Chapter 012: Switching to a New Poseidon's Chariot

Li Lekang returned to his apartment, brimming with joy and eager to find someone to share it with. However, the fiery girl next door seemed to be out; there was no sign of her return even by evening, likely off at work. Instead, Judy messaged him to ask how the audition had gone. Lekang replied seriously, thumbs dancing over his phone: “It went well. I got my ticket to Las Vegas.”

“Congratulations, young man! Come over—let me buy you a drink! This is something everyone needs to know. We’re about to have a big star among us!”

Laughing as he read the message, Lekang grabbed his wallet and dashed out the door.

The neon sign of the Black Jack Bar still flickered brightly. Workers hustled about, busy with their own lives, but Judy had still found time to gather everyone in the staff lounge for a small celebration.

There was champagne on the table, along with fruit, snacks, and desserts. Colleagues squeezed a few moments out of their busy shifts to join in, arriving one after another.

Then their queen bee—Judy—lifted her glass and toasted him:

“From Lekang’s very first day here, I knew he was special. There was a voice in my heart telling me this kid was destined for fame. But reality has proven I even underestimated him. Congratulations!”

“Congrats, Lekang!”

“Don’t forget about us when you’re famous!”

“I’m pretty good on stage—maybe I could be your magician’s assistant!”

The bright-eyed waitresses began to wink and tease, setting everyone off into laughter.

Judy didn’t forget to remind them, “Tonight you’re all allowed just one drink, at most! Don’t you dare face my customers reeking of alcohol!”

“Oh, come on! Don’t kill the mood!” someone heckled, and laughter broke out again.

Judy’s stern gaze swept the room, but within three seconds she was laughing herself.

“But rules are rules!”

The tart champagne slid down Lekang’s throat as he watched the cheerful scene, knowing Judy was a true big sister, and feeling grateful to have such a group of people throwing him a party.

Though the celebration was simple—just a few sips before everyone had to rush back to work—the lively warmth stayed with Lekang for a long while.

Later, he returned home, took a shower, and slept soundly until morning.

He went for a run to exercise, and then began preparing for the day ahead.

He had arranged to meet with Mike to discuss agency cooperation.

In the cutthroat world of Hollywood, even with an edge, it takes resources and opportunity to stand out! An agency can greatly shorten that journey, and Lekang valued that highly.

So he set out early by car, only to have a heart-stopping moment on the way: his $8,000 Honda nearly broke down, leaving him sweating as he tinkered with it. Fortunately, it sputtered back to life—a false alarm.

Dragging its tired frame, the beat-up car finally delivered him safely to his destination: LAA, one of the countless talent agencies in Hollywood.

He’d looked them up online—not a giant, but certainly not the worst. After all, not everyone is a top-tier star; for dreamers, being signed at all is something to be thankful for.

The company’s exterior was unremarkable, just a two-story white building. Inside, though, was inviting: the cultural wall was plastered with photos of their signed artists—rappers, TV actors, glamorous models. Guided by the receptionist, Lekang was led to the boss’s office.

Inside were two men, Mike and his partner Victor. After handshakes and brief pleasantries, they got straight to business, discussing the terms of economic cooperation.

This was all about dividing the spoils: if you want the company to lavish resources on you, you’ll get a smaller cut at first. If you want a larger share, the company can’t afford to lose money. There are all sorts of arrangements in the industry—80/20, 70/30, even 50/50—depending on contract length, the client’s abilities, and the negotiations.

Lekang was supremely confident in his abilities. Even David Copperfield or Criss Angel, in his presence, were mere juniors! After all, they performed tricks; he wielded real magic. Not the same league at all.

So he believed he could achieve high exposure with minimal resources.

As for the split, he naturally wanted as much for himself as possible.

“I’d like to introduce a performance-based model,” he proposed. “For example, if my first year yields excellent results, in the second year my share increases; otherwise, it stays the same. What I earn should be determined by my performance.”

Mike listened to his bold words, exchanged a glance with his partner, and smiled. “People with your level of confidence are rare indeed.”

Lekang replied earnestly, “My proposal helps you control your costs and risk. Essentially, I’m tying my career to the company’s fortunes. I believe it’s a constructive approach.”

Mike summarized, “So you want a three-year contract: fifty-fifty for the first year, and depending on your performance, seventy-thirty for the second year if you excel, and if you do even better, eighty-twenty for the third?”

Victor added, “With all due respect, three years isn’t enough for us to recoup our investment. If we pour resources into you and don’t make a profit, you become a star and just walk away?”

“Five years, then,” Lekang countered, leaving room for negotiation.

After all, he wasn’t planning to stick to the magic circuit forever—his main goal was to earn some money, achieve financial comfort, and enjoy life as a magician. Hard skills were the core.

One could even say: did mere mortals really think they could tie down a master of magic with a contract? That was the most naïve thing he’d ever heard! He was, after all, a wielder of magic.

So the negotiations went smoothly. The contract was drafted, and they ate takeout at the office for lunch. By afternoon, the completed contract was ready for signature.

Lekang didn’t hesitate. He had Scroll Spirit review it.

What had the demon parchment’s main role been? Signing soul contracts with humans! Any legalese was child’s play for it.

With Scroll Spirit’s approval, Lekang signed without reservation.

In just half a day, the partnership was sealed.

They shook hands and popped champagne to celebrate.

Victor had other matters to attend to and left the company. Mike, still bubbling with enthusiasm, insisted on taking him out to eat and discuss their path to fame.

They headed to the parking lot, where Lekang’s Honda once again refused to start. Mike couldn’t help but tease, “Buddy, this car does not suit your new status! Hold on a sec.”

He ducked back inside and soon returned, tossing Lekang a set of keys.

Lekang caught them and looked: the trident of Neptune.

He pressed unlock, and a Maserati GranCabrio flashed its lights.

A convertible coupe, with a bold Neptune trident on the grille.

Mike said, “As an artist of our company, your image matters. For now, use this car. It’s not the best, but it’s a lot better than that jalopy that could leave you stranded at any moment!”

Not the best?

To Lekang, it was amazing!

The fanciest car he’d ever driven in his previous life was a Chinese-made AMG. Now, just look at this trident—Neptune’s own, a convertible, perfect for cruising California!

Maybe it wasn’t a Ferrari or Lamborghini, but with this car parked in front of a nightclub, heads would turn, and gold-digging party girls would be lining up to talk to him.