Chapter 81: Earning Extra Money

After listening, Huanzi was dumbfounded. “You can get over eight hundred in gifts just by telling such jokes? Then maybe I should learn a few of Xiao Si’s routines myself.”

Zhao Jing laughed, “You’d better not. If you do, someone might just bash your head in.”

Huanzi protested, “Who says only you frail skinny types can be funny? Melissa McCarthy and Rebel Wilson are the queens of Hollywood comedies. They’re way funnier than the skinny girls!”

Zhao Jing was left speechless. “Well… you go ahead and work in that direction then. I hope you become Melissa McCarthy soon.”

“Alright, just wait and see!” Huanzi, sulking, tore open a new bag of chips and grabbed a hefty handful to stuff in her mouth.

Watching her, Huang Guolun was a bit alarmed. He wondered if Huanzi always ate like this, or if she was still in that post-breakup phase of binge eating to drown her sorrows.

As he mused, his sharp ears picked up a sound outside.

He told the other two, “It must be Zhao Yan back.”

The door to the private room was tightly shut; neither Zhao Jing nor Huanzi had heard a thing.

Huanzi asked blankly, “Duckie’s back already?”

Zhao Jing teased, “Mr. Huang, are you getting anxious? Should I call my sister and hurry her along?”

Before Zhao Jing finished, Zhao Yan pushed open the door and entered.

Zhao Jing turned and exclaimed, “Oh, you’re really back? Weren’t you out buying candy? And you changed your clothes?”

With a pair of sweet dimples on her cheeks, Zhao Yan explained calmly, “I got jam on my shirt, it was too messy, so I went home and changed.”

“No wonder you took so long,” Zhao Jing muttered.

Zhao Yan came over to greet Huang Guolun, her smile warm and friendly.

It had been days since they’d last seen each other, and Huang Guolun noticed that Zhao Yan seemed a touch slimmer than before, though her thick clothes still made her look plump—unlike the tall and slender Zhao Jing.

Yet, Huang Guolun found her roundness even more pleasing to the eye now.

Huanzi eyed the deep-red checkered sweater Zhao Yan had changed into, which draped down to her thighs and cleverly concealed her curves. She seemed to understand something.

When Zhao Yan squeezed in to sit beside her, Huanzi’s chubby face broke into a mysterious smile as she teased, “Duckie, you and Mr. Huang are really on the same wavelength. Before you even came in, he guessed you were back.”

Huang Guolun laughed, “It wasn’t a guess. I heard Xu Jie talking to Zhao Yan outside.”

Huanzi was taken aback, “No way! With the door closed this tight, you can still hear people talking outside?”

Zhao Jing was also surprised. The room was very well soundproofed; unless someone shouted outside, it was nearly impossible to hear. Her sister rarely raised her voice. That Huang Guolun heard them—did this uncle have superhuman ears?

Huang Guolun explained, “I’ve listened to music since I was young and trained my hearing, so I guess my ears are a bit sharper than most.”

Zhao Jing said bluntly, “That’s not just a bit sharper—that’s a lot sharper!”

Huang Guolun smiled as he sipped his coffee, “It’s not as extraordinary as you make it sound.”

Zhao Yan asked, “What were you all chatting about just now? Sounded lively.”

“We were talking about organizing a special live stream for Mr. Huang,” Zhao Jing said, showing her the T-shirt on the table, her eyes bright with excitement. “Mr. Huang is okay with us using the event to promote your Duck Shop, and he’s also hoping to give his brother’s movie a little publicity.”

“What’s this, a promotional T-shirt?” Zhao Yan asked, interested as she examined it.

“Yeah, my brother’s company just made a new online film. I think it’s pretty interesting. It premiered just yesterday, but the hype hasn’t caught on and it’s a bit overlooked. I thought if Zhao Jing could put on a well-watched live broadcast, we could use the chance to spread the word.”

Zhao Jing told Zhao Yan, “All the music and theme songs in the movie were composed by Mr. Huang. Let’s all watch it together tonight when we get home. I’m sure his work will be top notch.”

Although Zhao Yan wasn’t a fan of science-fiction horror, hearing that Huang Guolun composed the score piqued her interest. She said supportively, “Why wait till tonight? I’ll start the projector now.”

Their private room was equipped with a projection system; every week, the Duck Shop hosted small movie nights for friends.

But Zhao Yan and her friends rarely watched horror—they preferred indie art films. Tonight was an exception: they were about to screen the first bloody horror film in Duck Shop history.

No sooner said than done.

Zhao Jing busied herself setting up the projector for Zhao Yan, but still found time to tease Huang Guolun, “Mr. Huang, I hope your brother’s film isn’t a flop. If it’s bad, I won’t bother advertising it during the live stream. But if it’s good, I promise to give it a big push.”

“You’ll see. I think it’s decent, and the feedback online has been good. The only problem is that not enough people know about it yet. My brother’s company is promoting it now, but they made over ten thousand T-shirts and can’t even give them all away. If you like it, take a few for your friends. If you need more, let me know—I’ve got plenty at home.”

Earlier, Huang Guolun had asked his brother Huang Guokun for a batch of T-shirts to use as class shirts for Sun Yanzhen’s class, but Guokun ended up sending several hundred overstocked shirts to Huang Guolun’s home, asking him to distribute them to more classes.

But how could Huang Guolun possibly give away that many? They just piled up at home.

Catching the point, Zhao Yan said, “Mr. Huang, if you have a lot of T-shirts to give away, bring them to our shop. We might not have a big crowd, but we get new customers every day. If they like the film, we can hand out the T-shirts.”

“Great! I’ve been wondering how to deal with them,” Huang Guolun said, rising. “Why don’t you all start the movie? I’ve seen it a few times already. I’ll head home, check on my son, and bring a batch of T-shirts over.”

As Zhao Jing fiddled with the projection screen, she asked, “Your son’s at home? If you have time, bring him over. I’d love to see that clever little guy again.”

Zhao Yan agreed, “Yes, Mr. Huang, if it’s convenient, bring your son along.”

Huang Guolun glanced at his watch. “Not today. His grandma’s taking him to fencing class soon.”

Zhao Jing exclaimed, “Isn’t your son only four? He’s learning fencing already?”

Huang Guolun sighed. “He insisted. We didn’t force him.”

Zhao Jing grew even more curious, “He must love sports then.”

Huang Guolun was embarrassed, “That’s really not the case. You’ve seen him—one look at his build and you know he’s not the athletic type. His favorite sport is eating.”

Huanzi cut in, “Looks like we’re kindred spirits.”

Huang Guolun didn’t bother explaining why Huang Tao insisted on learning fencing. He was too embarrassed to admit that the boy was smitten with his beautiful fencing teacher—exactly the type he liked—and that’s why he was so determined.

“You all watch the movie. I’ll head home and be back later.”

Not lingering at the Duck Shop, Huang Guolun said his goodbyes and drove home.

On the way, he mulled over Zhao Jing’s idea for the live stream.

She planned to invite other artistically inclined friends to join, and suggested everyone split the proceeds, which got Huang Guolun’s attention.

He himself had no need for such small sums. Even though he’d be carrying the show as the main performer and core of the event, he was only doing it as a favor—to help Zhao Yan’s shop and to promote his brother’s film. Money was never a concern.

But if the live stream did make some money, Huang Guolun would be interested in helping Bai Yao earn a bit extra.

He knew Bai Yao lived frugally and was always saving money.

He’d once asked her if she was saving for something special.

She’d told him frankly that she was, and asked him to think of her if there were any more singing gigs.

Bai Yao hadn’t explained what she was saving for, and Huang Guolun hadn’t pressed. Still, he knew that a girl with no extravagant hobbies who was saving a large sum must have a serious plan.

Maybe she was getting ready to study abroad?

Whatever it was, he wanted to help.

He knew she’d never accept a direct handout.

But now there was a chance to let her earn a little extra. He thought he could bring her into the live show; no matter how much or how little they made, he’d give Bai Yao his own share.

Plus, Bai Yao was the vocalist for the theme song of “You Were Once a Beauty, Now a Corpse.” If she performed at the event and they played up her connection, it would make the film more memorable. She’d be standing up for the movie, too.

The only challenge was that they needed to do the live show soon—if they waited too long, the promotional effect would be lost.

If next week was free, Huang Guolun could do back-to-back shows on Friday and Saturday night.

His own rehearsals would be fine.

But for a relative novice like Bai Yao, who had little stage experience, it would take a lot more rehearsal time.

If she joined, they’d need to rehearse long hours every night next week.

But Bai Yao was a top student—rehearsing wouldn’t delay her studies.

Huang Guolun’s only concern was whether her voice could handle such intense practice.

He’d have to discuss it with her when he got home, to see if she was interested in performing.

Duck Shop was quite close to Zixing Mansion at Liulichang West—just about eight kilometers.

Traffic was light, and Huang Guolun arrived quickly.

This weekend, Bai Yao had been staying at Zixing Mansion with Grandma Zhou, helping take care of Huang Tao, giving Huang Guolun a break.

When he got home, Bai Yao was in the living room with Huang Tao, playing a sports game on the motion-sensing console—an excuse to get Huang Tao moving and help him lose weight.

Huang Tao was sweating, his cheeks flushed, caught up in the game.

Even when Huang Guolun walked in, the boy barely greeted him, calling instead for Bai Yao to focus as they continued their skateboarding adventure.

The two of them were bouncing around, completely absorbed.

Huang Guolun was perplexed. Huang Tao never used to like these kinds of games—so why suddenly so into it with Bai Yao?

After watching a while from the sofa, he noticed something: whenever Bai Yao jumped during the game, her chest would bounce dramatically. Huang Tao would always smirk secretly at these moments and deliberately urge her to jump more, watching intently.

Huang Guolun felt uneasy watching all this.

He hoped it wasn’t what he was thinking.

Surely the kid didn’t understand such things yet? He just liked playing with Bai Yao, right?

Yes, that must be it.

Better not to overthink it, or it would be too unsettling.

They played for a while longer, until Grandma Zhou arrived with a fruit platter and told them to take a break—they’d be going to fencing class soon. Only then did they stop.

Sweaty from all the jumping, Huang Tao grabbed a banana and, triumphant, hopped onto the sofa next to Huang Guolun.

“Dad, do you know whether the Monkey King likes durian or bananas?” he asked.

Huang Guolun paused. “The Monkey King is a monkey—he probably likes bananas.”

Huang Tao turned to Bai Yao, who was also sweating and sitting on the sofa nearby. “Sister Bai Yao, do you think the Monkey King likes bananas or durian?”

Dabbing her forehead with a tissue, Bai Yao guessed, “Since you’re asking, I’d say durian.”

Huang Tao grinned mischievously. “See, Sister Bai Yao is smart.”

Huang Guolun was puzzled, “Why would the Monkey King like durian?”

Holding the banana like a microphone, Huang Tao started singing Faye Wong’s “Red Bean”: “Because… there’s a stone monkey, a stone monkey, who’d rather choose durian and never let go~~”

Huang Guolun felt like crying. This rascal—always so cheeky!