The lottery win was a brief episode in the larger story.
Two days of quiet excitement, and then life resumed its rhythm. The weeks moved. Xu Ye passed his Module Three practical exam. He brought Yuxin to Qingqing’s place twice more — both times, Qingqing was home alone.
At the end of July, Zhang Lan finished her exchange program and came back. Yuxin went home.
But before she left, she pulled Xu Ye aside with an expression far too serious for someone her age.
“Qingqing jiejie doesn’t feel safe easily, Xu Ye gege. You have to look out for her in Shanghai.”
Xu Ye laughed despite himself and pinched her cheek. “Since when do you know about things like feeling safe?”
“You’re so annoying.” She swatted his hand away, hands on hips. “And stop pinching my face all the time.”
“Alright, alright. Go with your mom — it’s going to get dark.”
He walked down with Zhang Hong to see them off. As the car pulled away, Zhang Hong turned to him with a particular expression.
“Who is this ‘Qingqing jiejie’ Yuxin keeps talking about?”
Xu Ye hesitated. “A friend.”
“Wasn’t there a girl called Gu Mengyao you liked in high school?”
“What—”
He stared at her. “You knew about that?”
Zhang Hong gave a supremely satisfied hum. “Is there anything you can hide from me?”
“Mom, that’s completely over. Gu Mengyao and I have nothing to do with each other anymore.”
Zhang Hong tilted her head. “Is that so? Because I seem to recall someone buying breakfast for a girl every other day, and once spending several dozen yuan on a heart-shaped box of chocolates—”
“How do you know about the chocolates?!”
“—and now it’s all over just like that?”
“It’s over! For real! Mom, you have to trust me.”
“She rejected you, didn’t she?”
“She did not — I wised up. Ten of her put together wouldn’t be worth my time. Mom, I promise, the person I find for you will actually be worth having.”
“The person you find for me?”
“I mean — just trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
“You should bring that friend of yours round sometime. The one Yuxin mentioned.”
“Which friend?”
“Qingqing jiejie.”
“Mom — we are just friends right now!”
“Mm-hmm.”
Chen Qingqing sneezed.
Jiang Meilin, from the sofa across the room, looked over. “Did your acceptance letter come?”
“Yes.”
“When do you report to campus?”
“The 27th.”
A pause. “Mom will try to make time. I’ll come with you to Shanghai.”
Qingqing said nothing. Jiang Meilin’s version of “I’ll try” had its own track record.
She went upstairs, sat on her bed, and played through a few familiar songs on the guitar. Then she remembered the song she’d uploaded weeks ago — half on impulse, half curiosity. Had anyone listened?
She put down the guitar and opened the laptop.
Logged into the NetEase Cloud Music creator portal.
There was a red notification badge in the corner.
99+.
She clicked into the comments.
foxnottoofuzzy: this song is really good!! you’re amazing jiejie!
my name is xiaoran: friend recommended this — now i can’t stop thinking about getting rich getting rich
meowmeow: there’s a vaguely wealthy-people-are-bad energy here lol… but the song is genuinely great
honeybee: “so that those with bad intentions no longer hold the power” — this line is incredible. the whole song is incredible.
She scrolled. And scrolled. The comments didn’t end.
When she saw the platform notification — New Songs Chart, Rank 21 — her mind went completely blank.
She hadn’t expected this. Not remotely. She’d uploaded it on a whim, not thinking anyone outside her tiny contact list would hear it.
And there was something else: per copyright law, all licensed streaming platforms were required to pay royalties to rights holders. Different platforms had different structures and thresholds, but the dashboard was already showing she’d earned over two thousand yuan from this single upload.
Qingqing sat at the desk for a very long time.
When she came back to herself, she opened WeChat.
Qingqing: you there?
Xu Ye: yes.
Qingqing: your song might have blown up a little.
Xu Ye: sorry?
Qingqing: “If One Day I Become Very Rich” — it’s at number 21 on the NetEase new songs chart.
Xu Ye: no way.
Qingqing: yes way.
Xu Ye: let me check.
Five minutes later.
Xu Ye: Chen Zijin? you released it under that name?
Qingqing: yes.
Xu Ye: so what are you thinking?
Qingqing: I don’t know.
Xu Ye: do you want to be a singer?
Qingqing: ???
Xu Ye: thinking about it — if I’m this talented, and I write you a few more songs, you could be the next Wang Fei. [TL: Wang Fei, known internationally as Faye Wong, is one of the most iconic and influential singers in Chinese pop history — often compared to Björk for her artistic individuality and vocal distinctiveness. Being called “the next Wang Fei” is about the highest compliment in Chinese pop music.]
Qingqing: don’t get carried away. I don’t want to go into the entertainment industry.
Xu Ye: aren’t you an arts student? don’t arts students all want to be famous?
Qingqing: I don’t.
Fair enough, Xu Ye thought. Qingqing, who broke into a cold sweat when someone got physically close to her — the idea of performing publicly, being recognized, dealing with strangers — that was genuinely not for her. He shifted gears.
Xu Ye: Yuxin went home today.
Qingqing: I know.
Xu Ye: if she’s not around, would you still let me come over?
Qingqing: you could come now if you wanted.
Xu Ye felt a flicker of something — then:
Qingqing: my mom’s home.
Xu Ye: you’re messing with me. I was literally about to ask my boss for the day off.
Qingqing laughed, a small involuntary sound.
Qingqing: I have to go shower. done talking.
Xu Ye: we could do a video call.
Qingqing: ???
Xu Ye: just a joke. I’m busy too. go.
She put the phone on the bed.
“Scoundrel~” she muttered, and she was still smiling when she said it.
The song doing well was genuinely unexpected. Xu Ye hadn’t counted on it.
But he had no interest in the entertainment industry either. He knew a lot of songs — technically — but most of them incompletely. The rise of short-form video had meant that for most songs, he only had the chorus memorized. Of everything released after 2014, he could probably reconstruct twenty songs in full, at most. That wasn’t enough to build a career on. And eventually the well would run dry.
More than that, he felt a pang of guilt toward Mao Buyi — the songwriter who’d written this in a future that hadn’t arrived yet. Though in the grand scheme of things, it probably wouldn’t affect him that much. His real hits were still ahead: Sorrow, Dream Talk, Northeast Folk Song. Those would come when they came, unchanged. [TL: These are among Mao Buyi’s most beloved songs. 《消愁》(Sorrow/Drowning Sorrows) is perhaps his best-known work, released in 2017 after his appearance on a singing competition show.]
There were better ways to make money.
The 2014–2015 bull run. That was already in motion.
In 2016, the wave was live-streaming.
In 2017, the sharing economy.
In 2018, short-form video.
And beyond that: gaming, O2O platforms, artificial intelligence, new energy, AI again in a bigger way than anyone was predicting…
He had a decade of hindsight. He knew where every major wave was coming from, and approximately when.
What could be more lucrative than investing with that knowledge?
(End of Chapter)