Chapter 11: Qi Hao Is My Brother (Requesting Monthly Votes)

“Why open a bar? I… don’t know either.”

If Qi Hao had opened a bar, it would’ve been purely for the money.

But how much money can you really make from a bar? Someone with billions like Gao Yang wouldn’t care.

He looked like a child who’d come home, returning to his old hometown, opening a place exactly as it once was.

“Even if I did nothing now, my money would last my family three or five generations. But a person needs something to do, or they’ll feel empty.”

Gao Yang’s face was filled with melancholy—being invincible was just too lonely.

When he was out in the 80s, his only dream was to become a ten-thousand-yuan household.

Twenty years later, ten thousand yuan was barely enough to pay off his underlings.

“I understand what Brother Yang means—you want to expand into new industries, and your vision is truly admirable.”

Qi Hao spoke honestly: over the years he’d made some money too, and aside from buying a house and daily expenses, most of it sat in the bank.

“It’s not that exaggerated—I just want to raise my status. You have no idea how people see us coal bosses. They say we spit while wearing Pierre Cardin, drive Rolls-Royces and run red lights. They’re not wrong at all, haha~”

Gao Yang smiled bitterly.

In recent years, coal bosses—wearing little leather jackets, gold watches, driving Land Rovers and Hummers with two bodyguards—were always the targets of hatred and misunderstanding.

“Making movies does raise your status.” Qi Hao nodded.

In recent years, more and more coal bosses have invested in films—mainly because they have too much money and nowhere to spend it, plus they can promote their mistresses.

Their logic isn’t about art or sentiment—it’s purely about “rising above,” genuinely and unpretentiously “rising above.”

But Gao Yang’s concerns were valid.

Coal bosses investing in films get scammed often—they’re all taken advantage of because no one thinks they understand the industry.

“Let’s see if there’s a chance to collaborate. I trust you, and I ask you to trust me—I, Gao Yang, will never let a friend down.”

Gao Yang looked at his drink, clinked glasses with Qi Hao, and downed it in one gulp.

“Thanks for treating me like a friend—now we’re truly friends.”

Qi Hao also drank his glass dry.

This opportunity came to him—he’d be a fool not to grab it.

He knew Gao Yang was the type who dealt in both black and white; his wealth accumulation hadn’t always been clean.

Yet Qi Hao, though only twenty-six, had been in society for ten years—he’d long lost the naivety of youth and no longer believed hard work guaranteed a good life.

Looking at all these billionaires, hardly any had amassed their fortunes without dirt on their hands.

And without some muscle, you couldn’t survive in the entertainment circle.

“I heard recently someone named Zi Wen’s been causing trouble for you, Brother. Need me to lend a hand?”

With their relationship deepened, Gao Yang was noticeably warmer.

“Oh no, no need! Why would you need to use your methods? My contract with Zi Wen’s already ended—I’m setting up my own studio now.”

Qi Hao quickly stopped him.

First, he didn’t want Gao Yang using underworld methods on his behalf.

Second, Zi Wen had suffered enough.

It was over. Zi Wen was done.

“Haha, little brother, you’re worried I’ll use underhanded tactics,” Gao Yang seemed to see right through him and laughed. “You’re overthinking it. Whether I run a bar or mine coal, I’ve never used dirty tricks. To stand firm and go far, you’ve got to know your boundaries.”

“You’re absolutely right, Brother Yang!”

Whether true or not, Qi Hao respected this attitude.

Involvement with organized crime leads to death.

“Thanks for coming to support me tonight. Don’t joke about the money—I just ordered a new car and haven’t picked it up yet. I’ll have someone deliver it to you.”

Gao Yang wouldn’t take advantage of his younger brother—that would make him feel empty.

“Then I won’t be polite.”

Clearly, Qi Hao’s straightforwardness pleased Gao Yang.

After chatting a while, night fell, and the bar’s opening event officially began.

Most guests were friends come to show support.

Since Gao Yang left Beijing for Shanxi these past few years, he hadn’t fully lost touch with this circle.

And once a man has money, his social circle expands instantly.

Whether old associates or new ones hoping to connect, all came to show up with flower baskets or fine wine.

After the ribbon-cutting, Qi Hao finally took the stage to sing.

As he walked on stage with his guitar, guests immediately recognized him.

At Gao Yang’s main table, a man with massive arm tattoos spotted Qi Hao, the big star, and immediately started fawning.

“Only Brother Yang could invite a star of this caliber so casually.”

Gao Yang’s smiling face instantly turned cold. “Qi Hao is my brother.”

“A… a…” The tattooed man choked, speechless.

He hadn’t expected this big shot to defend Qi Hao—much less to humiliate him so publicly.

“Haha, come on, drink! Friendship lasts forever—I love this song!”

Luckily, others stepped in to smooth things over.

Everyone’s attention shifted to Qi Hao’s performance.

But inside, no one was calm.

Gao Yang was always polite, always leaving others three inches of face—he was a senior figure to many in the circle.

Clearly, Qi Hao meant a great deal to him, which was why he’d so bluntly put the man in his place.

“How can we forget old friends? / Can our hearts not recall? / How can old friends be forgotten? / Friendship lasts forever. / We once wandered all day long / On the green hills of our hometown. / We once endured hardship / Wandered everywhere…”

Someone began singing along with the performer on stage.

Slowly, the whole bar joined in chorus.

Most here were from Gao Yang’s generation—forty or fifty years old—who couldn’t stand “Ice Age” or “Rabbit Dance.”

They preferred reminiscing about old times.

In their youth, everyone had crowds of friends. Later… life pulled them apart. Then… their friends grew fewer and fewer.

Qi Hao’s singing wasn’t skilled.

Any halfway-professional could crush him.

But his voice was deep, unpolished, and brimming with raw emotion.

Many began wiping away tears.

When the song ended, the room erupted in applause.

“Next up, Leon Lai’s ‘Spring Wind, Autumn Rain,’ to celebrate Brother Gao Yang’s bar opening.”

Coal bosses loved singing Cantopop.

Because in their youth, Cantopop dominated the pop charts.

Even if their pronunciation was terrible, it didn’t stop them from enjoying themselves.

After two songs, Qi Hao handed the stage over to professionals.

“Qi Hao, come sit here.”

Gao Yang called out, patting the seat beside him—only then did everyone realize he’d saved that spot for Qi Hao.

Clearly, Qi Hao wasn’t just a hired performer.

“Everyone, I sang badly—I’ll drink three rounds myself!”

Qi Hao used his absolute advantage—his legendary drinking capacity.

Others joined in, even the tattooed man who’d called him a “performer” stood up to toast, calling him “Big Brother Hao” despite being over forty.

Anyone who made it in this world had no stubborn pride.

After the bar’s performance ended, Qi Hao didn’t immediately confirm his mission was complete.

He hadn’t interacted much with actors these past few days—likely no strong candidates yet. Better to wait until tomorrow’s premiere of “The Promise.”

At such events, the main cast almost always shows up.

Plus, they invite big names from the industry to lend support.

Also, Qi Hao didn’t want to exhaust himself—once the system confirmed mission completion, it’d instantly release a new one.

For a newcomer, this fast pace helped his career. But for Qi Hao, already a top-tier artist with fame and fortune, it was exhausting.

Yeah, Zi Wen couldn’t handle it either.

“The Promise” held a grand premiere in Beijing.

As the third male lead, Qi Hao walked the red carpet alongside the first and second leads.

Li Lianjie and Liu De were giants in the entertainment world—each step shook the entire industry.

But today, Qi Hao would overshadow them.

For the past few days, every news outlet had been reporting how Zi Wen had mistreated Qi Hao.

The entire internet was outraged on Qi Hao’s behalf.

Everyone thought Zi Wen, out of respect, would tone it down—instead, he doubled down.

He’d forced Qi Hao to sing in a bar!

Can you imagine Huang Xiaoming singing in a bar? Can you imagine Zhou Xun singing in a bar?

Wait—didn’t Zhou Xun used to sing in bars?

That was in the past; it’s not sold anymore.

Anyway, whether Qi Hao goes to sing at bars doesn’t matter, but Zi Wen, you’re refusing to show yourself to our vast online audience—that’s serious!

“Qi Hao, Qi Hao, is it true you’re being harassed by Zi Wen?”

“False, false!”

On this bitterly cold day, Qi Hao was surrounded and couldn’t move an inch, while Brother Li Lianjie and Second Brother Liu Dehua had sworn, “Brothers have this life, no next life—we’ll stab each other in the back for one another”—yet before anyone even pulled out a knife, they ran off without loyalty.

With so many reporters surrounding me, I’m walking on thin ice; I have no idea when I’ll make it to the other side of the red carpet.

“Qi Hao, why did you go to sing at bars?”

“I’m sorry—it was just to support a friend. Everyone misunderstood. My contracts with Zi Wen have all been terminated. I’m deeply grateful to Boss Ma for his support over the years. Please don’t misunderstand.”

“We don’t misunderstand—Zi Wen went too far!”

“Wahhh, what a good person, reduced to this by Zi Wen.”

“Number Seven, we support you forever!”

“Number Seven, be brave!”

“After the storm comes sunshine...”

“Believe in the rainbow...”

“Accept every storm and rain...”

“We’ll always be by your side...”

It somehow turned into a mass choir; under the dual siege of fans and media, it nearly became an incident.

The director hurried past with the female lead, avoiding them as if they were plague spirits.

Qi Hao’s plea for help had to be swallowed down.

Second Sister, how can you face me and Brother after doing this?