All the Cubs I Raised Became Big Shots – CH1

Chapter 1

“Best Actor Feng, you must have dated someone during your school days, right?”

The female host asked playfully.

As soon as the words left her mouth, the lively and energetic atmosphere in the recording studio abruptly fell silent.

Feng Lang was a man whose gossip headlines were just as attention-grabbing as his dazzling career. Ever since his debut, rumors had never stopped following him.

The audience and guests all perked up their ears, eager to listen.

Feng Lang twirled his phone in his hand, only speaking once the female host nervously tightened her grip on the microphone. His tone was indifferent and casual:

“Nope.”

The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a lazy yet sensual posture as he lounged on the sofa. His handsomeness was almost unreasonable, and the most captivating feature was his alluring, fox-like eyes. He seemed to have some mixed-race heritage, as his irises were noticeably lighter than the average East Asian’s.

Clearly, he wasn’t very interested in the show—he was only here due to obligations for his new movie’s promotion. But anyone with a sharp eye could tell that his mind was elsewhere.

“Then someone must have had a crush on you?” The host pressed on, unwilling to let go of this golden opportunity.

Feng Lang’s fingers froze for a moment.

He lifted his eyelids and looked at the host, then suddenly smiled.

“That, I did have.”

His voice was unhurried, deep and rich like a whisper, sending an irresistible shiver down the listeners’ spines.

The host instinctively touched her flushed cheeks. Catching the subtle shift in his expression, she seemed to sense something and pounced like a cat that had smelled blood.

“Oh? Was it a crush from your school days?”

Feng Lang didn’t answer right away.

He ran his fingers over the surface of his wristwatch, lost in thought for a long moment before shaking his head with a smile.

“To be precise,” he said, “I wasn’t really human at the time.”

“But he liked me very much. He was always circling around me.”

“I was very—”

Feng Lang stopped mid-sentence.

The female host assumed he was making a self-deprecating joke—that maybe, back then, he had been a heartbreaker, carelessly trampling on someone’s affections, which made him feel ‘inhuman.’

Unable to resist, she asked:

“…Do you regret it? Do you feel guilty?”

“No.” Feng Lang shook his head.

For once, his usually flippant, pale-colored eyes took on a rare seriousness.

He looked straight into the camera, as if through the lens, he was peering across time and distance to find someone.

His voice was low, deliberate.

“I miss him very much.”

*

Fang Huai stepped into the first-floor ward of a small rural clinic, carrying a takeout container.

“Fang Jianguo, here’s your sweet and sour ribs.”

There were no Chinese restaurants nearby, so he had gone quite far to get them. The back of his T-shirt was soaked with sweat, revealing the toned, well-defined muscles of his shoulders and back. He bent down and opened the container.

The old man had forbidden him from calling him “Grandpa,” saying it made him feel too old.

Unlike the previous days, when he had looked frail and sickly, today, the old man’s complexion had a hint of warmth. He took a bite of the ribs from Fang Huai’s hand, coughed lightly, and said—

“You’ll return to the country tomorrow. I’ve already bought your ticket. The jade pendant is yours, and…”

The old man handed him a strangely shaped piece of white jade, scratched his head, and pondered what else he could leave behind.

“My six-digit QQ account. Maybe you can sell it for some money.”

Fang Huai listened quietly. After a long pause, he looked slightly confused.

“If you’re leaving it to me… you’re not going to steal vegetables anymore?”

“You idiot,” the old man smacked him on the head. “I’m about to die.”

“Oh,” Fang Huai said.

After a moment, he asked, “Then when will you be back?”

“Dead means gone. I won’t be back,” the old man grinned mischievously, looking nothing like someone at death’s door. “Scared?”

Fang Huai froze and fell silent.

The old man didn’t seem disappointed. He coughed twice before saying:

“Oh, right. After I die, remember to take care of my QQ pet. And the vegetables on my farm, they’re yours too.”

“Oh.” Fang Huai thought about it but didn’t tell him that QQ Pets had shut down a long time ago.

“And….”

The old man coughed again, his complexion turning ashen. Summoning the last of his strength, he said:

“Kid, remember this. You… you have to stand high. Be seen by many. Be liked by many.”

Fang Huai listened quietly. At those words, he frowned. “I don’t want to.”

The small clinic had poor lighting, dim and damp even in the morning.

The old man said nothing more.

Fang Huai lowered his head, picked up a piece of rib with his chopsticks, and brought it to the old man’s lips. “Fang Jianguo, eat. Stop talking.”

The old man didn’t move.

Fang Huai was silent for a moment, then muttered:

“QQ Pets shut down years ago. Your farm’s vegetables were stolen ages ago too.”

He paused, then added, “If you don’t eat the ribs, I’ll eat them all myself.”

No response.

The ECG monitor beside them had flattened into a single, unbroken line.

Fang Huai picked up a rib, held it to his mouth, and said, “I’m really eating it.”

Silence.

True to his word, he swallowed the rib—bone and all. Then he stood up, took two steps back, then two more, before walking out the door.

The duty nurse saw him and blinked in surprise. In English, she asked, “Mr. Fang, is everything alright?”

“Fang Jianguo is dead,” Fang Huai said.

His expression was calm, but as he finished speaking, a trace of confusion appeared on his face.

“Ah…”

The nurse was momentarily at a loss for words.

The newly grown young man stood tall and lean, his hair slightly curled, his sharp features carrying an untamed beauty. He was usually someone who liked to smile.

But now, he didn’t.

He remained silent.

The dim light of early summer filtered in.

Lowering his gaze, Fang Huai was quiet for a long time before he softly asked the nurse:

“What can I do to ‘stand high, be seen by many, and be liked by many’?”

The nurse hesitated before replying, “Maybe… become a celebrity?”

*

Fang Jianguo’s funeral was simple.

There were no relatives or friends in mourning. The priest held a cross and finished the eulogy, while the doctors and nurses from the small clinic placed flowers one by one.

Fang Huai remained calm from beginning to end.

He didn’t cry, nor did he feel any gut-wrenching sorrow. His expression, like his heart, was completely blank.

After handling everything, Fang Huai returned to the small countryside house he hadn’t been to in two months and sat silently on the sofa.

Fang Jianguo had booked the plane ticket in advance—tomorrow, he would fly back home, transfer to a train in Hai City, and head to Nan City.

“I need to,” Fang Huai tapped his forehead, feeling sluggish in thought today, muttering to himself, “I need to pack. Yes, pack my things.”

He stood up, picked up the radio on the table, removed the photo frame, stuffed the picture into his bag, and grabbed two pieces of clothing.

Opening the cabinet, he suddenly spotted a bottle of Red Star Erguotou (Chinese White Wine) hidden in the corner. Instinctively, he frowned and turned around to scold, “Fang Jianguo, you—”

The words cut off abruptly.

Dusk slowly seeped in through the small lattice window.

Fang Huai picked up the bottle, then let go.

His eyes gradually turned red.

*

One week later.

Nan City, urban-rural junction.

Fang Huai held a disposable plastic bottle under a public faucet, filling it with tap water to drink.

After days of traveling—planes, trains, and endless transfers—he had finally returned to the country and arrived in Nan City. A developed coastal city, where even a single bottle of water at the train station cost four yuan.

Fang Huai couldn’t afford it.

After drinking, he casually crushed the bottle in his hand, then took a piece of chalk and wrote two words on the ground—

“Street Performance.”

He was strikingly handsome. Even in just a T-shirt and work pants, his tall and lean figure standing by the roadside drew the attention of passersby. This area was still far from the city center, surrounded by fruit vendors and cheap clothing stalls selling ten-yuan pieces, yet to be tamed by city inspectors.

A few girls passing by couldn’t resist raising their phones to take pictures. Fang Huai’s skin was fair and smooth, his bone structure exceptional, and the natural waves in his hair carried hints of light brown. His beautifully shaped eyes complemented the soft droop of his outer corners, giving him an innocent look—though, upon closer inspection, his light-colored pupils held a hint of defiance, even indifference.

At first glance, he almost looked mixed-race as he stood there with perfect posture.

It was his first time in a city. As others observed him, he was observing them.

Do girls dress this revealing nowadays? He wondered. And that shiny thing so many people are looking down at—is that a phone?

Fang Huai glanced at the outdated blue-screen phone he had inherited from Fang Jianguo.

He was a true country bumpkin—he had never even been online before.

“Aren’t you here to perform? Then perform.” Someone called out from the crowd.

Fang Huai snapped back to reality, curled his lips into a small smile, and nodded.

Placing his right hand over his chest, he bowed slightly. The formality of the gesture, in this setting, didn’t seem out of place at all.

People looked at him curiously—he had no guitar, not even a microphone. What exactly was he planning to perform?

Then, Fang Huai picked up a tree leaf, brought it to his lips, and blew.

A crisp, melodious sound flowed out.

He was playing “Happy Birthday.”

Leaf blowing wasn’t common anymore, but it wasn’t unheard of either.

The crowd looked a little disappointed. Some even booed and jeered, turning away to leave.

“Playing a leaf? That’s what you call street performance?!”

“And it’s ‘Happy Birthday’ of all things? What is this, a kindergarten show?”

“Selling art? More like selling his face!”

Fang Huai, however, remained unfazed. Eyes half-closed, he continued to play with focus and dedication.

A girl holding a selfie stick happened to pass by and stopped a short distance away. She was an internet influencer and a streamer on the Jinjiang Live platform. On her phone screen, the chat flooded with comments:

[Is this guy really street performing? LOL]

[Streamer, get closer! Let us see his face! I’ll send you all the gifts—landmines, rockets, whatever you want!]

[Playing a leaf? That’s all? Even I can do that.]

Due to Fang Huai’s striking appearance, quite a crowd had gathered. The female streamer was stuck behind them, only able to record a blurry silhouette of a tall young man and the sound of his music—but not his face. After watching for a moment, she was about to leave, saying:

“Too many people, and our schedule is tight. Maybe we can come back tomo—”

She suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

The crowd also froze. Then, their mouths slowly dropped open.

A bird with dark red feathers flew over and landed on Fang Huai’s shoulder, tilting its head to nuzzle against his neck.

Moments later, a finch joined in.

Within minutes, five or six birds had gathered around Fang Huai, circling him affectionately.

And it wasn’t just birds.

A husky broke free from its leash and sprinted towards him. A Samoyed refused to move no matter how much its owner tugged. A small stray kitten climbed up Fang Huai’s pant leg and perched itself comfortably on his shoulder.

The crowd: “…”

Fang Huai finished playing “Happy Birthday,” folded the leaf, cleared his throat, and began to sing.

The song was one he had composed himself, sung in his local dialect. No one in the crowd understood the lyrics, but that didn’t stop them from appreciating the beauty of it.

His voice was clear and crisp, like a flowing spring under the moonlight—uniquely pleasant and captivating. The unfamiliar dialect carried a mysterious, almost timeless rhythm that drew listeners in.

Of course, if anyone in the crowd were from the same hometown as Fang Huai, they would have realized that the lyrics were:

“Little one, grow up fast.
When you’re big, you’ll make good soup—so tasty and rich.”

“Little one, grow tall.
When you’re tall, you can be braised—delicious and healthy.”

It was a song Fang Huai had made up as a child, one he used to sing to the animals in his backyard. Eventually, he discovered that it wasn’t just his own animals—others seemed to respond to it, too.

As he sang, his fingers traced patterns in the air.

Miraculously, the five or six birds—each a different species—seemed to follow his movements, flying in perfect synchrony. The kitten on his shoulder swayed its head to the rhythm. The husky stood up on its hind legs, stepping in time with the beat.

When the song ended, Fang Huai bowed politely and removed his baseball cap to collect money.

The same people who had mocked him for playing a leaf now stood there, utterly dumbfounded.

“Damn, I thought he was a bronze-level noob, but…”

“Is this even scientifically possible? This feels more like a superpower!”

“This kid is incredible.”

The female streamer pulled 200 yuan from her pocket, ready to give it to him—her livestream had exploded in popularity within just four minutes. A fan had even sent a Deepwater Torpedo, one of the highest-value gifts. The chat was flooded with “666” (a slang term for “awesome”) and comments like “Streamer, go flirt with him! That guy is insanely handsome!”

A few skeptical voices popped up, but they were drowned out by the overwhelming enthusiasm of the viewers. After all, this wasn’t staged—the streamer’s audience already knew that her livestream was meant to be a chill, travel-style vlog. Coming across this mysterious “superpowered” street performer was pure coincidence, and that element of surprise only made it feel more real and even more captivating.

Excited, the female streamer was about to push forward to hand over the money and finally get a clear look at his face—when she spotted a team of city enforcement officers approaching from afar.

The young man, who had just started collecting money, was warned by someone nearby. Without hesitation, he grabbed his bag and bolted. The streamer could only watch as he disappeared into the distance, catching nothing but his fleeting silhouette.

“What a shame,” she said to the camera, “but if fate allows, we’ll meet again someday.”

Soon after, the video was clipped and uploaded online, where it went viral, sparking a heated discussion.

Author’s Note:
Hello again!

This is a pure sweet novel, a pure sweet story! Not NP (non-monogamous pairing)! The gong (top) will appear in the next chapter~

Our goal is fluff, joy, and pure indulgence—no compromises!!