Chapter 75: Less Than Ideal

After a day of wild fun at the zoo, by the time they returned home in the evening, Huang Tao was so exhausted he fell asleep right at the dinner table, still chewing his food in his sleep. Even more astonishing, the little fellow kept stuffing meat into his mouth and chewing away as he slept.

Old Madam Zhou and Huang Guolun had witnessed this “spectacle” before and were long since unfazed. Bai Yao, however, was dumbstruck.

Huang Tao’s wonders were surpassing even her imagination. As the saying goes, “A tree grows its own kind of flower, a vine bears its own kind of melon.” If Teacher Huang was a rare talent, then Huang Tao was a genius among geniuses.

Bai Yao found it hard to imagine what kind of prodigy this boy would grow into.

Huang Guolun, after eating only half his meal, stopped to help Old Madam Zhou clean Huang Tao up and quickly gave the boy a bath.

When they finally tucked him into bed, the rascal was still in a deep slumber, muttering in his sleep: “If it’s tasty, eat more; if it’s not, you should still eat a bit. What are you laughing at? Li Yaxin, you can’t just eat two bites and be full every time. You have to be like me—after you’re full, eat two more bites. You need to learn to open apples, peaches, pears, pomelos, melons, Hami melons, watermelons, walnuts, pine nuts, hazelnuts, chestnuts, and macadamias with your bare hands. I won’t even mention sunflower seeds and pistachios—they’re too easy. Everyday fruits and nuts, aside from durian, I can open them all with my hands. You also need to learn to divide chocolate evenly, tear open instant noodles neatly, dip all the soup with stinky tofu, eat a Planet Cup without a spoon, twist Oreos so the cream splits evenly, eat biscuits and chips without dropping a crumb, lick yogurt containers spotless, debone fish, gnaw ribs, chicken wings, and drumsticks so that not a scrap of meat remains. Even if I fell flat on my face, not a drop of hot and sour noodles would spill…”

Huang Guolun was on the verge of tears from laughter. This kid only ever dreamed of eating or perfecting his eating techniques—he’d never be able to lose weight in this lifetime. But as long as he was happy and healthy, let him be.

While Huang Guolun tended to Huang Tao, Bai Yao, still seated at the dinner table, scrolled through their class’s group chat on her phone. She watched her classmates chatting, but didn’t join in.

That afternoon, the second-year (Class 5) group chat—one without the homeroom teacher—had become extraordinarily lively. Everyone was talking about “Your Grace, the Lovely Corpse.”

Led by Zhang Liang, many students who liked Huang Guolun had already watched the film. Its brilliance far exceeded their expectations.

Initially, Zhang Liang and the others had thought internet movies were just cheaply made trash. They’d watched this one purely to support Teacher Huang—never expecting to become hooked, then utterly amazed.

After finishing the film that afternoon, Zhang Liang raved in the group: “Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap! This is insane! Everyone, go watch ‘Your Grace, the Lovely Corpse’ that Teacher Huang helped make! It’s fantastic! Better than anything in theaters! I nearly clapped my thighs to pieces! It’s just so damn good! I want more!”

The Chinese class rep, Tang Juan, sent a smiley face: “Not bad, Zhang Liang, you finally used a proverb correctly.”

Zhang Liang replied excitedly: “Big beauty Tang, never mind that, just go watch ‘Your Grace, the Lovely Corpse’ now! It’s so good! If it’s not, you can come slap me!”

Guan Qiangguo replied smugly: “Told you at lunch it was good, but you didn’t believe me. Said with five yuan you’d rather have donkey burger. Still want that burger now?”

Zhang Liang burst out laughing: “No way! That five yuan was so worth it! Watching this is way more satisfying than a donkey burger! Even a hundred of them!”

Liu Zhongjie, curiosity piqued, asked: “Aren’t internet films usually garbage? Is this one really that good, just because Teacher Huang helped make it?”

Zhang Liang swore by it: “It’s awesome! I’ve never seen such a good Chinese zombie film! That slogan on Teacher Huang’s T-shirt—‘the best in China’—is no exaggeration!”

The sports monitor, Liu Xiaohui, asked: “How does it compare to ‘Resident Evil,’ ‘Dawn of the Dead,’ ‘28 Days Later,’ or ‘Shaun of the Dead’?”

Guan Qiangguo gave an objective review: “Compared to those classics, there’s definitely a gap. But ‘Your Grace, the Lovely Corpse’ is absolutely top-tier for a domestic film. Have you seen Juno Mak’s ‘Rigor Mortis’? The special effects in this are on par with that—just a pity it’s so short, only an hour, so a lot gets glossed over and it moves at rocket speed. You’ll want to watch it all in one go and still crave more.”

Shuai Xiaowei added: “Damn, if Old Guan rates it this high, it must be awesome. I’m watching it now.”

Class monitor Cui Li asked: “Is it a horror movie?”

Guan Qiangguo explained: “It’s not a super scary ghost story like ‘The Deadly Village,’ but it is pretty bloody—a Western-style zombie flick that’s really satisfying. If you liked ‘Resident Evil,’ you can’t miss this one!”

Zhang Liang added: “And listen carefully to the end credits song—it’s written by Teacher Huang! So intense! The subtitles say it’s sung by Bai Yao, but that can’t be our Bai, right?”

Guan Qiangguo said: “I’ve listened to it several times—it sounds a bit like Bai, but not quite. Probably someone with the same name.”

Liu Zhongjie joked: “@Bai Yao, you there? Show yourself—did you sing the end credits song?”

Zhang Liang replied: “No way, if it really was Bai, that’d be insane! If Teacher Huang can coach Bai into that, it’s like turning mud into gold!”

Ma Xiaodan, who was good friends with Bai Yao, retorted: “If anyone’s been coached into gold by Teacher Huang, it’s you, Zhang Liang. No, more like mud into stone.”

Zhang Liang boasted: “Ha! Beauty Dan, are you saying I’m a diamond?”

Ma Xiaodan shot back: “Diamond? More like a pebble in the mud!”

The whole group burst out laughing at Ma Xiaodan’s quip.

The others started egging Zhang Liang on, calling him “the pebble in the mud.”

As the evening chat continued, curiosity grew about whether Bai Yao truly sang the film’s electrifying theme song.

Several girls were convinced the voice was unmistakably Bai Yao’s—leagues ahead of Zhang Liang.

Zhang Liang, of course, wouldn’t accept that. He declared in the group: “Stop hyping up Bai—it can’t be her singing! If it is, I’ll do a live stream eating shit! Five pounds, minimum!”

Seeing this, Bai Yao finally broke her silence, typing confidently: “I did sing it, with Teacher Huang’s guidance. Zhang Liang, please prepare your live stream. Thank you.”

Her message was like a depth charge, instantly reigniting the group’s enthusiasm.

Ma Xiaodan, eating dinner, laughed and praised her: “I knew it! It had to be our Bai! Bai, you’re incredible—singing a movie theme song! You’re my idol!”

Guan Qiangguo, midway through his meal, put down his chopsticks in shock: “Bai Yao, was that really you? You’re amazing! Your voice is better than many professionals!”

Because Bai Yao was a top student, Liu Zhongjie and the others liked to call her “Queen.” He sent a kneeling GIF, writing: “All hail the Queen! I bow before you!”

Compliments flooded the group chat—everyone praised Bai Yao’s hidden talents and unbeatable singing.

Bai Yao felt a strange and satisfying delight, one far greater than being praised for her studies. Usually, when she aced exams and was called smart and brilliant, she didn’t care—after all, she was just that clever, and perfect scores were only natural.

But her voice, ruined by illness, had always been a point of ridicule—or worse, mockery behind her back. Now, to use that very voice to win everyone over felt like sweet revenge—a triumphant comeback. The thrill left her almost light-headed.

She quickly grounded herself and typed: “It’s all thanks to Teacher Huang’s guidance. I just followed his instructions.”

Hearing this, the students shifted to marveling at Huang Guolun’s discerning eye. He’d led someone with a “broken gong” voice like Zhang Liang to third place in the school anniversary performance, and now launched Bai Yao—whose voice was supposedly even rougher—as a movie theme song vocalist. To them, Huang Guolun was a legend.

Noticing Zhang Liang’s silence, Bai Yao tagged him: “@Zhang Liang, why so quiet? Are you mixing bean paste again?”

Zhang Liang emerged with an awkward emoji: “Bai—no, Queen—I concede! Never met a girl as awesome as you! I’ll do my live stream now—everyone get ready! Heh heh.”

Guan Qiangguo jumped in: “Whoever started this group, kick Zhang Liang out! He’s about to disgust us again!”

Liu Zhongjie warned: “Everyone, turn off your phones! Incoming high-risk content! I can already tell Zhang Liang’s about to send a gross photo!”

Sure enough, less than a second later, Zhang Liang posted a silly photo of himself with bean paste smeared all over his mouth, captioned: “Ha! I’m a man of my word! Queen, you’re amazing! I eat first—help yourself!”

“Ugh, ugh…”

More than a dozen classmates, still eating dinner, nearly threw up at the sight.

Bai Yao’s appetite was ruined as well. She swore never to respond to Zhang Liang again—he truly was a dung beetle, locked in eternal battle with filth!

At that moment, Huang Guolun, finished tidying up after Huang Tao, returned and asked Bai Yao in good spirits, “How’s ‘Your Grace, the Lovely Corpse’ doing? Has the total paid viewership passed ten thousand yet?”

Bai Yao exited the group chat, logged onto the major video sites, checked subscription numbers, and quickly did the math.

She reported to Huang Guolun, “As of 7:04, the total paid subscriptions across eight platforms is 9,792—almost ten thousand.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Huang Guolun nodded with satisfaction.

Bai Yao asked curiously, “So, is that a hit?”

“It should count as one—breaking ten thousand in just over half a day,” Huang Guolun replied. He wasn’t sure about industry standards, but judging by the online praise, he felt the film had caught on.

Since it was premiere day, Huang Guokun would surely be busy, so Huang Guolun hadn’t contacted him to avoid disrupting his work.

Figuring it was dinner time for Huang Guokun, Huang Guolun sent him a message asking about the film’s release.

Huang Guokun replied quickly, though he still sounded busy, sending just four words: “Not very ideal.”

Huang Guolun’s heart skipped a beat—was the film not a success? Was it underperforming?

Soon after, Huang Guokun sent a bleaker message: “Feels like we’re doomed.”