17. The Gold Mine

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Hearing that Xiaobai’s aunt was coming to pick her up, Zhang Tan was too lazy to bother anymore. Sleep or not, turn the world upside down if you want—he could just ignore it. If anyone dared to damage public property, the children would be held accountable.

Xiaobai Bai immediately sprang up, sparkling with energy as she went to the stairway, just in time to see Xiao Qian’s father arriving to pick her up. She hurried over to wave goodbye.

After sending Xiao Qian off, she slipped back to the dormitory and climbed onto some small bed—not hers anyway—hugging a little dog plush toy, then stood by the door to specially bid farewell to the parents and children heading home.

“Bye-bye, see you.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye~”

...

What a lively little greeter, wide awake well past midnight, full of enthusiasm and energy.

Once most had left, her aunt arrived right on time.

“Why did no one say bye-bye to me?” she asked.

Teacher Xiaoliu kindly waved, “Bye-bye, Xiaobai, see you tomorrow.”

Xiaobai happily turned around and waved, “Bye~~”

Xiaobai’s home was in the urban village, about a ten-minute walk away.

Walking home, her aunt Malanhua asked, “I heard your school got a new teacher?”

“What kind of teacher? He’s a grown man.”

“What does he do?”

“I think he’s kind of mysterious.”

“Why do you think he’s mysterious?”

“...I don’t really know.”

“But you said it yourself!”

“I was just saying randomly.”

“You silly kid! So adorable.”

“Why do you say I’m adorable?”

“Because you just are.”

“I’m not adorable, I’m so mad I’m about to blow a fuse.”

“You’re just a little kid, getting mad over nothing.”

“Auntie, your butt is so big, how did it get like that?”

“It’s the sunlight playing tricks, is your butt itching?”

“I need to poop.”

“Pooping at night! What took you so long?”

“I want to fart.”

“Stay away from me, you little stinker.”

“Gagaga haha... Auntie, Auntie, I’m scared, hold my hand.”

“Go away! Don’t touch me, you stink.”

“Gagaga...”

—

The next morning, Zhang Tan was once again woken by a chorus of bird calls. Having gone to bed late, he sat on the bed for a while to recover, then opened the window. Following the birdsong, he spotted a flock of white-faced mountain tits perched on a mulberry tree. They sang in varied melodies, sweet and pleasant—far better than an alarm clock—awakening him without rousing any irritation.

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After washing up and heading downstairs, he happened upon Teacher Xiaoliu still in her pajamas.

Zhang Tan paused briefly and nodded, greeting, “Good morning, Teacher Xiaoliu.”

Just waking, she was groggy and not fully alert. Noticing the greeting, she replied absentmindedly, “Good morning to you too,” in a lazy, weak voice.

After they passed each other, Xiaoliu suddenly realized and turned sharply to look back just as Zhang Tan walked away with his backpack. Touching her face, she noticed dried drool, her hair was wild like a madwoman’s, her pajamas were unfashionably dull, and her flip-flops were greasy beyond measure. Frustrated, she let out a scream and dashed back to her room, slamming the door loudly. Standing before the mirror, bare-faced, she felt a wave of despair.

Hearing Xiaoliu's scream, Zhang Tan smiled, unable to help but find it amusing.

Xiaoliu stayed overnight to care for Xiaomi, taking turns with other teachers each week. This week was hers.

“Have you eaten?” Old Li, the gatekeeper, cheerfully called from a window as he saw him approaching.

“I’m heading to the street to eat,” Zhang Tan said, but then turned back, recalling something. “Do you remember when Xiaobai left last night?”

“After midnight, she was the last to go.”

“Oh, so late.” He asked again, “Did her aunt come to pick her up?”

“Yes, her aunt usually comes; her uncle rarely does.”

“Thanks, I’m off to work.”

The concept artist for the "Tianyu Mountain" project was two young women, not much older than Zhang Tan. Upon arriving at the office, he brewed some tea and waited for Luo Ming, who introduced him to the project team and the two female artists.

Luo Ming said, “You two chat,” then left, leaving Zhang Tan there.

“Are you Zhang Tan?” one of the fair-skinned artists asked. “I heard you drew a concept picture yourself?”

Zhang Tan handed over the folder he brought. “I drew three, very simple. Take a look.”

“Let me see.”

The other female artist put down her work, leaned over, and took a sketch.

“Have you studied art?”

“Self-taught in sketching.”

“Is this the new ‘Zou Wu’?”

“It’s a very powerful yet proud and adorable mythical beast.”

“The tail is beautiful, like a rainbow.”

“The tail consists of seven colors…”

They spent the whole morning discussing artwork. When it was time for lunch, the fair-skinned artist said, “Let’s eat together? Thanks for your suggestions—they saved us a lot of trouble.”

“No problem.”

“Don’t mention it, it’s all at the cafeteria anyway.”

The studio had its own outsourced cafeteria—one vegetarian dish, two ‘hua’ (cold dishes), two meat dishes; five dishes in total. The three of them filled their trays and just sat down when Zhang Tan heard a heavy sigh behind him. Ignoring it initially, he then heard another, seemingly heavier, causing him to turn around.

Emmmm~~~ Luo Ming!

Luo Ming appeared to be focused on his food, seemingly unaware of him. Zhang Tan wasn’t sure if that sigh had come from him, but there was no one else nearby.

The female artists facing Zhang Tan smiled and asked, “Teacher Luo, why the sigh while eating?”

Luo Ming finally looked up, surprised to see Zhang Tan.

“Zhang Tan, you’re here! I worried you hadn’t eaten, so I came looking for you in the studio. Didn’t expect to find you eating with these beauties.”

Zhang Tan understood—Luo Ming was sighing on purpose, feeling jealous because he sat right in front of him but was ignored, his eyes apparently only seeing the two female artists—a classic case of being blinded by beauty.

“This afternoon we’ll discuss the plot for the last five episodes,” Luo Ming said, picking up his tray and leaving.

“Is Teacher Luo complaining we kept you busy all morning?”

“No, not at all. The morning was meant for storyboarding discussions,” Zhang Tan replied.

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“I think I might know what Teacher Luo meant.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s jealous, haha.”

After lunch, back at the office, Luo Ming was gone—where he had gone no one knew. Zhang Tan sat before his computer, opening the script for the video “The Pursuer” he had written the night before, using his break time to continue writing.

After some time, suddenly…

“What are you working on so seriously?”

Luo Ming returned.

“Writing a film review,” Zhang Tan answered.

“Oh, carry on then. I’ll take a nap.”

Luo Ming pulled out a folding lounge chair, set it up in the office, and lay down for a nap.

Zhang Tan turned off the office lights. Luo Ming, eyes closed and still, said, “I’m fine, you can leave the lights on.”

“No worries.”

Zhang Tan continued typing, trying to be quiet.

Back home that evening, he revised the script and began exploring video production.

He had studied directing, familiar with video software and editing, so after quickly getting comfortable, he started recording.

Originally, he planned to use a camera, but once recording began, he decided against showing himself on screen, recording only audio while the video showed film clips.

He needed to edit the movie “The Pursuer” into fragmented segments to dissect and analyze, while also refuting the many flattering arguments made on behalf of the director.

The film was currently a blockbuster hit, the first major box office success of this summer, widely praised and intolerant of criticism, which was why Zhang Tan faced quite a bit of backlash.

Making videos was time-consuming and demanding. If it were just to rebut others’ attacks, Zhang Tan wouldn’t have so much free time.

He wanted to use the opportunity to run a public account dedicated to film analysis.

The film industry promised a good income.

Running such an account primarily earned money through two channels: product promotion and advertising.

For example, a content creator with a million followers selling hotpot base seasoning and spicy snacks could generate tens of millions in annual revenue.

However, most people couldn’t succeed in sales due to the high barriers: capital, supply chain, product selection, logistics, warehousing, after-sales service, and so forth.

Thus, a more convenient route was advertising.

Zhang Tan had researched that the streaming platform Xilili’s advertising revenue far outperformed other platforms.

According to last week’s update on content creator advertising rates:

Creators with over two million followers charged 100,000 to 600,000 yuan per custom ad;

Those with one to two million followers mostly charged 100,000 to 200,000 yuan;

A few with high-quality content and strong follower engagement could earn 400,000 yuan;

Even creators with around 50,000 followers could command 10,000 to 30,000 yuan.

The one who had criticized him, “Under London Bridge,” had 1.23 million followers on Xilili, and Zhang Tan found his self-revealed annual ad income online—last year it exceeded ten million yuan!

If managed well, a public account was a gold mine, continuously generating cash flow.