Chapter 10: It

Qin Yun had dreamed of sleeping in a mansion spanning a thousand square meters and driving a million-yuan luxury car every day.

But it was just a dream; he never imagined he'd actually one day achieve something as absurd as driving a luxury car.

But now, his left hand rested on the window frame, feeling the wind caress his skin, his right hand on the steering wheel, luxury enveloping him inside. For two hundred thousand, precisely two hundred thirty-three thousand yuan, he had acquired a brand-new luxury off-road vehicle.

Although the car consumed fuel heavily, its power was robust, its modification potential immense, and its off-road capability unquestionable—he believed this engine could overcome most terrible terrain out in the wild.

After circling Sanlitun twice, Qin Yun quickly realized the fuel tank was empty.

At Sinopec, he spent seven hundred yuan to fill the tank, which made him realize this was a beast with an enormous appetite. He still had over a hundred thousand yuan left, but with no income coming in, he feared he might soon be unable to afford even this car.

He drove the car back to the auto shop, where Shen Hu and the mechanics gathered around, touching and patting it, all excited.

Qin Yun handed them the keys, asking them to clean the car, then went with Shen Hu into the office.

"What are your plans next? Really going on a trip?"

During this time, Qin Yun had told Shen Hu roughly what he intended, but Shen Hu found it somewhat implausible. After all, they were all adults, past thirty, and none of them wealthy.

"Once all the paperwork is done, I plan to drive this car all the way back to Zhejiang."

"Sigh… now that you're leaving, we've lost another person to hang out with."

"I'm not gone for good," Qin Yun laughed. "I'll come back to Beijing when I have time."

After all, Beijing still had six check-in spots—he'd definitely return someday to complete them.

They chatted about the past, about the future, and before they knew it, the conversation drifted to Song Ya. Seeing Qin Yun seemed completely indifferent, Shen Hu couldn't hold back any longer.

"Divorce is fine—I always thought you two weren't suited in college. You were too practical, she was too ethereal, and she was also…"

Qin Yun shook his head: "Selfish?"

Shen Hu nodded: "Back then, we only saw you giving endlessly, never seeing Song Ya give you anything. One-sided effort eventually becomes taken for granted."

"It's not too late to realize now," Qin Yun said, placing his feet on a nearby stool, more relaxed than ever. "To avoid further entanglement, I asked for nothing—not a single yuan. I chose to leave with nothing, cutting ties with the past and starting fresh."

Shen Hu raised his thumb: "Bold move. But listen to me—you still need to think about making money. Whether man or woman, everyone in this world survives on money. Money isn't everything, but it solves 99% of your problems."

Qin Yun naturally felt Shen Hu's goodwill.

But as for how to make money next—or finding a main occupation—he still had no clear direction. Working a regular job? He wasn't considering it anymore; after all, he carried a system, destined to roam Tiannanhaibei.

"Any suggestions?"

Shen Hu thought for a moment: "If you're not planning to sit at a desk, your skills make freelance gigs relatively easy. But that's not a long-term solution—you might consider going into self-media."

"Self-media?"

Qin Yun frowned. Though today's online media was extremely developed—with platforms like Douyin and Constable thriving and countless people making money—the success rate was actually very low. You might see every video you scroll through getting tens of thousands of likes, even hundreds of thousands, as if everyone was earning.

But those are all the elite content filtered by the Algorithm—ninety percent of videos sink without a trace, you just never see them.

Self-media seems limitless in potential, but now, beyond sensual content, everything else must rely on quality content to break through. Ultimately, the key to self-media is deciding what kind of content to make.

"Yes, self-media," Shen Hu gestured. "My three shops livestream every day—customer acquisition costs have dropped dramatically. Now it's an era of traffic as king. It's the inevitable trend; there's no way around it."

Qin Yun nodded thoughtfully and said: "What if I travel around, filming my journey experiences—do you think that could work?"

Shen Hu didn't answer. He took out his phone, opened Douyin, typed "travel," and instantly dozens of travel-related videos popped up.

"Take a look yourself—could your videos be better than theirs?"

Qin Yun took the phone, casually opened a video with tens of thousands of likes, and saw the creator had put real effort into filming and editing, even used a drone. He clicked into the creator's profile—every video was scenic footage from different places, beautiful, each with tens of thousands of likes.

He thought about it—he probably couldn't shoot anything like that.

He exited the creator's profile and opened several other high-liked travel videos: some with cultural commentary, some purely scenic, some featuring solo travelers in remote areas—every possible niche was represented. Every idea he'd briefly entertained was already here.

He returned the phone to Shen Hu, momentarily unsure—but he was also easygoing.

"I'll decide after I get back to Zhejiang. No rush. Let me relax for a while first."

Shen Hu nodded slightly, then looked outside at the Land Rover Defender being washed, and suddenly said: "You want to modify this car?"

"Modify?"

"Yeah. If you're heading into the wild, you should modify it—add underbody protection to prevent scraping and rock impacts, install a front winch and rear tow hook so you won't get stuck, and expand the roof with a luggage rack, side ladder, or roof tent base."

Qin Yun thought for a moment, then agreed without hesitation.

"Alright, then sorry for the trouble. Leave the car here for now—I'll pay you later, all together."

Shen Hu immediately protested: "What's there to calculate? Consider it a gift from your brother. You're a divorced bachelor—keep your money for yourself."

Qin Yun laughed helplessly, yet felt touched.

After leaving the auto shop, he returned to the hotel and pondered for several days, still uncertain whether he could make it in self-media or as a video creator.

He was a cautious person, rarely taking risks.

So before clearly deciding on a self-media niche, he decided to put it aside for now—just hit the road first, then gradually find his positioning.

Less than three weeks after his divorce, he'd gained skills in instrument repair, vehicle maintenance, and photography. He wasn't worried about earning money through these skills—but he didn't want to be like before, so he treated them as mere skills, not means of livelihood.

Still, if fate offered an opportunity, he wouldn't refuse.

A few days later, he received a call from Shen Hu saying all modifications were complete.

Arriving at the auto shop, he immediately saw the transformed Land Rover—its grass-green body now wrapped in a matte black underbody armor, a sturdy electric winch mounted on the front, a seamless roof rack, and a side ladder that extended with a pull. Since none of these modifications affected the chassis structure, no registration was needed.

After thanking Shen Hu again, Qin Yun drove off from the shop, ready to wait out the cooling-off period before heading to the Minzheng Bureau to end his three-year marriage.

But the car had barely hit the road when an unexpected call came in.

"Hello, Ms. Shen… I can play the piano too… Yes, I'm in Beijing… Free time… Now? Okay, send me a WeChat location—I'll come right over… Alright, see you soon."

Qin Yun pulled over at a bus stop, and soon after, a WeChat location arrived.

"Beijing Runyuan? Why does that sound familiar?"

He muttered, sent his license plate number, confirmed navigation, checked the distance—about twenty-two kilometers, half an hour by car.

As the car drove onto Jingmi Road, Qin Yun suddenly realized what Beijing Runyuan was.

It was a luxury villa district in Beijing—apparently, the cheapest units cost sixty million, and anything more expensive was common.

No wonder Ms. Shen had said money wasn't an issue just now.

Ms. Shen, the owner of the cello that was repaired, is fully named Shen Xinrou; as for how her family became so wealthy, he did not know.

More than half an hour later, Qin Yun's car turned onto Yuyuan Road following the navigation prompt; a fresh scent of grass and trees filled the air, and the noise of the city behind him seemed to vanish instantly.

"Five hundred meters ahead, turn left onto Yuyang Road."

No sooner had the navigation voice ended than the scenery on both sides shifted again—a continuous green buffer strip came into view. Yuyang Road was wide, its two-lane, two-way pavement smooth and even; after driving about half a minute, a majestic nine-arch gate suddenly appeared before him.

The car slowed to a stop at the entrance; security personnel immediately approached. Qin Yun registered his visitor information, gave his name and license plate number, and after verification, the barrier gate rose to let him in.

Following the signs, he drove toward the underground parking entrance and quickly found the parking spot Shen Xinrou had sent him.

……

"Mr. Qin, you've arrived—please come in."

The door was opened by Shen Xinrou; inside the house were several others, making six people total in the first-floor hall, including Shen Xinrou.

"Su Su, this is the Master Qin I told you about—the one who repaired Cheng Cheng's cello." The person Shen Xinrou addressed was a middle-aged woman of similar age, exceptionally well-preserved, looking no more than thirty-something.

She was also strikingly beautiful, with a gentle demeanor.

Shen Xinrou introduced: "Mr. Qin, this is Zhao Lingsu, the mistress of this house; this is Xia Zhongjun, Su Su's husband; these two are their children, Zhao Yiyan and Zhao Yiyu."

After introducing the hosts, she pulled forward a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old girl: "This is my daughter, Shen Dancheng."

Shen Dancheng blinked her curious eyes—she hadn't expected the man who fixed her cello to be such a handsome guy; she'd imagined an old, grizzled elder.

In just a few words, Qin Yun's horizons expanded, yet he revealed no trace of curiosity, merely smiling and nodding to the group, completely unfazed by their skepticism. He was here for Ms. Shen; if this deal worked, fine—if not, it didn't matter.

"Ms. Zhao, Ms. Shen has already explained the general situation to me. May I ask where the piano is?"

Zhao Lingsu pointed to a door nearby: "The piano is in that room—I'll have my husband take you there."

Behind her, Xia Zhongjun stepped forward: "Mr. Qin, this way, please."

Qin Yun nodded and followed him.

Once the two had passed through rooms and corridors, Zhao Lingsu complained: "Xinrou, why did you bring such a young man? What skill could he possibly have?"

Shen Xinrou smiled: "What's the harm in trying? Maybe he can fix it. It's smashed to pieces—if you want it repaired, you'd have to ship it back to Germany. Is that worth it?"

Zhao Lingsu shook her head, still doubtful that Qin Yun could repair it—after all, the Steinway custom piano had been crushed badly. But since Shen Xinrou had spoken this way, she said nothing further, and invited everyone to the music room to see how Qin Yun would proceed.

Arriving at the music room, Qin Yun immediately saw a black piano severely damaged—the Steinway D-274 custom model, originally priced in the millions, its mother-of-pearl inlays shattered, the shipping cost alone enough for an ordinary person to earn in half a year.

He walked up to the piano, circled it for inspection, and found the casing completely deformed, keys partially detached; the keyboard mechanism was surely warped, and internal core components must be misaligned.

With his current instrument repair skills, he could instantly assess all the problems. After estimating, he turned to Zhao Lingsu and said: "I can fix it."

Zhao Lingsu was not fooled by this statement; she showed no emotion, only a skeptical expression: "Can you explain exactly what's wrong with this piano?"

Qin Yun nodded, walked to the soundboard, and pointed near the bass region: "There are two through-cracks here, about eighty centimeters long and 0.3mm wide; the edges show localized delamination from the ribs, causing muffled bass resonance and possible noise."

"Here on the agraffe plate, three bass string pins are loose and stripped, unable to maintain string tension, causing pitch drift… and here, the action… the keyboard system… the pedal linkage… the casing… the temperature control system." He finished by lightly tracing his fingertip across the piano's surface, his gaze firm, voice unwavering: "These are all the current problems with this piano. Though complex, I can repair them."

By the time he reached the middle of his explanation, Zhao Lingsu's family's expressions had gradually changed; to speak such professional terminology and pinpoint the issues so clearly—if this didn't prove expertise, then no one did.

Zhao Lingsu dropped her skepticism and gave a slight nod: "In that case, how much would it cost to repair this piano?"

Ultimately, it was about money—but shipping it to Germany and back, she estimated, would cost fifty thousand.

Hearing the question, Qin Yun had already prepared his answer and replied without hesitation: "Excluding original factory custom parts, my personal repair fee is 250,000."

"Too expensive! It's just a piano—only a few parts are loose. Just glue them back together, right?"

A cry of protest rang out in the room—it was Zhao Lingsu's son, Zhao Yiyan, the boy thrusting his neck forward, eyes wide, looking at Qin Yun as if he were a fraud.

Beside him, Zhao Yiyu glared at him: "You know nothing."

Zhao Yiyan stammered, dared not retort, and fell silent.

"Agreed," Zhao Lingsu nodded. This price fell within her acceptable range. "How long will it take?"

"At least twelve days, at most fifteen."

"Good. I'll have someone draft a contract. Is there anything you need prepared, Mr. Qin?"

"I'll prepare a list shortly—I'll list all the tools I need. Could you help me arrange them, Ms. Zhao?"

"No problem."