HDRDTH -Chapter 75 There Are Two Things I Hate Most in My Life

She turned her head toward Su Xi, who was showing off her new schoolbag in the yard to Wang Dafu.

“This national tour, Su Xi will be my only special guest and will perform with me throughout the entire run.”

“I’ll give her five minutes at the very center of the stage. I’ll mobilize my entire team to turn her into the most shocking wildcard of this tour.”

She looked back at Yu Xian.

“I’ll take her across the country and let her stand on the shoulders of 100,000 people to see the world—before she even officially debuts.”

Yu Xian fell silent.

This kind of starting platform, even globally, was an absurd god-tier launch.

“Every stop of the national tour is top-tier exposure.”

Wang Fei continued, her tone carrying the weight of a desperate gamble.

“If Xinghuang Entertainment wants to suppress her, I’ll make her stand at a height they can never reach—and turn her into a legend.”

Yu Xian slowly stood up and brushed off the wrinkles on his clothes.

“I’ll take the job for the songs.”

He walked to the window with his back to her, his voice calm and unreadable.

“But remember this—if a single hair on Su Xi’s head is harmed during the tour, I can lift you to the Bird’s Nest… or drag you straight into the mud myself.”

Wang Fei straightened her back, finally relieved, and smiled faintly.

“Deal. Su Xi is my little sister.”

Breakfast table.

Yu Xian slurped millet porridge loudly.

Su Wanyi was carefully peeling eggs for Su Xi beside him.

Wang Fei sat directly across from Yu Xian, completely unbothered by her image as she bit into a soft-boiled egg with crispy edges.

“This egg is amazing.”

She chewed in admiration.

“Sister Wanyi, your control over heat is perfect.”

Su Wanyi blushed slightly and pointed at Yu Xian.

“He made it.”

Wang Fei froze mid-chew and looked at Yu Xian’s left hand wrapped like a steamed bun.

“Mr. Yu…”

She swallowed.

“You can not only fish up submarines and nuclear junk, but also cook like this?”

“Stop asking useless questions.”

Yu Xian didn’t even look up.

“Eat and wash the dishes. Dish soap is under the sink. Don’t use too much—it’s expensive.”

Wang Fei rolled her eyes and finished the egg white.

“When are you writing the songs?”

She wiped her mouth and cut straight to the point.

“I only have three months. We need to strike before the audience gets tired of me.”

“Stop rushing me.”

Yu Xian put down his chopsticks and picked his teeth casually with a toothpick.

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“Songs aren’t mass-produced. They come when they come.”

He stood up and dusted off biscuit crumbs from his pants.

“Alright. I’m going into seclusion.”

“Wang Dafu, come with me to the east district.”

East District, Jiangcheng.

A chaotic blend of hardware stores, pet shops, and fishing gear markets.

The asphalt road was full of potholes. Rusted minivans and farm tricycles loaded with PVC pipes lined the sides. The air always smelled like fermented feed mixed with cheap engine oil.

This was the hidden base of Jiangcheng anglers.

A black Mercedes G-Class splashed through a puddle, mud spraying onto a utility pole.

Yu Xian stepped out wearing his new anti-slip slippers, his left hand still bandaged, right hand in his pocket, strolling casually.

Wang Dafu parked and hurried after him, sweating under the sun.

“Dad, why are we here instead of a high-end club in the city center? Any progress on the song for Wang Tianhou?”

“You don’t understand anything.”

Yu Xian stopped at a bait stall, squatted down, and poked at a basin of red worms.

“What do those city guys know about lure fishing? About losing lines? Writing songs—you just need a rough idea. Gear selection is more important.”

The titanium rod from yesterday was strong, but too stiff. Good for dragging metal boxes, not for real deep-water monsters.

He was here to find an old craftsman and build a custom long-distance casting rod.

They soon reached a shabby storefront called “Old Liu Fishing Gear.”

Inside was dim. Carbon rods and accessories covered the walls. An old man with a scruffy beard sat on a stool, tying fishing hooks while wearing reading glasses.

“Old Liu, busy?”

Yu Xian casually pulled a plastic stool and sat down, grabbed an apple, wiped it on his shirt, and took a bite.

“Got that high-density carbon cloth I asked for last time?”

Old Liu looked up and snorted.

“You still dare come here? The whole Jiangcheng fishing circle is talking about last night. You went fishing and ended up calling in the decontamination unit?”

He reached under the counter and slammed a long hard paper tube onto it.

“Imported Toray T1100 carbon cloth. 46-ton compression grade. Tougher than rebar. Fuji titanium guides and carbon reel seat included. Total: 28,000. No bargaining.”

Yu Xian’s eyes lit up. He touched the dark glossy carbon cloth.

Even rods worth tens of thousands in his previous life couldn’t compare.

“Deal. Wang Dafu, pay.”

Wang Dafu was about to scan the payment when—

SCREECH!

Two black Toyota Alphards stopped outside.

The doors swung open. Five or six men in black suits and sunglasses stepped out.

Leading them was a young man in a floral shirt, slicked-back hair, cigar in hand.

“Who’s Yu Xian?”

He exhaled smoke and looked around until his gaze landed on Yu Xian.

Wang Dafu immediately stepped forward.

“What are you doing? Go line up if you want to buy fishing gear!”

“Move, fat guy.”

The man flicked ash dismissively and sat down in front of Yu Xian.

“Let me introduce myself. Zhou Kai, talent director of Xinghuang Entertainment. Zhang Jie Ke came from my team.”

Yu Xian didn’t even look up.

“Oh. Here to avenge that trash?”

“Revenge? Too low-level.”

Zhou Kai sneered and slapped a contract onto the fish-scale-covered glass counter.

“Lin Yaodong is gone. Zhang Jie Ke is blacklisted. Xinghuang needs a top producer.”

“What Wang Fei offered you, we double it. Sign this exclusive contract—all songs you write will belong only to Xinghuang artists.”

He leaned in.

“I heard Wang Fei is begging everywhere just to save her Bird’s Nest tour. If you block her new songs, I can make you vice president of Xinghuang. Million-yuan salary.”

The room went silent.

Old Liu quietly gripped a pair of scissors. Wang Dafu’s forehead was sweating.

Yu Xian calmly tossed the apple core into the trash and wiped his hands.

“You’re dreaming.”

He snorted.

“Million salary, double offer. Sounds nice.”

Then he looked up.

“But are you misunderstanding something?”

He stood up, walked to the counter, picked up the contract—

RIP.

He tore it clean in half.

Then again.

And casually tossed the fragments onto Zhou Kai like falling snow.

“There are two things I hate most in my life.”