All the Cubs I Raised Became Big Shots – CH3

Chapter 3

Fang Huai never expected to run into city enforcement officers.

More than half of his performance earnings were left behind—he barely had time to grab his bag and run. Fortunately, having grown up in the mountains, he had excellent stamina and endurance. After leading the officers on a chase for over ten minutes, he successfully escaped.

Wiping away his sweat, he pulled out a small cloth bag and counted his money.

His entire fortune: 25 yuan and 30 cents.

“…Not enough,” he thought gloomily.

He needed to earn more.

But if he tried busking again, he might run into city enforcement once more. So how could he make money?

His gaze shifted to a nearby construction site. Towering high-rises were rising in the background, and workers in yellow hard hats moved like tiny dots across the site.

Fang Huai: “Hmm.”

Bricklaying…

That could work.

Two hours later, Fang Huai received his day’s wages from the foreman and left the construction site.

But he hadn’t come to the city just to survive.

There was also…

“You need to stand tall, be seen by many, and be liked by many.”

That was what Fang Jianguo had said before he died.

Fang Huai had no interest in becoming the person Fang Jianguo wanted him to be. Their relationship was far from a harmonious grandfather-grandson bond—to Fang Huai, the old man was just a strange, friendless, self-righteous geezer.

On the side of the road, a large LED billboard was playing a recruitment ad for Starlight.

The show was still in its preparation phase, aggressively recruiting contestants. Its promotional materials were everywhere—Fang Huai had already seen the ads at least three or four times while walking through the city.

And the tagline for Starlight was “Do you want to stand tall and reach for the light of the stars?”

Fang Huai stood by the roadside, a bit of dust from bricklaying still clinging to the tip of his nose. Tilting his head back, he read the sentence over and over again.

*

Half an Hour Later

Starlight Entertainment Building, 4th Floor – Starlight Trainee Registration Desk

Fang Huai knocked on the door. After receiving permission, he walked in and took a seat.

The staff member, Li Chunfang, was absentmindedly scrolling through Weibo. It was almost 5 PM—just a few more minutes until she could clock out.

“Alright,” Li Chunfang sighed, exiting the Weibo app. She lazily lifted her gaze. “Kid, what’s your name? What talent do you have?”

Starlight was a talent survival show under Starlight Entertainment, focusing on vocal and dance idols. Most applicants registered online, and this physical sign-up point was just a formality. Few people actually came in person—including Fang Huai, she had only seen three people all day.

Fang Huai sat stiffly, uncomfortable.

“I’m Fang Huai. I can…” He thought for a moment before saying, “I can sing.”

Li Chunfang stared at his face for a long while, only belatedly showing a bit of surprise.

This face… was rare.

His bone structure was exceptional—almost too perfect. Though he looked dusty and travel-worn, his natural clean-cut handsomeness still shone through. His fair and smooth skin, naturally upturned lips, and slightly droopy eyes gave him an air of innocence mixed with quiet defiance.

As someone in the entertainment industry, Li Chunfang had seen countless beautiful faces. But a natural, unaltered face of this caliber? Extremely rare. Not only was his bone structure flawless, but he also had incredible versatility—the kind of naturally gifted, born-to-be-a-star look.

And more than that, his aura was special.

It was… hard to describe. Clean. Comfortable.

Li Chunfang sat up straight and said, “Alright, sing something for me.”

Fang Huai nodded.

Clearing his throat, he sang the song he knew best—the one he composed himself, The Little Cub’s Growth Song.

He had originally planned to sing it in his dialect, but at the last second, he remembered that few people would understand it. Since this was a competition, he quickly rewrote the lyrics in Mandarin, improvising on the spot. The new lyrics had nothing to do with “little cubs” anymore.

Because of this, the song wasn’t as fluid or natural as when he had performed on the streets.

But this time, when he finished singing, Li Chunfang’s reaction was oddly strange.

“You wrote this yourself?” she asked, sounding amused.

Fang Huai, confused, nodded.

Li Chunfang dragged out an “ohhh” and then asked, “Kid, you’re a Lin Rui fan, aren’t you?”

Fang Huai: “?”

She scanned him from head to toe, her gaze turning knowing.

“You even copied his outfit so quickly? Not bad, pretty spot on.” She nodded approvingly. “And honestly, your singing… does sound a tiny bit like his. But the lyrics are completely different, and your singing was awkward in places. The only thing that really passes is your voice.”

Fang Huai: “…?”

He answered honestly, “I wrote this myself. Who is Lin Rui? I don’t know him.”

He tried to process what Li Chunfang was saying, but it was a struggle.

…How could a person be a fan of someone?

“Oh, are you messing with me because I don’t use Weibo?” Li Chunfang waved him off. “Anyway, I’m about to clock out. You should go.”

“What about registration?” Fang Huai was momentarily stunned.

“It’s past the deadline. Sign-ups closed today. Come back tomorrow.” Li Chunfang replied absentmindedly.

She was actually a huge fan of Lin Rui, the kind who called herself “Mama Fan.” She had even watched Lin Rui’s livestream earlier that afternoon. At first, she had some goodwill toward this kid, but now? Not so much.

She stood up and ushered Fang Huai out the door, giving him a “motherly” pat on the shoulder.

“Listen, kid,” she advised, “Don’t always try to take things that belong to others. Walk your own path.“

Fang Huai was confused but still replied, “Oh…”

He hesitated, then tried to explain, “I didn’t—” I didn’t steal anything.

Bang.

The door shut in his face.

“I didn’t,” he murmured after a moment. He knocked on the door again. “I didn’t steal anyone’s work. The song is mine.”

The empty hallway swallowed his words. No one was there to hear him.

But still, he stubbornly finished his sentence, exhaled softly, and turned to leave the building.

*

Nightfall

By the time Fang Huai stepped out of Starlight Entertainment’s office building, night had fallen.

Before looking for a place to stay for the night, he decided to grab dinner first.

He walked into a convenience store, picked up a pack of biscuits labeled ¥3.99, and went to the checkout counter.

Cashier: “WeChat or Alipay?”

She couldn’t help but take a second look at Fang Huai—especially that face.

Fang Huai: “Cash.”

He reached into a worn-out cloth pouch and counted out over a dozen coins—including nine that were so old they had been out of circulation for years—totaling exactly ¥3.99.

Cashier: “…”

*

Outside the Convenience Store

A Maybach rolled to a stop on the quiet street.

A secretary stepped out and opened the back door. A pair of custom leather shoes touched the pavement—looking starkly out of place on the ordinary concrete road.

Fang Huai bit into the packaging of his biscuits as he neatly organized the remaining coins in his cloth pouch. Then, he stepped out of the store.

The automatic doors slid open.

The moment he stepped outside, his movements stilled—Under the glow of the streetlamp, a man stood silently.

He was tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, as if he had just come from some grand event. The soft light outlined his broad shoulders and strikingly handsome features, making him look almost inhuman.

His piercing dark eyes, as cold and deep as a frozen lake, locked onto Fang Huai with an unreadable expression.

*

Meanwhile – A High-End Club in Nan City’s New District

This club was known for its luxury and absolute discretion, making it a favorite spot for celebrities and public figures. The lighting was dim, and the atmosphere was laid-back but refined—people sat in small groups, rolling dice and drinking, but no one was acting too wild.

However, Feng Lang wasn’t in the mood tonight.

He hadn’t joined any of the games.

From the moment he sat down, he had been absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.

“Emperor Feng, don’t kill the mood,” a producer—one of his occasional drinking buddies—tried to coax him. “Since you’re already here, at least have a drink.”

“Hmm,” Feng Lang lazily scrolled through his phone, his half-lidded eyes filled with indifference. His light-colored irises gleamed under the dim bar lights. “Sure. You gonna feed me?”

His voice was low and smooth, carrying a lazy elegance with a teasing lilt at the end—the kind that sent shivers down your spine.

The bar’s dim lighting cast shadows over his sharp features—deep-set eyes, flawless porcelain skin, and irises like liquid amber. In this moment, he looked like a decadent, ailing aristocrat from the Middle Ages, draped in quiet indulgence.

“Don’t flirt with me, man,” the producer shuddered and rubbed his arms, then handed him the glass. “Here.”

Feng Lang didn’t bother taking it with his hand. Instead, he simply lowered his head and bit down on the rim of the glass, taking it directly while still swiping at his phone.

He shifted positions—long legs sprawled out, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing his collarbone and a sliver of toned chest. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. As he lounged on the sofa, his shirt draped perfectly over his frame, following the elegant curve of his waist—a sight that could stir the imagination.

Tilting his head back slightly, he let the golden liquor in the glass swirl gently. His eyes remained glued to his phone.

Producer: “Tsk.”

A droplet of golden liquid clung to Feng Lang’s lips, its color matching his eyes.

Even something as simple as drinking a glass of alcohol—he managed to make it look like a scene straight out of an R-rated movie. Every single movement, down to the strands of his hair, seemed designed to seduce.

He looked nothing like a proper actor.

If the producer didn’t already know his background, he might have been tempted to take advantage of him right then and there.

“I don’t get it,” the producer leaned in, peeking at his screen. “What’s so interesting on your phone?”

He thought Feng Lang was flirting with some young model on WeChat, but when he glanced at the screen—it was just Weibo.

More specifically, a Weibo video.

The quality wasn’t great. The footage was a bit blurry—a young man in work pants and a T-shirt was singing.

The producer took a glance and went, “Oh—Lin Rui, huh? You interested in him?”

Feng Lang’s gaze never left his phone, but at these words, he lazily lifted his eyes—deep and seductive.

He bit down on the rim of the wine glass for a moment, then finally took it in his hand and drawled:

“Who’s Lin Rui?”

“Him, obviously,” the producer pointed at his phone. “This is the video of Lin Rui busking this afternoon—it’s all over Weibo. Wait a sec…”

He suddenly gave Feng Lang a once-over, then hesitated, looking skeptical.

“Those two trending hashtags were right next to each other, weren’t they? The whole country already knows the ‘busking pretty boy’ is Lin Rui. You’ve been on Weibo for the past half hour, and you only watched this video?”

Meanwhile, the video progress bar hit the end, and Feng Lang casually dragged it back to the start—replaying it.

Feng Lang shrugged. “Yeah. I like this video.”

“Lin Rui got lucky,” the producer remarked. “This video made him go viral. The PD of Stellar Light is even considering inviting him as a judge.”

As he spoke, he pulled up Lin Rui’s profile picture on Weibo and showed it to Feng Lang.

“See? That’s him.”

Feng Lang glanced at the photo—then suddenly laughed.

“That’s not him.”

“Huh?” The producer froze.

“The street performer,” Feng Lang lazily waved his long, well-defined index finger in the air, then grabbed a Pocky from the table and bit down on it. “That’s not him.”

“But he said it himself…”

The producer muttered as he checked Lin Rui’s Weibo.

The latest post was from a few hours ago—a reshare of a fan’s Weibo, with just one word: 

Lin Rui on a diet (Verified): Shh.
\@Lin Rui’s little cutie: I guess this street-performing superpower guy is my Rui Rui, right? Rui Rui, how can you be this cute! [Video]

The comment section was surprisingly harmonious:

[Overload of cuteness! I hereby announce that I’m marrying Lin Rui today!]
[Instant fan.]
[Rui Rui, please, I beg you—release an album! Mommy won’t allow you to bury that golden voice any longer!]
[This is heavenly singing?! A literal angel?]
[Excuse me, are you still performing? I’m camping out here.]
[Is this superpower natural, or does the government issue it?!]

The producer scrolled through casually—until he suddenly got a notification.

A Weibo alert for a new post from someone he followed.

And that post—posted just 30 seconds ago—was from Feng Lang.

It read:

Feng Lang (Verified): Wrong guess.
\@Lin Rui’s little cutie: I guess this street-performing superpower guy is my Rui Rui, right? Rui Rui, how can you be this cute! [Video]”

Producer: “…?”

The original Weibo post by “Lin Rui’s little cutie” was the one that initially pushed the “Lin Rui is the superpower guy” tag onto the trending list.

And the moment Feng Lang retweeted it, Weibo exploded.

As soon as the notifications started pouring in, Feng Lang simply locked his phone—ignoring the chaos.

And on Weibo, after two seconds of eerie silence, the entire platform erupted.