For the past few months, Ning Yao had been keeping busy, as her directorial dream was finally within reach.

The script she originally had was long tossed aside, sold for next to nothing to a junior colleague just starting out—it was basically given away.

To be fair, that script wasn't as terrible as she now thought; it was actually above average for domestic productions. However, compared to Wang Zhengdao’s work, it simply fell too short. With Wang Zhengdao’s script in hand, she naturally lost all appreciation for the one she had once placed so much hope in.

It must be mentioned that Wang Zhengdao’s life experience was extraordinarily rich, full of ups and downs that could easily fill a bestselling memoir. Furthermore, his nickname as a "friend to all women" was well-earned; he understood the psychology, needs, and desires of women ranging from those in their sixties down to sixteen. Consequently, the script he penned was perfectly tailored to appeal to the general television audience—it was destined for massive success.

It was much like how Grandma Qiong Yao, despite being heavily criticized, managed to put Princess Pearl on the small screen. Regardless of the complaints, it still garnered ratings and profit. Wang Zhengdao’s script was the same: the wretched male protagonist was detested by countless compatriots, who revolted against such a character down to their core. Yet, these pathetic roles were exactly what became most popular on television. From Liu Huifang in the old series Longing to the agonizing ordeals of Little Swallow and Ziwei under Nanny Rong’s torment, one could see just how heavy the tastes of the mass television audience truly were.

Ning Yao had acted in over a dozen television series and was professionally trained in directing, placing her among those who understood "what the audience wants" best. That’s why, the moment she saw Wang Zhengdao’s script, she was resolute in her determination to secure it!

It was partly because the director Wang Zhengdao had previously hired was incompetent. On the other hand, Wang Zhengdao, being the notorious lecher he was, found it hard to resist the opportunity to collaborate with the stunning beauty, Ning Yao. Thus, after Ning Yao’s persistent efforts, Wang Zhengdao quickly devised a compromise: he provided the former director with a different script. That man was already lacking in skill and had little ground to object, so the matter was settled smoothly.

How much does it cost to produce a television series? As mentioned before, an average historical drama cost around twenty million yuan; anything over a hundred million was a major production. Many shows shot by makeshift troupes cost less than ten million. Under current market conditions, twenty million might secure exposure on some satellite channels, while fifty million could cover nationwide distribution.

Before meeting Wang Zhuo, Ning Yao’s goals were modest, aiming for around twenty million yuan. A bit lower, fifteen million would suffice; pushing higher, she dared not exceed twenty-five million.

The main actors would be those hovering between obscurity and minor fame—the kind audiences found familiar but couldn't quite name. That tier saved money. She truly couldn't afford top-tier stars like those in "Two Strongs" or "Lurk." For a forty-episode drama, the salary for just the lead actor would run into the millions, forcing significant cuts in other areas. While such a production might guarantee a certain level of viewership, it would be purely commercial work designed for quick profit, which was not what she desired.

Like a newly published author or a fresh recruit, Ning Yao still harbored dreams, hoping to be unique and create work she loved, eventually achieving sudden fame. Many people in their position have their edges gradually smoothed out by reality: authors take on ghostwriting gigs for magazine fees, and soldiers busy themselves flattering their superiors.

If she hadn't encountered Wang Zhuo, Ning Yao likely would have quickly devolved into a commercial director catering only to ratings...

...

The lights remained off. Ning Yao stood frozen, her eyes darting as she processed the situation.

She remembered seeing lights on in several villas on the way over, meaning the entire complex hadn't lost power.

Could it be an electrical malfunction? She hesitated, debating whether to go out and find security to arrange for maintenance from the property management.

But she quickly dismissed the idea. Firstly, she didn't know if the property management had an electrician on duty overnight, and repairs that late would be inconvenient; it might take an hour or two, or they might postpone it until morning.

Moreover, this house belonged to the Wang family, not hers. What if the security guards or property staff took the opportunity of the darkness to pocket something? Explaining that to Wang Zhengdao later would be difficult.

There was another consideration: she was, after all, a lone woman. If others knew she was staying by herself in this villa tonight, she would be vulnerable to anyone with ill intent.

After weighing everything, she decided against calling property management. She would first check the circuit breaker herself in the dark. If she couldn't fix it, she’d sleep in the dark; in any case, dawn was only three-plus hours away.

Today had certainly not been kind to her. First, the neighbor downstairs had a fire, filling her room with choking smoke. Then, multiple hotels were fully booked. A close friend she could have stayed with, unfortunately, was hosting a man tonight.

Out of options, she remembered Wang Zhengdao. When she called, the man was supposedly playing slot machines in Macau. In fact, she could tell from the music that the "slot machine" was a sham; it was clearly an explicit dance performance!

Upon hearing the great beauty Ning Yao was homeless, Wang Zhengdao thumped his chest and took responsibility, offering her temporary lodging in his lakeside villa. He insisted she could stay as long as she liked and treat the place as her own home!

Slightly moved, Ning Yao waited by the roadside for half an hour until one of Wang Zhengdao's subordinates cheerfully drove over with the key, cheerfully taking a signed photo in return.

And so, the future Director Ning arrived at Wang Zhuo's wetland villa, completely unaware that Wang Zhuo was upstairs, entangled in passionate intimacy with a beautiful widow, and that the power outage was caused by the air safety switch tripping due to excessive electricity consumption—they were currently enjoying a candlelit rendezvous!

Wang Zhuo, even less aware, never expected someone to show up seeking lodging in this desolate place in the middle of the night. Before entering the villa, he had scanned the area with his clairvoyance, confirming no outsiders were present. When the circuit breaker tripped, he scanned again, realizing the cause was high power use, not a burglar, and thus relaxed completely without any guard.

Using her cell phone screen light as a torch, Ning Yao steadily walked up to the second floor.

A mosquito flew toward her face. Her eyesight was excellent, and her reaction swift; with a graceful wave of her hand, she crushed it in her palm.

The hall was warm, and the swimming pool temperature was just right. A snowy white torso stood in the water, one hand bracing against the pool edge, the other arm pulled behind her back. Her hips were thrust back, meeting a high-frequency impact. The twin mounds of snow-white flesh on her chest, with their crimson tips, shook violently, intensely alluring.

Ruan Mingqing was tall and slender. Although she had borne a daughter, her abdomen showed not a trace of excess fat, and the faint stretch marks had faded to near invisibility. Every inch of her was as taut as a young girl’s, perfectly fitted against Wang Zhuo.

Her waist was supple; when her arms were stretched behind her, her elbows naturally formed a reverse angle. Pulled by Wang Zhuo, her waist arched like a drawn bow, making her