That afternoon, Huang Sibo showed up at the company.
Although Pei Qian hadn't been hounding him for updates, Huang Sibo had a solid grasp of what needed to be done.
After all, taking a million yuan wasn't just free money to burn—he knew he had to report back to President Pei and make sure they were on the same page. He couldn't let down the man who believed in him!
After catching up with the team—especially Xiao Lu—in the office area, Huang Sibo brought in a young guy who looked like a student and led him into the meeting room.
"President Pei, this is the director I hired. He's a senior at Handong University, majoring in film directing. Name's Zhu Xiaoce," Huang Sibo introduced warmly.
"Nice to meet you, President Pei!" Zhu Xiaoce greeted enthusiastically, brimming with energy and completely at ease.
Pei Qian's eyes lit up the moment he heard senior student.
Perfect! If Huang had brought in some seasoned, professional director, Pei Qian would've had to rack his brain figuring out how to reject him without looking suspicious.
But a college student? Even if he was in a directing program, he was still lightyears away from becoming a real filmmaker!
Being a director wasn't easy—it was a complex, thankless job. Most directors didn't make a name for themselves until their late thirties or even forties, and even then, they were still called young directors.
So what could a university student possibly do? Cause a ripple, maybe. A wave? Doubt it.
Pei Qian smiled politely. "I heard you're shooting short videos. Got a topic in mind yet?"
Huang Sibo nodded. "We do. President Pei, we want to film you!"
Pei Qian nearly choked on air.
"Me??"
"What's there to film about me?"
Huang Sibo chuckled. "Well, I admit this idea's got a bit of personal bias. But I truly believe you're destined to create a legend, President Pei. You are the story!"
"Of course, I'm no expert in film. That's all up to Director Zhu. Xiao Zhu, tell President Pei your thoughts."
"Sure thing!" Zhu Xiaoce jumped in. "After hearing your story from Brother Huang, I thought it was perfect material! I'm planning to shoot some short clips about the fun moments in your day-to-day work."
Pei Qian frowned slightly. "Fun moments in my work…? Are there any?"
He mentally reviewed his routine.
Slack off… Does that count?
Barely showing up at the office during a two-month-long game development cycle… That's a highlight?
There was seriously nothing worth filming.
So why were they so eager to do it?
Could it be… a scheme to butter him up?
Hmm… yeah, probably.
Pei Qian wasn't exactly against it though. After all, who didn't enjoy a little praise and flattery now and then?
As long as they lost money doing it, all was well!
A boring subject meant the video wouldn't go viral. It wouldn't pull in any ads or land partnerships. The chances of losing money were high.
Now that was promising.
Zhu Xiaoce quickly added, "Don't worry about content, President Pei. Art imitates life, but also transcends it. I'll add some artistic embellishments and stylized elements to make your character more symbolic."
"Of course, I might play around with some unique genres or storytelling techniques, depending on what strikes me during filming."
He then launched into a stream of film jargon that was practically fog on a mountain—thick, obscure, and hard to follow. Probably a professional habit.
Pei Qian's brows furrowed ever so slightly.
Something felt… off.
There was this weird sense of déjà vu hanging in the air, but Pei Qian couldn't quite pin down where it came from.
As for the topic of the short video, he didn't really mind. As long as it didn't make money, he was happy.
But there was something that gnawed at him—would they really be able to spend the entire 1 million yuan with this kind of production?
Filming his daily routine meant they'd be shooting entirely in the office.
Which meant no location fees.
Props? Costumes? Not needed.
Everything was already there.
The production cost would be dirt cheap. Even if it did flop, it wouldn't bleed much money.
What if they couldn't spend all of the 1 million? That would be seriously frustrating!
Pei Qian frowned and asked, "With a setup like this, can you actually spend the full million?"
"You don't need to worry too much about the budget," he added with a very serious, president-like tone. "If it's not enough, I can always add more. The priority is to make a great video. Got it?"
He had to keep up appearances, after all.
Zhu Xiaoce smiled. "Don't worry, President Pei! I talked it over with Brother Huang. We'll be paying you and the other employees appearance fees. I know you probably don't care about the money, but consider it a small token of appreciation."
"We'll also pay for use of the office space as our filming location."
"On top of that, we'll be spending on equipment and post-production editing. The rest will go into marketing. I did the math—it fits the budget perfectly."
"Appearance fees… and location fees?" Pei Qian raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Zhu Xiaoce nodded. "That's right, President Pei. We're going with an episodic format. Each short video will only be a minute long. Your appearance fee is 1,000 yuan per episode. For the others, it's 200 yuan each."
"Since you're the lead, after all."
"We're planning for three seasons. Ten episodes each. Fast-paced and short-form content. So your total pay would come to 30,000 yuan."
"As for the location, we'll pay 50,000 yuan. Does that sound fair?"
"I know it's not much, and you probably don't need it—but we can't let everyone work for free."
Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in Pei Qian's head.
Wait a second.
They're paying me?
Something's not right here.
Let's break this down.
I gave Huang Sibo 1 million yuan and told him to use it however he wanted for investment purposes.
And now Huang Sibo is using that very money… to hire me as the lead in a short film, and pay me an appearance fee?
So basically… I'm paying myself?
This is insane!
No—hold on!
That's not the full picture.
Pei Qian's eyes widened as the realization struck.
This isn't just some circular self-hiring scheme.
This is converting system-restricted funds into personal income!
That 1 million yuan was system-provided money. It was labeled as "Dream Fund" and invested into Huang Sibo.
But now, Huang and Zhu Xiaoce are paying him a salary—as an actor.
That's money going directly into Pei Qian's personal pocket!
The system's restriction only states that, as the president, Pei Qian is not allowed to directly use company funds to pay himself a salary.
But this? This was not that.
This was someone else paying him. The system never said that wasn't allowed!
Just like when Pei Qian's parents sent him money for living expenses—the system never cared about that.
Once the money left his hands and entered Huang Sibo's control, it was no longer Pei Qian's system-linked capital.
And now, as a legitimate actor performing in a short film, Pei Qian receiving a paycheck for his work was completely reasonable.
It was normal income.
Which meant… not a violation.
Pei Qian's eyes gleamed.
Pei Qian suddenly perked up, eyes shining with renewed vigor.
Who said I didn't need an appearance fee?
I totally do!
Silently, he posed a question in his mind:
"System, am I allowed to accept a payment for acting?"
The system interface flickered, displaying a calm response:
"Remuneration earned through the host's legitimate personal labor qualifies as lawful individual income and will not be seized by the system. However, this is conditional upon: (1) no malicious conversion of system funds, and (2) wages falling within a reasonable market range."
It's allowed!
Pei Qian's face lit up as he waved his hand boldly.
"The location fee? Forget it—put that money somewhere else. As for the appearance fee… since this is your sincere token of appreciation, I'll humbly accept it."
Zhu Xiaoce beamed. "Of course! Thank you, President Pei!"
Fifty thousand yuan in location fees? Pei Qian couldn't care less.
Why? Because he wouldn't see a single fen of that money!
The location fee would go to the company—once it entered the company account, it'd be flagged as system-linked funds. That meant it was no longer under his personal control.
And as the system strictly prohibited Pei Qian from accessing company money for personal use, that fifty grand would be meaningless to him.
But now? Pei Qian wasn't accepting money as a president.
He was taking it as an actor.
The hiring contract was between him and the new sub-company under Zhu Xiaoce and Huang Sibo.
It had no direct connection to Tengda Corporation.
That meant no company accounts involved.
No violations.
Everything completely above board.
It was as if Pei Qian decided to take a side gig at a local restaurant.
If the restaurant paid him hourly wages to bus tables, the system wouldn't bat an eye—As long as he hadn't colluded with the restaurant owner to cheat the system.
So, what did count as cheating the system?
Simple. Let's say Pei Qian gave someone like Ma Yang one million yuan, told him to open a restaurant, and Ma Yang turned around and gave Pei Qian a monthly dishwasher job with a 300,000-yuan salary.
That would be malicious exploitation of system funds.
Pei Qian's payments had to reflect the true market value of his labor.
And the transactions had to remain disconnected from company finances.
If he directly issued himself a salary through Tengda's account—even a single cent—the system would instantly clamp down.
But this situation?
This was different.
The money had already left his hands, been invested elsewhere, and now was returning to him via legitimate labor.
Perfectly legal.
So the system had no grounds to intervene.
Previously, Pei Qian had gone through hell just to convert a measly 20,000 yuan into usable personal funds.
But now?
Just thirty episodes—each only a minute long—and he'd pocket a cool 30,000 yuan.
What a steal!
Why didn't I think of this brilliant loophole sooner?
Pei Qian felt like he'd struck gold.
Everything was going according to plan.
Flawless victory.
"Alright then, President Pei, let's go ahead and sign the contract," Zhu Xiaoce said, pulling a neatly folded document from his backpack and sliding it across the table.
Pei Qian skimmed the contract but paused with a sudden thought.
"I just want to double-check—your short video series isn't going to be called Wanwan Unexpectedness, right?"
Zhu Xiaoce looked confused. "Uh… no?"
Pei Qian relaxed, letting out a breath of relief.
Thank goodness.
<+>
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