Chapter One: Writing About the World of Entertainment Within the World of Entertainment

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I’ve transmigrated—can you believe it? Yu Wei never imagined that even a writer like himself could experience such a thing...
He had personally orchestrated countless transmigration ceremonies for male protagonists, and now, finally, his own turn had come.
How he transmigrated was unclear, but this new identity was undeniable: still named Yu Wei, but no longer a writer—instead, he was a nobody at the bottom rung of the entertainment industry.
In his past life, Yu Wei wrote mostly entertainment novels; who would have thought he’d actually become a star?
Looking in the mirror, he saw a refined and delicate face. Though his hair was utterly flattened and messy, that face somehow still carried an unkempt charm.
Modeling was fine, but the economic status and rank were terrifyingly low—after four years since debuting as a star, he had no savings left...
“A poet in hand!”
Even as an artist, he was better off when he was a total flop.
Writing about entertainment and being a star—can those two compare? Stars only need to sing, dance, act, have commercial value, backing from capital, speak cautiously, please fans, and maintain their public image. But a novelist must consider so much more...
Someone like him, with no connections, no capital, no talent or gifts, and no social skills—a mere ornament—was just a stray dog on the street in the entertainment world.
Having seen pigs run and tasted pork—how could those be the same?
Forget about becoming famous; with his current profile, he would probably be kicked out and peacefully terminated once his contract expired...
The absurdity didn’t end there. This world was just like the entertainment novels he’d written—artistic works were all completely unique.
“I really give up.”
Yu Wei was a writer of entertainment novels; didn’t he know how ridiculous this worldview was? Everything else was the same, but the works were entirely different—just waiting to be plagiarized, huh?
The works were all different, yet public tastes and artistic genres were roughly the same—wasn’t that a contradiction?
Joking aside, Yu Wei had written quite a few of these novels himself. What could he do? People still loved reading them.
People read web novels mainly for fun—why bother nitpicking?
But Yu Wei wasn’t just writing novels now.
He had truly transmigrated; he knew it hurt when he slapped himself...
He picked up his phone to check—familiar songs and films from his memories didn’t appear here at all. The few that did share names were all coincidences.
Tracing the roots, he finally found the culprit who changed the world line.
In this world, a global superstar had emerged in the last century, single-handedly transforming the entire entertainment industry.
Since then, the whole entertainment industry had been overshadowed by his presence; no one could compare, and later works were all crude imitations of his.
“Wow, even the protagonists in my novels aren’t as impressive as him.”
Unfortunately, genius was doomed—he did not survive past the turn of the millennium.
Like a whale’s fall giving birth to life, today’s entertainment industry basically grew from the soil he sowed, naturally differing greatly from Earth’s original state.
It was the same land, but here it was covered by a greenhouse...
Because of a true leader, the entertainment industry here was much stronger than on Earth—after all, everyone had tasted the best.
Put simply, if Yu Wei could also become a superstar who led the era, the entertainment industry a century from now would certainly be a different scene.
But sadly, he couldn’t do it.
Even if he could directly use songs and scripts from his memories, he still couldn’t—because he simply didn’t remember that much.
Who remembers all that? Even if one had some impressions, they wouldn’t be deep; could the work written from vague memories retain its original flavor?

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Even if he wrote something, he wouldn’t know how to. He was tone-deaf and utterly talentless; the original body was a useless ornament who couldn’t even read music scores properly.
Yu Wei laughed angrily at himself—he couldn’t even handle a straightforward wish-fulfillment start. Who else was to blame?
“Forget it, let’s make some money first.”
He really wasn’t cut out to be a star, but he could still write about stars. As a perennial flop, his greatest strength was entertainment...
Or rather, it was the easiest thing to write—no need for experience or knowledge, just plug in a template and replicate it one to one.
The only difficulty was finding a good hook, something to immediately catch the reader’s attention.
Top celebrity scandals, full internet blackouts, slacking and worshipping fallen queens—at the root, all just hooks.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with hooks; people read for novelty, and competition through differentiation was natural.
“What kind of hook would work?”
After registering his author identity, Yu Wei gazed at the blank title box, lost in thought.
Entertainment novels were quite common in this world, with all kinds of themes, and the competition was fierce.
To stand out, he needed a unique hook—something no one else had...
Variety shows? Going crazy? Didn’t feel right—those themes were saturated. Even the book titles followed the same formula, making it hard to distinguish one from another at a glance.
His editor said, “If you don’t know what to write, just write about Huayu Entertainment, pick some popular female stars, and someone will read it.”
Yu Wei wanted to, but he hardly knew any female stars in this world; he couldn’t even match their names, so how could he write about them?
Better to just invent a fictional setting—much easier.
“Got it.”
He had experience writing about entertainment, and soon a rough idea formed.
Scoring apps had become quite popular recently, and a group of “score masters” had emerged, rating everything from celebrities and internet personalities to snacks and drinks.
This could tie into the entertainment industry—due to fake fans boosting numbers and trolls giving low scores, many works and artists’ ratings were “distorted”...
Recalling a popular meme about scoring from some time ago, a book title suddenly popped into Yu Wei’s mind.
“Why Are Celebrities Always So Obsessed with Their Ratings?”
The protagonist was a young star riding the black-and-red (scandal and hype) wave, who had been stuck at a 2.5 rating for two and a half years since debut and eventually earned the annual lowest score artist award.
Then the protagonist awakened a scoring system that allowed him to rate people and events in the entertainment world. The more objective the score, the richer the rewards, granting classic works and skill experience.
What followed was simple: the protagonist became the “Entertainment Industry Score Master,” growing stronger while roasting the whole industry:
“You, ugly and unskilled, baseline 6 points; you, arrogant and stagnant, 8 points; you, screaming fans blowing smoke, 3 points; and you, talentless and immoral, inciting cyberbullying—that’s a solid zero right there...”
It was one thing to write such a novel, but in reality, no one dared to roast the entertainment world, let alone offend the capital behind it—they’d never get away with it.
Yu Wei’s writing was brainless, but he wasn’t stupid.
Talent and public opinion didn’t mean much—talent was just a tool in front of power, and manipulating public opinion was even easier; whoever came could crush it.
“Let’s start with a submission!”
After settling on a simple plot, Yu Wei swiped across the screen and typed the “debut work” title.
The moment he confirmed the title, a virtual panel appeared in front of him.
What was bound to happen, happened...
[Entertainment Field Master System]

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[Host: Yu Wei]
[Bound Novel: “Why Are Celebrities Always So Obsessed with Their Ratings?”]
[In-Novel Artistic Works: None]
[Exchangeable Works: None]
[Exchanged Works: None]
Oh, come on—the Entertainment Field Master!
Why, just because I became a star, does the system still want me to keep writing? Didn’t I flop enough before?
This system was ridiculous; if he didn’t write, he’d never see a golden finger in this life...
Alongside the panel, a few lines of explanatory text appeared.
[The host can perfectly master Earth’s entertainment works by writing entertainment novels, including the works themselves, performance skills, creative backgrounds, inspirations, and content analysis.]
[When Earth’s artistic works appear in the novel’s plot and the novel’s data meets exchange requirements, the corresponding works can be perfectly mastered.]
[Wish you become an entertainment field master soon.]
After reading this, Yu Wei was a bit speechless—write about whatever works appeared in the novel and master them? Was he some kind of magic pen?
So, to become a star, he first had to write entertainment novels?
This sounded easy, but it wasn’t—since when did any real star write entertainment novels?
Industry insiders pretended to be lofty? The world would turn upside down!
Yu Wei knew his own limits—he flopped so many times simply because he wasn’t good enough; that was undeniable.
He couldn’t afford to have a pile of novels that didn’t earn enough points to exchange...
With “creative incentives,” Yu Wei’s enthusiasm for writing soared. Just as he was about to start, a sudden phone call interrupted him.
Lost inspiration, taking a day off.
“Why didn’t you come to rehearsal? I’m asking why you didn’t come? You don’t even care about the farewell show—can’t you even part amicably?”
Listening to his manager’s furious shouting on the phone, Yu Wei instinctively recalled similar words once spoken by a homeroom teacher—pitying the unfortunate, angry at the unambitious.
It seemed that was indeed the case...
Yu Wei was still a member of a boy band, but the group was about to disband; the farewell show was next Friday night.
Calling it a boy band was a stretch—he was just filling a spot since one of the “Seven Little Ones” had dropped out.
This position was illegitimate, so the resources were inevitably bad, and with the original owner’s poor performance, he had nothing to show after four years.
Others could go solo after disbanding and enjoy freedom; for someone with zero commercial value like him, disbanding meant retiring and becoming a total nobody.
At the farewell show, he was the only one truly saying goodbye.
“Sister Liu, I’ll be there this afternoon.”
Yu Wei checked the time—the disbandment night was a week away, and starting a book now could still get the new work into the system.
As long as the data was good enough, he might get a song at the show. The end could be a new beginning—no one knew yet.
Enough talk, time to start typing.