103 The Purpose of a Con Artist

Long Xiaole’s thoughts were entirely random, speaking whatever came to mind, simply for the pleasure of talking. Zhang Paid responded casually, half-heartedly, resting his head on the edge of the table and pretending to be clueless.

A woman in black passed by the table. Her long hair draped over her shoulders, and her long skirt swept the floor as she walked to the side of the stage. She picked up the wooden guitar resting on the stand and sat down on a stool.

Without a word, she tuned the strings and began to sing immediately.

Most singer-songwriters at this kind of lounge bar usually played folk music, strumming and singing with a laid-back style.

Zhang Paid said, “She sings quite well.”

Long Xiaole replied bluntly, “If she didn’t sing well, how would she make money?”

Zhang Paid smiled: “You’re right.”

Long Xiaole continued, “No originality. The playing is mediocre, the singing unremarkable. Just dressing up in a folk music guise to feign melancholy—what’s the point?”

Zhang Paid said, “If you have something original, then go up and sing.”

Long Xiaole responded, “Isn’t it boring? I hate that attitude—‘If you can do it, then do it yourself.’ If I could really do it, why would I be listening to her sing?”

Zhang Paid glanced at the girl singing: black hair, black clothes, her face unusually pale. Then he turned back and asked, “Not original, right?”

“Original my head! Those songs have been played to death on TV. Every talent show has someone carrying a guitar on stage. Haven’t you heard?” Long Xiaole asked.

“I don’t have a TV at home.”

“Watch online.”

“Watch variety shows online? When would I have time for that?” Zhang Paid counted on his fingers. “It’s not that I don’t want to watch; I really don’t have the time. My days are packed, I’m not kidding you…”

As Zhang Paid was about to brag, a young man in a white shirt came over, smiling and chatting with Long Xiaole, casually greeting Zhang Paid as well.

Long Xiaole introduced him: “This is my friend Zhang Paid, a writer, part of the Provincial Writers' Association. If you ever want to write anything, just find him.”

After that, the young man’s attitude immediately changed. Smiling, he shook Zhang Paid’s hand and exchanged a few more words.

Though not overly enthusiastic, it was at least friendlier than before.

The young man in white shirt pointed to the sofa on the other side of the stage, said a few words, nodded to Zhang Paid, and then turned to leave.

Zhang Paid asked Long Xiaole, “You blew me up so much just now—are you afraid I’ll embarrass you?”

Long Xiaole said, “What are you talking about? Tomorrow morning, come with me; we’ll fill out the forms, and in no more than ten days, you’ll be a famous writer in the Provincial Writers' Association.”

“Brother, have you ever seen a famous writer as poor as me?”

Long Xiaole said, “Money isn’t important. What matters is whether you have works. How many books have you written?”

Zhang Paid smiled: “No big deal. I have works—two books totaling 400,000 words, unfinished; one book of 240,000 words, completed; and two long novels totaling over five million words, also completed.”

Long Xiaole said, “That’s enough. Altogether, over ten million words. Trust me, you’ll soon be part of the Provincial Writers' Association.”

Zhang Paid laughed, “So drinking with you has such great perks? Next time you’re feeling down, you have to call me.”

Long Xiaole said, “Enough nonsense. Let’s get serious. Do you want me to guide you down a clear path where you can make money fast and become famous quickly?”

Zhang Paid said, “The rich world is amazing—you say ‘become famous,’ and you become famous just like that?”

Long Xiaole said, “Is it that hard to get famous in the province? Forget the national level—that’s nonsense. Just listen to me. Within a year at most, you’ll be a famous provincial writer, a famous provincial playwright, a famous provincial screenwriter. How about that? Interested?”

“What do you want to do?” Zhang Paid asked.

Long Xiaole said, “You’re in luck. A friend of my dad wants to shoot a film for his young girlfriend. He’s willing to invest five or six hundred thousand for fun.”

Zhang Paid responded, “That’s really just for fun. It won’t even make it to theaters.”

“It can be screened. They’ll find ten to twenty screens in provincial cinemas for some buzz. For you, it’s about gaining experience,” Long Xiaole said. “If you want to do it, write a screenplay. I’ll help you submit it.”

Zhang Paid asked, “Do they even look at those?”

“Let me put it this way: scripts are expensive. My dad’s friend doesn’t want to spend too much on the script, but if he spends too little, the woman isn’t satisfied. If your script passes, you’ll get at least thirty thousand, and the script will be yours. They’ll just use it to shoot the film once,” Long Xiaole explained.

Zhang Paid said, “Sounds too unreliable.”

“It’s actually pretty reliable…” Just then, the young man in the white shirt, accompanied by two companions, came over, each holding a beer bottle and a cup—looks like they were here to propose a toast.

Long Xiaole invited them to sit down and ordered another dozen beers from the waitress. The introductions began.

Zhang Paid didn’t remember anyone’s name, and it seemed no one remembered his either. The three men focused their attention on Long Xiaole, laughing and chatting. One of them waved to the back, and two more people came over.

This showed how powerful Jiulong Real Estate really was. Even just seeing Long Xiaole attracted many greetings.

The two newcomers couldn’t find seats, so they asked the waitress for extra chairs. Zhang Paid glanced up and couldn’t help but smile. One of them was the guy who had been driving the red Hummer outside and had given him the middle finger. Looking toward their table, a group of girls were still playing on their phones.

The first guy who greeted them introduced Zhang Paid. When the guy driving the Hummer heard the name, he paused for a moment, feeling the name was familiar, but he didn’t think much of it and took a drink. Zhang Paid didn’t bother to care, just kept drinking quietly.

After more than half an hour, Long Xiaole finally couldn’t hold on and found an excuse to leave. Outside, he said, “Grilled skewers?”

“Still drinking?” Zhang Paid asked.

“Of course, after being in there with all those people… unbelievable.” Long Xiaole complained. Then he asked, “Did you come by bike?”

Zhang Paid said, “Walking.” He led Long Xiaole to get his bike. After a few steps, they saw the black-clad girl from the stage, holding her guitar case and talking to a young man.

It seemed the young man was trying to talk to her, but she paid little attention and only exchanged polite words. Nearby, a young man pushed a bike past. The girl spoke a few words to the young man she was with, waved goodbye, and walked over to the bike guy. The next moment, the young man pedaled the bike away, carrying the guitar girl.

Zhang Paid said, “I believe in love again.”

Long Xiaole sneered, “What love? That’s just money not being right.”

Zhang Paid said, “Can’t you be a bit sunnier? Why so dark all the time?”

“I’m dark?” Long Xiaole laughed coldly. “No need for much—spend a hundred thousand, and that girl is yours tonight.”

“I don’t want her.”

“You don’t want her, but someone else will,” Long Xiaole said. “As long as you’re willing to spend money, there’s no woman you can’t have.”

Zhang Paid said, “That’s too absolute. There are always women who don’t love money.”

Long Xiaole was silent for a moment: “You’re right, there are exceptions, but the vast majority of women can be bought with money.”

“Can we talk about something healthy? How am I supposed to respond to that?” They reached the spot where Zhang Paid unlocked his bike and pushed it out. He smiled and asked Long Xiaole, “Believe in love? If you do, get on.”

He was reenacting the black-clad girl’s story.

Long Xiaole said, “I don’t know you.” Then added, “I’ll take a taxi; you can follow.”

“Then I’m going home,” Zhang Paid said.

Long Xiaole was irritated, “Don’t you have any ambition at all? That screenplay thing I just mentioned—if you work hard, you really might become famous and prominent.”

Zhang Paid thought for a moment and said, “But I don’t know how to write screenplays.”

“No problem with that,” Long Xiaole said. “Don’t ride your bike. Let’s walk over there and find a restaurant to sit for a bit.”

Zhang Paid said, “I feel like you’re keeping me as a kept man.”

“Dream on! There are beautiful women everywhere. Me, keep you?” Long Xiaole said with disdain.

They hadn’t gone far when they came to a knife-cut noodle shop. That it was still open this late showed the owner’s dedication.

Zhang Paid said, “Noodles?”

Long Xiaole didn’t care: “As long as there’s beer.”

There was indeed beer. They ordered a few bottles and some small dishes, continuing their talk about careers. Long Xiaole said, “There were too many people in the bar just now. Now, let me explain properly. My dad’s friend has a young beauty he’s keeping, and she wants to be a star. Even though she’s kept, she has dreams. She said she doesn’t want to shoot cheap web dramas or those gimmicky beauty films like Gan Lulu’s—utterly meaningless! She wants to make a thoughtful film. It doesn’t have to reach the heights of ‘Old Well’ or ‘Blind Mountain,’ but at least something watchable. So, she wants to personally review the scripts.”

Zhang Paid said, “That girl really has ideals.”

“Of course she does. She’s almost obsessed, searching everywhere for scripts. But all the better ones or even just decent scripts are ridiculously expensive. If you could write one, between thirty and fifty thousand, that would be a nice side income. Most importantly, she wants a good film to become famous, and you can do the same.”

Long Xiaole asked, “How about it?”

Zhang Paid countered, “Can we fill out the forms tomorrow?”

Long Xiaole smiled, “I’ll be your agent. Even if not tomorrow, the day after for sure.”

Zhang Paid thought for a moment and said, “Then, when you have time, arrange for me to meet that girl. I want to talk to her, find out what she wants, so I can write what she needs.”

Long Xiaole said, “Deal. I’ll get you her number tomorrow.”

“You don’t even know her number and you’re already making plans?” Zhang Paid asked.

Long Xiaole was annoyed: “Don’t be so ungrateful. What she does is none of my business. Why do I need to know her number? I’m just trying to help you find a way. You should be thanking me.”

Zhang Paid said, “Fine, thank you.” Then asked, “What about your ABC situation?”

“Can we not talk about that?” Long Xiaole instantly turned gloomy.

“Fine, we won’t. It’s your problem, not mine,” Zhang Paid said.

“Damn... Let’s go play some pool. I need to teach you a lesson.”

“Go find whoever you want; do you think I’m stupid?” Zhang Paid asked. “Why don’t you fight me instead?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Long Xiaole replied.

Zhang Paid smiled and changed the subject: “How’s my friend’s work going?”

“Don’t know,” Long Xiaole said. “You don’t ask your friend, you ask me?”

“Obviously. She’s a girl; how would I ask?” Zhang Paid said.

Long Xiaole smiled: “A girl? Her son’s almost an adult—still a girl?”

“By age, calling her a girl is fine, right?” Zhang Paid said.

“You’re over thirty and still call her a girl? Should I start calling you a boy then?” Long Xiaole said.

Zhang Paid said, “That’s the truth. I’m still so young and pure.”

Long Xiaole sighed, checked the time on his phone, and casually dialed a number.