The Male Stand-in Just Wants to Make Money – Chapter 29

The forgetful one registered a new account on the spot and, under the guidance of a reliable friend, successfully linked it.

Once the binding was completed, Chen Bai followed his friend.

His friend followed him back, becoming his very first fan.

The number of followers kept going up afterward, but he didn’t pay it much attention. He set the phone aside and continued his livestream.

That night’s stream ran late into the early morning, and he logged off right on time.

After shutting down the computer, the man sitting in the chair leaned back, stretched out with a few lazy punches and kicks, then sat back upright. He picked up his phone, sent a few lines of nonsense to his good neighbor, then set the phone down and grabbed the script nearby.

The once brand-new script had now doubled in thickness.

At 2 a.m., the lights in the room went off on schedule.

It was a rare night where he didn’t stay up late, and the next morning he woke up feeling refreshed.

Before the script reading that evening, he finally learned—under his agent’s slightly strained gaze—that the gray-haired man he’d met in the elevator the day before was the male lead this time. His name was Zhou Jing, and he was also the cover model of that magazine Chen Bai had appeared in previously. Objectively speaking, he was very popular.

No wonder the face felt familiar.

His agent could hardly believe it—how could this guy know someone like Xu Sinian, with whom he had no apparent connection, but not recognize someone from the same magazine as himself?

During the table read, the social butterfly successfully introduced himself to all the lead actors.

The male and female leads were both established celebrities. After the read-through, they had other work arrangements before filming officially began, so they left after the session wrapped up that evening.

With them gone, Chen Bai stayed at the hotel. A few days would be enough for him to make up some livestream hours.

While he was grinding hard to make up livestream time, the online buzz around Asking for Life was exploding.

From casting to final role confirmations, the Asking for Life production team hadn’t leaked a single word about the leads. The internet was left to speculate wildly, and everything was kept tightly under wraps.

Eventually, someone spotted Zhou Jing—one of the most talked-about young actresses—in the film and television city a few days ago. Even though her acting skills had drawn some criticism, based on the appearance of her and the other actress on site, most people figured they were the male and female leads.

Some netizens also recognized a few second- and third-tier actors at the scene. But after repeatedly counting heads, they noticed the number didn’t match the announced main cast, sparking even more wild guesses. Pretty much every famous celebrity with an open schedule got named at some point.

Just when the guessing was getting out of hand, the production team dropped the makeup photos the night before filming was set to begin.

The male and female leads were indeed the much-photographed Zhou Jing and the young starlet people had seen before. The other cast members also fell in line with expectations. As usual, the director’s aesthetic vision and budget were both clearly top-tier. The leads’ costumes were exquisite and intricate—whether or not they could act, their visuals alone were enough to stun.

The only unexpected element was the casting of the second male lead.

This was someone who had never appeared in any crew posters or promo shots before—in other words, a total newcomer.

The makeup photo showed him seated by a window, dark blue robe trailing to the floor, brows like distant peaks, eyes lowered. One hand held a chess piece, the sunlight outside casting its light onto his pale fingertips. The inky black chess piece reflected the light faintly.

Next to the photo was written in bold brush calligraphy: “Si Yang.”

If you had to describe it in one word—it was stunning.

At first, netizens didn’t recognize who this person was. Only after reading the official Weibo post did they realize that the actor playing Si Yang was the mysterious new face who had recently gone viral online with a photoshoot under EV’s label.

Aside from the resemblance in appearance, it was hard to connect the two in terms of temperament or image.

[It’s actually him?! The contrast is so huge I almost didn’t recognize him!]
[If Si Yang looks like this, I’m definitely a fan!! [rose.jpg]]
[Zhang Zhi really dares to cast newcomers in such major roles. That’s what confidence (and a solid budget) gets you.]
[I’ll take both the cheerful urban boy and the ancient-style dreamboat. I eat eat eat!]
[Looks are great, sure—but can he act? Zhou Jing’s here too, y’know.]

The comment section stayed relatively calm—until someone who had once posted a photo of the cast entering the hotel lobby returned to the front lines.

The poster repeatedly confirmed what they were seeing, stumbling over their words, and the shock practically radiated off the screen:

[It was really him!!! I talked to him that day! He was there to film! We even chatted!!]

For any normal person, it was hard to believe that an actor would just sit around squatting at the hotel entrance and casually chat for ten minutes.

That big brother finally realized why the guy had looked so familiar.

Anyone who’d been online a bit might have recognized the face, but his memory had fixated on the pink hair. That day, when the pink hair was mostly hidden under a cap, his brain short-circuited and he couldn’t make the connection.

The guy had squatted next to him and chatted for nearly ten minutes—and he hadn’t recognized him.

After all that speculation, it turned out the person they were looking for was literally right next to him—and later even offered his regards.

[Bro, you… HAHAHAHA]
[Help me, it’s so funny imagining that pretty boy crouched at the hotel gate with you]
[Crouching Dragon and Hidden Phoenix—both absolutely elite (nod)]
[So it’s true Chen Bai is a master at chatting. I’d heard rumors from his friends, but didn’t believe it till now.]
[I’ve definitely seen this face before! But where? WHERE?!]

…

That afternoon, after attending the rehearsal for the opening ceremony, Chen Bai squeezed in a stream during the evening. Midway through, he received a message from his gold coin partner.

His money-making partner had forwarded the crew’s Weibo and asked him to give it a follow.

He did as asked, followed the account, set the phone down, and told the livestream viewers: “I’ve got some things to take care of these next few days, so I won’t be able to stream. I’ll notify you in advance when I’m back.”

The crew’s filming schedule for the next few days had been set—and just as he’d expected, most of the major night scenes meant wrap-up times around the early morning hours.

Finishing work around 1 a.m., then changing clothes and showering—he really wouldn’t have time to go live.

According to the coordinator, the upcoming shoot schedule should ease up compared to these past few days. At the very least, they wouldn’t be wrapping in the middle of the night.

His tone was the same as always, and the viewers listened just as they usually did. Only after hearing it did they suddenly realize something was off—and immediately began to wail in the comments.

Chen Bai was just as torn—he really wanted both sources of income.

Thankfully, his God of Wealth, Huo Yuanfei, was currently overseas working on a major project. They only exchanged occasional WeChat messages these days, so he hadn’t come knocking lately.

If he had to turn down another ¥120,000 job right now, Chen Bai might actually sit up in bed at night and sigh himself to sleep.

The live broadcast ended in the early morning, as usual.
Chen Bai, who had never cared much about livestream lengths before, actually checked the number of hours he’d streamed and compared it to this month’s target before shutting down the software.

He had already signed a new contract with the platform, which reduced his required monthly broadcast time from 150 hours to 100 hours.
But this month still followed the old contract—he needed to complete 150 hours.

A third of the month had passed, and he had already streamed 90 hours.
Under normal circumstances, he would easily surpass the target.

But now that he had joined a film crew, everything was uncertain.
He even used his one day off each week to squeeze in extra work time at the restaurant.

“…”

After randomly throwing a few air punches and kicks, the pink-haired youth picked up the notebook beside his script, then gently set it aside, switched the computer screen from the livestream interface to an online lecture, and began listening to the class while twirling a pen.

The next day was the opening ceremony.
All the crew members were present, and some media outlets had been invited too. The atmosphere was lively.

Although Chen Bai was the type who loved chatting, he wasn’t the type to show off.
He spoke when appropriate and spent the rest of the time quietly nibbling on free sweets and sipping tea at the table.

On one side of him was the male lead, Zhou Jing.
On the other side sat the third male lead, who played a spoiled rich boy.
Zhou Jing seemed busy the entire time, so Chen Bai didn’t bother him.
Instead, he turned and casually recommended some milk candy he had just tried and thought was delicious to the third male.

The third male lead was a relatively new actor, having only been in the industry for a few years.
This was his first major role, and he was obviously nervous.
But then, the person next to him, quietly munching on candy, pushed a piece toward him under the table—and even secretly gave him a thumbs-up.

“…”

He accepted the candy.

Thus, one person quietly eating became two people quietly eating.

They ate very discreetly, not disturbing anyone, and didn’t draw any attention.
Only when someone turned to look at them did they notice that most of the candy in front of the two had disappeared.

After the sweets came the red envelopes.

The two candy-eaters instantly became more alert, their eyes sparkling with anticipation.

After receiving his red envelope, Chen Bai took a photo of it and sent it to his good neighbor.
The formal shoot began that afternoon.
Some people, even after going to bed at 2 a.m., were still bursting with energy.

The director’s energy was no less overwhelming.

Although he had never experienced it before, Chen Bai finally understood today—he finally understood why some people almost cried on audition days.

Although he hadn’t been scolded yet, most of the director’s fury was directed at Zhou Jing and the second female lead.

It was the first time Chen Bai had seen someone scold others so elegantly and with such penetrating power.
From a safe distance where he wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire, he even watched and learned.

The heroine seemed to want to observe too, but probably for the sake of pride, only stole a few glances from time to time.

The workload for lead actors versus supporting actors was totally different.
Besides studying the art of elegant scolding, Chen Bai also had a lot of other things to learn.
He barely touched his phone all day, only checking it after returning to the hotel and taking a shower post-shoot.

There were quite a few unread messages.

There were texts from Sister Caishen and Mother Huo, people he stayed in touch with from time to time.
And after he sent the red envelope photo to his good neighbor, his neighbor also replied.

A simple congratulations—and a red envelope.

The amount wasn’t large, but it was just within his “acceptable” range.

Today’s red envelope +1.
Lowering his head, Chen Bai typed a reply, thanking Boss Xu for the red envelope, and even sent an emoji sticker he’d swiped from somewhere the day before.

After confirming the sticker was sent, he exited the chat and went to read Sister Caishen’s and Mother Huo’s messages.

Sister Caishen also congratulated him on the successful start of filming.
Mother Huo, as blunt as ever, sent a voice message complimenting his looks in the stills—and added that many of the flowers in her yard had withered recently.

Mother Huo normally didn’t chat much with people at the estate, and it had gotten even quieter since Huo Qing went abroad for school.
Since their last hospital call, she and Chen Bai had developed a habit of occasional online contact.
He lowered his head, typed half a reply, then deleted it—and chose to send a voice message instead.

This kind of hectic early-morning work schedule lasted nearly a week.
After that, the rainy season would begin, lasting for quite a while.
To stay ahead of schedule, they made maximum use of every available day.

Late nights, early mornings—
The pink-haired streamer, who used to stay up past 2 a.m. every day, was already completely used to it and somehow full of energy.

Meanwhile, the other actors and staff were getting more and more hollow-eyed by the day.
The makeup and props teams especially—sometimes having to get up at 4 a.m.—looked like they were just one sleepless night away from collapsing.

The good news was that the crew wrapped up their outdoor shoots before the rainy season arrived.
The days of extreme overtime finally came to an end—and the entire crew felt liberated.

Finally, they had a rare evening off.
There were only two more scenes left for today, so the day’s filming was about to wrap.

During the break, Chen Bai and his third male buddy grabbed stools and sat down side by side.

The buddy, always at the forefront of internet gossip, was scrolling on his phone.
Chen Bai, on the other hand, didn’t even glance at his device, choosing instead to watch the male and female leads rehearse together.

“Chen Yibai, look here.”

Just as he was watching, the buddy tapped his arm excitedly:
“Huo Chuan—uh, you probably don’t know, but anyway, he’s really rich—seems like something happened.”

He was thoughtful enough to know Pink Hair wasn’t into gossip, so he gave a short intro while handing over the phone.

Hearing the familiar name, Chen Bai raised his eyebrows and turned: “Show me.”

The buddy placed the phone between them so he could see clearly.

A push notification had popped up.
Judging from the source, it was a marketing account—but the content seemed legit.
More importantly, the photo.

The man in the picture was unmistakably the God of Wealth, Huo.

He was bending over, opening a car door, reaching out his hand to the person seated inside.

The photographer had serious skills—taking candid shots all the way abroad and still managing to deliver them back home.

Chen Bai: “Oh.”

He had thought the God of Wealth had flown abroad purely to make more gold coins.
He didn’t expect that the man had gone to chase his “White Moonlight” instead.

A fine God of Wealth—
But alas, cursed by love-brain tendencies.

And the worst part was that the person he liked didn’t even like him back.
Wouldn’t it be better to just earn more money?

Chen Bai said tactfully, “Maybe it’s unrequited love.”

“Really?” The buddy looked skeptical.
“Who would say no to him?”

Chen Bai thought so too.

After gossiping for a bit, the buddy put his phone away and reminded him, “Hey, your phone’s buzzing.”

Chen Bai lowered his head and finally noticed the phone he had tossed aside.

It was an incoming call.
The screen was lit up, showing the caller ID: [God of Wealth].

Speak of the God of Wealth, and he will appear.

Chen Bai stood up to answer the call.

Having gotten used to the wide robes with their big sleeves, he moved naturally as he walked to a quieter spot.

The sky was already dimming.
He found a less crowded ginkgo tree near the crew’s camp, looked up at the overcast sky, and picked up the call.

On the other end, the God of Wealth was as direct as ever:

“Are you free tonight?”

The sunset today was too brilliant, all tinged in red—
It was definitely going to rain tonight.
Chen Bai withdrew his gaze and answered honestly, “I’m free after eight.”

Huo Chuan said he wanted to meet.

Chen Bai: “Hmm?”

If he remembered correctly, this person was supposed to still be abroad.

Although he wouldn’t mind earning 120,000 yuan, he had no plans to expand his business internationally just yet.

As if sensing his doubt, the person on the other end said, “I caught an early flight back this morning. I’m already home.”

Chen Bai responded with a simple “OK,” then professionally asked for the time and location.

Downtown, 9 PM.

It was too late to try catching a bus or subway, but he should be able to make it if he hailed a taxi.
He said seriously, “Remember to cover round-trip taxi fare.”

There was a brief pause on the line before the other person agreed.

After the short call, Chen Bai tucked his phone away and returned to his friends.

His friend asked, “Plans tonight?”

He smiled and said, “Going to see the God of Wealth.”

There were no NGs during the last two scenes, and Chen Bai quickly wrapped up and left the set.

For the sake of his overworked agent’s mental health—and to avoid making headlines by being photographed with the God of Wealth—he spent a small fortune buying a medical mask and wore it.

Medical masks were easy to find and quick to buy.

There was still some time before the appointment.
Remembering how Mother Huo had said recently that her yard’s flowers weren’t looking great, he dropped by a nearby flower shop and bought a bunch of sunflowers—both as a gift to comfort his online friend and as after-sales service for Goddess Caishen’s previous order.

Goddess Caishen was loaded and her commissions were generous—he could afford a few more bouquets if needed.

Since this was near the film and television city, flower sales were booming. Many people bought flowers for photoshoots or as gifts, so the blooms were fresh and vibrant.

Holding the sunflowers, he hailed a cab, pulling his hat low over his pink hair as he got in.

From the dark suburbs to the bright city full of skyscrapers—
As they neared their destination, Chen Bai put his phone away.

The moment he got out of the taxi, he felt the wind sweeping through the streets.

It really was about to rain.

He pressed down his hat against the wind and entered the store Huo Chuan had mentioned.
No need for ID—he just reported Huo Chuan’s name, and a staff member led him straight to a private room on the second floor.

The God of Wealth was already inside, drinking.

The corridor was faintly scented with incense, but inside the room, the smell of alcohol overpowered everything.

After closing the door, Chen Bai pulled off his mask, tucked it into his pocket, and took off his hat.

The lighting inside was dim.
The man half-sprawled on the sofa lifted his eyes slightly to look at him and said, “You’re here.”

His voice was a little hoarse, and he looked exhausted.

Chen Bai responded quietly.

No surprise there—fresh off a long flight, plus jet lag.
It was understandable.
Clearly, the situation with Bai Yueguang hadn’t gone very well.

Chen Bai kept a polite distance, sat down, and placed the sunflowers gently on the table.

The man on the sofa sat up, reaching for the wine glass on the table.
He said, “Have a drink.”

The figure moved from shadow into light.
Sharp, handsome features, brows slightly furrowed—his gaze cut straight through the dimness.

Chen Bai didn’t move.
He refused politely, “I can’t drink.”

He still had work tomorrow—and judging by his own physical condition, even one drink would knock him out cold. He was basically someone who couldn’t touch alcohol at all.

The refusal came so naturally that even Huo Chuan paused, then chuckled.
“You really are just like him.”

He pulled the offered glass back and downed it himself.

Chen Bai, feeling responsible, kindly reminded, “Drinking on top of jet lag will make you feel even worse later.”

The man beside him casually unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves halfheartedly, and lay back again.
He said, “I’m not drinking that much.”

Since he had already said so himself, and Chen Bai had done his duty by warning him, he said nothing further—only poured himself a glass of warm water.

After sitting in this alcohol-scented room for so long, even the water seemed tainted with the smell.

The man on the sofa drank cup after cup, chatting sporadically.
He mentioned Bai Yueguang a few times, though only briefly.

The professional conversationalist Chen Bai could handle anything.
He leaned casually on the sofa, holding his water glass, answering when needed.
When Bai Yueguang came up, he even perked up a little and considered ordering a fruit plate.

But Huo Chuan barely touched the subject—two or three sentences, and that was it.

The room quieted down.
Outside, the rain had begun to fall.

The sound of raindrops hitting the windows filled the dim room.
The rain streaked down the glass, blurring the view.

Huo Chuan, still half-lying on the sofa, listened to the rain.
His vision blurred slightly.
In the hazy light, he caught a glimpse of the bright sunflowers half-illuminated on the table.

The alcohol spread through his blood, warming his body.
He turned his head toward the figure sitting quietly beside him.

As if not expecting him to look over, the pink-haired figure holding the water cup paused for a second, then lowered his eyes and met his gaze with a faint smile.

“Are you sleepy?” he asked, voice soft.

Without struggling to sit up or saying anything, Huo Chuan simply closed his eyes.

“…”

From jet lag, lack of sleep, and drinking too much—
The God of Wealth had fallen asleep.

The empty wine glass slid off the sofa.
Chen Bai reached over, caught it deftly, and set it gently on the table, his eyes crinkling in a small, amused smile.

The God of Wealth was finally asleep—mission accomplished early.

Knowing the owner of the store was a trusted friend of Huo Chuan, Chen Bai put down his own cup, put on his hat, and went to the front desk.

He asked them to contact the boss and briefly explained that Huo Chuan had fallen asleep after drinking and needed someone trustworthy to take him home.

After all, it wasn’t realistic to simply call a rideshare driver for a billionaire.
He had to find someone they trusted.

The voice on the other end of the line was so loud it was deafening—sounded like they were still out partying.
After a few simple exchanges, Chen Bai hung up.

Now, all he had to do was wait for Huo Chuan’s friend to come.

Returning to the room, he sat back down on the sofa, took off his hat, and checked the time.

It was still early.
His friend’s place was far from here, and it was raining heavily—it would probably take about an hour.

With nothing else to do, and the atmosphere being so sleepy, Chen Bai didn’t bother pulling out a script or a book.
Instead, he slipped on his headphones and invited his good neighbor—who happened to be off work today—to play a heated match of Flying Chess.

The good neighbor accepted immediately, becoming his reliable teammate once again.

His luck today was as terrible as ever—
It was like he was married to the number 1, while a little yellow pawn was relentlessly chasing him around the board.

“I’ll run first… No, Comrade Xiao Xu, you’re about to step on my plane—my one and only plane that actually took off!”

Playing a round of Flying Chess like it was an esports grand final, Chen Bai unconsciously sat up straighter and urged, “Don’t move, let me roll first.”

“Okay…”

——”Don’t go.”

Just as he was getting tense, a low, hoarse voice suddenly sounded from the side.

Pink Hair turned his head and saw that the God of Wealth, who had been lying there earlier, had rolled over at some point.

He was speaking, but his eyes weren’t really open.

Clearly, he had drunk too much.
Either he had mistaken Chen Bai for his Bai Yueguang, or he was simply mumbling dreamily in his sleep.

In the middle of his intense game, Chen Bai casually reassured him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

After tossing out that perfunctory reply, he immediately returned his focus to the fierce Flying Chess match—only to realize it was now his good comrade’s turn to roll the dice.

“…”

The countdown ticked down, second by second—
But his loyal comrade wasn’t moving at all.

Even the game’s sound effects had gone silent.

Author’s Note:

Comrade Xiao Xu: …