Chapter 21 – Extra – Chen Jin’s Story (told in first person)

The year I first arrived in Beijing, I was still a clueless music youth—long hair, living in a basement in Chaoyang District, smoking, drinking, and doing bar gigs. Every day, I felt like a pearl covered in dust, convinced that the mainstream music industry was full of idiots, yet still hoping that one of those idiots would be slightly less idiotic and pluck me out from the sea of mediocrity.

Later, I wondered if my life would have been different if I had met Guan Lan earlier. But then again, back then, Guan Lan wasn’t the music industry mogul he is today. He was just a miserable intern, spinning like an overworked top every day. Still, if I had known him, my living conditions would have been much better. He definitely wouldn’t have let me live in a basement; he would have helped me move to a more comfortable place.

He’s not a stranger to hardship, but he’s never truly been poor. People who’ve never been poor are always generous.

So whenever Guan Lan later told me his family wasn’t well-off, I wanted to curse. And maybe I did curse a few times—I can’t quite remember. He said his parents were lifelong civil servants with fixed salaries, no extra perks, and not high-ranking. Growing up, he was always the poorest kid in class, and when he went out with classmates, they never let him pay. I told him, “Just look at the kind of schools you went to and the kind of people your classmates were. You city kids have no idea what real poverty is.”

In my hometown, a small county town that 80% of Chinese people haven’t even heard of, a family like his, with both parents on government payroll, would have been considered wealthy.

But at least he came from a lower-middle-class background, which made him more down-to-earth than my ex.

I’m getting sidetracked. Let me get back on track.

The truth is, back then, I had drunk too much of that overnight success fantasy kool-aid. In reality, legitimate record producers don’t go undercover in Sanlitun bars looking for talent. In reality, the only people who’ll notice you are scammers.

Scammers aren’t interested in your voice or talent; they can only see the desperate hunger for success and fame in your eyes, and they spot it every time.

My first agency was a workshop that specialized in producing escorts and amateur models—or, to put it bluntly, a brothel.

But this was the capital, a society ruled by law. They didn’t force anyone into prostitution. If you didn’t want to, they wouldn’t drug you or tie you to someone’s bed—as long as you could watch the “seniors” and “juniors” in the company living their extravagant “high-society” lives without feeling envious.

Honestly, I was envious. But I have to admit, I still had some moral boundaries. My envy only led to drunken curses.

I quickly saw through the nature of this company, but I didn’t leave. I really didn’t want to go back to living in a basement. So whenever there was “business,” I’d make excuses like headaches, stomachaches, or period cramps to avoid it.

But eventually, the company wouldn’t keep someone who didn’t work forever. There came a time when I couldn’t avoid it anymore.

This time, my “manager” made it clear: just drink, whether or not you sleep with them is up to you. You must follow the company’s arrangements. If you don’t go this time, you’re out.

It was at this drinking session that I met Yang Peiqing.

I could tell at a glance that he, like me, had been dragged there against his will, his face full of impatience.

His thoughts have always been transparent to me, from the very first moment.

Midway through the session, we snuck out to smoke, and he came over to ask, “Brother, got a light?”

That’s how we met. We didn’t get together right then; we only exchanged WeChat. Or maybe it was phone numbers—I don’t really remember if WeChat existed back then.

Later, when Yang Peiqing pursued me, I played hard to get for a few days before reluctantly giving in.

I admit I didn’t like him much back then. I definitely had the mindset of “finding a rich boyfriend.” I owe him an apology for that. I never told him, but I acknowledge it in my heart.

That’s the influence of the environment. In a toxic circle, you think you’re untainted by the filth around you, but in reality, your moral standards have been gradually lowered. When you live among prostitutes and escorts, it’s easy to think that finding a boyfriend for money isn’t a problem—after all, it’s a legitimate boyfriend, not a sugar daddy or a client, and he’s even unmarried. My God, am I not a moral paragon?

It was only much, much later that I realized Yang Peiqing was serious about me from the very beginning. The same logic applies: when you know too many escorts and prostitutes, you quickly stop believing in love, especially this Cinderella-style love that’s even more fake than a fairy tale.

Later, my “agency” finally managed to get me a chance to appear on TV. It wasn’t really for me, more like crumbs from the “seniors.” It was a third-tier provincial TV variety show, and they thought it was too low-profile, too far away, and paid too little, so none of them wanted to go.

I just asked one question: “Do they reimburse the travel fare?”

They said the TV station would reimburse it, but only for train tickets, not flights.

I wasn’t afraid of taking the train, even though high-speed rail wasn’t widespread across the country back then. I hadn’t seen much of the world outside Beijing, so I treated it as a free trip, and I even got to appear on TV. I thought it was worth it.

Back then, outdoor variety shows hadn’t been imported from Japan and Korea yet. Variety shows were still the kind where a bunch of people played games in a studio. I was mainly there as a background character, but after a while, I got a few lines, and my screen time increased.

The show’s ratings remained mediocre, hovering between life and death, and it was canceled less than two years after I joined.

But somehow, I was discovered by my current agency.

My boss said that the variety show I participated in had problematic formatting, boring content, and mediocre hosts, but the only bright spot was me. He thought I had a natural sense for variety shows, with good timing and comedic delivery. With a bit of training, I could become a top-tier variety show star in China.

Of course, I jumped at the opportunity. Choosing between the brothel and a legitimate agency was a no-brainer; only an idiot would pick wrong. But I looked down on the career path the company laid out for me. As a country bumpkin, I had no idea what a variety show star was. I was a noble Sanlitun music youth—how could I become a comedian?

Yang Peiqing had a sharp eye for the market. He told me that variety shows had a lot of potential in the coming years, and pursuing this path would be much more profitable than music.

I argued with him, saying, “You’re so money-oriented. Don’t you know what dreams are?”

Honestly, that was pretty shameless of me. I’ve never been one to treat money like dirt; I’m pretty money-oriented myself.

We had a huge fight, but after it, Yang Peiqing still connected me with a producer to release an album.

It wasn’t Guan Lan.

Would things have been different if it were Guan Lan? After all, back then, Guan Lan had a golden touch—everything he wrote became a hit. Maybe he could have made me famous too.

Ah, if only we had met before I got into a relationship.

Anyway, that album flopped, sinking into the vast ocean of the entertainment industry without making a single ripple. I even suspected Yang Peiqing did it on purpose, that he didn’t want me to sing. It pissed him off so much that he didn’t talk to me for three days.

Looking back now, I was really being difficult.

After that, I cut off my long hair, officially bid farewell to my music dreams, and became a comedian.

Guan Lan and I are completely different types of people. He believes in step-by-step hard work; I’m more of the “can’t stand hard work” type. For example, when we were in school, we both had bands. By senior year, he knew it was time to disband the band and focus on studying for college. Me? I clung to my so-called dreams and came to Beijing to drift. If I had to climb up step by step like him, working over ten hours a day, honing my skills, building my resume, and improving my performance—I’d rather die.

When I was young, I refused to admit it, using my dreams as a fig leaf. Now that I’m older, I can finally face that past. It had little to do with dreams; it was mostly vanity and impatience, an inability to endure loneliness, enduring poverty but not hardship.

But back then, I felt like I had abandoned my original intention, succumbed to the mundane world, and personally buried my dream, so I was in great pain, taking it out on Yang Peiqing every day.

I have to admit, I was very casual about this relationship. Deep down, I always had a pessimistic attitude, thinking we wouldn’t last. He, on the other hand, was serious about this relationship, but he didn’t handle it well.

Yang Peiqing, coming from such a family background and being the youngest son, might appear respectable—everyone called him “Boss”—but he was actually very immature. He probably watched too many idol dramas and romance novels as a kid, making him a bit of a dreamer, a bit silly.

In our tumultuous relationship, he always looked for various reasons—like the seven-year itch, me changing, him losing his appeal to me both mentally and physically, and so on—but he couldn’t see that the root cause was simply this: I was someone who asked if travel fares would be reimbursed before agreeing to a gig, while his family’s dog had a Q7.

Yes, that was their lowest-tier car, usually not for people but for taking the dog out for drives.

We were fundamentally from two different worlds, speaking two different languages. Trying to live together was bound to fail.

When it comes to financial conditions, the wealthier side is usually oblivious, thinking money isn’t an obstacle, while the poorer side is sensitive and cautious at every step, thinking two things before falling asleep: “I’m not worthy” and “I’m so tired.”

The deeper the love, the heavier the exhaustion. The more you love, the harder it is to let go, and the more exhausted you become—a vicious cycle.

Even though I was slightly more mature than Yang Peiqing, I wasn’t a master at handling relationship issues either. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have broken up and gotten back together with him so many times, wanting to end it but unable to let go, making the relationship such a mess.

Guan Lan was a life raft for me when I was drowning.

Back then, I was almost dragged into depression by this relationship, and my contract with the first agency was dug up online. Everyone in the industry knew what kind of place that agency was. Someone who came out of a brothel couldn’t be a good person, and with my long hair back then, I looked like a real scheming bitch. The things people said online were as nasty as they could be.

Although the online scandals were eventually PR’d away, at the time, I felt like my life was full of nothing but these rotten things, with no light in sight.

Then Guan Lan appeared, like a divine savior, not only offering me friendship but also showing me a different way to live.

Our friendship was so bizarre that I still think he was sent by an angel to save me—or maybe he’s the angel himself. But I can’t tell him that; it’s too cheesy. I’ll just keep it to myself.

At the time, I was still tangled up with Yang Peiqing—as I mentioned before, he’s a dreamer, living in a BL novel written by a fifteen-year-old girl, thinking that nothing can’t be solved with sex—once if not, then seven times. This was especially annoying.

Later, I suddenly realized that if I didn’t solve my own problems, I’d never be able to handle relationship issues, no matter how many partners I went through. Deep down, I always felt that everything I had wasn’t earned by me, that I didn’t deserve it—it was like a building without a foundation, destined to collapse one day, crumbling into dust.

I needed to sort out my career first, then establish and maintain some close relationships outside of romance. Only by organizing my life and filling the holes in my heart could I, whether with Yang Peiqing or someone else, look them in the eye with confidence and build a solid relationship brick by brick.

But Yang Peiqing didn’t understand this. He still looked for opportunities to have sex with me every day. Lately, seeing that he couldn’t get his way, he’s tried all sorts of tricks—utterly ridiculous.

But it’s fine. Just stay this clueless.

As long as you’re willing to wait for me.