Chapter 27: I Will Support You

Yet Han Jiayi was obviously very wary of “Phantom World Group.” Even after they finished dinner and returned home, she was still fretting about it.

“Oh, just delete that video already! I wouldn’t do anything to harm you!” Han Jiayi frowned. “You have no idea what kind of person Zheng Han is. You offended him today—he’ll definitely find a way to get back at you.”

But Bai Renzong merely glanced at her calmly, then unhurriedly opened the door.

As he changed into his slippers, he asked, “Did ‘Phantom World Group’ ever do anything to you?”

Han Jiayi was taken aback, lapsing into a brief silence before replying, rather dejectedly, “It’s a long story…”

“Then take your time,” said Bai Renzong, utterly unruffled. “It’s not as if you had any inspiration for work today anyway.”

Han Jiayi pouted, frowning at him, “You promise you won’t laugh at me?”

“I’m trained. I rarely ever laugh—unless I really can’t help it,” Bai Renzong replied with a faint smile.

Han Jiayi’s beautiful eyes widened in a fierce glare, but she still changed into her house slippers, settled herself on the living room sofa, and turned on the air conditioner, apparently ready to begin.

Bai Renzong, however, was in no hurry. He went back to his room to fetch a bag of potato chips.

“All right, you may begin,” he said, nodding at Han Jiayi.

She shot him a threatening look before answering, “You really don’t know Phantom World Group, so let me give you the basics. Zheng Han is the son of Zheng Nan, the richest man in Beichang City. He started his own business at twenty-two before he’d even graduated, with nothing but a computer… and the eighty million yuan in assets and the connections his father gave him.”

“Nice pause,” Bai Renzong nodded approvingly, munching on his chips. “Go on.”

“He started with the restaurant industry,” Han Jiayi explained. “At first, he spent a fortune acquiring a batch of well-reputed old eateries in Beichang, like Sanmao Beef Noodles and Uncle Zhao’s Steamed Dishes. He renovated them, then ran them as chains all over the city. Technically, his stores only make up thirty percent of Beichang’s restaurants, but it’s basically a monopoly, because all the most famous brands and chains are under his umbrella.”

Through her explanation, Bai Renzong finally grasped the extent of Zheng Han’s tactics, which were scarcely better than those of a local hoodlum.

With control over most of Beichang’s “mainstream” restaurants, Zheng Han began to suppress other thriving establishments, coercing them to join his company and adopt the chain model.

If they refused, he’d have his own stores run steep discounts or hire fake reviewers to leave negative comments, using every dirty trick of unfair competition to ruin the opposition.

Nowadays, thanks to food delivery apps, price comparison between similar restaurants is immediate. And if a restaurant’s reputation tanks, orders via the delivery platforms drop sharply. Losing that revenue stream, whether for a small or large eatery, is a big blow.

Of course, Zheng Han would also send people to stir up trouble for dine-in customers, in order to force their hand.

But the truth was, most places didn’t need much strong-arming. After all, who doesn’t want to make more money? So, when Zheng Han offered to bring them into the fold, most proprietors accepted on the spot, and his business only grew.

Only a few small, unremarkable shops and a handful of stubborn owners still held out.

The only ones unafraid of Zheng Han’s methods were restaurants like Yijia Pavilion and Willow Hall. Firstly, both were Michelin-starred—even just one star ensures a mention in the Michelin guide, which is enough to attract plenty of customers with that publicity. Secondly, their scale wasn’t massive; a steady stream of regulars was all they needed.

But thanks to these tactics, Zheng Han had essentially seized control of Beichang’s mainstream restaurants. All the trendy new eateries on the city’s “internet-famous” streets in recent years were subsidiaries of Phantom World Group.

As his capital swelled, Zheng Han set his sights on the entertainment industry, founding his own company. As the son of Beichang’s richest man, he had both connections and money, signing up newcomers and financing his own films.

Of course, “signing new talent and making movies” was just a euphemism for Zheng Han’s personal harem.

His reputation for changing girlfriends was notorious—sometimes every couple of days, never lasting more than a month. The girls around him were either already under his company or joined after dating him—the implications were clear.

That was when Zheng Han set his sights on Han Jiayi.

Her restaurant was famous, her culinary skills superb, and she was attractive—whether as a business partner or a girlfriend, she was the ideal candidate.

So Phantom World Group signed Han Jiayi, promising to launch her into showbiz and actually investing some resources in her.

At that stage, Zheng Han hadn’t dropped his mask. But just as Han Jiayi’s debut film, “Memory of an Angel,” was about to begin shooting, he had her replaced as the lead actress, claiming the screenwriter was dissatisfied. The role went to another actress, and afterward Zheng Han expressed his “regret” to Han Jiayi.

“After that, he revealed his true colors,” Han Jiayi said, pounding the pillow in her arms with fury. “He said as long as I dated him for a month, nothing like this would ever happen again and there’d be plenty of roles waiting for me in the future.”

“So you refused?” Bai Renzong asked, curious.

“Of course I refused!” Han Jiayi glared at him indignantly. “I’m not a sex worker! Calling it ‘dating’ is just putting it nicely—how is it any different from selling myself? I would never use my body as a bargaining chip! That just makes me sick!”

“So he blacklisted you after that?” Bai Renzong tossed aside his empty chip bag.

“To be precise, I’ve been put on ice,” Han Jiayi rolled her eyes. “My contract is in his hands—for another three years. During that time, I get no roles, can’t take gigs privately, and can’t sign with another company unless I pay eight million to buy myself out.”

“So that’s how it is,” Bai Renzong mused, resting his chin on his hand. “Have you considered taking legal action?”

“No way,” Han Jiayi sighed. “It’s not like they openly say they’re freezing me out. They just use the excuse of ‘not generating enough profit for the company’ and give opportunities to the ‘more valuable’ artists. Even if I went to court, it’d take years, and the only grounds would be ‘unfair contract terms’—I couldn’t actually sue them for anything else.”

As she spoke, Han Jiayi slumped sideways onto the sofa, lazily adding, “So I’ve just resigned myself to it. I’m not that crazy about the entertainment industry anyway… it’s a mess.”

“I see,” Bai Renzong nodded, then pointed at himself. “So, would you like to work with me?”

“How?” Han Jiayi raised an elegant brow in question.

“Let’s make and upload videos together,” Bai Renzong replied.

“I told you, my contract’s with them—I can’t do any filming…” Han Jiayi looked at him pitifully.

“You worked there as ‘actress Han Xuerou,’ but I’m inviting ‘Yijia Pavilion’s head chef Han Jiayi,’” Bai Renzong said calmly. “They’ve blacklisted ‘actress Han Xuerou,’ so I’ll make ‘head chef Han Jiayi’ a star.”

Though his tone was steady, Han Jiayi sensed a quiet strength behind his words.

Oh no… Is this what it feels like to be moved? she thought to herself, her cheeks growing warm.