Just because I wrote "Zhu Xian," the school beauty sent me razor blades.

Late April.

Lin Yuan sat in his dormitory and did some calculations.

Box office revenue sharing from "Qian Xuesen" and "Secret," royalties and download revenue sharing from "Summer Wind," "Suspended," and "Coral Sea," physical book and IP licensing income from "Zhu Xian," "Orient Express," and "Dragon Raja," plus appearance fees from the New Year's Eve concert—

He went through each number in his mind.

I don't know, I was taken aback.

Unlike Lin Liguo and Jiang Wanqing, he didn't spend much money. Tianxing covered his tuition, the school provided living expenses, and Fei Zhao occasionally gave him clothes for free through brand collaborations. He earned a lot of money, but spent very little; most of it just sat in his bank account.

This money is just sitting there anyway.

He remembered that when he went home before the Lunar New Year, his mother had mentioned it briefly—"Your dad's car is in the repair shop again. It's constantly being fixed up, and the repair costs are almost as much as the gas money."

Lin Liguo was standing nearby at the time, but pretended not to hear.

Lin Yuan didn't respond at the time.

But now that the score is settled, he feels he can take action.

I called home over the weekend.

"Mom, how many years has Dad been driving this car?"

"It's been over six years." Jiang Wanqing's voice held a hint of probing. "What, you want to buy Dad a car?"

"Mom, you know me best. What are your preferences regarding cars?"

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

Then Jiang Wanqing's voice became slightly more urgent: "Xiaoyuan, the car doesn't need to be too expensive, your dad can just drive a regular one—"

"I know. You guys take a look and see what kind you like, then I'll go pick it out together next weekend when I go home."

After hanging up the phone, Lin Yuan leaned back in his chair.

Zhou Zixuan poked his head out from the top bunk: "Brother Yuan, are you buying a car?"

"Buy it for my dad."

"Oh." Zhou Zixuan thought for a moment, "So, what kind of car are you planning to buy?"

"It's not decided yet. I'll take them to the exhibition hall to have a look later."

"If you're still undecided, I can recommend someone," Qian Zhuangzhuang suddenly popped out from the upper bunk.

"You're an art major, what car would you recommend?"

"My recommendations have nothing to do with professional expertise, but everything to do with aesthetics. I can tell you which paint color has the best reflective finish, and which car model's lines best conform to aerodynamic aesthetics."

Did you study metaphysics before you studied art?

"Brother Yuan, you don't understand," Qian Zhuangzhuang said seriously. "Choosing a car is like choosing a wife—those who don't understand look at the specs, those who do understand look at the feel."

"You don't have a wife."

"But I have an aesthetic sense," Qian Zhuangzhuang said confidently.

Chen Mo rolled over beside him, without opening his eyes: "He only looks at one thing when choosing a car."

"What?"

"Can that car be driven in the game?"

Qian Zhuangzhuang was silent for two seconds: "...Brother Mo, why did you attack me at this time?"

"State the facts," Chen Mo said, then went back to sleep.

Saturday.

When Lin Yuan returned home, Lin Liguo indeed refused to go.

"My car can still run." He sat on the sofa reading the newspaper, his tone firm. "Only six years."

"Dad, your car just came into the factory last month."

"That's a minor maintenance."

"I changed the tires twice last year."

"The road conditions are bad, so tire wear is normal."

"The air conditioner broke down the year before last."

"That was an accident."

Looking at his father, Lin Yuan suddenly noticed a pattern—the more Lin Liguo refused to admit something, the harsher his tone became. Just like himself.

"dad."

"Um."

"It's not a great car. I'm just getting a new one. Keep yours; I'll give it to you as a spare."

Lin Liguo glanced at him from behind the newspaper.

Jiang Wanqing gave him a push from the side: "Just go, it's Xiaoyuan's good intention, don't be stubborn."

Lin Liguo put down the newspaper and remained silent for two seconds.

"Okay. But it's agreed, don't buy anything too expensive."

Exhibition hall.

Lin Liguo walked around the showroom and showed a clear liking for a domestically produced SUV that cost over 200,000 yuan.

"This car has a lot of space and a high chassis, so you don't have to worry about bottoming out on that rough road back to your second uncle's house." He patted the hood, his tone carrying a serious tone that implied "I'm making a rational assessment."

"Okay, this one." Lin Yuan said.

Lin Liguo glanced at him again: "Aren't you going to look at anything else?"

"No need. Whatever you like is fine."

Lin Liguo didn't say anything more, but the corners of his mouth subtly curled upwards.

After the formalities were completed and the car keys were handed to Lin Liguo, he pretended to casually look at them over and over several times.

"This key feels nice."

"Um."

"The car body color is fine too."

"Um."

"Shall I take a drive around?"

"Open it."

Lin Liguo got into the driver's seat, started the engine, and touched the steering wheel repeatedly.

Then he drove out of the showroom and merged into the main road.

Lin Yuan stood at the entrance of the showroom, watching the brand-new SUV disappear into the traffic.

A car next to him caught his attention.

It's not because it's expensive, and it's not because it's cool.

It's because of its lines.

Streamlined body, low-slung front, wide stance—a machine born purely for speed.

Lin Yuan's gaze lingered on it for two seconds.

Then a "ding" sounded in his mind.

It wasn't a hallucination. It was a thought that intruded without warning.

Cars. Mountain roads. Racing. Teenagers.

He stood in the showroom, staring at the car's silhouette, his mind racing with countless images simultaneously—

The mountain road twisted and turned, the engine roared, and the tires screamed as it rounded the bends. In the rearview mirror, the headlights of the other car were getting closer and closer. A young driver gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes fixed on the apex of the bend ahead.

drift.

The visual impact is absolutely off the charts.

No complicated plot needed. No mind-bending suspense needed. Just those racing scenes alone make any clip from the trailer a high-energy production. Theatrical release suitability is off the charts.

He knew all too well that the racing film sector was practically empty in the current Chinese film industry.

What's available? It's the same few movies over and over again, all wrapped up in gangland feuds, brotherly betrayals, and revenge shootouts. Those with a conscience don't make money at the box office, and those that make money at the box office lack a conscience.

A pure, clean racing movie focused on teenage growth—no gangs, no revenge, just cars, roads, and speed.

Market gaps are the biggest opportunities.

It has an extremely broad audience reach. Hardcore car enthusiasts will be drawn to the car modification culture, casual viewers will be moved by the passion of youth, and young people will become fans of idols. There are no geographical barriers or niche limitations; it has the potential to become a hit across all demographics.

Lin Yuan stood in the showroom, staring at the car, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He took out his phone.

I sent a message to Fei Zhao.

[Sister Fei, I have a new film project. It's about racing. Would you mind talking about it?]