The Stand-in Side Character Only Wants to Make Money – CH66

Chapter 66: Is this a new kind of special effect?

Zhou Jing stood still, meeting the light gray eyes under the tousled hair.

Without any warning or excess movement, Chen Bai suddenly lunged forward, closing the distance in an instant. His face was almost pressed against Zhou Jing’s, their eyes locking briefly before Zhou Jing reacted and grabbed Chen Bai’s arm just in time.

But Chen Bai quickly adjusted, using his elbow to counter and, with a sharp, clean movement, aimed a kick at Zhou Jing’s waist.

Zhou Jing didn’t dodge in time and bent down to one side, but he didn’t let go, trying to drag Chen Bai down with him. However, Chen Bai steadied himself, turned the grip Zhou Jing had on his arm, and used the momentum to twist, changing the direction of the fall.

“Bang—”

A dull thud echoed as Chen Bai braced himself against the table with one hand while tightly gripping Zhou Jing’s collar with the other. His lips curled into a slight smirk, letting out a quiet scoff.

“…”

The room remained in complete silence.

The scene ended, and the two on the table remained still.

“?”

As time ticked by, the director finally noticed something seemed off and looked over.

Then, the school idol who had Zhou Jing pinned to the table finally spoke, addressing his partner, “Give me a second.”

He chuckled softly, “My back seems to have given out again, let me take a breather.”

Zhou Jing: “…”

Director: “…”

Audience: “?”

[I was about to say how cool this was, but Chen Yi Bai, you…]

[I thought he was still in character and couldn’t snap out of it, but Chen Yi Bai, you…]

[From a handsome teen to an eighty-year-old grandpa in a split second, classic Chen Yi Bai!]

[Just when I was about to compliment how impressive that was, I suddenly didn’t know what to say…]

[Chen Yi Bai is truly the coolest when he’s not talking, my modern-day mute groom (smoke emoji)]

[Haha, even Zhou Jing was stunned into silence.]

[He may be silent, but he’s not surprised. This just confirms that everyone knows about Chen Yi Bai’s back issues (nods).]

After standing still for quite some time, the determined Chen Grandpa finally straightened up, with Zhou Jing following suit. Though the situation was a bit awkward, Zhou Jing still checked in, leaning over and asking in a low voice, “You good now?”

Chen Grandpa said he was fine.

This was just how it was for someone who didn’t exercise much and sat for long periods. By now, he had come to terms with it.

Zhou Jing raised an eyebrow.

With Chen Bai’s back seemingly recovered, the drawing continued.

The planning team had prepared plenty of slips, but the event had taken longer than expected, so after the second round, they moved on to the next activity.

The actors laughed and said they were disappointed. Whether that regret was genuine or not was debatable, but their smiles were definitely heartfelt.

As the press conference continued, the unexpected moments caused it to trend on social media. By the end, several related topics had climbed to the top of the charts.

Chen Grandpa even had two tags trending on his own:

#ChenYibai’sBadBack #ChenYibaiAndMoney

Chen Yi Bai himself only saw the tags after the press conference, while riding back in the car. His kind-hearted manager, thinking he didn’t go online much, showed them to him.

Slouched in his seat, Chen Bai scrolled through the posts from start to finish, then chose to squint, hand the phone back, and act like he hadn’t seen anything.

Great, now everyone knew about his back problems.

The manager, phone in hand, tapped the screen twice, liking a few comments that mentioned “friendship brain.”

But two likes weren’t enough, so she scrolled down and liked a few more, giving her approval to the people who had truly grasped the essence of this person.

After scrolling a bit more, she paused briefly, then turned to Chen Bai and said, “Zhang Wenxuan liked your post.”

Zhang Wenxuan’s family business wasn’t related to the entertainment industry, but since he liked hanging out with celebrities, he had become a quasi-public figure himself. Even something as simple as liking a post would catch people’s attention.

“Who?”

Chen Yibai took a moment to figure out who Zhang Wenxuan was. His brain finally clicked, and he casually nodded, “Probably just an accidental like.”

It was possible that Zhang was the type to like whatever post popped up.

It was just a like, so the manager didn’t dwell on it. Putting away the phone, she said, “Even though you don’t have work tomorrow, you have an audition the day after. Try not to stay up late tonight or tomorrow, and make sure you’re prepared.”

The audition was for a TV drama—another suspense thriller, but this time for the lead role. If he could nail this one, it would smooth his path to more lead roles in the future.

Chen Bai raised his hand and said, “I definitely won’t stay up tonight.”

It wasn’t often that this person was so serious about not staying up late. Even the assistant in the front turned around to glance at him, taking a closer look.

The manager raised an eyebrow slightly, “Why are you so determined this time?”

Chen Bai smiled modestly, “My friend’s coming back tomorrow morning, so I want to go to bed early so I can wake up early.”

Gao Qian “…”

That was enough “friend-brain” talk.

The manager regretted even asking, and the assistant in the back gave an “I knew it” expression.

With a small laugh, Chen Bai the “friend-brain” pulled out his phone to send a message. He logged into his “Chen Er Bai” account and posted the expected livestream time for tomorrow.

During breaks in his work, people in his livestream chat had constantly been asking when his good neighbor was coming back, repeatedly expressing their wish to witness the unboxing live. He remembered that, so the first thing he would do when his friend returned tomorrow was host the unboxing. Tonight, he posted an update with the exact time.

Having gotten used to posting these updates, he quickly attached a picture of a dinner he had taken before, posted the update, and set an alarm before putting his phone away.

The manager glanced at the time on the alarm and asked skeptically, “Can you really wake up?”

Chen Bai nodded confidently, “Of course I can.”

—

The next morning, Chen Bai almost didn’t make it out of bed.

It was a cloudy day, and even by morning, the sky hadn’t brightened much. The room remained dim with the curtains open, and not much light was coming through.

“Buzz—”

At 8 a.m., the alarm on his phone, placed by the bedside, went off, vibrating nonstop. It rang for a long time, showing no sign of stopping.

Just before the alarm could die out, a hand finally emerged from under the blanket.

With a “slap,” the alarm was turned off just before it could go silent on its own.

The person under the blanket shifted and eventually poked their head out.

Chen Bai managed to get out of bed and drag himself to the bathroom to freshen up purely out of habit, helped by the vague memory that his good friend was coming back today.

Before he could throw himself back onto the bed, some sense of reason kicked in. He bent down, turned on his computer, and then went to the kitchen to make his “life-saving water.”

“Life-saving water” referred to black coffee. As long as he had black coffee, he could stay awake, even if he had to get up at 4 a.m.

But after searching nearly the entire kitchen, he couldn’t find what he was looking for. Leaning against the kitchen door, eyes half-closed, contemplating life, he suddenly remembered that he had run out of coffee earlier. And because the local store had inflated prices, he had ordered it online.

If he was right, it had probably just been shipped.

Chen Bai “…”

Faced with the choice of going downstairs to buy coffee or tea, Chen Bai, ever the realist, chose to rely on sheer willpower to get through the morning. He poured himself a glass of water and brought it back to his room, sitting down at his desk.

Even though he had washed his face, his eyes were still blurry. But it didn’t matter—he was so familiar with his computer interface that he could open the livestream software by feel. Once he could make out the text on the screen, he adjusted the equipment and set the livestream start time.

When the stream went live, he propped up his chin with one hand, grabbed the mouse with the other, clicked into the game, and yawned. “Good morning, the unboxing you’ve been waiting for is here.”

He glanced at his phone and said, “My friend will be back in about ten minutes.”

[Chen Er Bai, you actually woke up! (Though it looks like you’re not fully awake) (Still, applause)]

[So refreshing! It feels unusual!]

[I couldn’t record that! Is the screen-capture crew here yet? (crying) (running around)]

[Er Bai, you look just as out of it as we are, haha, half-asleep.]

[Er Bai, please! If you’re not dating, don’t tempt me like this, ugh!]

[If your friend hears this voice every day, can he really stay completely straight? (cute emoji)]

The chat quickly filled with responses from the screen-capture crew, who had all logged in immediately.

In reality, Chen Er Bai wasn’t reading the chat at all. Still half-asleep, he squinted at the screen, seeing only blurry, constantly jumping text boxes.

Even stationary text was hard for him to make out, so dynamic text was out of the question.

He gave up and let his hand, which had been supporting his head, slide down his face. Eventually, he rested his head on the desk and said, “Let me take a ten-minute nap. When the time comes, remember to wake me up.”

As soon as his head hit the desk, the camera, previously focused on the keyboard and mouse, caught part of his head.

To be precise, the top of his head—with messy hair sticking up defiantly—appeared in the livestream.

[Even though I can only see the top of his head, based on experience, I can tell he’s a handsome guy! (fist emoji)]

[Wait, how are we supposed to wake you up? Through cyberspace? Get up, don’t sleep, Chen Er Bai!]

[Alright, case closed—he’s clearly still not fully awake (eyes closed emoji)]

No matter how much the chat shouted, the person slumped over the desk had fallen into a deep sleep, completely still, resting soundly.

His “short nap” wasn’t that short. The phone beside him lit up and vibrated with an incoming call, but it didn’t wake him, as he slept like the dead.

[Well, it looks like his friend isn’t going to see him today. Let’s start placing bets—I say Er Bai will sleep until noon.]

[I bet ten o’clock. That sleeping position doesn’t look too comfortable, so he won’t last long.]

[Noon, +1. Don’t forget, this is Er Bai, the man who can sleep like a pro.]

[A friend-supporter slowly losing hope]

“…”

In the dimly lit car parked in the basement, the only light came from the phone screen as the ringing tone continued. Finally, after reaching the maximum call time, the call automatically ended.

With one hand on the steering wheel, Xu Sinian put his phone away and glanced at the messages from about ten minutes ago.

He’s probably asleep.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, he grabbed the jacket beside him, opened the car door, and got out.

He closed the door, took the elevator, and stopped on the fifth floor.

Standing in front of a familiar door, he knocked.

[Wake up! Erbai, wake up! Someone’s knocking! Your friend is here! It’s your good friend! (Friend-supporters, shouting desperately)]

[If only we could reach through the screen (pacing) (yelling)]

[If you don’t wake up soon, your friend’s going to leave! This is the friend you’ve been waiting for all month!]

[Oh no, the knocking stopped.]

The room, which had been faintly noisy, fell completely silent again. The person slumped over the desk remained motionless, only his messy hair swaying gently in the breeze from one side.

He was sound asleep, and the chatroom watchers, their hearts on edge, finally accepted defeat.

The room was quiet, with only the faint hum of the computer in the background.

Then, there were footsteps.

[Wait, did I hear something?]

[Is it just me, or did I hear something too?]

It wasn’t just their imagination. The footsteps grew closer and clearer. After they stopped, there was a small noise, like something being placed on the desk.

In the corner of the livestream screen, the edge of a pocket came into view. Then, a voice came from above:

“I’m back.”

The chat froze for a moment before exploding into rapid comments.

Chen Bai didn’t wake up from anyone calling him—he woke up because he smelled something familiar.

When he opened his eyes, it felt like the whole world had changed. The once-empty desk was now covered with things, and he was wrapped in a jacket that hadn’t yet warmed up, suggesting it had just been placed on him.

It smelled like his good neighbor.

Chen Bai “…”

His brain slowly processed the situation. Finally, realizing what had happened, he jolted upright, his messy hair bouncing as he shot up in panic.

Oh no, I fell asleep.

As soon as he opened his eyes, his body tensed. The person standing next to him glanced over and smiled, “You’re awake.”

Chen Bai rubbed his messy hair, half-awake, and nodded slightly before asking, “When did you get back?”

“Two minutes ago,” his good neighbor replied, half-rolling up his shirt sleeves as he handed over a soy milk drink with a straw already inserted. “Breakfast first.”

After handing him the soy milk, he started unpacking the rest of the breakfast. There was porridge and the universally loved soup dumplings, the source of the delicious aroma Chen Bai had smelled earlier.

Chen Bai took a big gulp of the soy milk, and his entire being felt renewed. He leaned back comfortably in his chair.

As he leaned back, his now-alert eyes fell on the computer screen, where the game interface had been frozen for who knew how long, while the chat was still buzzing. His rational mind slowly returned, and he finally remembered why he had started the livestream in the first place.

Sitting up straight again, he rubbed his hands together but hesitated to touch the mouse, afraid of jinxing it with his bad luck. Instead, he pointed to the screen and said, “Old… old comrade, could you help me open this?”

He didn’t even bother to use Xu Sinian’s last name anymore, simply calling him “old comrade.” Leaning one hand on the chair, Xu Sinian stood behind him and bent down slightly to see the screen.

Chen Bai had already brought up the blind box interface, and all that was left was the click of the mouse.

So, his good neighbor took hold of the mouse.

The livestream, which had only shown the mouse, keyboard, and neatly arranged breakfast, finally showed some action as a hand appeared over the mouse. It wasn’t the usual slender, pale hand of Chen Er Bai, but a hand with prominent veins and well-defined muscles under rolled-up shirt sleeves.

[Friend bro looks like he could knock Er Bai out with one punch (seriously)]

[I’m starting to believe Er Bai’s claim that his friend is super handsome (pacing)]

[Sorry, Light Boat crew! I’ve switched sides! I’ve committed the mistake all fans make!]

[Friend bro can come and go freely, brings breakfast after work—if this isn’t love, I don’t know what is!]

The livestream viewers were excited, and so was Chen Er Bai, though his excitement was all focused on the $288 blind box gift pack.

With the soy milk still in his mouth, he leaned slightly forward, watching the screen.

“Click—”

The mouse clicked, and in an instant, the blind box was opened.

Before the contents even appeared, the screen was flooded with dazzling golden light.

In all his years of opening gift packs, this was the first time Chen Er Bai had seen such a bright glow from an item. He paused in the middle of sipping his soy milk and asked, “Is this some new effect?”

[The effect’s always been there; you just never got lucky enough to see it (pat on the shoulder)]

[One sentence that reveals his super unlucky streak. Poor Er Bai, your luck is tragic.]

[“Is this a new effect?” Er Bai, you… ]

[Friend bro is the real lucky charm! A one-in-a-thousand chance! A three-digit gift pack just turned into four digits!]

[Good thing Er Bai didn’t open it himself, or that $288 would’ve gone to waste.]

Xu Sinian didn’t play the game, so he wasn’t familiar with this, but he’d seen a similar golden effect in a screenshot accidentally sent to the family group chat by Xu Lang, who also loved games.

That accidental message had been sent over a year ago, so “new” definitely didn’t apply here.

After a brief pause, Xu Sinian decided to say, “It might be.”

Chen Er Bai nodded, agreeing. After all, if such an effect existed, he would’ve known about it after playing for so long.

His good neighbor had opened a series of items, all with shiny gold borders. Since he rarely spent money on the game, Chen Bai had no idea what most of them were, but they seemed pretty valuable. With the gift pack fully opened, Chen Er Bai’s “unlucky hands” finally turned around and confidently reached out to shake hands with his good neighbor, hoping to absorb some of that lucky charm.

Xu Sinian didn’t pick up any of the warmth from his handshake, but he did notice that Chen Er Bai’s hands were quite cold. Looking down, Xu Sinian took Chen Bai’s hands in his own, warming them like a personal heater. He said, “Next time you wake up, remember to put on a jacket.”

Chen Bai sipped his soy milk and nodded repeatedly.

The $288 gift box wasn’t wasted, and feeling like the livestream audience was satisfied, he finished the last sip of soy milk, adjusted his headset, and said, “That’s it for today.”

Then he smiled and added, “I’m going to hang out with my friend now.”

Today’s stream was just to fulfill the audience’s wish to see a live unboxing of the blind box. Once the box was opened, he ended the stream without hesitation. Taking back the hands that were almost fully warmed by his good neighbor, he reached for the mouse and decisively ended the stream.

Feeling the warmth of the jacket around him and with breakfast already laid out on the table, Chen Er Bai decided not to go to the dining room and just ate his breakfast right there.

His good neighbor had already eaten breakfast before coming back, so instead of heading upstairs, he stayed and kept Chen Bai company, chatting while he ate.

As they chatted and Chen Bai ate another soup dumpling, he heard his neighbor, as if suddenly remembering something, ask, “Do you know Zhang Wenxuan?”

Surprised to hear that name from his good neighbor, Chen Bai looked up and nodded honestly, “Sort of. He’s a friend of a client, we’ve met a few times.”

He had just heard that name from a money-making partner a.k.a Gao Qian the day before, so this time he didn’t need a moment to think—he remembered right away.

Then he asked, “Why bring him up all of a sudden?”

“No reason,” his neighbor replied. “Just thought of him.”

Chen Bai, your average worker, nodded and continued eating his soup dumpling.

—

North District, café.

Because he had to deliver a document for the old man at the top, Zhang Wenxuan canceled his plans and rushed to meet the always-busy Mr. Huo at the office building. After half a cup of coffee, he finally saw the man.

The busy man was dressed in a suit, looking every bit the corporate elite. Even when he sat down across from him, he still had that serious, businesslike air.

Having known each other for so many years, Zhang Wenxuan wasn’t fazed by this. He set down his coffee and handed over the document, saying, “Mr. Huo finally found time to grace me with his presence.”

The waiter brought a glass of water to the table and then left.

Huo Chuan didn’t respond to his remark, simply placing his coat aside and taking the document to read on the spot.

It was just a document delivery, but Zhang Wenxuan didn’t want to get caught up in the stifling work atmosphere. While Huo Chuan read, he pulled out his phone and checked it.

After glancing at the phone and then at Huo Chuan, he spun the phone in his hand before suddenly asking, “Did you watch the press conference for the show Chen Bai acted in yesterday?”

Huo Chuan briefly shifted his gaze away from the document and looked over.

“Too bad,” Zhang Wenxuan said with a shake of his head, already knowing that the busy man probably hadn’t watched it. “It was quite entertaining.”

This was what happened when someone was buried in work—they didn’t even have time to watch short clips. That’s why Zhang Wenxuan always said that working was the worst.

“I know,” Huo Chuan replied as he turned another page of the document. “What are you trying to say?”

Zhang Wenxuan, not expecting this response, sat up straighter, suddenly interested. “Wait, something happened? You know?”

Huo Chuan didn’t answer.

Not needing him to, Zhang Wenxuan quickly pulled up a video he had watched the day before and handed his phone over. “This is what I’m talking about.”

Huo Chuan looked down at the screen.

It was a short, edited video—less than a minute long. In the video, a person in a school uniform was drawing a slip of paper with a resolute, almost dramatic expression.

The slip asked what he liked most.

Everyone assumed it was money. Huo Chuan guessed the same, and he was right.

Just as the video was about to end and Huo Chuan was ready to look away, Zhang Wenxuan stopped him, “Wait, it’s not over yet.”

In the video, the person added, “And friends, tied for first place.”

The friend he referred to was the one who had spent a few days at his house during the Lunar New Year. As he mentioned his friend, the person holding the microphone seemed to brighten up. The dullness in his expression faded, and his eyes smiled under his messy bangs, clean and bright.

Author’s note:
Zhang-whatever, the master of stirring things up.