Chapter 41: The Task

Jiang Qin hadn’t opened her mouth when she heard Chen Shasha’s voice come from the other side:

“Wu Yuchen, you can’t just take our Qin Qin away like this without our consent!”

Wu Yuchen was about to speak when Jiang Qin tugged his sleeve: “Ignore them!”

Saying that, she pulled Wu Yuchen away, but behind them came a girlish laugh: “Don’t forget to treat us to dinner!”

Wu Yuchen turned back with a smile and gave a thumbs-up.

On the way, Wu Yuchen asked Jiang Qin: “Did you tell them everything?”

“I didn’t say a thing! I just told them we went to the Summer Palace yesterday~”

Wu Yuchen immediately understood—she’d mentioned the Summer Palace, but said nothing about rowing the boat; he now had a rough idea of what he could and couldn’t say to her roommates in the future.

The two then chatted and laughed their way to the school cafeteria.

……

Wu Yuchen propped his chin on his hand, listening as Xie Xiaojing lectured on the optical language of cinema.

After chatting with his father last night, he learned the money from his book wouldn’t come in for another six months; though initially disappointed, he eventually came to terms with it.

Honestly, Wu Yuchen ran through his mind every possible way to make money in the next few months—and found none particularly good.

He didn’t buy lottery tickets; he had no idea what winning numbers were, and anyway, those results could be manipulated—whether someone won depended entirely on the operator’s whim, and he knew he didn’t have that kind of luck.

This wasn’t a World Cup year, and the 1998 World Cup was still three years away—betting on soccer was out of the question.

Asking him to copy songs and sell them? That was just hard work with no reward.

He could hum the melodies of many songs, but to write them down properly, wouldn’t he need to study music theory for months?

Even that wasn’t the hardest part—the real problem was that such songs fetched next to no price.

In 1995, someone might pay you five hundred or a thousand yuan for a whole song and lyrics.

Worse, some shameless types would read your song, steal it outright, and sing it themselves without even acknowledging you—you couldn’t even find anyone to listen to your complaint. Like the “Rats Love Rice” case: in reality, Yang Chen Gang sold the song and then infringed on his own rights, but in China, such disputes were impossible to resolve clearly—whoever got the profits first owned it.

So selling songs wasn’t reliable—you had to sing them yourself. But Wu Yuchen’s voice was terrible; was he supposed to learn singing now too?

It made more sense to spend his energy on music than to wait a few months for the income from “Bright Sword.”

In 1995 he didn’t know, but in 1996 he knew a massive stock market boom was coming.

In his past life, he’d heard his mother mention several times that someone in her unit bought Changhong stock in 1996 and saw it multiply twentyfold in a year.

Even if he couldn’t time the buy-and-sell points perfectly, making ten times his money shouldn’t be hard.

He also knew the internet wave was about to begin; later, he could buy Yahoo stock overseas and see it multiply dozens or even hundreds of times within a few years.

When it came to money, Wu Yuchen had only one big goal: save enough by the end of 1999 to secure the angel round for Tencent.

He had no desire to become China’s richest man—that position was too dangerous, and he wanted nothing to do with the “Pig Slaughter List.”

After organizing all these plans in his mind, Wu Yuchen no longer felt urgent about making money—his family had no pressing financial needs.

Having been reborn, he would definitely make money, but he wouldn’t let himself become a slave to it. Enjoying his youth and gradually realizing his dreams in film mattered most.

As for funding his next film, Wu Yuchen still had confidence in “Bus 44”—it should bring returns at Berlin.

The bell rang, snapping Wu Yuchen out of his thoughts; students gathered their books and headed to the cafeteria for lunch.

Just as Wu Yuchen was shoulder-to-shoulder with Chen Er, preparing to leave the classroom, Xie Xiaojing’s voice came from behind:

“Wu Yuchen, stay behind.”

Wu Yuchen turned to see his homeroom teacher, Xie Xiaojing, smiling at him, and quickly turned back.

“Teacher Xie, what’s up?”

“Come with me first—Dean Hou wants to see you.”

In the office, Wu Yuchen stood respectfully before Hou Keming’s desk; he had a feeling this was about the follow-up on his submission of “Bus 44” to Berlin.

Hou Keming sipped tea from his thermos, then lifted his eyelids to see Wu Yuchen standing there like a well-behaved child, and smiled:

“Hey, you’re usually so restless—why so quiet now?”

“Dean Hou…”

“Call me Teacher Hou.” Hou Keming waved his hand.

“Teacher Hou, I haven’t done anything—why are you making me nervous?” Wu Yuchen put on an innocent expression.

“Hmph, nervous? I bet you’re secretly delighted! You’re as sly as a fox!”

Wu Yuchen listened quietly to Hou Keming’s scolding, appearing humble and receptive.

Though Hou Keming was reprimanding him, he never mentioned “Bus 44” or Berlin—clearly pretending ignorance, tacitly accepting the matter. Wu Yuchen didn’t mind a few scoldings.

After a few words, Hou Keming changed tone:

“I see you’ve got plenty of energy—good. I’ve got a task for you. Do it for me.”

“Huh?”

“What, you don’t want to?” Hou Keming raised an eyebrow.

“Of course I do! Teacher Hou, I’ll give it my all!” Wu Yuchen straightened his posture immediately.

Hou Keming nodded, then asked: “Do you like wuxia films?”

“I love them!”

Hearing Wu Yuchen’s voice rise several octaves, Hou Keming chuckled.

In this era, how many Chinese men didn’t love wuxia?

Wuxia was the romance of men—especially for young, passionate boys like Wu Yuchen.

Hou Keming picked up a piece of paper and handed it over; Wu Yuchen stepped forward eagerly to take it, seeing a name, address, and phone number written on it: “Jia Leilei, XXXX, …”

Wu Yuchen searched his memory but couldn’t recall who this person was.

“Go there this afternoon. Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday afternoon, and both weekend days—you go until the job’s done.”

Hou Keming waved his hand, signaling Wu Yuchen could leave.

Wu Yuchen didn’t dare object—it was a quiet period anyway—and after agreeing, he quietly walked out holding the paper.

Watching Wu Yuchen leave the office, Hou Keming smiled at Xie Xiaojing, who had said nothing until now:

“This kid’s never still—he’s always stirring up trouble. Better give him something to do!”

“Director, you’re nurturing him—he won’t fail to understand.”

Hou Keming smiled: “We’ll see what he makes of it.”

In his heart, Hou Keming added: I’ve given him the chance—if Wu Yuchen can build connections with certain people through this task, his short film won’t be a problem. Maybe he won’t even need me to personally go apologize.