Chapter Fourteen: The Title of Kept Man is Sealed

Chapter Fourteen: The King of Living Off Women

Fame born from hype is nothing but empty reputation—ephemeral, unsustainable. Lasting renown demands genuine achievement; only then can one truly be worthy of acclaim.

As a celebrity, Zhang Le might profit from a fabricated reputation, but as a director, such fame is useless, even providing ammunition for critics. In this field, only one’s work speaks louder than words. And Zhang Le, until now, had no film to his name.

“Four or five million? That’s all?” Yang Xin’er looked at Zhang Le in surprise. So little? Truth be told, Zhang Le could barely secure even forty or fifty thousand for investment, let alone millions. As for herself, she at least had a few thousand.

“Why don’t I invest in your film?” Yang Xin’er glanced at Zhang Le, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. Her worries spilled forth. “You said this movie would be a dark horse, a critical and commercial success. I believe in you. If there’s profit to be made, why let someone else take it when I can?”

She seemed to want to say more, but Zhang Le waved her off. Smiling, he said, “I’m not as stubbornly masculine as you imagine. Are you worried I’d feel embarrassed taking your money to make a movie?”

“After all, what’s mine is yours!” Yang Xin’er replied, her smile gentle. “How about we start a film studio together? Let this movie be our studio’s first work—what do you think?”

At her words, Zhang Le’s eyes lit up. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “What about your company?”

Yang Xin’er laughed. “If I set up a studio, the company won’t just allow it—they’ll fully support me.”

Though Zhang Le had suspected something, he still looked at her quizzically.

“My cousin holds a large stake in the company,” Yang Xin’er explained with a smile.

Zhang Le was not surprised. He’d never inquired deeply into Yang Xin’er’s background, but it was clear she came from substantial influence. Having a relative in the company’s upper ranks was hardly unusual.

Just look at how openly she announced their relationship—the company’s reaction revealed much. In any other firm, how could a star behave so “recklessly”?

The public’s fascination with Zhang Le and Yang Xin’er remained unabated. As long as there were those unwilling to accept their union, their names would stay in the limelight. Especially now, with explosive news emerging one after another since their romance became public.

Zhang Le composed and performed the theme song for the film “Waiting to Return,” dispelling countless doubts about his talent. Before the heat from that news had faded, another story broke—instantly thrusting Zhang Le and Yang Xin’er back into the media spotlight. Once more, the press chased after them.

For those in entertainment, media pursuit is common, sometimes even coveted. But for Zhang Le and Yang Xin’er, the intensity and duration of attention was rare. They were the undisputed stars of the moment.

The story was simple: Yang Xin’er invested all her savings to establish a studio for Zhang Le and finance his first film—a project rejected by countless film companies. Clearly, no one believed in Zhang Le’s movie.

No one would invest in his film, except Zhang Le himself.

The news gave Zhang Le’s detractors the opening they craved, and their excitement was palpable.

“Kept man living off a woman,” “King of freeloaders,” “Disgrace to men”—the insults echoed endlessly. Li Ming, in particular, led the charge with unrestrained personal attacks, sneering at Zhang Le’s film, claiming it would ruin Yang Xin’er, drive her to bankruptcy, and that Zhang Le was utterly shameless.

Yang Xin’er was a national star; dating her placed enormous pressure on Zhang Le. Fortunately, with experience from two lifetimes, he possessed a resilient heart. Otherwise, the rumors might have overwhelmed him long ago.

The insults were harsh, but Zhang Le had little to rebut.

Living off Yang Xin’er? At this moment, he truly couldn’t deny it. From the public’s perspective, it was through Yang Xin’er that he gained recognition, wrote numerous classic songs, earned the moniker of musical genius, got the chance to compose the theme for “Waiting to Return,” and received support from Chen Ke and Zhou Run, quelling doubts about him.

Now, thanks to Yang Xin’er, he could establish a studio and make a film.

He was a man whose opportunities depended on a woman.

Times may have changed, but traditional notions of masculinity still run deep. A man relying on a woman inevitably faces contempt.

Only now did Yang Xin’er realize how much more Zhang Le endured than she did. She was at a loss how to comfort him, other than offering unwavering support whenever possible.

Zhang Le could sense Yang Xin’er’s silent encouragement from the warmth in his arms. He smiled, saying, “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’ll prove to them your choice was right!”

“My choice is never wrong,” Yang Xin’er replied. “But Li Ming is infuriating. Didn’t he learn his lesson last time?”

“Last time’s lesson”—Zhang Le knew she meant the retort he’d made that nearly branded Li Ming as a fool. If not for his company’s tireless public relations efforts, the damage could have been permanent.

Zhang Le understood his words had been powerful, but the real impact was amplified by someone else behind the scenes.

And the one pulling strings behind the scenes was most likely the woman in his arms, simply venting her frustration on his behalf.

“If he hasn’t learned, let’s teach him again—help him remember.” Zhang Le smiled.

Yang Xin’er looked at him with anticipation and curiosity.

Zhang Le grinned, pulled out his phone, and posted a message, tagging Li Ming directly: “Li Ming, why did you give up on treatment?”

Yang Xin’er burst out laughing.

Previously, Zhang Le had insulted Li Ming’s intelligence in a subtle way, referring to him as “someone X.” This time, he openly named him. But that wasn’t what amused Yang Xin’er most—it was the message itself. Simple but clear, anyone with a brain could see Zhang Le was calling Li Ming sick.

When mocking his intelligence, Zhang Le had lamented Li Ming’s insufficient IQ balance, delivering the insult under a veneer of sympathy.

Now, he called him mentally ill, asking why he’d abandoned treatment—an insult delivered with feigned concern.

Yang Xin’er didn’t hesitate; she reposted the message immediately.

Li Ming had been publicly insulting Zhang Le, and onlookers eagerly awaited Zhang Le’s counterattack. His previous retort had left a lasting impression—just a single sentence, yet it had nearly driven Li Ming to despair, one word outweighing Li Ming’s countless curses.

Unfortunately, Li Ming’s latest barrage went unanswered for a while, as if Zhang Le hadn’t even noticed, disappointing many.

A war of words is dull without a worthy opponent.

But Zhang Le, just as before, responded with a single line that eclipsed Li Ming’s tirade. The first time, people found it amusing, marveling at Zhang Le’s artful insults.

Now, he had elevated the craft even further.

Compared to Zhang Le, Li Ming’s attacks seemed coarse and vulgar, like a shrill fishwife. Despite all his bluster, his barbs lacked the sting of Zhang Le’s effortless words.