After a half-satiating barbecue meal, Chunan left early with Xiaohan.

He had another dinner to attend later.

Lao Zhao and the others kept eating the remaining skewers, but the initial excitement had faded.

A moment of silence fell over the table before one of the older guys murmured, "Lao Zhao, are you really sure this collaboration will work?"

They trusted Lao Zhao’s instincts—he’d led their small studio this far—but doubts lingered.

Lao Zhao just smiled. "Could any of you have come up with a completely new game genre like this?"

Their new game cost far less to develop than average titles yet surpassed them in fun.

More importantly, it revealed a whole new frontier in game design.

And what Chunan had just shown him? That unveiled an entirely new world.

He finally understood Chunan’s words from their first meeting:

*"Why are all your games so monotonous?"*

Compared to Chunan’s ideas, current games *were* dull.

What truly sealed his decision was almost laughable: the 40% profit share Chunan demanded.

This model was unheard of—Chunan invested zero funds yet claimed 40% of post-release earnings. Even Lao Zhao wouldn’t dare such terms.

Only a fool would agree.

But he’d be that fool.

If this failed, Chunan lost nothing—but gained no profit either. Lao Zhao’s team, however, would walk away with revolutionary design concepts to rebuild from.

In that scenario, Chunan would’ve been better off selling his ideas outright for cash.

After all, technology can be bought. Inspiration cannot.

His confidence in his own vision meant he believed the game would make him rich.

If it succeeded, surrendering 40% was a small price.

Especially since Chunan only wanted 40% from *his* designed games—a trivial demand compared to pioneering a new era.

Lao Zhao admitted he was being reckless. If Chunan’s project required massive investment, they’d be betting their entire studio. One loss meant everything they’d built turned to "muda."

But…

"Remember our original dream? Now that we see hope, we can’t be cowards."

Even if they failed and their passion cooled, at least they’d fought without regrets.

***

8 PM. Stellar Hotel.

Chunan and Xiaohan arrived precisely on time and were escorted to a private room.

Three people waited inside—Chunan had planned to book the venue, but they’d arranged everything upon contact.

At least they showed sincerity.

Chunan sized them up: two men—one seemingly under thirty, the other around forty—and a woman standing behind them, likely a secretary.

The older man stood immediately, smiling. "Mr. Chunan! And this must be Miss Xiaohan? I’m He Dong, head of Dawn Entertainment’s music division. This is my… assistant, Chen Peng."

"Mr. He," Chunan gave a slight nod and sat opposite them with Xiaohan, cutting straight to the point. "What brings you here?"

"Haha! Straight to business—I like that," He Dong chuckled. "But shouldn’t we eat first? We’re in no rush."

"Apologies. I don’t beat around the bush," Chunan replied.

He Dong laughed again. "Perfect. Neither do I. Then let’s discuss the video you posted—was it entirely your creation?"

Chunan nodded. "Every word and note was personally composed by me."

*(Well, copying it by hand still counts as ‘personally’.)*

He Dong tilted his head. "Ever considered entering the entertainment industry?"

"No." Chunan refused instantly, startling He Dong. "I’m a streamer."

He Dong fell silent.

Many idols started as streamers—the industry treated it as a preparatory stage. The perks and opportunities far outweighed streaming.

He’d never met someone rejecting such an offer.

*Was this a ploy? Playing hard to get?*

"But," Chunan continued, "if you sign Xiaohan, I’ll be her manager and provide her songs. You just supply the resources."

Xiaohan paused slightly.

He Dong studied her carefully. Her vocals were exceptional—polish them, and she’d shine. He’d planned to sign her anyway, but Chunan’s proposal was unexpected.

"You have specific terms in mind?"

"Yes." Chunan leaned forward. "Is Dawn Entertainment interested in that video?"

He Dong remained noncommittal. "Share your terms first."

He’d watched Chunan’s streams before, but meeting him felt different. That video *was* extraordinary—potentially the most promising release in years. But if Chunan demanded an S-tier contract or more… that required reconsideration.

*(Though he’d planned to offer exactly that. Unsolicited generosity versus arrogant demands were two different things. Talent without humility rarely lasted in this industry.)*

Unaware of his thoughts, Chunan stated plainly: "If Dawn is interested, I propose a cooperative contract for Xiaohan. I provide the music; you provide the platform. I retain full control over all her performances and commercial arrangements—if any arise. And all work communications must go through me to reach her."

He wasn’t pushing Xiaohan into entertainment for money—certainly not Dawn’s money. Left unsupervised, her naive nature would get her exploited within months.

He knew the terms were unusual. If Dawn refused, he’d find another company—

"…*That’s it?*" He Dong stared, then slammed his palm on the table. "Absolutely no problem! Mr. Chunan, let’s discuss the contract details *now*!"

Chunan: "……"