Huayu: A master director who debuted as a singer

As the World Cup progresses, gamblers who were originally scattered throughout the streets and alleys have begun to converge on several major betting outlets.

Zheng Hui changed his clothes. He took out the cotton padding in his cheeks and put on a crisp shirt and trousers. His hair was neatly combed, and he wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.

Now, he looks like a financial elite who works in Central and has just finished get off work and crossed the harbor for fun.

His previous strategy of "ants moving house" was over. Now that his principal had exceeded 1.5 million, the kind of odds betting of a few thousand yuan was no longer enough to satisfy his appetite.

Although the odds for correct score betting are high, they are easy to attract attention.

Although the odds are low when betting on the winner or loser, the advantage lies in the large betting pool. You can throw in tens of thousands or even hundreds of thousands of dollars and not even make a splash.

Zheng Hui walked into the Jockey Club betting hall. The hall was bustling with noise and filled with smoke. Everyone was holding a horse racing book or a betting book, with a cigarette in their mouth and their eyes fixed on the large screen on the wall.

He walked to the VIP window, where the teller was a middle-aged woman who was counting a thick stack of Hong Kong dollars.

"I'll bet on the game." Zheng Hui knocked on the glass.

The older woman looked up, glanced at Zheng Hui, and continued working on her ticket: "Which game are you betting on?"

"France vs. Croatia"

"Who should I bet on to win?"

Zheng Hui took out five stacks of money from his briefcase, each stack containing ten thousand: "France, fifty thousand."

The older woman took the money and skillfully processed the transaction through the machine and issued the ticket.

"Handsome, good eye. But Croatia is a dark horse this year. Suker's left foot is incredibly good at playing the violin. Aren't you afraid of capsizing?"

Zheng Hui took the lottery ticket, glanced at the odds, and smiled: "The dark horse is only halfway through. France is the host country, so they have the right timing, location, and people."

The older woman handed over the lottery ticket: "Yes, do you want to add another bet?"

"No need, a little gambling is just for fun."

Zheng Hui turned and left; this was only the first stop.

For the next two hours, he visited official betting outlets throughout the Macau Peninsula and Taipa.

Each order is between 50,000 and 100,000 yuan. This amount will not trigger the cumbersome review process for large prize redemptions, nor will it make the bookmaker think there is something wrong with it.

After the semi-final, Thuram's two goals sent France into the final, and Zheng Hui's funds grew to three million.

……

1998 7 Month 12 Day.

On the night of the decisive battle, at the Stade de France, Brazil faced off against France.

Throughout the streets and alleys of Macau, in tea restaurants, bars, and even saunas, everyone's eyes were glued to the television screen.

"Brazil! Brazil!"

"Ronaldo! An alien!" (Ronaldo)

The voices were almost unanimously in favor of the other side.

Zheng Hui sat in the corner of the tea restaurant, with a cup of milk tea that had long since melted on the table.

He had ten lottery tickets in his pocket, bought at ten different betting outlets across Australia.

I bet on France to win on all my bets, but I didn't bet on the correct score or the handicap; it was the simplest win-draw-lose bet.

The surrounding diners were banging on the table and shouting.

"What the hell?! Is Ronaldo sleepwalking?!"

"Zidane! He's in!" (Zidane)

On TV, the bald Frenchman leaped high and headed the ball into the goal.

"boom!"

A chorus of groans filled the tea restaurant. The man at the next table slammed his cigarette pack to the ground, yelling, "Fixed match! It's definitely fixed! How could Brazil play like that!"

Zheng Hui stared quietly at the screen.

The footage in the documentary overlaps with reality.

Zidane scored twice, and Petit sealed the victory at the final whistle.

3: 0.

The moment the final whistle blew, the tea restaurant fell silent, followed by a chorus of curses and the sound of cups being smashed.

Some people broke down in tears, while others stared blankly into space.

Zheng Hui finished the last sip of tea in his cup, stood up, and straightened the hem of his clothes.

He won, and with the half of his initial investment that he hadn't yet withdrawn, his total assets exceeded six million after this final round.

Six million.

In this day and age, this is a huge sum of money that could buy ten apartments within Beijing's Second Ring Road.

The next morning, Bank of China Macau Branch.

Zheng Hui sat on the sofa in the VIP room, watching the staff put stacks of banknotes into the money counting machine.

The "whoosh whoosh whoosh" sound was particularly pleasant to hear.

The teller was a young woman whose eyes were shining as she looked at Zheng Hui. When she handed him the passbook, her fingers intentionally or unintentionally brushed against the back of Zheng Hui's hand.

"Mr. Zheng, your paperwork is complete. Here is your new passbook, please keep it safe."

Zheng Hui took the passbook, glanced at the string of zeros on it, and casually stuffed it into his bag.

Thanks.

Although Zheng Hui is currently experiencing a surge of hormones, he has no interest in hooking up with these women who have respectable professions. It would be troublesome to break things off, and the quality of their relationships wouldn't be very high either. There's no need to give up his virginity so quickly.

He got up and walked out of the bank. The sun outside was still scorching, but he didn't find it as blinding.

Now that we have money, it's time to get down to business.

He wandered aimlessly along Rua Nova, passing a music store where a large speaker was blasting Richie Jen's "Too Softhearted".

"You're always too soft-hearted, too soft-hearted..."

Zheng Hui stopped and looked at the posters pasted in the shop window.

The Four Heavenly Kings weren't old yet, Nicholas Tse had only recently debuted, and Jay Chou was still sleeping in cardboard boxes in Jacky Wu's office.

"Gurgle."

Zheng Hui's stomach growled, and he turned into a tea restaurant next door, finding a booth by the window to sit down.

"Handsome, what would you like to eat?"

"Iced lemon tea, and a pineapple bun."

"Okay!"

The television in the corner of the tea restaurant was playing popular hits.

Zheng Hui took a bite of the pineapple bun, the pastry falling onto the table as he stared at the TV screen.

On the screen, the Four Heavenly Kings are still dominating the charts, with love duets, sad love songs, and songs about being a backup lover filling the air.

"Love is so painful..."

My heart aches so much…

Why don't you love me...?

Zheng Hui's cheeks ached from listening.

These days, the music scene is full of this kind of tune. It's either about lovelorn urban men and women or the brotherhood of gangsters. It seems like young people have nothing else to do besides dating and fighting.

Should I become a singer?

The moment the thought popped into my head, it took root in my mind.

Compared to making movies, the barrier to entry for making music is incredibly low. No film crew is needed, and minimal investment is required. An album with ten songs is all you need; if the songs are good, it can become a hit.

Moreover, in the music industry, once you become famous, the money comes quickly and you gain a lot of fame. With fame, it's easy to turn to making movies, attract investment, and even act in them yourself.

The key question is, what should we sing?

Sing "I love you, you love me" along with those superstars?

Zheng Hui shook his head; his current body was eighteen years old.

Singing those melodramatic, heartbroken love songs at eighteen seems so out of place.

What should an eighteen-year-old be like?

Passionate, immature, unwilling to admit defeat, and wanting to conquer the world.

There's a shortage of this in the current market.

What's missing is the kind of song that makes young people want to run wildly on the playground, shout at the sky, and tear up their exam papers and throw them into the air.

Inspirational, contrasting, rock and roll.

Zheng Hui sipped the last mouthful of iced lemon tea, the ice cubes at the bottom of the cup making a clattering sound.

"Check, please."