Chapter 941: A Five-Million Donation

After finishing the first song, Luo Quan immediately sang “Blue and White Porcelain” again.

It wasn’t her most beloved song among fans in China, but it was certainly the most widely known, having been performed during the Spring Festival Gala—and in its prime time slot.

For a long time after that, this masterpiece of Chinese-style music could be heard at nearly every evening show.

“Thank you, Luo Quan, for your wonderful performance.”

After Luo Quan finished her act, Shu Mang walked onstage and loudly expressed his gratitude.

But the performance segment wasn’t over yet; the boy band who had already raised their hands earlier were invited onstage by Shu Mang to perform a singing-and-dancing rap.

As Luo Quan had guessed, this stage had been reserved for them—but no one expected that she herself would raise her hand too.

Regardless, she had already achieved her goal of performing onstage.

In the short time it took her to sing two songs, the popularity of the Baisha Charity Night surged again, nearing sixty million and now just shy of the all-time record.

After all performances ended, the main event of the evening finally began.

The fundraising from the previous auction round had been modest—only around thirty million RMB.

For the official donation segment, the production team didn’t rely on hollow phrases like “for charity” to urge stars to donate; instead, they presented concrete donation plans.

The primary beneficiaries in impoverished mountainous regions were mostly elderly people and left-behind children.

The problems these groups faced were simple: the elderly needed health care and basic sustenance; left-behind children needed proper nutrition and the ability to study in peace.

Of course, spiritual needs were also important, but satisfying those couldn’t be achieved merely with money, so they were typically not considered.

All funds raised by Baisha would be used entirely to purchase supplies, which would then be delivered by staff to the areas in need.

From procurement to distribution, every step was recorded and fully transparent, open to scrutiny by everyone.

In addition, the list of donors would be made public—clearly showing who donated and who didn’t.

Previously, this list had never been released, but perhaps due to the growing influence of Baisha Charity Night, it had come under official oversight, requiring all data to be disclosed clearly.

For Luo Quan, if the fund’s usage was fully transparent from start to finish, then it was trustworthy.

Moreover, Shu Mang explicitly stated there would be live streaming and video recordings; though it carried the suspicion of chasing trends, Luo Quan wished everyone had the opportunity to benefit from such visibility.

She hoped those who did good deeds would receive more publicity, so people would know that doing good brought a good reputation.

Anonymous donations and selfless charity were indeed noble, and Luo Quan admired such benefactors—but such practices actually hindered the development of charity itself.

Not everyone possessed such lofty moral awareness.

As the saying goes, wealth cultivates character; once people acquire money, they often begin to care about reputation, and the simplest way is through charity.

If everyone urged anonymous donations, it would greatly discourage those who wished to buy reputation with money.

Therefore, Luo Quan believed that anyone who donated to charity should be publicly acknowledged and praised.

But what surprised Luo Quan slightly was that, despite the lively atmosphere of the charity gala, the actual donation segment grew unexpectedly quiet.

It wasn’t that the stage was dull—Shu Mang had specially invited the renowned crosstalk master Guo Laoshi to host this crucial segment.

As the most influential crosstalk artist in China today, Guo Ban Zhu’s verbal dexterity needed no elaboration—he rarely looked embarrassed on camera.

The only time he’d seemed slightly humiliated was during his dispute with his apprentice.

It had erupted into a huge scandal, ending in utter chaos.

But after several years, Guo Ban Zhu and his troupe had become a major force in the Chinese entertainment industry.

The changing times proved traditional crosstalk could no longer survive—but blending it with idol pop stars might open a new path.

Thus, Guo Ban Zhu’s troupe began attracting more young, handsome newcomers, who frequently appeared on variety shows with makeup resembling Korean “flower boys.”

Their looks were passable, and they occasionally dropped clever one-liners on variety shows, sending the audience into fits of laughter.

But as for their actual crosstalk skill, opinions varied.

Luo Quan herself didn’t watch crosstalk, but she’d seen some edited clips on Bilibili—they were genuinely funny, though many relied on old jokes.

Overall, Guo Ban Zhu and his team were currently at their peak, with their company thriving and objectively injecting new vitality into the declining art of crosstalk.

Guo came to Baisha Charity Night to host partly because of Shu Mang’s invitation, and partly because he wanted to make a genuine contribution to charity.

He performed solo crosstalk without any vulgar content, earnestly describing how difficult life was for people in impoverished regions.

Beyond comedy, Old Guo was also skilled at stirring emotion—just a few sentences had already moved the audience to tears.

After hearing about these people’s hardships, it was time for the heartwarming donation segment.

No coercion—entirely voluntary.

But it was Charity Night; everyone knew why they were here, and not donating even a little would seem strange.

Yet the facts proved there were many strange people in the world.

During the donation segment, each person received a heart-shaped card with their name on it; they wrote down their donation amount, and Old Guo would announce it loudly into the microphone.

“Wen Xia, how much are you planning to donate?” Su Yu asked the person beside her, though she herself had already written one million on her card.

She’d been busy with work all year and hadn’t done much charity; since the chance had come, she might as well donate more.

“You’ve got thirty million fans donating a million each—so if I donate twice that plus more, wouldn’t I have to give even more?” Wen Xia grinned and wrote two million on her card.

Leon and Mia were both wealthy, but as foreigners, they didn’t fully trust foreign charity organizations, so they weren’t overly generous—each donated fifty thousand U.S. dollars.

“Isn’t that a bit little?” Mia whispered to Leon after writing the number.

“Fifty thousand U.S. dollars isn’t much in America, but converted to RMB, it’s over three million—already quite high,” Leon, familiar with the market, found the amount perfectly acceptable.

Of course, if the charity organization were more reliable, he wouldn’t mind donating more—as a blessing for his unborn child.

As for Luo Quan, she paused to think, and listened to the donation amounts Old Guo announced onstage.

Most were hovering around seven hundred thousand; only a few exceeded one million, and the highest so far was Old Guo’s own donation of 2.8 million.

And among top-tier and A-list celebrities, many had donated zero.

“Could there be something fishy about this charity night?” Luo Quan slipped into conspiracy theory.

But it had been running for over a decade—if there were real problems, wouldn’t rumors have surfaced by now? She’d never heard any issues with Baisha Charity Night.

At most, there were rumors that host Shu Mang lived extravagantly—like feeling unwell if his daily food budget fell below five hundred, spending heavily on clothes and meals every day, and speaking in an affected manner.

But those were his personal habits; she had no interest in meddling.

Besides, this charity night wouldn’t end after donations—live streaming would continue afterward, and any irregularities would be exposed by netizens, so most of the donated money would likely reach those in need.

So why were these people still unmoved, refusing to give even a penny? Luo Quan couldn’t understand it.

But not understanding didn’t mean she had to judge—after the charity night ended, the online crowd would do the judging.

As for her, she’d simply follow her heart.

In three swift strokes, Luo Quan wrote “five million” on her card.

If nothing unexpected happened, this would be the highest donation of the night.

But compared to her past donations, this was merely a drop in the ocean.

After all, she had once donated one hundred million U.S. dollars.

But that one-hundred-million-dollar donation had been a bizarre experience.

At the time, she hadn’t even considered charity; during a live stream, her fans kept begging her to give out perks.

Annoyed, she set a flag: if they raised one hundred million U.S. dollars, she’d shoot a swimsuit photo shoot.

In her view, it was an impossible task.

Yet, thanks to her global fans’ efforts, they actually raised the full amount.

With no choice, Luo Quan had to fulfill her promise and took her first-ever swimsuit photos in the Maldives.

As for the one hundred million U.S. dollars raised, she didn’t keep a cent—she donated it all, helping repair her reputation, which had suffered slightly due to the crowdfunding swimsuit campaign.

Fortunately, her flag had only been for a swimsuit shoot; had it involved anything more extreme, the consequences might have been severe.

Since then, Luo Quan had never set another flag.

She’d continued donating to charity regularly, each time giving at least several million, sometimes over ten million.

Without this level of donation, how could her domestic film and TV projects possibly clear censorship so easily?

Others spent sleepless nights trying to pass censorship, desperately editing out every controversial scene.

She, however, only needed to avoid being overly provocative—most of the time, her work passed review without issue.

For this Baisha Charity Night, Luo Quan had expected to be the top donor—but she hadn’t expected it to be so easy; five million alone secured her the top spot.

Soon, her card was delivered to Guo Ban Zhu’s hands; he blinked in surprise, then looked toward Luo Quan and announced loudly:

“Ladies and gentlemen, during this donation segment, a number has emerged that will bring great joy to the people in impoverished regions: five million RMB, donated by Luo Quan!”

“Thank you, thank you, Luo Quan, for your tremendous support!” Shu Mang echoed loudly.

The stars onstage applauded enthusiastically—after all, applause cost nothing.

As the highest donor of the night, Luo Quan was granted a moment to speak.

If it were Leon, he’d probably launch into a rap right now, like:

“Donating is good, shouldn’t be ranked.

“But you earn more than me, yet your donation’s less than a tenth of mine.

skr~~~”

That would make many people scowl.

But Luo Quan didn’t speak so bluntly; instead, she chose a more tactful approach:

“When poor, cultivate oneself; when prosperous, help the world—that’s a saying I’ve learned since childhood.

As an artist with modest wealth, this five million doesn’t fully represent my deep concern for the people in impoverished regions; I’ve donated through other channels too, and I believe everyone here shares the same compassion.

When I was in elementary school, my teacher often told me: how much money you have doesn’t matter—it’s the heart behind it that counts.

I believe that if everyone gives a little love, tomorrow’s world will be even better. Thank you.”

The same words carried different meanings in different hearts.

Some felt she was being sarcastic, their expressions turning uneasy.

Some believed these were Luo Quan’s heartfelt words, accumulated through years of charity, deeply moving.

But regardless of their feelings, everyone clapped after Luo Quan finished speaking.

Immediately after, Team Leader Guo announced the donation amounts from Leon Wenxia and the others.

Though far less than Luo Quan’s, they were still vastly higher than those of some artists present—after all, some hadn’t donated at all.

Ten minutes later, the donation segment ended.

Including funds raised from the earlier auction, tonight’s Baisha Charity Night had raised a total of 150 million yuan.

For those living in dire poverty, this was an inspiring figure.

If properly implemented, it could improve the lives of at least ten thousand people.

After donations concluded, the moment the stars had most eagerly awaited—and most nervously anticipated—arrived: the group photo.

Hundreds of guests attended today; all could take the stage for the group photo, and the spacious stage could easily accommodate them all.

But the camera could not focus on everyone—the center position was reserved only for those with the highest status and greatest popularity.

Previously, Luo Quan had no intention of competing for the center spot, for she no longer needed such fleeting symbols to assert her status.

But after donating, she felt it would be a waste not to stand in the center.

Her company had donated the most this time; in terms of popularity and works, who could rival her?

If she stood in the corner and let those stars—who hadn’t donated a single cent and were mediocre—steal the spotlight, would that be fair?

Clearly not.

Host Shu Mang also thought this unfair, so as soon as he saw Luo Quan step onto the stage, he called out for her to gather everyone over.

The group led by the Oscar-winning Best Actor and Best Actress carried an intimidating aura; just moments ago, the top female idols had been vying for attention, but upon seeing Luo Quan and Leon’s party, they all stepped aside in unison.

Tonight’s center spot belonged first to these people—only then could others take their places.

Luo Quan did not hesitate, stepping firmly into the very center of the photo with Wen Xia and Su Yu.