Chapter 45: Dajiang

After finishing his conversation with the Dajiang liaison and Su Huan, Qin Yun leaned back in his chair, half-reclining, finally able to feel the new skill the system had transmitted.

【Check-in task completed, received random reward: Archery skill +1】

【Archery Skill LV1: Arrow follows heart, perfect accuracy, no shot misses its mark】

Archery—not shooting, so unrelated to guns—refers only to the traditional cold-weapon “arrow.” Yet even so, he had become utterly proficient with every type of bow: longbows, short crossbows, horn bows, repeating crossbows, and more.

Now he could instantly adjust his aim based on wind speed, humidity, and distance—even against a headwind at a hundred paces or through dense forest shadows—and still hit his target with a single arrow.

It sounded miraculous, but Qin Yun was certain he could do it.

All I can say is: the system is awesome!

Compared to the physical transformation brought by combat skills, the archery skill barely affected him—he only felt a faint warmth flowing in his arms and waist.

“Not bad. Another skill acquired. Though useless in the city, it’ll be different out in the wild.”

He muttered, when suddenly his phone rang—it was Shen Hu calling.

Qin Yun answered, and immediately a flood of words poured out, nonstop.

The gist: utter admiration.

After ending the call with Shen Hu, several other classmates also called, conveying the same awe.

After finishing all these calls, Qin Yun replied to a few more curious messages on WeChat, then headed straight back to the hotel.

That night, after dinner, he organized all the footage from today’s livestream, uploaded it all at once to his cloud drive, and sent it to Fang Nan.

Fang Nan excitedly replied: “Bro Yun, I’ll work overtime these two days—I’ll get it done fast.”

Qin Yun smiled: “No rush, take your time.”

He casually transferred two thousand yuan over.

Given Fang Nan’s skill level, two thousand yuan was definitely too low for such a video edit.

Fang Nan insisted it was too much—that they’d agreed on one thousand, so it should stay one thousand—but Qin Yun disagreed. Since he’d seen future returns, the price needed recalculating; if earnings grew later, he wouldn’t mind paying more.

Seeing he couldn’t argue Qin Yun down, and since it was only two thousand, Fang Nan accepted it.

Qin Yun scrolled his phone for a while, ignoring every single private message from MCN agencies on Douyin’s backend—none got a reply. Signing a contract was out of the question; once signed, he’d lose all freedom. Even if the revenue split was high, if he couldn’t choose what to livestream or what videos to make, it was no different from selling himself.

Besides, most MCN agencies are bloodsuckers. At his current state, all he needed was to maintain consistency—he’d become a big V in time, with no need for their help.

Besides, if not for the system’s check-in task, he wouldn’t have bothered livestreaming today at all. After all, if it were just for livestreaming, the returns weren’t worth it—but for skill gains, it was entirely different.

He thought for a moment, then posted the video of him repairing the motorcycle—seizing the momentum.

After posting the video and finishing his evening routine, it was nearly eight p.m.

He didn’t go out to wander—he went straight to bed. Even if his body could handle it, his mind needed timely recovery; otherwise, too many such sessions would lead to premature gray hair.

…

The Dajiang liaison’s name was Li Rui, a man in his early thirties.

He’d expected a routine commercial livestream, never imagining he’d witness the birth of a legend.

Especially the prominent exposure of Dajiang products in the livestream, and Qin Yun’s frequent, spontaneous praise of Dajiang’s drone during the broadcast—culminating in his heartfelt thanks at the end—left an unforgettable impression.

The marketing department analyzed that this livestream outperformed their collaborations with multiple influencers. Quantitatively, ten influencers’ videos combined couldn’t match the impact of Qin Yun’s single video.

Moreover, Qin Yun would later release a full-length video featuring Dajiang products.

“In terms of actual value, the livestream plus the video is worth roughly half a million.”

This was the final assessment from the marketing head.

Soon after, Li Rui received a message from his superior: “The drone and action camera lent to him don’t need to be returned yet. We hope Qin Yun can arrange several more livestreams like this rock-climbing one—if he does five such livestreams, we’ll gift him the equipment outright.”

Furthermore, if he maintains this quality, the price for commercial video deals can rise to fifty thousand yuan, and may increase further with better results.

Clearly, Dajiang had immense confidence in Qin Yun’s livestream impact.

There were many competitors in the extreme sports field—GoPro, Insta360, Sony. While Dajiang dominated the drone market, it didn’t hold a monopoly on action cameras.

If they could secure an outdoor legend who steadfastly chose their products, it would be an exceptional advertising effect.

Seeing Qin Yun hadn’t replied in the group, Li Rui contacted Su Huan.

He informed her of the company’s decision, and Su Huan found the outcome unsurprising. Anyone who’d watched Qin Yun’s livestream wouldn’t think the offer too generous—even many would consider it too low.

Right now, Qin Yun’s follower count is low, but as long as he keeps producing quality content, his follower growth is just a matter of time.

Originally, the pure video deal was only three thousand yuan, and with the livestream added, it rose to thirty thousand. Now, after the livestream, the pure video deal has skyrocketed to fifty thousand—what more could anyone want?

Qin Yun slept until morning, then received this good news from Su Huan.

Dajiang’s favor gave his self-media journey an excellent start and established a baseline for future commercial deals.

In high spirits, Qin Yun drove away from Shengsi, heading to Lizhu Passenger Port, where he boarded a ferry back to Dinghai’s Sanjiang Passenger Port. Just one hour after leaving Sanjiang Port, he arrived at Zhouyu Dormitory.

His mother had already gone to work. With the day free, Qin Yun put his things away and strolled leisurely toward Lincheng.

On his mother’s side, the family tree was sprawling. His father’s side was fine too—one aunt, one uncle—but the family feud had been so bitter that they’d cut ties while his grandparents were still alive.

So in terms of relatives, he only had his mother’s brothers and sisters.

Walking along the wide road, Qin Yun occasionally replied to WeChat messages, but mostly observed the surrounding buildings and parks.

Lincheng’s road width was incomparable to old Dinghai. Here, vast green parks lined the streets, and the overall urban planning far surpassed Dinghai’s.

More and more people were buying homes in Lincheng—transportation and infrastructure here had grown increasingly advanced.

Only because Zhoushan’s public-sector wages were low did large numbers of outsiders not flood in.

In Zhoushan, outside public institutions and sea-related industries, average wages hovered around three to four thousand yuan—pathetically low.

Like his mother, she’d worked at her current unit nearly her whole life, yet her salary still hadn’t exceeded ten thousand yuan. Even so, her income was far higher than that of newly hired college or graduate employees.

Walking and pausing, Qin Yun opened Douyin to check his third video.

To his surprise, overnight, the video’s likes had surpassed fifty thousand, and the comments were mostly hilarious.

“The master not only climbs rocks but fixes cars—amazing.”

“Truly, brilliant people excel at everything. I can’t even reassemble a seven-piece puzzle, but the master completely overhauled a dismantled motorcycle and got it running again.”

“The way Auntie held the spatula was so cool.”

“Can carve, climb rocks, fix cars—holy shit, what else can the master do?”

Seeing this comment, Qin Yun suddenly had an idea. He edited his tag page and added three tags.

They were: Chinese Rock Climber, Carving Master, and Motor Vehicle Repair Technician.

Since he hadn’t shown his other skills in the video, he didn’t need to tag them yet—he’d add them later when he demonstrated them.

Looking at those three tags, Qin Yun felt delighted. In a year, he imagined, these tags might be too small to hold them all.

As for followers, after yesterday’s livestream, his count had quietly surpassed 130,000.

Three videos, one livestream, 130,000 new followers—this was an impressive performance even by Douyin’s standards of miracles.

“Qin Yun?”

Hearing the voice, Qin Yun put away his phone and turned. There, in Meihua Park to his right, stood Wang Lili.

“It really is you,” Wang Lili smiled brightly, walking over. “Why are you alone? Where are you going?”

Qin Yun shrugged: “You’re alone too—I’m just walking around.”

“Fair enough. I was bored at home, so I came out for a stroll. By the way, I live in Guixiang City over there.”

“Your vacation’s that long? You haven’t gone back to Hangzhou yet?”

Wang Lili kicked at the curb: “Train ticket’s tomorrow afternoon.”

Then she pointed toward the park: “There’s a matchmaking corner inside—want to check it out?”

“Matchmaking corner?” Qin Yun knew what it meant—but did Zhoushan have one? And right near his home? Why had he never heard of it before?

Following Wang Lili into the park, past a few trees, the full view opened before him.

The park was large, filled with people strolling, walking dogs, and taking kids out.

After walking a short while, the matchmaking corner came into view, crowded with people.

Coming from their direction, they first saw the men’s matchmaking notices.

Qin Yun glanced casually and thought: if his own info were posted here, it’d be a level-down crushing. Most men here had serious flaws. First, education: most had only junior college; bachelor’s degrees were rare.

Second, either appearance was poor, or height was short, or age was too high.

He even saw one: bald, forty, one meter sixty tall—unless he had money, he’d never find a match here.

But if he had money, he wouldn’t be here anyway.

Naturally, the requirements these men listed for potential partners were also low: basically, healthy, stable family background, etc.

“Any one catch your eye?” Qin Yun asked, seeing Wang Lili absorbed in the notices.

Wang Lili snapped back, smiling: “I’m not short of suitors.”

Qin Yun nodded: “Of course. Wang Lili, you’re beautiful, have a stable job, good income—no shortage of admirers.”

After a few playful remarks, Qin Yun walked toward the women’s side.

But he was surprised: almost none of the women’s profiles had photos. He voiced his confusion to Wang Lili.

Wang Lili laughed: “Just read the info above.”

Qin Yun’s gaze fell on the pink and red sheets, and his mouth slowly opened.

Compared to the men’s side—full of dusty, barely excavated data—the women’s side was far higher quality than he expected.

“Born 1992, both parents are high school teachers with three apartments in Lincheng.”

“Born 1995, both parents employed, self in public sector, annual income 150,000 yuan.”

“Born 1999, public sector, looks 8/10, good figure, wide-ranging hobbies…”

Qin Yun understood: for women, appearance mattered more than these conditions, so they omitted photos—letting men judge purely by the written criteria, regardless of whether their actual looks matched or not.

“Got it?” Wang Lili whispered. “The men here are mostly undesirable leftovers. But the women? They’re all high-quality, picky, and still single because they won’t settle.”

She leaned closer to Qin Yun: “Why not post your info here? Even divorced, with your profile, plenty of girls would contact you.”

Qin Yun grumbled, “I’m a jobless drifter and divorced—who’s going to contact me?”

“Haha, just post the photo and it’s done.”