Chapter 74 Rise

Chapter 74 Rise

Sister Yu began, "If this continues, Bai Yingchuan will gradually lose his market presence and bargaining power. Once his exposure rate drops to zero, even his fans might abandon him. I suspect Yunfeng Video is waiting for his decline to sign him with a lowball offer."

Bai Yue froze, a chill swept through her.

"I have to save myself," Bai Yingchuan said firmly, his words resolute. "If Qilin Video and Yunfeng Video refuse to give me a market, I'll create my own. Eighty percent of Sweet Fruit's users are young people who love anime, gaming, and cosplay—aligning closely with my fanbase."

Bai Yue swallowed hard, but this time, she didn't argue.

Bai Yingchuan continued analyzing, "I heard Gao Cheng has already assembled a team to develop Sweet Fruit's recommendation algorithm. Once successful, it means my fans—even casual ones—will automatically see updates about me as long as they're Sweet Fruit users. Precise targeting means no more wasted spending on ineffective marketing."

Seeing Bai Yue's hesitation, Sister Yu pushed further, "If Bai Yingchuan partners with Sweet Fruit and their user base grows, it'll prove their commercial value. Let's see if Qilin Video and Yunfeng Video can stay indifferent then."

Bai Yue, in her forties, was most familiar with cosmetic treatments, shopping, movie sets, and red carpets. She knew little about the interests of today's youth. Now, not only was Bai Yingchuan making sense, but even Sister Yu clearly favored the Sweet Fruit partnership.

She initially wanted to discuss this with Lin Chengdong, but recalling past events... she grew deeply suspicious about him.

Every project she'd invested in with him had failed—phone batteries exploding at trade shows, unsellable stock; a gaming company shut down due to infringement fines; a fish farm in Chengtan, cut off from provincial connections after offending Geng Zhaotan, finding no buyers; a box-office bomb from a Yunfeng-funded film that tarnished her reputation and slashed her pay. And now, Lin Lu's fan-manipulating schemes made her realize she had to keep her distance from Lin Chengdong.

"You can consider partnering with Sweet Fruit. But I suggest waiting a bit longer, until their growth stabilizes. Let's see what long-term plans CEO Gao Cheng has."

Finally, Bai Yue took Bai Yingchuan's side.

Sister Yu patted Bai Yingchuan's shoulder, giving him an approving look.

As they reached the doorway, it was clear Sister Yu now stood firmly with Bai Yingchuan.

"I'll keep an eye on Sweet Fruit's developments and poll fans about their impressions of the platform."

"Thank you, Sister Yu."

"Honestly, I'm glad you spoke up to your mom like that," Sister Yu smiled.

Bai Yingchuan understood—after all these years, Sister Yu had grown dissatisfied with Bai Yue and Lin Chengdong's shared dealings.

Bai Yue, once unassailable, believed no one could advise her. Even Sister Yu's advice went unheeded.

Meanwhile, Zhao Yunshu, committed to expanding Jiang Ruotang's investor pool, actively sought resources, securing additional investors for Sweet Fruit.

Even Shengshi Development Bank, where Xie Liang's mother worked, approved a substantial loan, easing Sweet Fruit's financial pressure.

Thus, Zhao Yunshu and Xie Liang's mother became friends, expanding their networks.

At exactly 10 a.m. on Sweet Fruit's eighth anniversary, a wave of classic and trending anime suddenly went live—truly, "as if a spring breeze swept in overnight, blossoms covering every branch."

Sweet Fruit's community exploded with discussions. For just a small annual fee (less than the cost of half a bubble tea monthly), users could access all these shows.

Members could also send real-time comments (danmu), free firework animations, and if over 10,000 viewers clicked the effect within a minute, it would display for all watching—the legendary "crowdsourced firework effect." Different tiers unlocked based on engagement.

This danmu concept and tech came from a Sweet Fruit user. Jiang Ruotang, exploring the platform for the first time, was astonished. She immediately contacted Mr. Zheng to patent the tech. Developers, powered by endless caffeine, rolled it out platform-wide by the anniversary.

This feature would revolutionize video platforms for years—how could they not secure it?

Beyond danmu, monthly rankings for favorite characters, best character pairings (CPs), and hottest theme songs updated in real-time, keeping fans busy voting.

Top monthly characters became digital badges in users' profiles, a new collectible for enthusiasts. Year-end, users received physical badges mailed to them.

Other perks included anime convention discounts, creator-recorded greetings as login alerts, and dedicated discussion forums—no need for endless group chats.

Overnight, Sweet Fruit burst with activity, skyrocketing to Big Eyed Boy's trending list.

Dai Ming issued a copyright notice: one month amnesty period for unauthorized content, then legal action—but also offered legitimate revenue streams for experienced subtitling teams.

Detractors mocked online:

[Anime fans? Teens with limited budgets! Sweet Fruit's doomed!]

[Why pay when pirated's free? Niche market with no future!]

[After all the controversy, most users already left!]

...

Lin Chengdong joined the naysayers.

Lin Lu, discussing trending topics with his mother Wu Ning, hinted, "Jiang Ruotang loves Sweet Fruit. His friends—Jian Sha, Cai Ji (who designed Dream Bubbles)—all subscribed."

He hoped his father would take note—investing in Sweet Fruit beat his own shaky ventures.

But Lin Chengdong dismissed it: "Nonsense! Zheng Huasheng knows nothing about streaming. Qi Yanze and Chen Dan? Wealthy dilettantes burning cash on doomed projects!"

Wu Ning pressed, "What about Gao Cheng? He's capable."

Lin Chengdong, who'd toasted Gao Cheng's ousting from Qilin, sneered, "That washed-up has-been? Sweet Fruit's his last gasp."

Wu Ning sighed, whispering to Lin Lu, "Your father's always right."

Yet Lin Lu doubted—if his father's tactics were sound, why couldn't they control Jiang Ruotang, and why did Bai Yingchuan despise him more?

Dinner over, Lin Lu checked Big Eyed Boy—headlines slapped Lin Chengdong's face:

#Sweet Fruit: Streaming's New Darling#

#Your Taste, Sweet Fruit's Got It#

#Dream Bubbles x Sweet Fruit Avatars#

#Sweet Fruit's First Phone Ad: Xiaolan#

Lin Chengdong gaped at the flood of trends.

"How?!"

Why would Dream Bubbles promote Sweet Fruit? Why would rising phone brand Xiaolan skip Qilin or Yunfeng Video for ads? Even Aoxiang Tech provided cloud support.

FAIRY launched Sweet Fruit-themed milk tea cups.

Suddenly, a Sweet Fruit account was the coolest accessory.

Even non-paying users could watch free creator content—outfits, skincare reviews, anime makeup, gaming streams—or sample anime episodes, enjoying interactive perks.

As user engagement increased, Sweet Fruit's business development department became busier.

Previously, major brands couldn’t see Sweet Fruit’s user stickiness and activity levels, but now, on the first day alone, VIP members reached 300,000—a number that continued to rise, breaking 800,000 paid users in just three days, with an exceptionally high conversion rate.

Popular brands among young people, such as fashion accessories, snacks, personal care products, and pet supplies, all reached out to Sweet Fruit.

Jiang Ruotang knew young people disliked ads—without clicks, ads wouldn’t generate revenue. Mr. Zheng raised this concern for Jiang Ruotang during the shareholders’ meeting.

Though Qi Yanze spent his days clubbing, playing pool, and street racing, he never missed a Sweet Fruit meeting and always arrived earlier than everyone else. After all, this was the only serious thing in his life.

How could Sweet Fruit make its users accept ads?

Neither Mr. Zheng nor Gao Cheng fully grasped young people’s preferences, but Qi Yanze was a quick thinker.

“Then make animated ads—just a few dozen seconds long. No need to hire actors, just create visually striking, distinctive characters and set up a short skit with fun, joke-like plots that also promote the product.”

Qi Yanze’s suggestion was well-received not only by Jiang Ruotang but also by other employees, who agreed it was worth a try.

But for short animations to attract viewers, they needed designs that matched young people’s aesthetics.

Sweet Fruit’s user base was full of hidden talents—many users’ self-made animated shorts were even more visually appealing than those from big studios.

Cai Ji’s *Shan Hai Jing* series caught the attention of Sweet Fruit’s copyright team, who decided to purchase his popular character designs.

When Cai Ji received the call from the copyright manager, he was at a fast-food restaurant munching on burgers with Jiang Ruotang and Jian Sha. He thought it was a scam.

Cai Ji shot back defiantly, “You’re Sweet Fruit’s official copyright manager? Then I’m the bank president! Need me to process a loan for you?”

Jiang Ruotang, about to take a bite of his burger, froze upon hearing Cai Ji say, “I’m reporting you for phone fraud!”—almost choking in the process.

He almost spat his food onto Jian Sha’s face, but Lu Guifan reacted swiftly, grabbing a napkin and covering Jiang Ruotang’s mouth.

Jian Sha sighed in relief, “Thank you, Class President, for saving me from a food spray disaster.”

Lu Guifan patted Jiang Ruotang’s back and said, “Take your time, no need to rush.”

“Well… I heard Sweet Fruit’s copyright purchase is real… Cai Cai (nickname), isn’t your *Shan Hai Jing* series super popular there, right?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Cai Ji hesitantly redialed the number, but it was constantly busy—three attempts in a row failed.

“Total scam! They’re probably busy scamming others now!” Cai Ji was furious that someone would use his beloved Sweet Fruit for fraud.

Just as Jiang Ruotang felt awkward, Lu Guifan interjected, “There’s another possibility—they’ve been trying to call you too, hearing the same busy tone.”

Exactly as Lu Guifan predicted, when Cai Ji stopped calling, the other party finally got through, even offering his birthdate to prove their legitimacy.

Cai Ji had many beautifully designed *Shan Hai Jing* characters, but some he refused to sell—they were projections of people important to him, like Di Jun, inspired by Jiang Ruotang, or Qiong Qi, based on Zhao Zhangfeng.

The Di Jun character was especially popular, and the copyright manager offered a high price, but Cai Ji wouldn’t sell.

He simply said, “Di Jun is my first love. Selling him would leave my heart empty.”

Hearing this, Jiang Ruotang felt his heart swell.

He felt his life was truly meaningful—whether with family or friends, it was all genuine, a two-way street.

After selling the rights to his other designs, Cai Ji was overjoyed—he’d earned money through his talent again. “My aesthetic sense is amazing, right? When I make an RPG game someday, the characters will be ten thousand times more stunning!”

“I believe in you!” Jiang Ruotang nodded with a smile.

Cai Ji generously treated Jiang Ruotang and the others to hot pot, and with Jiang Ruotang’s advice, invested the rest in low-risk investments.

Jiang Ruotang joked, “Keep this money safe—it might be the seed fund for your future game company.”

Jian Sha looked up and sighed, “You’re all earning money on your own… When will I become the contemporary literary master of the fiction world?”

Jiang Ruotang laughed, “Well, ‘literary giant,’ you’ll have to show us your stories first.”

“Just wait—they’ll keep you up all night!” Jian Sha grinned.

Gao Cheng worked at lightning speed—Sweet Fruit immediately launched animated ads.

The first short was a test run, testing whether users would accept them. No one wanted ads to ruin the user experience.

—The mythical glutton Taotie transformed into a little boy, still losing baby teeth, so adorable it was cuteness overload.

He ranted to other beasts, “I only take in, never let out—my stomach’s about to burst! My greatest wish in life… er, beast life… is to finally cut the cheese!”

The wise Bai Ze, in the form of an elegant young man, handed Taotie a cup of yogurt and said leisurely, “Probiotics get your gut moving—input and output, no longer a dream.”

After drinking the yogurt, Taotie’s stomach rumbled and grumbled, and a gust of wind blew from under his tail, nearly sending Bai Ze flying.

Though only ten seconds long and appearing as a small picture-in-picture in the corner, the characters were so charming that many couldn’t resist clicking. The humor and cuteness were melt-your-heart cute, with countless comments begging for sequels.

The yogurt became a recurring element in the comment barrage, with jokes like, “Chug this super-probiotic yogurt, and even flattery will bond us as friends.”

The first ad’s success made other brands eager to collaborate. Without Gao Cheng needing to negotiate, brands actively bid for ad slots, all wanting their campaigns to launch quickly.

By month’s end, Sweet Fruit’s paid users exceeded 2.8 million. Surveys had suggested only half would pay, and even Jiang Ruotang prepared for just one-third conversion—yet they surpassed expectations.

This was something industry experts hadn’t anticipated.

Online critics who had trash-talked Sweet Fruit suddenly fell silent. To ride the wave, a new trend of “Sweet Fruit stans” emerged, with tutorials on how to trigger exploding fireworks FX, earn digital badges, or select favorite manga artists’ login greeting audio…

Even old-school anime fans, long out of school, logged in during their downtime to see what Sweet Fruit was all about now.

Between classes, Cai Ji excitedly approached Jiang Ruotang. “Ruo Tang, did you know? My beloved Sweet Fruit has over 3 million paid users now! Before, I had to scour the internet for uploads—now it has all the anime I love! Plus so many new interactive features, like submitting suggestions to Jingwei (mythical bird)!”

Jiang Ruotang smiled. “Jingwei? The *Shan Hai Jing* character you designed?”

“Yes! It’s now the official mascot for feedback. Users love chatting with it—every response is so fun, you can’t help testing how many unique replies it has. Like when I said, ‘I miss you,’ it answered, ‘I miss myself too.’ Isn’t that sassy?”

Jiang Ruotang chuckled and nodded. “As long as you like it.”

Watching them chat excitedly, Lu Guifan propped his chin on his hand, gazing at Jiang Ruotang’s profile.

He realized, without noticing, Jiang Ruotang’s preferences were shaping his world.

For example, when Jiang Ruotang discussed big data algorithms with Cai Ji, Lu Guifan quietly noted it down to study later.

“Gui Fan! Look, look at this…”

Jiang Ruotang leaned in, eyes shining like stars, leaving Lu Guifan momentarily dazed.

“Hmm?”

"This is our shared account, remember? I edited those short teaching clips you made and uploaded them... Our fan count already has 100,000! And so many people have sent us donations, thanking you for your lessons!"

The phrase "our shared account" made Lu Guifan's heart skip a beat, followed by a rush of warmth that flooded through him, making him want to tuck her head against his chest and hold her tight.

This was the first time he and Jiang Ruotang had something together. Glancing at the account name again, Lu Guifan couldn't keep the grin off his face.

"Look here—someone said you nailed the exact type of question that appeared on their final exam!"

"And this one—it’s from a teacher! They said your teaching approach, starting from the basics and building up, is perfect for students with shaky fundamentals... Wait, does that mean my foundation is weak?"

"Wow, another comment praising how good your hands look and how great your voice sounds! Can’t these guys just focus on studying?"

It wasn’t just compliments about his voice—some even said Lu Guifan’s voice was sexy, going on about how his finger length totally meant he’d be good in bed.

Jiang Ruotang automatically filtered those out. *What filthy minds—this is an educational video! What are they even thinking?*

He picked out all the comments praising Lu Guifan and recited them to him, as if the compliments were meant for him instead.

Then, Lu Guifan scrolled through the comments and suddenly read one out loud: *"I want to have babies with you."*

Jiang Ruotang nearly choked on air.

"You—you want to have babies with *who*?" He stared at Lu Guifan with wide eyes.

"There were quite a few comments like that just now," Lu Guifan said, still looking at his phone.

Jiang Ruotang exhaled sharply. The way Lu Guifan said it so seriously hit way too hard!

His heart couldn’t take it.

"It’s—it’s just a way of saying they find you attractive, joking about wanting to have kids with you."

"Oh. That’s impossible."

Jiang Ruotang thought Lu Guifan meant humans don't literally birth monkeys (it's just a meme), but what Lu Guifan *actually* meant was that he wanted to be with Jiang Ruotang forever—those hypothetical starry-eyed kids would have to find other parents.

Then Lu Guifan realized he was going insane. He hadn’t even confessed yet, and here he was, already fantasizing about the future.

Meanwhile, Bai Yue was at a dinner gathering organized by Lin Chengdong, who wanted to make a big-budget film to recoup his previous losses.

He was scrambling for investors, and Bai Yue was the designated female lead.

Everyone at the table looked wealthy, but none seemed particularly interested in the film—they were too busy shooting the breeze about stocks, mining ventures, and comparing their children’s achievements.

Aside from Bai Yue, the other actors present were complete background extras, unable to get a word in amid the businessmen’s boasting.

Somehow, the conversation shifted to Xiaolan.

"If we’d known this little website would take off like this, we should’ve bought it!"

"Mr. Lin, if you hadn’t pushed us to partner with Yunfeng Video, we wouldn’t have let this golden goose slip through our fingers!"

"Exactly! I heard their ad revenue alone has already hit nine figures (in RMB)! Isn’t that way more profitable than some godforsaken film?"

Lin Chengdong’s expression darkened. He kept eyeing Bai Yue pointedly, urging her to toast the guests and steer the conversation elsewhere.

But Bai Yue had no intention of stepping up—she’d just end up getting wasted while Lin Chengdong skated by untouched.

"Gao Cheng’s move was a total success. Qilin Pictures’ shareholders are even questioning why management let him go!"

"Gao Cheng just hit the jackpot, stumbling onto Xiaolan right after leaving!"

"Don’t you get it? The owner of Dreamy Bubbles is Mu Xianqing, and Xiaolan is backed by Deyi Tianxia! One drives users to Xiaolan, the other fired the starting shot for its ad deals! Clearly, Xiaolan’s real backer is the Mu family!"

Hearing this, Lin Chengdong stiffened. *So that’s how it is? Another missed opportunity?*

Bai Yue immediately caught his expression and knew exactly what he was thinking. Even if Lin Chengdong *had* bought Xiaolan, did he really have the brains or drive to grow it? More likely, it would’ve gone down the drain like the rest of his failed investments.

Someone suddenly said, "Why didn’t we invite Bai Yingchuan? He’s the real star!"

"Right, right! The girls in my son’s class are head over heels for him!"

"Exactly! With both mother and son in the mix, the buzz would be unstoppable! Who’d worry about box office then?"

Lin Chengdong quickly forced a smile. "You’re absolutely right! Let’s invite Xiao Bai over—we can all get to know each other better."

Bai Yue kept smiling, but a chill ran through her.

Recalling Bai Yingchuan’s earlier suspicion that Lin Chengdong was trying to exploit his commercial value, she realized it wasn’t just about getting Yunfeng Video to sign him cheaply.

Most of these businessmen didn’t care about the film—they were probably just using the budget and box office to launder money, or Lin Chengdong had roped them in as suckers. There was a 70% chance Lin Chengdong planned to skim off the top from their investments under the guise of production costs to cover his own losses.

Whether Bai Yue was overthinking it or not, and regardless of whether she could still control Bai Yingchuan, one thing was clear—she couldn’t let him get dragged into this.

"Yingchuan is focusing on his college entrance exams right now. At this hour, he’s already in night study—his phone’s probably on silent," she said lightly.

"Ah, what’s so important about exams? With his looks, he’s *made* for showbiz! Even if he graduates, he’ll just end up working for someone else!"

"Look around this table—how many of us went to college?"

"Exactly! Back in the day, only poor scholars needed exams to change their fate! Xiao Bai was *born* in Rome!"

Biting back her anger, Bai Yue forced a smile. "Well, he’s cultivated a ‘top student’ persona with his fans. If his scores are bad, the trolls will roast him alive. He’s dead set on proving those haters wrong."

*What nonsense—exams don’t matter? Weren’t every single one of you just one-upping each other over tutors for your kids, swearing you’d tan their hides if they failed?*

*But when it comes to Yingchuan, suddenly exams aren’t important?*

Seeing Bai Yue wasn’t going to call Bai Yingchuan, Lin Chengdong pulled out his phone and started searching for his number in his contacts.

Bai Yue stiffened. *That’s my son. I didn’t even call him—how dare he take liberties like this?*

*What’s his game?*

In the middle of night study, Bai Yingchuan felt his phone vibrate. Glancing at the screen and seeing "Lin Chengdong," he dismissed the call coldly.

Lin Chengdong paused. "He hung up on me?"

"Hahaha! Seems Xiao Bai really is too big for his britches!"

"Disturbing his study? Careful, his fans might report you to the school!"

"Maybe he knows you’re too cheap to shell out for his fee—that’s why he won’t talk to you!"

They were using the fan feud with Qilin Video to take digs at him now.

Bai Yue deflected. "The teacher must’ve been nearby—if they saw him answering his phone, they probably snatched it right up."

Lin Chengdong tried calling again, but this time, the line went straight to voicemail: *"The number you have dialed is currently switched off."*

"How about it, Mr. Lin? Can you or can't you invite this A-list young actor?"

Although the big boss across the table spoke in a joking tone, Lin Chengdong could sense the underlying anger.

"Hold on, just a moment." Lin Chengdong put on a smile while sending a text to Lin Lu.

[Where’s Bai Yingchuan? I need to talk to him. Tell him to call me back immediately—there’s a major opportunity!]

Lin Lu pulled out his phone and immediately nudged Bai Yingchuan beside him, urgently whispering, "My dad wants you to call him back—he’s got a resource for you!"

Bai Yingchuan’s face remained expressionless, as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

Lin Lu was about to tug at him again, but just as he raised his hand, the physics teacher caught him trying to whisper to his desk mate and called on him to answer a question.

After barely managing to answer, Lin Lu glanced at Bai Yingchuan’s handsome profile—like ice, offering no response whatsoever.

Once the physics teacher finally moved to the other side of the classroom, Lin Lu hesitated for a moment before deciding to cover for Bai Yingchuan: [He was pulled aside by the teacher—probably won’t be back anytime soon.]

This message at least gave Lin Chengdong an out.

He showed the text from his son to the big bosses: "Nothing I can do. As a film company manager, I’m no match for high school teachers—each one’s an absolute monster. Even at parent-teacher meetings, I can only bow my head."

The group laughed, and the tension finally eased a little.

By the time the dinner ended and Lin Chengdong had seen off the big bosses, his face fell immediately.

"What’s wrong with you? I gave you so many hints—couldn’t you pick up on the cues? You barely drank anything the whole time. How could the bosses be satisfied?"

Bai Yue sighed. "I’m washed up—the bosses don’t think I can open a movie. Even if I drank myself to death, they wouldn’t be happy."

"You… Are you still upset about the investment in Chengtan? You only needed to put in five or six million, but you got greedy and invested over eight million. Now that you’re stuck, you blame me?"

"Investments are never guaranteed returns. You can lease that fishpond for income or wait until Chengtan’s development plans are finalized. Even if they don’t build office towers, real estate developers will come calling. Why should I be anxious?" Bai Yue looked at Lin Chengdong.

"That’s the right attitude. Also, since the bosses have spoken, have a good talk with Yingchuan. As long as he’s willing to cooperate, we can structure the deal in his favor—he won’t lose out." Lin Chengdong leaned closer to Bai Yue, about to say something else, but the elevator doors opened, and someone stepped in, forcing him to shut his mouth.

Before, Bai Yue had thought Lin Chengdong was sharp, but now she suddenly saw him as full of holes like Swiss cheese. And she’d been following him for so long, getting dragged through the mud in the process. Worse, she still had to stay pleasant and avoid offending him, or who knows what tricks he’d cook up behind her back.

By the time they reached the parking lot, Lin Chengdong clearly had more to say, but Bai Yue faked a phone call, got into her car, and had the driver leave—right under Lin Chengdong’s gaze.

From that moment on, Bai Yue quietly reviewed all her collaborations with Lin Chengdong. She’d seemingly gained resources, but in the end, he was always the one who profited.

Back home, Bai Yue couldn’t help but mentally tally her grievances against Lin Chengdong. Suddenly, she realized she was just a hollow title—a former box office queen—while Lin Chengdong had been leeching off her fame and box-office appeal all along.

Truly… this couldn’t go on.

At 9:30 p.m., Bai Yingchuan returned from school, and Bai Yue had already called over their manager, Sister Yu.

"Are you sober now?" Bai Yingchuan sat across from Bai Yue, his tone neutral but direct.

Bai Yue knew her son was unhappy with her, so she let his tone slide.

"I agree to your collaboration with Sweetfruit. Their performance has been strong, and their reputation in the industry has completely rebounded."

"But it’s not just about me wanting to work with Sweetfruit—they have to be willing to offer the opportunity," Bai Yingchuan said.

Sister Yu thought for a moment. "Then let’s do what Lin Lu did before—have the fans bombard Sweetfruit’s customer service with requests…"

"Let’s not resort to that. Last time, the fan backlash hurt me. I need to protect my reputation."

"Then what? If you want the market, you can’t afford to be too aloof." Bai Yue was even more anxious than Bai Yingchuan now.

If Bai Yingchuan could lock in a deal with Sweetfruit soon, she’d have an excuse to tactfully refuse whatever schemes Lin Chengdong might come up with.

"I know a minor shareholder at Sweetfruit. Not sure if they have any influence, but they could at least put in a word for me."

Bai Yue frowned. "A minor shareholder? That won’t help now. You need to reach their CEO, Gao Cheng. After all, you and Gao Cheng are in the same boat—both frozen out by Kirin Video. If you approach him, he might say yes."