WBSGVS Chapter 232 V2

His team suggested he apologize publicly. But Su Yan, who’d been coddled his whole life, refused.

After much coaxing, he finally agreed to make a half-hearted apology post on Weibo—
Until he logged in and saw a post from one of his die-hard fans’ parents.

They had scolded their daughter after finding out she idolized “a snake like Su Yan,” confiscated her phone and computer, and left a message asking Su Yan to be a better public figure if he was going to be in the spotlight—otherwise, he’d be a bad influence on young fans.

Su Yan, who had just been talked into apologizing, saw that post and snapped.
He refused to log in again.
Refused to apologize.
Completely shut down.

The truth was, he couldn’t take the pressure.

He’d been raised in a greenhouse, pampered his whole life.
Everyone else sacrificing for him? Totally normal.
But now he was expected to bend, even just a little? Impossible.

Zhao Muyun finally realized the whole picture, and her emotions turned complicated.

She’d defended Su Yan last time to comfort him, because if he was wrong, that meant she’d made the wrong choice in siding with him.

But now, watching him like this, even Zhao Muyun couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

She walked over and sat beside him.

The dazed young man turned his head to see her… and instinctively shifted away.

Zhao Muyun felt a sting in her chest. “Su Yan?”

Snapping out of it, he realized what he’d done and gave an awkward smile.

“…Sorry. I’m just… not used to all this.”

Zhao Muyun gave a small smile and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Su Yan scratched his head, trying to shake himself awake, and asked dryly, “What are you doing here?”

Zhao Muyun fell silent.

She was his girlfriend—of course, she came to check on him. But the way he asked that question… Zhao Muyun’s heart sank. Maybe her relationship with Su Yan had been a mistake from the beginning. She hadn’t expected him to fall apart so easily under pressure.

They sat awkwardly in silence in the living room. No one spoke. After a while, Su Yan seemed to forget she was even there. He pulled out his phone and started playing a game by himself.

Zhao Muyun took a deep breath and said, “Su Yan, let’s break up.”

Su Yan’s fingers paused mid-game. Then he nodded. “Okay.”

Just as she thought.

He’d been waiting for her to say it.

Zhao Muyun let out a sarcastic laugh, stood up, grabbed the gift she’d brought, and left. Once she exited the building, she tossed the gift into a trash bin, her expression turning cold again.

She should’ve known better than to expect anything from Su Yan.

She should’ve learned in her last life—men are all sweet and doting when things are going well, but in tough times, you’re suddenly a burden.

When the lawyer’s letter landed on He Tianzhuo’s desk, it came with two assistants hired by Qingli to help pack up her things.

Not that there was much to take—just some documents and property papers. The rest, Qingli had told them to toss.

Those were the remnants of her connection to He Tianzhuo. Even if the original Qingli were still around, she would’ve done the same.

He Tianzhuo had long known this day was coming. He remained calm as he faced the lawyer.

If this had happened a month ago, he wouldn’t have agreed. Divorce wouldn’t benefit him—it would be a huge loss.

They had so many investments. If they split, everything would have to be divided—especially their studio. He might not even be in charge of it anymore.

But now he realized that not divorcing was the real liability.

Su Qingli was ruthless.

If she went public and cried about wanting a child, or worse, showed up with one and made a scene, he’d have nowhere to hide. So, reluctantly, he agreed.

Besides, at this point, he wasn’t losing out.

After all, Fengsha was a massive hit. Word was that several platforms were already lining up to bid for the secondary broadcast rights. International networks were reaching out, too. Another round of sales meant more money—he could practically make millions in his sleep.

“Let me say this upfront,” He Tianzhuo warned, “if I’m not satisfied with the asset split, I won’t agree!”

He opened the thick divorce agreement and started reviewing the terms seriously. But after reading it once—and then again—he still didn’t find what he was looking for.

Finally, he exploded. “Where’s the money from Fengsha?! Why is her liquid cash so low? No way! She must’ve transferred assets! I have a legal right to that!”

“And why is she giving up the studio shares but taking all the property and cash? Why does she get the bigger share?!”

“And why does she get all the rights to Fengsha?!”

The lawyer responded calmly to every question. “Because the script was written by my client. Naturally, all the rights belong to her. There’s no dispute there. And while shares may appreciate over time, real estate is currently more valuable. Remember, this investment is still actively making money.”

The lawyer paused before delivering the final blow. “As for the earnings from Fengsha, my client felt deeply grateful to the country for its support, so she donated all of it.”

He Tianzhuo blinked. “…What?!”

His voice cracked. “She donated all of it?!”

“That was over a hundred million!!!”

“And what about ad revenue? Don’t think I didn’t know about that!”

“She could still make millions more from future licensing deals! Is she crazy?!”

A drama is never just a one-time sale.

A typical web drama can be sold to a platform for exclusive rights for a set period. After that, it can be sold again to other platforms—even internationally.

If it airs on satellite TV, even better: it can be broadcast in multiple rounds. And thanks to modern technology, even mid-show ads can be swapped out and sold at a premium. With a show as hot as Fengsha, advertisers would be fighting to buy time slots.

So with Fengsha’s popularity, Qingli could easily make another 300 million if she wanted.

And now he was being told she donated it all?!

Was this some kind of sick joke?!

But the lawyer’s face remained expressionless. “Yes. All rights to Fengsha have been donated to the government. After deducting the other shareholders’ cuts, my client donated her entire portion to state-sponsored poverty relief organizations. Technically, part of that money should’ve gone to you—you’re welcome to file a claim with the government and ask to be added.”

Everyone knows: once something is donated to the government, it’s gone for good.

So the money, the rights, all of it—gone.

The reward He Tianzhuo had been counting on… was gone.

The lawyer smiled faintly, then landed the final punch: “Thanks to my client’s actions, the authorities are very pleased. And since Fengsha meets the standards for satellite broadcast and promotes a meaningful message beyond palace intrigue, they’ve agreed to make an exception and allow it to air on national television. Stations across the country will now compete to buy the rights.”

This meant Qingli’s prestige would rise again.

She was now officially recognized and endorsed, so much so that the authorities were breaking protocol to allow her drama to air on TV. It had been years since a time-travel drama was allowed on satellite television!

From now on, her work would be in high demand.

And He Tianzhuo? He wasn’t even part of the picture anymore.

He clutched his chest, his face pale. “She—she…”

The lawyer delivered the killing blow: “My client says, if you don’t sign this agreement within 24 hours, she will make sure you’re legally compelled to donate at least ten million.”

He Tianzhuo: “!!!”