A few days later.
6 p.m.
After feeding Bamboo, Xia Xinghe practically ran back home.
It was the winter solstice—the coldest time of the year. Even in the south, the chill pierced to the bone, and the air was thick with white fog.
The cold in the south was damp, often called “magical damage.” As soon as Xia Xinghe opened the door, he turned on the heater at the fastest speed, placed an electric fan heater in front of him, and after a while, his stiff, red fingers finally regained some feeling.
Xia Xinghe was from the north—his hometown was more than a thousand kilometers away from Liaohu. After finishing the college entrance exam, he had wanted to explore the wider world and chose to study here. Everything else was fine, except that he’d grown up used to central heating. Every winter since, he found it particularly hard to bear.
The air conditioner hummed along, and as warmth returned to his body, he began to feel a bit drowsy.
Still on holiday and with no need to write that night, Xia Xinghe washed up and then curled into bed, playing on his phone comfortably.
Weibo, Bilibili, video apps.
After a while, it got boring.
His eyelids grew heavy, and he was about to fall asleep when the notification bar suddenly popped up with new messages.
[Editor Yanmai: Author Bamboo!]
[Editor Yanmai: Great news!]
Still groggy, Xia Xinghe sent a question mark. Yanmai’s messages followed quickly:
[Editor Yanmai: Do you have time soon?]
[Editor Yanmai: Another film company is asking about the adaptation rights to A Dog’s Life Among Humans!]
[Editor Yanmai: Nanfeng Pictures, a big company.]
[Editor Yanmai: Their head of development said they want to talk to you personally.]
Upon seeing the messages, Xia Xinghe froze.
Nothing is more discouraging than false hope. After being disappointed so many times before, Xia Xinghe had stopped hoping for a film adaptation deal. He replied to Yanmai without much expectation:
[Did you tell them my terms? I don’t want a female lead or romantic subplot.]
[Editor Yanmai: I told them.]
[Editor Yanmai: They said everything can be discussed, but they want to meet you in person.]
Xia Xinghe suddenly sat up in bed, all traces of sleep vanishing instantly.
No matter how much he tried to convince himself it was okay, film adaptation had always been a dream of his.
Back when the internet wasn’t widespread, Xia Xinghe’s favorite pastime as a child was lying in front of the TV. He didn’t understand much at the time, but through the screen, he got a glimpse of colorful lives. Later on, when he began writing different stories, he too hoped that one day, his stories would get the chance to be seen by more people.
Film adaptations were big projects and often required face-to-face meetings. Reaching the stage of an in-person meeting at least meant the other party was sincere. As for whether it would work out, Xia Xinghe still believed it depended on human effort.
[Little Bamboo: Okay.]
[Little Bamboo: I’m free these days.]
His words appeared calm, but his mood was a mix of nervousness and excitement.
The meeting was scheduled for noon the next day. The entire day leading up to it, Xia Xinghe was on edge, like a bunny bouncing in his chest—or like he was walking on a huge cloud of cotton.
….
In the afternoon, he followed his routine of visiting Bamboo, refilled his food and water, and seeing his fur was matted, he even grabbed a large brush to carefully comb it out.
His hands kept moving, but his mind couldn’t help drifting to the meeting the next day—nervous, yet full of anticipation.
White fur floated through the air like snow or dandelions, dreamy and delicate. A tuft of fluff drifted near his face, and Xia Xinghe covered his nose with one hand, squinting his eyes as he muttered under his breath, “Bamboo, I am going to meet with a film company tomorrow. Wish me luck, okay? If it works out, I’ll buy you something tasty.”
“What are you buying for Bamboo this time?”
A familiar, crisp voice came from behind. Xia Xinghe turned around abruptly and saw that Bai Qingzhou had somehow appeared behind him.
Snapped out of his thoughts, Xia Xinghe hadn’t fully returned to reality. He stared blankly at him. “When did you get back?”
Bai Qingzhou replied, “Just now.”
He stepped a little closer. His light-colored eyes swept over Xia Xinghe and asked again, “What were you just saying you’d buy for Bamboo?”
Xia Xinghe felt a little awkward. Last time he talked about selling the adaptation rights, it didn’t go anywhere. Even though there was new hope this time, he didn’t want to speak too soon. He rubbed the tip of his nose and smiled. “Nothing. I was just joking with Bamboo.”
“Oh.” Bai Qingzhou gave a small nod. His gaze passed over Bamboo’s silly little head, and his brows furrowed slightly. In a detached tone, he said, “You’d be better off wishing on me than him.”
Xia Xinghe choked for a second, realizing Bai Qingzhou must’ve overheard what he said just now. So he didn’t bother hiding it anymore. Glancing at him playfully, he joked, “Really? Is asking you actually useful? Should I cook you another meal to seal the deal?”
He meant it as a joke, wanting to knock Bai Qingzhou down a peg—he always acted like he could do anything. But unexpectedly, Bai Qingzhou actually thought it over seriously and then nodded in agreement. “Sure.”
Xia Xinghe: “…?”
Tch. He hadn’t noticed before, but this guy was surprisingly shameless.
Bai Qingzhou’s attitude was strange. For a moment, Xia Xinghe actually suspected something. A thought suddenly popped into his mind, but before he could fully process it, Bai Qingzhou said abruptly:
“…Or you could just bark like a dog instead.”
Xia Xinghe: “……”
Okay, thought retracted.
Xia Xinghe really couldn’t figure out what Bai Qingzhou was thinking, nor did he care to anymore. He just took it as him mocking him—implying even barking like a dog wouldn’t help, just waiting to see him make a fool of himself. So Xia Xinghe retorted without hesitation, “Don’t drag me into this. I don’t have your strange barking kink.”
His sarcastic tone clearly wasn’t going to get a gentle reply. Bai Qingzhou’s brow furrowed sharply, and after a moment, he said coldly, “Whatever.”
He stood up, grabbed another brush from the windowsill, pulled over a stool, and sat down on the other side of Bamboo to help brush him as well.
Quite the temper.
Xia Xinghe didn’t humor him. He stayed quiet and continued brushing Bamboo on his own side.
The two of them sat on either side of Bamboo, each with a brush in hand, brushing their own half of his fur. White tufts of fluff floated through the air, landing in their hair and clinging to their clothes. Neither of them backed down, as if in a silent standoff.
Bamboo didn’t really like being brushed. Normally when Xia Xinghe tried, it’d roll around, wag its tail, and try to escape. But this time, sensing the tense atmosphere, Bamboo didn’t dare move. It stood frozen in place, obediently letting the two brushes move across its body.
One or two minutes was fine. Even five or ten minutes could be tolerated. But as time dragged on, Bamboo started getting annoyed.
Still, afraid of upsetting its owners, it whimpered softly and leaned its head toward Xia Xinghe, its wet eyes blinking pitifully as it tried to lick Xia Xinghe’s palm.
“Awoo~”
Xia Xinghe instantly reacted. His hand holding the brush paused, and his heart softened.
Forget it. Why was he bickering with Bai Qingzhou? In the end, it was Bamboo who suffered.
With a soft sigh, Xia Xinghe put down the brush and gave himself a way out of the awkwardness. “Alright, Bamboo’s all brushed. You should’ve cooled off by now, right? I was just joking earlier. You’re the one who told me to bark like a dog first.”
Bai Qingzhou also stopped brushing. His brows were still furrowed, looking like a sulky child. It was the first time Xia Xinghe had seen such an expression on his face up close—it made him laugh, and all the annoyance in his heart quickly melted away.
“Alright, alright,” Xia Xinghe waved his hand, his tone softening. “Don’t be so cranky. If the meeting goes well, I’ll thank both you and Bamboo, okay?”
“I’ll cook you anything you want. Deal?”
Xia Xinghe smiled as he spoke. Bai Qingzhou remained silent. Xia Xinghe pouted and pretended to get mad. Only then did Bai Qingzhou finally set down the brush and mutter stiffly:
“…Don’t be nervous tomorrow.”
A moment later, with even more awkwardness, Bai Qingzhou muttered, “Good luck.”
Xia Xinghe couldn’t help but laugh, the corners of his lips lifting as he replied, “Thanks.” It suddenly struck him—Bai Qingzhou was actually quite easy to cheer up.
Xia Xinghe thought to himself, What a shame. Back when they were together, he had always been so cautious and anxious, terrified of upsetting Bai Qingzhou, and had never talked to him like this. He’d never discovered this side of him before.
…..
After returning from Bai Qingzhou’s place, Xia Xinghe began preparing for the next day’s meeting.
Dressing appropriately was a must, and he also had to get ready for any questions the other party might ask. He dug through his closet to find his most formal suit, ironed it carefully, and hung it up gently. Then he sat down in front of his computer—not only preparing a synopsis of his work, but also meticulously researching the company’s development history, the names of its executives, and more. He worked non-stop until the early morning.
Late at night, rubbing his sore eyes, Xia Xinghe wryly thought that although he hadn’t looked for a job after graduation, this situation felt like payback.
He felt he had done everything he could, but nerves were unavoidable. And the moment he stepped into the office building and met the project lead, his heart gave a tremble.
The project lead was a woman in her forties, about the same age as Xia Xinghe’s mother, but without any of her warmth or kindness.
She wore a sharp, form-fitting business outfit, her brows furrowed, expression stern. Since Xia Xinghe had entered, she had been looking at him with a calm yet intimidating gaze that naturally commanded authority.
When their eyes met, Xia Xinghe felt his scalp go numb.
“Hello,” he said, pursing his lips and reaching out a hand. “My name is Xia Xinghe, pen name ‘Bamboo’. I’m the author of (A Dog’s Life Among Humans’).”
“Shi Yumin,” she replied simply.
Shi Yumin spoke her name with a cool tone, her pale eyes assessing Xia Xinghe silently. After a long pause, she finally extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
After a brief introduction, Xia Xinghe sat across from Shi Yumin. The atmosphere in the small office was solemn, and her expression remained cold and serious.
“Alright, let’s begin. First, I want to ask you…”
Starting from the story’s creative intent, she launched a barrage of questions. Her angles were sharp, her tone unfriendly. When Xia Xinghe struggled to answer a few tricky ones, she pressed on, asking again and again.
Xia Xinghe increasingly felt his earlier hopes had been misplaced—this might end up just like before, leaving empty-handed. Still, since he had come this far, he had to do his best. Taking a deep breath, he tried his hardest to answer her questions.
Half an hour passed.
Then an hour.
Time ticked by, and Xia Xinghe sat upright, tense. Shi Yumin didn’t look relaxed either.
She continued to observe his reactions carefully while asking more questions.
She was intentionally testing him.
Shi Yumin was the head of projects at Nanfeng Films—a formidable woman in a male-dominated industry. She was known for her talent in discovering fresh talent and had a particular fondness for emotionally rich, delicate works.
Over the past ten-plus years, she had greenlit dozens of film and television projects, many of which had become hits. With vast resources and sharp vision, she had single-handedly launched the careers of numerous rising stars. She was without question a sharp, discerning, and golden-name producer.
Xia Xinghe had learned all this during his research, so he knew how important she was. What he didn’t know was—Shi Yumin was also Bai Qingzhou’s biological mother.