Chapter 15: Am I a Little Stupid? (Requesting Monthly Votes)

Qi Hao’s former agent, Lao Tian, who had spent years in the entertainment industry, possessed excellent connections within celebrity support teams.

So, Qi Hao’s studio didn’t recruit like ordinary companies by publicly advertising positions.

Even when hiring recent graduates, they’d wait until the core structure was already in place.

The first hires were all key personnel.

Qi Hao woke up late the next day—mainly because he’d been beaten so badly.

Half-asleep, he stumbled into the living room and heard Lao Tian on the phone.

“No way—he’s been unemployed since early this year, how hasn’t he found anything yet?”

“Haha, I know, I know his problem, but that still doesn’t mean he can’t find a job.”

“He hasn’t spent all his money… damn, that’s a strong excuse.”

“Has he spent it all now?”

“Thanks, ask him for me—tell him I’m starting a studio with Qi Hao; if he’s interested, he can be a founding member here.”

Lao Tian hung up and saw Qi Hao, but gave him no good look.

He still remembered what happened last night.

Especially during the dispute over Ao Bai’s ownership, Qi Hao’s capitalist rigidity had deeply wounded Lao Tian.

“Who were you talking to?” Qi Hao asked curiously.

“A PR expert.”

Since it was serious business, Lao Tian forced himself to straighten his attitude—he was professional at work.

Besides, even if he’d finalized his choice, he still had to show it to Qi Hao.

Qi Hao held veto power over all personnel decisions; if he thought someone unsuitable, no matter how skilled, they were out.

“A PR expert’s great—what’s his problem?”

Qi Hao had self-awareness—he knew he needed a top-tier PR person to handle his image issues.

“You’ve heard of Yu Tou, right?” Lao Tian shot back.

“Yu Tou? An Yu? MT? Janich Lyden?” Qi Hao listed several traits, all pointing to this peculiar figure in PR.

He was called MT because he loved provoking others, reliably drawing aggro.

Whether teammate or enemy, everyone’s hatred focused on him.

Because of this, An Yu changed jobs up to three times a year at his peak.

It wasn’t that he was incompetent—he just fought with people at work—sometimes coworkers, sometimes even bosses.

Normal workplaces should flatter superiors and bully subordinates.

He didn’t—he was refreshingly equal, treating coworkers and bosses the same.

For example, once a boss gave a speech about sharing hardship and sticking together through tough times.

He immediately said: “You think of employees when you need hardship? What about when you’re making money—did you ever think of sharing profits?”

The boss immediately lost face.

Another time, a female coworker cried dramatically after making a mistake; everyone rushed to comfort her, but he blurted: “Stop thinking about chasing stars on paid leave—you wouldn’t make such a stupid mistake if you weren’t so lazy.”

“Because of your brother, we spent over a million extra this time.”

The female coworker burst into louder sobs.

Other colleagues blamed An Yu, but he remained calm and launched a full-scale group roast:

“Why so emotional? You pee on the ground and stare at it—do you really think you have a chance? They don’t even look at you. All they do is accept your meals and gifts to give you the illusion you have a shot—think about what you actually got…”

Though his words were logical, they were too brutally true.

And his roast covered too wide a range—even included married sycophants among the bosses. Through collective effort, An Yu was kicked out of the company again.

Qi Hao knew of him because he also loved to roast.

But as a public figure, he couldn’t vent freely, so he envied An Yu’s raw, unfiltered life.

“Stand up and kick? You’re filthy!”

If “stand up and kick” is Lao Tian’s term, what’s “kick the sky” called?

“He gave himself that English name—he didn’t get it from me. He’s talented, but he’s a ticking bomb—easily destroys entire teams.”

Qi Hao didn’t think Lao Tian could control “Janich Lyden.”

“Hire him first—six-month probation. If he fails, fire him.”

“Have you found anyone else?” Qi Hao cared most about the agent.

“Not that fast—we need to look, meet, talk. Watch yourself lately,” Lao Tian said—he didn’t want to see Qi Hao right now.

Besides, he wasn’t even his agent anymore—why was he still running around with him?

“I’m going to Zhu Yuanyuan’s baby’s hundred-day banquet—I’ll go alone.” Qi Hao picked up his military coat and Lei Feng hat.

Zhu Yuanyuan was the female lead in “Heavenly Dog,” a collaborator who’d never been linked to him in gossip.

Mainly because Zhu Yuanyuan was already married.

She’d recently given birth to a daughter, and now it was exactly a hundred days.

“How much cash are you bringing?” Lao Tian called out, stopping him.

“Fifty thousand,” Qi Hao pulled out an envelope and weighed it—he rarely attended such banquets, so he was unusually cautious.

“Listen to me—don’t give that much. Two thousand is enough!”

Lao Tian sighed—he felt his headache returning. He said he’d let Qi Hao fend for himself, but he couldn’t truly abandon him.

You’re going to a banquet, not to provoke.

You might not even eat, but end up being the main dish, taught how to behave.

“Why?” Qi Hao didn’t understand.

He’d just started a studio—he needed to spend money everywhere, but fifty thousand wasn’t that much.

Ordinary people might give thirty or fifty yuan as gifts.

But celebrities were different.

As high-income earners, if you didn’t give ten or twenty thousand, people would call you stingy.

“Let me ask you—when did Zhu Yuanyuan get pregnant?”

“Probably… during filming. Damn, Lao Tian, what are you implying? I’m clean with Zhu Yuanyuan—her husband was on set almost the whole time.”

Qi Hao got angry.

You can despise my profession, but don’t insult my character.

Especially since you’re one of us—your hurt cuts twice as deep.

“Do you think Xin Baqing stayed on set for no reason? Doesn’t he have his own career? He just feared his wife would be seduced by you—turns out, his vigilance got her pregnant.”

Lao Tian wanted to crack open Qi Hao’s skull and see what was inside.

You say he’s stupid? He’s often very smart.

But say he’s smart? From those uncorrupted eyes, you still see the ghost of a college student.

“They were classmates—they’re deeply in love,” Qi Hao retorted.

“I’m too lazy to argue with you. If you really want to get beaten up, take a million over and tell Xin Baqing: ‘I’ll raise the kid.’”

“Damn, you’re cruel.”

Qi Hao took off his coat—it was too hot indoors—and opened the envelope to repackage it.

As Lao Tian advised, he only put in two thousand yuan.

“Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t act too familiar with Zhu Yuanyuan—talk more with her husband… and don’t clarify anything. Just chat normally—you’re good at that, aren’t you?”

His former agent lectured him like a mother.

If he hadn’t had calls to make and office spaces to inspect, he wouldn’t have let Qi Hao go alone.

“I get it,” Qi Hao put his coat back on, asking as he did: “Lao Tian, am I a little stupid? A little naive?”

“Occasionally…” Lao Tian waited until Qi Hao stepped out, then added quietly.

Not just a little.

Zhu Yuanyuan’s daughter’s hundred-day banquet wasn’t huge, but the celebrity guests were few.

They invited Qi Hao not just because of their collaboration, but because Zhu and Xin owed him for his promotional efforts during “Heavenly Dog.”

When “Heavenly Dog” was about to release, Zhu Yuanyuan was heavily pregnant.

Attending promotions like that was risky.

So Qi Hao volunteered to handle the entire promotion himself—nearly double his normal workload.

Thanks to his popularity and effort, the indie film didn’t lose money.

Probably because of Lao Tian’s warning, Qi Hao stayed extremely low-key throughout the banquet, even sinking into deep self-loathing.

I’m so dirty!

But Xin Baqing didn’t give Qi Hao the cold shoulder—he even warmly handed his daughter over to be held.

“Her nose and mouth look like mine, her eyes and eyebrows like her mother… pretty?”

“Beautiful, so cute—she’s blowing bubbles…” Qi Hao held the baby gently, his heart softening completely.

“If you like her, just have one yourself. With your looks and a beautiful wife, your kid will be gorgeous,” Xin Baqing said, relieved—though Qi Hao held the baby awkwardly, he did it properly enough.

“It’s not that easy to find the right person,” Qi Hao reluctantly returned the baby.

He genuinely loved babies.

More accurately—he loved all cute things: cats, dogs, human infants.

“Want me to introduce someone?” Xin Baqing smiled.

"Never mind, I just started my studio—I have no time for romance..."

And now I’m being watched by a system that likes to shock people.

I’m constantly forced to do bizarre things according to the system’s demands.

Wait, that sounds a little odd.

Old Tian’s folder seems to contain a similar plot...