Chapter Eight: Such Poison Holds No Fear

After that night, their relationship progressed further, and the two became inseparable. They attended classes together, ate together, took walks, and occasionally even stayed out overnight, wishing they could spend every moment side by side.

As one of the directing professors put it, Chen Ling might as well transfer departments—just pretend he no longer exists in the directing program.

Word of their relationship had spread among the students, especially between the freshmen in the directing department and the juniors in the acting department. Most of the directing students admired Chen Ling; within less than a semester, he had charmed away the most beautiful girl from another department, bringing honor to the directing program.

But the juniors in the acting department felt differently. Their precious "cabbage," whom none of them had managed to win over for more than a year, had been swept away by a freshman from another department with just one song. To them, it was as devastating as a loss in battle.

From then on, whenever Chen Ling attended classes in the acting department, he drew many hostile glances. He didn't care about their looks—if they had the guts, they could try to fight him. If they were so talented, let them steal away one of the directing department's girls.

Oh, right—the current class in the directing department didn’t have any girls, let alone pretty ones. Other years did, but their looks were... difficult to describe. If the handsome guys from the acting department could bring themselves to pursue them, Chen Ling would salute them as real men.

Happy times are always fleeting, and soon it was time for parting. Jing Tian joined a film crew and, before leaving, came to the doorway of the freshmen directing classroom to say goodbye to Chen Ling.

She gave him a small box, inside which was a USB drive and a CD containing the complete recording of the song Chen Ling performed that day. The original recording had been finished shortly after, and the two had picked it up together; Chen Ling had given it to Jing Tian then. Now, it seemed, Jing Tian had made another copy for him—a meaningful memento between them.

She didn’t let Chen Ling walk her out of the campus; as she said, she was afraid she might cry, and Chen Ling didn’t insist. Suddenly separated while in the midst of their passionate romance, both felt a little out of place, but at least they could chat online every day to ease their longing.

After a few idle days, Chen Ling finally had time to plan his future. Dating a celebrity was addictive—it almost made him forget to pursue a career.

As previously mentioned, though he lacked a golden finger, Chen Ling discovered his memory was extraordinary. Anything he experienced in his previous life, he could recall in detail if he focused. To Chen Ling, this was even more powerful than a golden finger; most protagonists in novels needed some threshold to use theirs.

His ability to recall anything he had lived through was frightening. Without it, even reliving his life, it would be hard to make significant changes. After all, most events, unless deeply relevant, are impossible to remember clearly after ten or more years. A vague impression is usually the best one can hope for.

Take a simple example: everyone knows the mainland stock market has had several bull and bear markets, but who can remember, years later, the exact month and year each bull market started and ended, except those deeply involved in the industry? And even more specifically: which stocks soared during the bull market, which ones rose then fell, where the turning points were—these details, even professionals may not recall years later.

So, Chen Ling’s memory was as good as cheating. Because of this confidence, he dared to claim he could live an exciting and unrestrained life.

Now, back to reality, Chen Ling faced the question of how to earn his first bucket of gold.

His family was well-off; their factory had ridden the wave of domestic mobile phone growth in recent years by producing parts, earning several million in profit annually. Thanks to this foundation, his parents had bought him a car when he started university and gave him a monthly allowance of ten or twenty thousand.

Chen Ling estimated that, with his parents’ doting, he could probably get three to five hundred thousand—about a year’s profit from the factory—for investment. But that amount wasn’t enough for making a film or investing in the internet.

Chen Ling, who knew history well, was fully aware of the most lucrative projects in the coming decade.

First and foremost was Bitcoin. In January 2009—this very year—Bitcoin was just launched, worth less than three cents RMB each. When Chen Ling had just transmigrated back, it was even cheaper—two cents RMB per coin.

Crucially, Satoshi Nakamoto’s Bitcoin forum was already established, making it possible to purchase Bitcoin. Chen Ling didn’t hesitate to use his saved New Year’s money to buy a million coins, spending less than twenty thousand RMB in total.

It wasn’t for lack of funds that he didn’t buy more; he knew that at this time, the total mined Bitcoin was only around ten million, so his stash accounted for ten percent of the total.

Moreover, buying too much risked affecting future appreciation. His purchase was a large enough stake to make an impact; if he bought all ten million coins available, could Bitcoin really rise to tens of thousands of dollars each? Chen Ling seriously doubted it.

Instead, he only needed to hold a reasonable amount and let Bitcoin follow its original trajectory. As long as it rose as it did in his previous timeline, his million coins would be worth billions of dollars—enough for a lifetime.

This was his insurance for the future, his fallback plan. Yet Chen Ling still felt a bit uneasy about whether Bitcoin would appreciate as much as before.

Aside from Bitcoin, he also considered football betting, but Chen Ling had little interest in football in his previous life, so his memories were limited to knowing a few famous players and clubs—Ronaldo, Messi, Neymar, and so on. Beyond that, his recollection was vague.

He did like basketball and remembered more details, but basketball betting hadn’t been introduced yet, and foreign betting would require going abroad, which was too risky.

As for lottery tickets—come on, doesn’t everyone know there’s an anti-time-travel mechanism? Chen Ling didn’t believe it at first, but after buying several tickets with the numbers he remembered from his university days, he realized the anti-time-travel function was real. The reason for this? Those who know, know.

Other fast-growing opportunities included the internet, but that required certain conditions. At this stage, the entry barrier for BAT was already high; buying their listed stocks was possible, and Weibo had just been founded, but his modest funds wouldn’t interest Weibo.

ByteDance would be founded in two years, but by then, entering would require more than just money.

After much thought, Chen Ling realized that aside from Bitcoin, the other options were all quite difficult.

His mind returned to the film industry, and he recalled all those low-budget, high-grossing movies. "Crazy Stone" had long been made, so that was out. "Lost on Journey" seemed to have already started shooting, so no chance there either.

Wait—a certain film might still be possible. A chick flick adapted from a serialized short novel, one of the prime examples of low-budget, high-box office success, written by a fellow student. The novel should have finished serialization by now.

Yes, "Love Is Not Blind," based on the novel by Bao Jingjing, a student in the literature department at Beijing Film Academy, serialized in 2009, published in early 2010, and later bought by director Teng Huatao, who adapted it for the big screen.

This film, made for about eight million yuan, was released on Singles’ Day in 2011 and became a box office phenomenon. It was the biggest dark horse in the Chinese film market that year.

Years later, netizens still discussed it—not about the box office, but the scandals of the actors. The female lead, Bai Baihe, became infamous online; the male lead, Wen Zhang, was exposed for cheating by paparazzi, and the mistress, Yao Di, had a cameo in the movie. Bai Baihe’s husband, a famous singer, also made a cameo, and his fate was well-known—first cuckolded, then banned for misconduct.

Da Hei Niu and Zhang Zixuan also had cameos and were later heavily criticized for various controversies. The only ones still standing were Guo Jingfei and Wang Yaoqing.

Despite the lead and supporting actors’ scandals, netizens called the film cursed, but it remained a solid work. It not only achieved remarkable box office success but also won numerous awards, pioneering the chick flick genre and launching many careers.

Without this film, Teng Huatao wouldn’t have had the opportunity to direct the infamous flop "Shanghai Fortress." Bai Baihe’s career wouldn’t have taken off so easily.

In short, the film was "cursed," but it didn’t affect its profitability. Making money, after all, isn’t shameful.

Besides, having lived another life, Chen Ling wasn’t afraid of a little curse; at worst, he could avoid problematic actors during casting.