9. He must be a complete goofball.

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PS: Brother Xiaobai kindly requests recommendation votes.

Watching Scar-faced little disciple Xiaobai dash away like a little rabbit, Zhang Tan sighed, puzzled about what had just happened. She seemed so afraid of him—weren’t they chatting quite casually just moments ago? Oh, but Xiaomi was definitely not at ease; she had been scared the whole time.

Xiaobai’s rapid-fire words earlier had left Zhang Tan a bit dazed. He replayed her words three times in his mind before understanding: she was defending Xiaomi, showing a surprisingly sisterly grace.

At home, Zhang Tan picked a movie to watch, curling up on the sofa. Last time he chose a highly-rated film; this time, he opted for one that had made a lot at the box office. The ratings were fairly good, but the earnings were truly impressive.

After the film ended, it was quite late. Zhang Tan went downstairs to the activity area on the first floor. Some children had already returned to their dorms, while others sat on their small chairs, heads held high, packed tightly together like a little black mass, all eyes glued to the television.

Xiaobai was among them, her big eyes fixed on the screen with nothing else in sight.

Zhang Tan couldn’t help but glance at her a few more times—she was just so commanding.

There she sat, left arm around Xiaomi, right hand resting on Meng Chengcheng’s shoulder, a bandage plaster on her cheek, dressed in traditional Chinese attire, exuding the air of a big brother, drawing curious looks.

Teacher Xiao Liu had reminded her several times, but to no avail. It was clear she only appeared to be the big brother, not truly one, so it was as if no one had noticed.

Zhang Tan chatted briefly with the staff, reminding them not to let the children watch too much television. The staff promptly turned off the TV, herding the children to bed like driving ducks. Suddenly, a chorus of tiny voices rose in protest, many casting innocent glances at him.

Zhang Tan: →_→

What’s the meaning of this? I haven’t even left yet! Aren’t you just making all the kids hate me?

Xiaobai stared blankly at the now-dark screen for several seconds, then ran up to the staff, asking if she could watch for another five minutes, or even two. She had to know if the little donkey would survive; otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to sleep, her dreams filled with donkeys.

The staff looked questioningly at Zhang Tan.

Zhang Tan: *&%￥#@

Are you pushing me into the fire pit and still wanting more? Do you have to announce it with a megaphone? How is Xiaobai supposed to think of me now? We just made up!

Sure enough, Xiaobai glared at him, grinding her tiny teeth, then pulled the staff member over to him and asked, “Uncle, how many minutes is this?”

She waved two fingers before his eyes.

What was that supposed to mean?

Zhang Tan said, “Two.”

Calling me dumb? Just canceled the ‘black fart’ and already got a new nickname?

Once he confirmed he wasn’t drunk, Xiaobai relaxed and earnestly begged to watch a bit more, just until the little donkey was safe. Otherwise, tonight would be miserable.

Zhang Tan said, “Alright, five more minutes. Starting now.”

He then told the staff, “You take the other kids to the dorms; I’ll stay here with her.”

Ten minutes later...

Zhang Tan: “The five minutes were up long ago. It’s been two rounds of five minutes.”

Xiaobai, eyes glued to the TV without turning her head, said, “But the little donkey hasn’t been rescued yet.”

Zhang Tan was watching the animation too. As a screenwriter, if he wrote it, the donkey wouldn’t be saved until at least two episodes later. You have to tease the kids, build suspense, then let the rescue happen. That’s how you keep innocent viewers like Xiaobai hooked.

“Time for bed, time for bed. I’m turning off the TV; you can watch more tomorrow. Trust me, I’ve seen it—little donkey doesn’t die. He’ll definitely be saved.”

Finally, after coaxing Xiaobai to bed, Zhang Tan returned to his room, sat at the desk, opened his laptop, and noticed a bowl of boiled peanuts. He picked one, peeled the shell, revealing two plump cooked peanuts, their aroma wafting to his nose, tempting him to taste.

He moved the mouse and opened a real estate agency’s website to check prices on West Chang’an Street. Just as the private chef had said, housing prices there were absurdly high; rents made one sigh in despair.

Zhang Tan browsed a while but saw very few properties for sale. Most were for rent only—priced high but not moving.

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Zhang Tan estimated that if he sold the land of Little Red Horse Academy, his net worth would instantly soar into the hundreds of millions. He would never have to worry about funds for the academy or about work. He could choose to live life on his own terms.

If he still had the passion, he could write a script, pull together a crew, direct it himself, and chase his dream, skipping the usual early struggles and build-up, going straight to the top. Of course, success was never guaranteed.

Zhang Tan was tempted. His only hesitation was that Little Red Horse Academy was left to him by his grandparents. Though he hadn’t delved deep, he guessed the two elders had treasured this place dearly while alive.

Little Red Horse Late Night Academy embodied their devotion.

Zhang Tan hesitated, unable to decide. He closed the webpage and went to sleep.

The next morning at the company, a staff member handed him a new script.

Zhang Tan flipped it open. The title was “Under Mount Tianyu.”

Lately, Zhang Tan’s routine was to read scripts in the morning and discuss them in meetings in the afternoon.

Others had their scripts too. Sitting across from Zhang Tan, Jiang Rong peeked from her computer and asked, “Zhang Tan, what’s the title of the script you got?”

Sometimes everyone had different scripts; sometimes they shared the same ones. Jiang Rong asked out of curiosity.

“Under Mount Tianyu,” Zhang Tan replied. “What about yours?”

Jiang Rong showed him hers with a smile. “Such a strange title. I’ve never seen one this long before.”

Zhang Tan was startled to see: “This Hero is Obviously Strong but Overly Cautious!”

Wasn’t this the script he’d submitted with his resume? He had thought the studio had forgotten it. Looks like they planned to evaluate it today.

“I think the title is very distinctive, memorable right away, and very on point—‘strong but overly cautious’ is quite interesting,” Zhang Tan quietly complimented himself.

Jiang Rong nodded after thinking it over.

All the scripts they evaluated were anonymous, without author names, to encourage open and honest discussion.

The script in Zhang Tan’s hands was similarly anonymous, but upon reading it, he was certain it was written by a veteran: the plot was tight, logical, and engaging.

“Ha ha ha~~”

Jiang Rong suddenly burst out laughing, then turned to Zhang Tan. “Zhang Tan, this script is hilarious. Want to hear? This hero is so funny—he’s serious about being funny. Guess how he fights the lowest creature in the food chain, a slime?”

Zhang Tan played along.

“How does he fight it?”

He pretended to think, then asked, “With a big move?”

Jiang Rong smiled. “You’re close but not quite. Keep trying.”

After two wrong guesses, Jiang Rong couldn’t hold back and laughed heartily. “He actually uses all his strength. You know? He’s a summoned hero meant to save the world, a genius from the divine realm. He has to give his all even to kill a slime, ha ha.”

Zhang Tan chuckled lightly. Jiang Rong continued, “He prepares three sets of armor when fighting others—one to wear, one backup, and one backup for the backup, ha ha ha. Who on earth wrote this? Must be a comedian.”

Zhang Tan: (￣ェ￣;)

Please allow me to rephrase!

He didn’t reply, and others began chiming in.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m reading this script too. This hero cracks me up—never seen anyone so scared.”

Another said, “He’s not scared, just overly cautious. Who is this guy? What’s he been through?”

Someone else added, “He’s just a coward afraid of dying.”

“I don’t think so. He’s cautious but definitely not a coward.”

“Isn’t that what cowardice means?”

...

Jiang Rong joined in, “He’s a comedian.”

“Which script are you talking about?” another asked, joining the conversation.

Since Zhang Tan had his own script, he looked forward eagerly to the afternoon’s evaluation meeting.

After lunch and a short nap, at two o’clock the deputy leader called everyone to the conference room.

Zhang Tan brought his laptop and sat in his usual spot. Jiang Rong sat to his right, excitedly whispering, “Finally, we’ll find out which comedian wrote this hero.”

Zhang Tan glanced at her, thinking, Are you sure you want to keep calling the author a comedian?

The team leader, Old Liu, was the last to arrive. Sitting down, he said, “Same as always. Let’s talk about the scripts you’ve got. Zhang Tan, you first.”

He always started with Zhang Tan.

Used to it, Zhang Tan began, “My script is called ‘Under Mount Tianyu.’ It’s about... many strengths...”

After listing many strengths, he moved on to the flaws.

Jiang Rong whispered beside him, “There are three flaws.”

Zhang Tan said aloud, “There are three flaws.”

Jiang Rong shot him a proud glance. She was used to Zhang Tan’s habit and suspected he might have OCD—he always listed exactly three flaws in every script evaluation. The number of strengths varied, but flaws were invariably three.

Zhang Tan continued, “First, the story feels a bit dull, lacking novelty, somewhat tedious...”

After finishing, Old Liu asked, “What about solutions for these three flaws?”

Zhang Tan replied, “For the first, I think adding a supporting character to lighten the mood would help—like a pet…”

Examples were plentiful: like Mushu in the animated film Mulan, whose presence made the story livelier and more interesting.

Many animations have such characters; live-action works do too—often a comedic sidekick to perk up the hero, like the chubby guy in The Lost Tomb.

Old Liu nodded thoughtfully after hearing this and invited the three other colleagues who had the same script to share their views.

After everyone spoke, he said, “I will pass all your feedback to the production team.”

“Production team?” someone asked curiously.

Old Liu nodded. “This is actually a new project the studio is about to launch. This script was written by one of our in-house writers. They came to hear our opinions and suggestions—your comments were very good.”

Everyone was excited—the first time they evaluated a script that would actually be produced.

Old Liu said, “Alright, let’s continue. Jiang Rong, I see you’re eager. Go ahead.”

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