Yu brought her to a small noodle shop two blocks from the audition center.
It wasn't fancy—plastic stools, chipped bowls, a noisy fan spinning above—but the food was hot, cheap, and real. And for someone who had once attended more than a hundred corporate banquets, Yu oddly preferred this place.
Jiang Meixuan barely touched her bowl.
She was nervous. Suspicious.
Yu didn't blame her. A strange guy suddenly approaches her, praises her talent, and says he wants to "help"?
If this were his past life, he'd assume it was a scam too.
So, he laid it out.
"I'm not some underground agent," Yu said calmly. "And I'm not pretending to be rich. But I will be. I'm starting a company. Media, tech, talent—it's all connected."
She looked at him. "Why me?"
"Because I know what's coming," Yu replied. "And I know what kind of voices will change this country's future. You have one of them."
There was a pause. The fan kept spinning. Outside, someone shouted over a game of street basketball.
Then, she said quietly, "You talk like you already saw the future."
Yu smiled, almost sadly. "Maybe I have."
He pulled a folder from his backpack—handwritten plans, mockup logos, a startup outline. He slid it across the table.
"I'm building something," he said. "A platform. Not just for singers. For content creators. Artists. Writers. Anyone who's got talent but no connections."
"And you want me to... join?"
"No. I want you to be the first name on the list."
Jiang looked at the folder for a long time. Then at him.
"I don't know anything about business."
"You don't need to. You focus on singing. Let me take care of the rest."
"…What if I'm not good enough?"
"You are," Yu said firmly. "You just don't know it yet."
Two days later, in a run-down office above a noodle factory, Yu drafted his first informal artist contract on a second-hand computer.
There were no lawyers. No agents. No stage lights.
Just two kids and a shared dream.
He handed her a pen.
She hesitated—then signed.
Yu looked at the signature and exhaled.
This was it.
His first artist.
The first spark.
Later that night, alone in that dim office, Yu stood by the window, watching the streetlights flicker in the foggy dusk.
One step at a time.
From zero.
But not for long.
He opened a new document on the computer.
Typed four words at the top:
"StarRise Media Group"
And underneath it:
"Founded April 2000. From a dream. For dreamers."