Ambition

"They're certainly eager. Boss, are you free next month? I have tickets to the Victoria's Secret show; want to go together?" Edward pulled the tickets from his pocket and held them out to Irene.

Irene stopped eating and reached out to take the tickets.

As far as she knew, Victoria's Secret didn't sell tickets to the public; they were strictly by invitation. Surely Edward hadn't been scammed, though given his status as a wealthy second-generation heir, that seemed unlikely.

"Where did these come from? And why aren't you inviting Britney? It sounds so awkward for me to go to a lingerie show with you," Irene frowned and complained.

"A senior in my family gave them to me. She's a partner with Victoria's Secret, so she gets invitations every year. Britney is busy recording her second album and said she didn't have time, so she told me to find someone else, and I thought of you, Boss. Why is it awkward for me to go with you? You shouldn't look at a lingerie show with such strange eyes. Even if it is a lingerie show, it's a serious, professional, and formal occasion. Look at how many men and women sit in there..."

"Alright, alright, I don't want to hear you nag. I'll let you know if I'm going." Just then, she saw her assistant, Vera, walking over and waved at Edward. "I have things to deal with. We'll talk about the show later."

Edward pouted and had no choice but to leave.

"Boss, I've arranged to meet him in Los Angeles Chinatown the day after tomorrow," Vera leaned in and whispered into Irene's ear.

Irene didn't answer, merely nodding slightly. "Have you had dinner? If not, join me for a bite."

Vera put down her belongings, turned toward the dining table, picked out some food, and sat down beside Irene.

Irene asked in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Did it go smoothly?"

"It was okay. The other party was a bit distrustful during our first meeting, but their attitude was much better the second time. It seems they've investigated us."

"What kind of person is he?" Irene asked, habitually tapping her fingers on the table.

"He seems very gentlemanly and a bit introverted, but when he talks, he shows a deep understanding of Hollywood," Vera said while eating. She was truly famished from rushing back tonight.

"Is that so? Eat slowly; we aren't heading back until tomorrow afternoon."

In the afternoon in Los Angeles Chinatown, the sun was just right. Ever since Irene officially stepped into the world of directing, she rarely came here to pass the time. Being here now felt like a dream, as if a lifetime had passed.

She walked into the familiar Cantonese restaurant, passed through the narrow aisle, and after crossing a vermilion corridor, a small shop named "Lu Yu Tea House" came into view.

This was a place she had discovered in her childhood. While called a tea house, it was more like the coffee-bookstores she frequented in her past life, filled with comics and novels from across the ocean. One could order a cup of tea or coffee and stay for the entire day.

The owner of the tea house was an oriental woman with a few strands of gray in her coiled hair, but her face looked exactly as it had when Irene first met her. She saw Irene arrive and smiled with a nod.

Irene didn't go to her usual spot, instead choosing a quiet seat by the window on the second floor and ordering a pot of aged Pu'er tea she wouldn't normally drink.

A moment later, a young man hurried upstairs.

He looked to be only twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with black hair and eyes and handsome features—a typical oriental appearance. He wore a well-pressed but slightly dated dark suit, and his movements carried a composure that belied his age. The beads of sweat on his forehead betrayed his hurried journey.

"Director Irene? Sorry to keep you waiting." He spoke in fluent American English and handed over a simple business card: "Chen Shiyu, publisher and editor-in-chief of Bridge Journal."

Irene hadn't expected him to be of Chinese descent, so her movement to stand up was a beat slow. She smiled and responded in crisp, standard Mandarin: "Mr. Chen, please don't be so formal. I arrived early. Please, sit."

A flicker of imperceptible surprise crossed Chen Shiyu's eyes, and he smoothly switched languages: "I didn't expect your Mandarin to be so good."

"I've always been interested in oriental culture. I've had a private Mandarin tutor since elementary school," Irene poured him some tea. The amber liquid flowed into the white porcelain cup, swirling with warm fragrance.

After the pleasantries, Irene got straight to the point.

"I've read almost all the back issues of Bridge Journal, including those articles analyzing the future model of DreamWorks and the capital dilemmas of independent films. The insights were very unique. It's a pity that such content seems rare these days."

Chen Shiyu's smile turned bitter as he rubbed the warm teacup: "Newspapers need to survive. Analytical articles don't attract advertisements; celebrity gossip and box office numbers are what buy bread. Bridge Journal was the news agency team my father left behind. I wanted to use it to build a bridge connecting information and capital between the East and the West. Unfortunately," he paused, "the bridge was built, but no one walks on it."

"It's not that no one walks on it; it's that most people haven't seen the value on the other side yet." Irene stared at him, her gaze sharp. "But you saw it. Years ago, you predicted that streaming media would change viewing habits and analyzed the capital risks of co-productions.

Your understanding of Hollywood isn't just superficial gossip; it cuts to the bone of capital and rules. What you lack isn't an idea, but a platform and resources to make those ideas land."

"You're right, Director Irene, but you know how hard it is for a face like mine to walk deep into Hollywood," Chen Shiyu frankly expressed his predicament.

Just then, the dishes were served one after another. The steamed fish was tender, and the crispy suckling pig was savory, but neither of them had their minds on the food.

Irene continued in her fluent Mandarin, precisely plucking at his heartstrings: "Mr. Chen, a capable general shouldn't be buried in the wilderness forever just because he lacks troops. The fact that your Bridge Journal is ignored isn't a problem of your ability, but because you are standing at a dimension that is too advanced, lacking a fulcrum to connect your dimension to the current reality."

She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowered but carrying an unquestionable power: "I can be that fulcrum. I need someone like you, not just as a mouthpiece, but as my eyes.

I need you to help me analyze opponents, gain insight into capital flows, and even, one day in the future, help me plan my layout on the other side of the Pacific."

Chen Shiyu's heart rate accelerated sharply. He felt the shell he had worked so hard to build to resist the frustrations of reality being pried open layer by layer by her words. He remained silent, but his heart was churning.

Irene offered terms he couldn't refuse: "Bridge Journal can be kept as one of our mouthpieces to the public in the future.

I will inject capital so it no longer has to rely on celebrity gossip to survive. You can focus on the in-depth reporting and industry analysis you originally wanted to do.

And behind the scenes, you will report directly to me. I need your information resources and for you to assemble a team to help me build an empire.

My goal is the entirety of Hollywood, as well as that vast oriental market."

For the first time in front of an outsider, Irene revealed her commercial ambition. She never just wanted to be a director; she needed talent to help her fulfill this ambition, and this oriental face before her was a crucial link in building her forces on the other side of the coast.

Finally, she said with resonance: "What I value is precisely the potential in you that is currently masked by the status quo. I believe that in the future power map of Hollywood, there should be names written by both of us. And the film and television culture on the other side of the Pacific will also usher in a new chapter under our support."

Chen Shiyu looked up, meeting Irene's eyes that seemed to see through everything. He saw absolute trust, and even more, a magnificent blueprint.

He took a deep breath. Perhaps it was the fact that her Mandarin was as fluent as a native tongue, or perhaps the future she constructed was too attractive, reigniting the desire for power and the future that had been dormant for days. He raised the still-warm cup of Pu'er, using the tea in place of wine, and said in clear, firm Mandarin:

"Director Irene, for this kindness of recognizing my talent, I am willing to serve you with all my strength."

The two teacups clinked softly in the air, emitting a crisp sound.