill us if you must, but asking for money? Dream on.

Sister Yang insists on meeting Su Huai—what good could come out of it?

Ninety-nine percent likelihood it’s the usual act of bowing low and softening one’s stance to negotiate further. Otherwise, why not just hand over those resources to Zhang, make the deal outright?

"Should I just tell her to scram?"

Tang Xian’er immediately sensed Su Huai’s true feelings, firmly stating, "Jiaxing and our Xingyu are not on the same level, are they? Wanting to schedule a meeting with you? Ridiculous."

Su Huai nodded: "Ignore her."

Little Fairy speaks bluntly but truthfully. Don’t be fooled by Xingyu having barely existed for less than a year—it’s already swollen into a giant.

A leader who truly understands influencers and the traffic game, throwing nearly 2 billion wholesale—reaching today’s heights was inevitable.

Put someone else in Su Huai’s position, and who would dare spend like this?

Wang Siming poured money into Panda TV and Banana Entertainment, but the actual cash outlay so far has only been about 300 million—just his own personal funds.

In the eyes of many, Su Huai and Turbid Dog are quintessential lunatics—at the extreme fringe of risk-taking gamblers.

Even though they made it, nobody else dares to imitate them.

Jin Yucheng is the perfect cautionary tale—invested over 100 million, and now he’s sobbing into his hands.

"I was such an idiot, really, I just didn’t know..."

Whenever those three get together drunk, they fall back into melancholic sighs, channeling their inner "Madame Xianglin," endlessly rambling.

Gou Star is utterly doomed now—the whole ship’s waiting to sink.

The latest industry talk: Imitate Turbid Dog, you’re toast. Follow Xingyu, you’ll drown.

But, ultimately, Su Huai’s "smart troops" all went all-out for the first time—and achieved absolutely nothing...

"Got any good news? Something to cheer me up."

Hearing this, Tang Xian’er instinctively glanced at Su Huai’s crotch, her mind darting to the image of Guan Yin seated in lotus. Her lips, however, said, "Guan Yin descending to bless the world."

"We’ve established shallow connections with most major film and TV production companies in the entertainment circle. Our agent department receives a ton of acting invitations and audition offers daily, and the content production team has started to receive script proposals. Right now, we’re really popular—kind of like Buddha casting light and attracting worshippers from all around. Would that count as good news?"

"It counts."

Su Huai lazily issued clear directives.

"Don’t let our influencers go charging headfirst into the entertainment industry just because juicy resources are tempting. Whether they actually fit is the most important factor."

"But the problem is, you can’t stop them." Tang Xian’er calmly pointed out. "Blocking an artist’s upward path means agents won’t be able to do their jobs in the future."

"Then set clear standards."

Su Huai blinked and had an idea: "Set aside some space to open an internal training program. For anyone wanting to act, have them do a talent assessment first. Then, follow the standard process to shoot audition materials. Play it back on a big screen, and they’ll understand the gap themselves.

If we discover promising talent, then we’ll promote them—it’s not like we lack resources here. Honestly, I’d be thrilled if someone as good as Gong Li or Zhou Xun emerged in our company."

Tang Xian’er wasn’t optimistic about this: "The odds of that happening are way too slim."

"We’ll take it slow. Quality matters more than quantity when it comes to actors. That said, variety show personalities, stand-up comedians, and comedy roles—those, we could use in abundance. Hey, what do you think about hosting a ’Best Comedy Performer’ competition within the company?"

Su Huai’s mind lit up as he suddenly saw the first step of content creation unfolding.

"Once we find good talent from the contest, we’ll produce a low-budget comedy ourselves. Let Zhang handle the writing."

He originally meant to say he’d plagiarize something, but after thinking it through, realized it wasn’t worth the effort, so he dropped the idea.

Tang Xian’er, ever pragmatic, remarked: "The idea is excellent, and a comedy performer contest sounds fantastic. But getting a top-tier comedy script might not be easy. Swapping for resources at that level will be tough."

"Relax—we’ll get whatever we get, make whatever we can."

Su Huai cheerfully waved his hand, and in that moment, thought of a bold strategy—

What if I reset the training of 10K soldiers, re-generating them all as humor-driven persona types, and then funnel them into an enclosed private space to spontaneously clash and compete? Could it give birth to some genuinely funny gags or plot material?

If successful, then this transforms into a natural comedy resource pool.

Down the line, whether it’s for drafting trending online jokes or compiling scripts for feature films, we wouldn’t be reliant on superstar writers anymore.

Could this become Xingyu’s new edge?

Thinking it over, Su Huai moved swiftly—dismissing the team of 10K soldiers and restarting their training program.

Clowns, trolls, comedy enthusiasts, internet jokesters—they were redistributed across five groups to train independently. Thirty-five days later, they’d be unleashed to absorb online culture and engage in chaos within the internal space.

If successful... holy crap, the guy would become the godfather of yet another niche industry.

Gou Huai sighed contentedly, stroking his ego: Bro, you play dirty but with style! Without you, the entertainment industry would be an eternal void of night...