Chapter 30: Douyin Influencer

Su Huan grabbed Qin Yun by the arm and asked, puzzled: “Why are you running around? Can’t you just sit still?”

Qin Yun smiled: “I wanted to see how many bird species I could photograph today at Xixi Wetland.”

“What’s so interesting about that?” Su Huan frowned, then sternly added, “Sit still and let’s talk.”

Qin Yun spotted a yellow wagtail landing by the lake, then flapping away—he sighed inwardly at the missed shot.

He set down his camera and sat heavily on the folding chair: “Go ahead, what do you want to talk about?”

Su Huan rolled her eyes, then said slowly: “Are you seriously planning to become a self-media creator? I looked into a few MCN agencies these past two days—nine out of ten influencers are just content fillers for platforms; very few actually make money.”

“Not necessarily,” Qin Yun shook his head. “It’s just a direction for now.”

“You need to think this through,” Su Huan leaned back, pursed her lips, and gazed at a few birds flying toward the lake. “The era of making money just from views is over. If you can’t land good ads, filming videos alone won’t earn much. That’s why many accounts with followers are slowly shifting toward live-streamed sales.”

Qin Yun glanced at her in surprise, curious why she’d bothered to research this—but he’d studied it too, so he wasn’t concerned. Self-media is tough right now, but if you find the right niche, it can be easier than other paths.

“Some influencers earn more than stars—like Li Jiaqi, Dong Yuhui—but they’re rare exceptions. Especially on Douyin, even with massive followers, if you can’t keep fresh content, you’ll get abandoned quickly.”

“I know,” Qin Yun raised his camera, snapped a photo of a sandpiper flying in, “In this industry, what ultimately matters is sustained content vitality, the ability to self-renew with the times, and personal brand credibility. If you keep these three core elements, you build an irreplaceable barrier.”

“Good. You understand.”

Su Huan’s mind churned. Since meeting Qin Yun in Hebei, she’d been anything but calm—especially after learning he was divorced. Something long dead in her heart had begun stirring again.

At night, she’d slapped herself more than once—but it only grew worse.

She’d secretly liked him in college, but that was ancient history, long faded. She never thought meeting again would spark new feelings. Yet here she was, obsessed with his face these past few days.

“Ugh… so frustrating…”

Qin Yun suddenly spotted a small bird with a long beak and reddish-brown feathers, perched on a tree branch, dipping its beak into the water.

“Ruddy turnstone!”

He immediately raised his camera, zoomed in, and snapped the shot. The system panel instantly showed the fifth bird species—only five more to complete the task.

“Pheasant-tailed jacana, ruddy turnstone, sandpiper, great egret, white-winged duck…”

Xixi Wetland had rich birdlife—indeed, only healthy ecosystems attract wildlife.

As Qin Yun bent to check his camera, Su Huan suddenly screamed: “Watch out!”

Before she finished, a loud “plop” echoed, then chaos erupted nearby—people shouting and sprinting toward the lake.

“Qin Yun, a child fell in the lake!”

Qin Yun froze, then tossed his camera aside and sprinted toward the water. Though he started later, his closer position let him reach the shore first. He saw a child sinking, flailing wildly.

Without hesitation, he dove in, grabbed the girl’s arm, yanked her up, and pulled her into his arms.

Immediately, the child wailed, clinging desperately to Qin Yun’s neck.

Qin Yun swam back, felt solid ground beneath his feet, and rushed ashore.

“An’an!”

The mother turned pale with terror, rushing over. The girl saw her mother and flung herself into her arms, sobbing loudly—clearly terrified.

Others arrived too. One middle-aged man was the same guy who’d chatted with them earlier; the rest were families gathered for a picnic.

“Brother, thank you.”

The father checked his child over, confirmed she was unharmed, then sincerely thanked Qin Yun.

Qin Yun shook his head, glanced at the crying girl, and smiled: “As long as the child’s safe.”

The man clapped Qin Yun’s shoulder hard and told his wife: “There’s clothes in my suitcase—get the young man a change. Don’t let him catch a cold.”

“Right, right, Brother Ren, I’ll get it—I brought extras too,” the child’s father finally realized.

Soon, the father brought over a T-shirt. Qin Yun didn’t refuse—he stripped off his wet top, wiped himself with tissues, and pulled the shirt on.

Beside him, Su Huan blushed at the sight of Qin Yun undressing, especially the defined lines of his muscles—her heartbeat quickened.

“When did he get so fit?”

Qin Yun had no idea what she was thinking. He changed his shirt, but his pants were soaked—he’d just have to make do. They exchanged names and made brief introductions.

The man was Gao Ren; the child’s father was Wu Shaohua; the girl was Wu Xiaoluo, nicknamed An’an. The other man from the second family was Chen Xu—a Douyin influencer with three to four hundred thousand followers, a solid audience.

With that follower count, a creator could already live off short videos.

Seeing a real influencer, Qin Yun grew curious and expressed his own interest in making short videos.

Chen Xu chuckled: “Brother Qin, what niche are you planning? Short videos are tough now—I’ve had my account for nearly three years and only built up this many followers.”

“I plan to travel, wander the world, and film interesting moments along the way,” Qin Yun replied honestly.

Chen Xu shook his head: “That niche is too crowded, and the sunk costs are high. Sure, Douyin’s full of videos with millions of likes and endless ads—but that’s surface. Every viral video isn’t luck; it’s the result of dozens of concepts, countless takes, and endless editing.”

Qin Yun nodded in agreement. Chen Xu clearly mistook him for an ordinary travel vlogger—understandable, since every travel angle has already been filmed.

Chen Xu’s throat was dry from talking. He took a sip of his drink, noticed Qin Yun still interested, and opened his phone to show his homepage.

To Qin Yun’s surprise, Chen Xu, despite his rough appearance, was an emotional content creator—specifically, one sharing domestic dramas: mother-in-law/daughter-in-law conflicts, that sort of thing. Qin Yun was stunned.

Chen Xu continued: “Douyin has so many niches now, it’s nearly impossible to create a new one. If you want to be a travel vlogger, you’re stuck with travel guides, accommodation reviews, trip logs, product recommendations—how hard is it to stand out?”

“So ultimately, no matter the niche, content is key. Great content makes people ignore everything else.”

Qin Yun nodded: “I’ve learned something.”

He agreed—it matched his own thinking.

“The grilled meat’s ready,” Gao Ren’s wife began serving everyone. Qin Yun and Su Huan joined their table.

Somehow, An’an’s mother told her something. The girl picked up a piece of grilled meat with chopsticks and ran to Qin Yun: “Uncle Qin, eat the meat.”

Qin Yun laughed, ruffled the girl’s damp hair—mostly dried by her mother—“Thanks, An’an. Uncle won’t refuse.”

He swallowed the meat she’d offered.

The families ate, drank, chatted—relaxed and comfortable. Qin Yun savored the peace.

“Dad, Dad, what kind of bird is that?”

Gao Ren’s son—the same little boy from earlier—was named Gao Tu, nicknamed Zhuangzhuang. Thin as a stick, the opposite of his name. Gao Ren clearly had him late in life.

Zhuangzhuang pointed at a bird by the shore, curious.

Gao Ren looked, shook his head: “I don’t know. Maybe a great egret? Look at its white belly.”

“No way! Great egrets have long necks!” Zhuangzhuang wasn’t fooled—Gao Ren felt embarrassed.

Qin Yun laughed, waved: “Zhuangzhuang, give Uncle your grilled meat, and I’ll tell you what bird that is, okay?”

Zhuangzhuang thought, then ran over with his bowl: “Okay, Uncle, I’ll give you all my meat—tell me!”

Qin Yun casually raised his camera and snapped a photo. “That bird’s called a long-billed plover. They’re called wetland sprites—super alert. One little noise and they’re gone—*whoosh*.”

Zhuangzhuang nodded: “Thanks, Uncle. You know so much—more than Dad.”

Gao Ren rubbed his nose, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“But your dad’s strong—look how big and broad he is.”

Zhuangzhuang turned, glanced at Gao Ren, and nodded vigorously: “Yeah, Dad’s super strong!”

“You know birds too, Brother Qin?”

Wu Shaohua noticed Qin Yun spoke with ease—clearly not just guessing.

Qin Yun smiled: “I’m interested in animals and plants, so I study them in my free time.”

Chen Xu, mouth full of meat, perked up, swallowed quickly: “That’s your selling point. If you know obscure animals and plants, their habits inside and out, your videos gain a unique edge others lack.”

Wu Shaohua said: “But if people want to learn that, they can just watch science videos. Isn’t that too narrow as a hook?”

Chen Xu nodded: “True. So you need to weave that knowledge seamlessly into your videos—so viewers unconsciously think, ‘Wow, this creator is so knowledgeable.’ Once they form that impression, you slowly build their trust—and eventually, you make it.”

Qin Yun summed up: “In short, the core logic of going viral is being awesome.”

“Hahahaha… crude but true. Exactly.”

Qin Yun nodded thoughtfully.

Before they knew it, noon passed. The sun blazed. Qin Yun said goodbye.

“Brother Gao, Brother Chen, Brother Wu, Sisters, An’an, Zhuangzhuang—Uncle and Auntie are leaving. Bye!”

“Bye, Uncle!”

Pulling the cart, Qin Yun and Su Huan retraced their steps. But as they reached Fudi, Qin Yun suddenly said: “Su Huan, here’s the key—I’m going to the restroom. Wait for me in the car.”

Before she could react, he vanished.

Su Huan: “…”