Chapter 22: Brother Tongzi, are you serious?

No matter how obsequious or defiant Qi Hao behaved, the system ignored him.

But Qi Hao remained deeply unsettled.

The reward of 0.1% of Tencent stock seemed worth only a ridiculous $5,500.

Yet it actually created a massive price differential of over nine hundred times.

The positive effect of the time gap had finally emerged.

If Qi Hao were allowed to buy freely, he could have acquired Tencent outright—its valuation was just $5.5 million, and he’d borrow money to bring it under his control.

Because Tencent wasn’t just worth over twenty billion; it held enormous potential and was one of the few high-quality assets amid the current economic crisis.

Of course, this was impossible.

In 2000, Qi Hao didn’t have $5.5 million.

Even if Tencent had been given to him, he couldn’t have run it—back then, no one was even interested in taking it over.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was, if the system could reward him with 0.1% of Tencent stock, why couldn’t it offer other similar things?

Even a hundredfold appreciation would mean enormous wealth.

That’s why, at this moment, Qi Hao truly felt the joy of having a cheat system.

Hmm, painful but joyful.

He still had to consider falling on the red carpet.

And because of the reward’s “strangeness,” he dared not cut corners.

What he meant by cutting corners was spending money to arrange a private red carpet in a secluded place, or putting up a curtain to hide himself on the red carpet…

As long as no one saw his face, he wouldn’t be publicly humiliated.

But what if the system judged the task a failure?

That was 0.1% of Tencent stock!

He absolutely had to fall hard in front of a crowd.

Thinking about it, he felt a little excited…

Qi Hao suppressed his urge—knocking on Lao Tian’s door at this hour might make him overthink things.

Besides, the red carpet fall didn’t need his consultation.

Better to calm down and see which actor the system randomly assigned today.

After confirming the random selection, the original options—Random 1/Random 2/Random 3—rolled and changed to Ren Dahua/Xu Jinjiang/Cao Chali.

Shitty system—no, Tongzi Ge, are you serious?

Little brother thinks these three candidate NPC actors all seem sketchy.

Why wasn’t Shan Liwen on the list?

Originally, Qi Hao planned to reuse the same actors today.

Just change the posture, try a new twist.

But now that he saw these three, he felt it would be a waste not to pick them.

Choosing them wouldn’t cost him anything.

The only problem was deciding whom to pick; after a moment’s hesitation, Qi Hao reluctantly gave up Xu Jinjiang and Cao Chali.

It wasn’t because of The Irresistible Charm or The Shock.

Although Ren Dahua starred in many Category III films, his acting ability was excellent, with a distinct style—he could teach Qi Hao a lot.

Like in PTU, The Underworld, and others.

He also delivered outstanding performances in films like Stalker, Exile, and The Sparrow.

And the actors he co-starred with were all top-notch.

Look at who Cao Chali co-starred with—none of them were respectable.

If you’re going double-ended, don’t just focus on one plug.

Qi Hao had spent some time in Xiangjiang, working minor roles on film sets; his best role was being chosen by Wang Jing to play Kele, the third male lead in Black and White Forest.

That film’s credits were chaotic, but Kele had substantial screen time—he was essentially one of the leads.

Still, the film received a lukewarm response, and Qi Hao soon returned to the mainland entertainment industry.

He once did a bit part in one of Ren Dahua’s films; there was a small incident—some drunk hooligans came to cause trouble, claiming the shoot disrupted their business and demanding compensation.

This was classic harassment.

Usually, film crews paid off such people to settle things quietly.

But this time, Ren Dahua went over, talked to them for a few minutes, and the hooligans left without a word.

After choosing Ren Dahua, Qi Hao first tested his scene from PTU, playing the small-time thug Ren Dahua forced to scrub off his tattoo.

The thug had little screen time, but his character was fully realized.

He endured blow after blow from Ren Dahua, his psychological pressure mounting until he desperately scrubbed his neck tattoo.

Let’s be honest—Galaxy Pictures films were just amazing.

“Actually, this scene doesn’t need so much acting—slightly awkwardness makes it more authentic. You’re playing a thug, not a gang boss. Thugs like to put on airs…”

Ren Dahua slapped Qi Hao a few times, then stopped.

Hong Kong cinema couldn’t escape triads, and Ren Dahua had played too many gangster roles; no matter how hard Qi Hao tried, he couldn’t match even a fraction of Ren Dahua’s understanding of such characters.

“Like this?” Qi Hao tilted his neck, looking up at Ren Dahua.

“Yeah, close enough—your eyes should be even more reckless. These guys don’t know their place; they rely entirely on brute force, especially since the arcade is their turf.”

“You’ve made me doubt whether I can act at all—I’m an award-winning actor, for god’s sake.”

Communication with NPCs in the training space could be more casual.

Qi Hao vented a couple of complaints, letting himself go.

The philosopher Zeno had a famous analogy: human knowledge is like a circle; the more you know, the longer the circumference, and the more you realize how ignorant you are.

Qi Hao had won an acting award and received a system bonus of +10 acting skill, yet he kept getting crushed in the training space.

Of course, this might also be due to the NPCs’ high skill level and the fact that, despite their intelligence, they were bound by rules to never withhold anything from Qi Hao.

In the real world, who the hell would be so open-hearted with you?

“Your acting comes from teachers or films, or your own guesswork—but real acting should come from life.

Things elevated beyond life may be called art, but they aren’t necessarily suitable performance.”

Ren Dahua’s words likely carried a jab at academic acting schools.

In real life, he’d never say such a thing.

After finishing the scene, Qi Hao switched to Ren Dahua’s perspective, portraying the role with a deadpan expression.

This style, if used in other films, might seem pretentious and poorly executed—but in Galaxy Pictures films, it felt as natural as a stranded fish returning to water.

Simply put—it just felt real.

Another exhausting night; after eight hours, Qi Hao still hadn’t gotten around to experiencing The Irresistible Charm.

It was all action scenes—nothing helped his acting.

In the living room, he saw Lao Tian eating breakfast, with a portion prepared for Qi Hao.

“Are you going home for the New Year?” Lao Tian’s breakfast was men ding rou bing with lamb offal soup.

“Yeah, I’ll go after the New Year—filming starts then.” Qi Hao’s breakfast was da guozi with lamb offal soup.

Neither of them liked douzhi.

“Have you had any recent conflicts with your parents?”

Lao Tian remembered when he first met Qi Hao, around 2000—this kid had been at war with his family.

They wanted him to return to school; he insisted he’d make it in showbiz.

No one knew where he got that confidence.

Of course, it was precisely that bizarre confidence that made Lao Tian willingly follow him, step by step, to where they were today.

Qi Hao’s relationship with his family had long since thawed.

After all, his face appeared often on TV—no matter how stubborn the parents, they had to admit their child had truly made it.

“No, I talked to my mom yesterday. My old man’s just stubborn—he’s proud of me but keeps calling me illiterate.”

Qi Hao even mocked his own father.

“Your dad’s right.”

Lao Tian glanced at Qi Hao—strip away the titles of Four Great Young Actors and Golden Rooster Best Actor, he was still semi-literate.

“Lao Tian, how’s your childhood bride? Did she marry someone else behind your back?”

Qi Hao shot back.

“F**k, you idiot, why don’t you marry your cousin instead!” Lao Tian cursed outright.

“That’s my actual cousin!”

Qi Hao and Lao Tian shared one trait: though both were only children, each had a “younger sister.”

The difference: Lao Tian’s sister was formally adopted by his father, with no blood relation.

Qi Hao had met Lao Tian’s sister.

She jokingly called herself Lao Tian’s childhood bride.

But Qi Hao’s sister was his real cousin—his aunt’s husband ran off with a wealthy woman from Wanwan shortly after their daughter was born.

After his aunt died, the cousin was raised in Qi Hao’s home.

Qi Hao was deeply grateful to his cousin—she had acted as mediator countless times between him and his parents; without her, his relationship with them would never have healed as it had.

“She’s my own little sister!” Lao Tian insisted firmly.

“How about I become your brother-in-law?” Qi Hao laughed, nearly choked by the lamb offal soup overloaded with pepper.

“Get lost! If you even think about laying a hand on my sister, I’ll ruin your reputation completely.”

Lao Tian launched his last Men Ding Rou Bing at Qi Hao.

“Fine, I won’t covet her—I was just joking! Any red carpet events coming up lately?”

Qi Hao ate the Men Ding Rou Bing too.

I’ll just spend extra time at the gym today.

“What trick are you up to now?” Lao Tian had developed a conditioned reaction to Qi Hao’s questions.

Look at what he’s done in the past two months.

Cameos, spicy strips, street singing, calendars…

“What do you mean? I’m just checking your schedule. You’re not my agent anymore, but you still owe me responsibility.”

Unfortunately, Zhang Nan already had a wife and kids—he couldn’t move in.

“A few days ago, Penguin Net held the 2007 Star Awards—you refused to go, but the exposure was pretty good. Penguin’s been strong these past few years.”

Lao Tian began discussing work seriously.

“Ugh! What’s the next one?”

Qi Hao had no choice—if only he’d finished the previous tasks faster.

Participating in Penguin’s event to complete the system task and earn Penguin shares was simply perfect.

Maximum ceremony…

“The inaugural Capital TV Annual Film & TV Awards—I haven’t had time to decline yet.”

Lao Tian sensed the familiar pattern.

“I think I remember… oh right, Fan Xuexue asked me if I wanted to go with her. Why would she ask me that? I don’t even know her.”

Qi Hao was thoroughly confused.

Then he turned and saw Lao Tian’s expression of disgust—like he was staring at a dead cockroach.