Cooperation contracts were a special category of agreements in this world's entertainment industry.

Under this arrangement, artists and companies maintained a more equal partnership. Neither side dominated the other. But responsibilities were also clearly divided. Singers had to create their own music. Actors had to find their own roles. The company only provided minimal resources for survival in the industry.

Unless artists faced insurmountable problems, the company rarely intervened. They wouldn’t meddle in personal matters—like forbidding relationships.

Essentially, artists merely put their names on the company roster. They handled everything themselves. They could leave anytime. The company suffered little direct loss. Artists avoided messy contract transfers.

It shared a similar logic with modern streamer arrangements.

Seemingly free, yet few aiming for stardom chose this path. With weak managerial control, companies invested few resources in such artists. Otherwise, any scandal or departure meant losing everything they’d invested.

Limited resources meant tough growth. Whether singers or actors, creating masterpieces alone was nearly impossible without exceptional talent. Without company support, fading into obscurity could be permanent.

Thus, these contracts usually went to newcomers with low potential. A trial opportunity. If they proved themselves, they might later switch to standard contracts.

Chunan’s active request for a cooperation contract was likely a first.

But ultimately, resource allocation remained the company’s prerogative. If Chunan and Xiaohan showed real talent, Dawn Entertainment could break rules to offer true S-tier resources. Their primary goal was securing these talents for Dawn’s bandwagon—ahem. He Dong rarely saw such promising prospects in recent years. He couldn’t let other companies snatch them up.

The rest was negotiable. Despite the cooperation framework, He Dong exceptionally granted them S-tier contracts. This meant top priority, maximum resources, and premium platforms within the company. With matching talent, they’d surely shine—bearing Dawn Entertainment’s imprint.

He Dong never forgot Dawn’s past reputation as a "god-making factory." Many household-name superstars had emerged from its ranks. But in recent years, few reached such heights. As head of Dawn’s music division—controlling half its empire—He Dong felt the pressure. He couldn’t let the legacy crumble under his watch.

That’s why he rushed to sign Chunan and Xiaohan after seeing their video.

A selfish move, perhaps. But he could afford the gamble. Just one S-tier contract. Dawn could handle it.

With mutual interests, the deal closed smoothly. He Dong grew increasingly impressed with Chunan—calm, level-headed, treating the matter with quiet composure. Exactly the temperament needed in today’s chaotic entertainment world.

As for Xiaohan… she radiated vibrant energy. Perfect for an idol.

By the dinner’s end, the atmosphere had thawed from its initial formality. He Dong raised his glass with a smile. "Let’s toast to future collaboration. Since we’re partners now, may I call you Xiao Chu?"

Chunan nodded politely. "Then I’ll call you Uncle He. I’m just a streamer, unfamiliar with this industry. I’ll rely on your guidance."

He Dong paused, cleared his throat lightly, and gestured to Chen Peng beside him. "Of course. If you can’t reach me, contact Chen Peng. Spend time with him—he’ll help pave your way."

Chunan agreed. "I’ll count on your help, Brother Chen."

Chen Peng nearly choked on his drink, suppressing a laugh.

He Dong: "...Actually, Xiao Chu."

"What is it, Uncle He?"

"Never mind." He Dong waved it off. "If you’re done eating, feel free to leave early. No need to wait for us."

Chunan turned to Xiaohan. "Any questions?"

"Yes," Xiaohan finally seized her chance after observing silently. Her expression held a trace of strangeness. "You two just decided everything? Didn’t even ask the person involved?"

She felt sold out. Right in front of her. Without a single consultation.

It was like discussing how to butcher a pig while it watched.

...Wait. She wasn’t the pig!

Chunan narrowed his eyes slightly. "Do you have objections?"

Xiaohan actually pondered it. Then shook her head. "No."

She just hated being excluded. Even with no objections, she needed to assert her presence. Besides, everything matched what Chunan had discussed with her earlier.

Watching their exchange, He Dong chuckled. "May I ask—are you two dating?"

"No."

"Not at all!"

They replied almost in unison, faces perfectly serious and identical in denial.

He Dong nodded, amused. "Alright, alright. Noted."

Chunan cleared his throat lightly, ready to leave. "We’ll take our leave then, Uncle He."

"Be safe on your way."

As they exited the private room, He Dong finally turned to Chen Peng. "Do I look that old?"

Heaven knew he was only two years older than this scoundrel. How did he jump from "bro" to "uncle"?

Chen Peng grinned shamelessly. "Try looking in a mirror. Might give you some perspective."

They’d been university classmates. Such banter was harmless.

He Dong did look old. In college, he’d often been mistaken for a professor. And after just over a decade, his hairline had already reached a dangerous height. "Uncle" fit perfectly.

"...Fine," He Dong dropped the subject. "What do you think of them?"

"Excellent. Exactly the image I envisioned." Chen Peng nodded. "But whether they suit the lead roles needs screen tests."

"I can’t help there."

"No need. I’ll contact them myself."

Chen Peng paused, suddenly curious. "Old He... are they really not a couple?"

"What do you think?" He Dong shot him a look. "After years in this industry, can’t you tell? Chunan’s clearly pushing that girl into entertainment as a hobby. He’s paving her path. Stars with partners rarely fare well publicly. Privately..." He shrugged. "If you think being someone’s personal manager to protect them is just ‘friendship,’ I’ve got nothing to add."

Chen Peng: "...Point taken."