Night fell.
On the second floor of Old Ma's Sichuan Restaurant, beer bottles clinked together loudly.
After three rounds of drinks, the atmosphere in the private room was lively and boisterous, yet it was inevitably tinged with the bittersweet sadness of graduation season.
Lu Ming let out a beer burp, fished a palm-sized black box out of his bag, and slapped it down in front of Jiang Yue with a loud thud.
“Brother Yue, a parting gift.”
He grinned. “A hidden camera detector with military-grade precision. You're basically a semi-public figure now. When you join film crews and stay in hotels in the future, be smart and keep your guard up so nobody catches any dirt on you.”
Chen Haotian still wore his signature poker face as he silently pushed a silver USB drive over.
“I scraped a decade's worth of entertainment industry scandal data from across the web and had someone help me build a ‘High-Risk Artist Avoidance Model.’ When you get script offers in the future, just input your co-stars' names. If it flashes a red warning, steer clear.”
He pushed up his black-rimmed glasses and added, “You can upgrade the model yourself. You studied this anyway, so it'll keep your skills from going rusty.”
The fourth roommate, Zhao Chengbin, scratched the back of his head and hauled a large package out from under the table.
Once unwrapped, it revealed a top-tier silent mechanical keyboard.
“I don't know what they use in the entertainment industry, but you're great at coding. I asked around, and they said this keyboard feels amazing to type on. Haozi is right—even if you become a star, don't forget your roots.”
Jiang Yue looked at the collection of hardcore yet practical parting gifts on the table and smiled, looking down.
These three roommates hadn't tried to leach off his recent fame, nor did they treat him like he was superior to them.
Every single gift came straight from the heart.
“Thanks.”
Jiang Yue picked up his glass and stood up.
Without any unnecessary pleasantries, he tilted his head back and downed the entire draft beer in one go.
Thud.
The empty glass slammed onto the table.
Jiang Yue looked at the three of them. “Don't think that just because I've entered the entertainment industry, we're not on the same path anymore. If anything comes up, call me anytime.”
“Hell yeah! Cheers!”
Lu Ming yelled as their four glasses clinked together heavily.
Their college years came to an absolute end on this noisy summer night.
The next day, the dorm was cleared out.
Jiang Yue didn't leave Donghai City.
Not only was this his comfort zone, but it also held the top internet resources in the Xia Nation.
He rented a two-bedroom apartment on the edge of the city center. It was clean and modern, with massive floor-to-ceiling windows that let in excellent natural light.
After unpacking a few large cardboard boxes, Jiang Yue curled up on the sofa and flipped open his laptop.
The system Prestige points that had surged because of 《Manhunt》 had now plateaued.
The internet's memory was always like this—once a hot search was taken down and new gossip emerged, the public's attention would quickly shift.
He clicked open a PDF file labeled 《Yuantu Technology Business Proposal》.
Professor Zhang had previously recommended a few companies interested in purchasing his graduation thesis algorithm model.
Jiang Yue spent two days decisively filtering out several unscrupulous companies that only cared about short-term monetization and aggressively drove down prices. Ultimately, he set his sights on "Yuantu Technology," located in the High-Tech Zone.
Three days later, in a third-floor conference room at Yuantu Technology.
Project Director Li Hai stared at the facial micro-expression capture program running on the large screen. The numbers on display made him instinctively sit up straight.
“Mr. Jiang,” Li Hai turned to him, “your model managed to bring the error rate for submuscular spasms down to under one percent?”
“Zero point eight five percent.”
Jiang Yue crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees, his tone calm. “And those are the test results under dynamic light and shadow interference. Competitors on the market generally sit at around eight percent.”
Li Hai paused for a few seconds.
He knew exactly what this meant.
The gap between the two was a gold mine waiting to be monetized.
“I'll give you a flat price.”
Li Hai closed the folder and offered a highly tempting sum. “Two million. We buy out the entire underlying logic of the algorithm and all subsequent usage rights.”
Two million was an absolute fortune capable of dizzying any fresh graduate who had just left school.
But Jiang Yue shook his head without a second thought.
“I'm not selling the buyout rights.”
Jiang Yue looked at Li Hai, leaving no room for negotiation. “I will use my core technology as equity. You provide the servers, handle the subsequent packaging development, and market promotion, and I only want fifteen percent of the profits from the finished product.”
Li Hai frowned. “Mr. Jiang, playing the long game is risky. If the product fails to launch, your model won't be worth a single cent.”
“If Yuantu didn't even have this basic promotional capability, Professor Zhang wouldn't have recommended you to me.”
Jiang Yue closed his laptop and stood up. “I value Yuantu's hardware capabilities, and I believe in my own technology. A fifteen percent equity stake is my bottom line. You can consult your boss, Director Li. I'm in no rush.”
In the conference room.
Li Hai stared at Jiang Yue for several seconds before finally backing down. “I'll give you an answer in ten minutes.”
The outcome was completely expected.
The CEO of Yuantu Technology was a smart man who thoroughly understood the industry. Upon hearing the report, he immediately approved the deal.
After signing the contract and stepping out of the building, Jiang Yue let out a long sigh of relief in the sunlight.
This was the trump card he was keeping for his future.
No matter what roles he played on set, at his core, he was still a programmer who possessed a core competitive edge.
If he ever grew tired of this vanity fair, or if he got disgusted by the corporate overlords...
He could easily pack up and leave, return to being a code monkey, and live comfortably off dividends alone.
Over the next few months, Jiang Yue began an extremely self-disciplined life of seclusion.
He visited Yuantu Technology once a week to help resolve technical bottlenecks in the model's packaging.
For the rest of his time, besides repeatedly dissecting the full script of 《The Hidden Sentry》 in his rented apartment, he spent every spare moment taking private lessons at a nearby boxing gym to build up his physical fitness.
The character Zhou Jinnan had a massive amount of action scenes.
Without building up his physical stamina beforehand, he wouldn't be able to handle the grueling schedule of on-location shooting.
The days quietly slipped by.
By the time the autumn wind swept away the fallen leaves, the online buzz had completely died down.
With no new dramas airing and no hot searches to boost him, the name Jiang Yue gradually faded from the public eye.
One day in late October.
Jiang Yue had just returned home from a shower at the boxing gym. He dried his damp hair with a towel while checking his phone.
In the WeChat group "Dorm 307 Headquarters," Lu Ming posted a screenshot.
It was a post from a gossip marketing account: [A look at characters who were just a flash in the pan. Has Jiang Yue left the industry to find another path?]
The comment section below had only a scattering of dozens of replies, with some even asking, "Who is Jiang Yue? Seriously don't know him."
Lu Ming: [@Jiang Yue Brother Yue, these bloggers are even making up rumors that you retired to go back to your hometown and farm! It really is just one picture at the start, and the rest is completely fabricated.]
Chen Haotian: [The half-life of internet buzz is typically two weeks. Without continuous exposure, your current social media index has already plunged below the industry baseline.]
Jiang Yue looked at the screen and burst out laughing.
He typed rapidly with one hand, quickly sending a reply: [Being forgotten is quite nice. I don't even have to wear a mask to grab Shaxian delicacies downstairs anymore. Saves so much trouble.]
After sending it, he closed the group chat.
Just then, a red notification dot popped up next to a solid black avatar at the very top of his WeChat list.
It was a message from Xu Pingqiu, the director of 《The Hidden Sentry》.
It was just a brief, straightforward sentence.
Xu Pingqiu: [Meet in Shanghai next Tuesday. We'll start shooting on location at the Chedun Film Park first.]
Jiang Yue's fingers paused slightly. He tossed the towel onto the back of the sofa.
Outside the window, Donghai City's neon lights stretched into a brilliant, blurry haze through the curtain of rain.
He picked up his phone and replied with a single word: [Okay.]
Rate on N.U.
