Chapter Fifty-Six: This Bald Man... Unbelievable

As the program came to an end, the audience rose from their seats and began to exit through the side doors, filling the space with lively chatter. Most were exclaiming that tonight had been well worth their time.

They had seen the handsome men and beautiful women from Dream of the Red Chamber; they had witnessed a spectacular performance; and most unexpectedly, they had discovered a young singer who was proficient with multiple instruments and demonstrated remarkable talent in composing and lyric writing.

He had a flair for humor, telling many jokes that no one had heard before, keeping the audience in stitches all night. After just this one recording, the crowd felt an overwhelming urge to follow Ren Qian, corner him on the street or lock him in a little black room, just so they could listen to his jokes forevermore.

Ren Qian was well aware that leaving with the audience would be a disastrous choice. Not only would it be a waste of time, it would also be taxing on his health. Therefore, he decided to follow the host to the waiting lounge, where he could chat idly with Han Wang and discuss life.

But he quickly realized this was a mistake as well—Han Wang possessed a singular charisma, his knowledge and eloquence beyond the ordinary. This needed no further proof; without genuine talent, one could never reach his current stature.

Yet with great talent often comes pride, though not the sort that looks down on others. Rather, it’s a need for absolute control: on stage, he hated being interrupted; offstage, he would tirelessly persuade anyone who held a differing viewpoint.

Just moments ago, Ren Qian had inadvertently voiced an opinion that starkly opposed Han Wang’s, and apparently sounded quite reasonable. Immediately, Han Wang entered debate mode, racking his brains and marshaling every bit of knowledge and rhetoric to analyze and argue his point from every conceivable angle…

Though all very impressive, Ren Qian found it utterly exasperating!

One ear in, the other ear out.

A perfunctory smile slowly spread across Ren Qian’s face.

…

After dozens of minutes, Han Wang was parched, but Ren Qian still sat there calm and composed, wearing the professional smile of a waiter as he gazed hypnotically at Han Wang.

If he could, he would have photoshopped a huge, bewildered expression onto his own face right then:

‘Honestly, I have no desire to argue about right or wrong, nor do I want to play debate club with you. Can you please be quiet?’

During the recording, he spoke more than anyone else and disliked being interrupted—wasn’t that enough?

Perhaps it was an occupational hazard…

Ren Qian sighed inwardly.

After about half an hour, precisely at 12:40, a beautiful secretary hurried over to them.

“Mr. Ren? The director would like to see you. Please come this way.”

Ren Qian felt as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders and exhaled deeply.

Finally, he could escape this chatterbox.

He trotted after the adorable secretary, weaving through the corridor as her swaying hips led the way.

When he stepped out the door of the lounge, Ren Qian almost felt as if he’d escaped from some sort of pyramid scheme.

After a few twists and turns, they arrived at the entrance of a grand hall.

“I’ll go in myself. You can leave now—thank you for showing me the way.”

He flashed a polite smile, straightened his clothes, and pushed open the door.

What on earth…?

A look of utter bewilderment appeared on his face; tears nearly sprang to his eyes as he quickly closed the door and backed away two steps.

“Director Hong, turn off the lights before I come in…”

“They’re off… but let me say this first: you’re not allowed to laugh at me.”

A voice heavy with grievance floated out from within.

“Who wants to laugh at you? If you hadn’t called me here, I’d already be home under the covers. Let’s just be honest, but please—no lights…”

“Come in, then…”

Shielding his eyes, Ren Qian walked in nervously. The décor was truly something out of this world.

Five or six heat-lamp bulbs, each the size of a human head, were mounted on the ceiling. Fortunately, they were all turned off.

Without the glaring light, Ren Qian parted his fingers just enough to take in his surroundings.

In that moment, he stumbled upon a universal truth: every journey across worlds is fraught with danger.

In novels, some transmigrators seem to have an aura that attracts trouble—go to a bar and they’re sure to run into thugs; attend a party and some rich kid will pick a fight; even dating leads to run-ins with lecherous troublemakers…

He didn’t seem to have that kind of aura, yet he kept encountering the most eccentric characters.

Aunt Feifei’s unparalleled culinary experiments had tormented his stomach; the nurse who’d trained in martial arts since childhood kept him perpetually on edge; and now this madman’s devotion to avant-garde performance art had nearly blinded him.

Who knew what other oddballs he’d meet in the future—was this the infamous aura of transmigrators?

Should he brace himself for more chaos?

‘Looks like I’ll have to stay on my guard, or else I might end up sent back where I came from.’

Shaking off these thoughts, Ren Qian decided to play along for now and get home as soon as possible.

He lowered his hand from his eyes—and was instantly stunned.

As the saying goes: turn off one light, and there are thousands more; turn off thousands, and there is still a blindingly shiny head!

A scalp so polished you could see your reflection in it—truly a sight to behold.

Upon closer inspection, he realized it wasn’t just a bald head.

It was a rice dumpling! Perfectly round and plump!

“What barber in Jiangnan City did this? It’s outrageous—not only did they shave your head, but they took your eyebrows too!”

Ren Qian shuddered. Jiangnan City truly hid many talents.

“Let’s not dwell on my wounds. Let’s discuss something else,” Hong Tao sighed. To draw attention away from his appearance, he’d even installed six heat lamps in his office, hoping something could outshine his gleaming scalp.

Alas, he was too naïve.

“That ‘I Am a Singer’ show you mentioned seems tough to pull off… A singing competition would last barely thirty minutes—how would you fill the rest? Besides, the market is saturated with these programs. It’s hard to stand out. Jiangnan Television would never approve it.”

Jiangnan Television, ever the pioneer among provincial stations, would never allow a shoddy show to tarnish its reputation.

“The program could be brilliant! But there’s too much to explain. Let’s talk about it another time.”

Ren Qian waved his hand, thinking, Let’s wait until your eyebrows grow back so you don’t look so startling. Right now, it’s just too distracting.

Bidding farewell to Director Hong, Ren Qian dragged his weary body home, not even sparing a glance at the tranquil nightscape of Jiangnan City.

…

By the time he got home, it was already late. His nurse sister was curled up under the covers; hearing him enter, she turned over, her nightdress riding up halfway.

Was she trying to seduce him?

“Brother Qian… if you become a superstar, will you turn bad and end up having secret children with your fans?”

Uhm.

Ren Qian tiptoed to the bedside and gave her round bottom a light pat. Seeing she didn’t react, his courage swelled, and he switched from patting to gentle kneading.

His touch was tender and careful.

There was a phrase that perfectly described this action—“the eighteen touches.”

As for what exactly that suggestive phrase meant, Ren Qian was unsure; he only knew that his nurse sister’s curves felt wonderful in his hand…