VHBF – Chapter 80 Movie King Daddy (Part 39)

Watching Yinyin tug at her dress, her little hands twisting the fabric into a knot, her chubby little face scrunching up in concentration, the audience’s hearts tightened along with hers.

They saw their beloved little girl telling her dad… that she wanted to give the money she had saved in her schoolbag to her friends at the welfare home.

She also said she wanted her newly acquainted friends to have new clothes and shoes, snacks to eat, a big house to live in where everyone could have their own room, money to see a doctor if they got sick, and the occasional toy they desired…

These were things that Yinyin had never had in her own world, and now that she had a dad and everything she needed, she wanted her friends to have them too.

The audience’s hearts twisted even tighter than the little skirt Yinyin was twisting in her hands. Some emotionally sensitive viewers couldn’t help wiping their tears and sniffing before continuing to watch.

Adults always see things differently from children. They are rational yet emotional, whereas Yinyin’s thoughts were simple. She wasn’t giving the money out of sympathy or pity, and in her mind, this wasn’t a donation—it was a gift.

A gift to her new friends, simply because she wanted to improve their lives. That was it. Her intentions were pure and straightforward, astonishingly warm.

“Ugh, my mom and I cried, both of us on the sofa like a couple of idiots, a whole pack of tissues nearly gone. My little baby is just too heartwarming!”

“Ah, I’m dying! My little one is as warm-hearted as ever. She has a pure heart that no one in this world can match. I honestly envy the actor dad who gets to hold her every day, listening to her tiny baby voice calling him ‘Daddy,’ it melts your heart!”

“I’m just a passerby. I had watched everyone online, on Weibo and the live comments, going crazy over little Yinyin, and I thought people were overreacting. But now, I finally understand why her ‘mommy fans’ adore her so much! My heart tells me, if you start following this three-year-old girl, she is just that lovable!”

During the commercial break, someone, full of enthusiasm, ran to Weibo and posted a long post:

Rain or shine, I love this baby: “Everyone, do you remember when we first met little Yinyin? She waddled around on her tiny legs with a big bag, carefully picking up bottles, even standing in front of strangers waiting for them to finish their drinks. She cherished every penny she could earn from selling bottles, even if it was only a few cents.”

“At the start of the first episode, our little Yinyin cried while confessing to her dad that she had lied to him about wanting to be on TV to earn money. She carefully handed over all the coins she had earned from picking bottles, little by little.”

“To be honest, that scene moved me deeply. My heart felt like it shattered too. Any long-time fans know how money-minded little Yinyin was—her magical little backpack was like a one-way treasure bag; not even her dad could take money from it to pay for a hotel. She protected the money she worked so hard to save.”

“But who would’ve thought? Now she’s giving all that carefully saved money to the kids at the welfare home. My goodness! My heart feels like it’s soaked in sour juice—so moved, yet so jealous of those kids! I’m about to lose it! Forgive me if my words are incoherent.”

“Finally, I imagine little Yinyin sprouting beautiful wings behind her, shining like a little angel! I’ve decided to follow her example and donate to Sunshine Welfare Home tomorrow!!!”

The post quickly went viral, re-shared by marketing accounts.

Netizens gave the national little girl a new nickname: “Little Heart.” A name like “national little girl” was far too generic for their sweet, angelic little one.

“Little Heart” was perfect—it captured their truest feelings! This little girl was their cherished treasure, someone they would follow and watch grow for life.

After witnessing this scene, the audience barely paid attention to what aired later. Emotional mothers wiped their tears and opened their Alipay accounts to donate; if it meant going without meat for a month, so be it.

Housewives counted their savings to see how much they could donate, office workers skipped afternoon tea to contribute, students tightened their belts to save a little, even older gentlemen considered cutting back on cigarettes to spare a few hundred yuan a month.

Fans privately decided: they would follow Yinyin’s lead. They wouldn’t let the little girl do it all herself—she was only three years old. All she needed was happiness, and the adults would take care of the rest.

Liu Li, a single woman in her late twenties, a middle-to-senior manager at a listed company with a six-figure salary, was the epitome of a successful career woman. Busy with work, client relations, managing her department, she had no time for TV, let alone being a fan.

Her mother, a long-time fan of little Yin, came to visit and urged her to watch the program. Liu Li, initially reluctant, was swept up by the show and watched her mother cry over the little girl’s warmth. She stayed up late that night, posting a long reflection on Weibo.

“You all call her Little Yin? Fine, I’ll follow suit. My mom calls her ‘Little Heart,’ and ‘little girl,’ wishing she could take her home. That’s the background.”

“Watching the show tonight, I met Little Yin. Honestly, the show is excellent—real, joyful, and stress-relieving. Toward the end, seeing her place her little backpack secretly on the welfare home desk, I suddenly understood something.”

“I’m well into my thirties, experienced, worldly, successful—but thinking about why I worked so hard, I can’t recall. Nothing excites me anymore, even leadership positions, salaries, cars… adulthood is numb. I thought I was aware, but I was lost. Tonight, I feel the initial feeling again. I even sent a leave request to my boss, deciding to take two months off, travel with my parents, live fully, and volunteer at the welfare center. Not for anything else—just to live purely.”

On social media, even for a three-year-old like Yinyin, the money she gave to her friends brought her joy despite the pain of parting with it. She focused on starting anew, working hard to get her dad a big house. She had already invested her TV earnings in her dad’s company; one day, she would be a big boss herself.

Being a big boss was the most comfortable life—having all the treats you wanted.

Zhu Ji didn’t disappoint his daughter. He prepared the server, carrying a thin chip out of the academy, immediately organized his team, delegated tasks, and with the server and core design ready, developing the software was just a matter of coding.

Professor Yu helped introduce a few game company owners—top domestic tech entrepreneurs experienced in gaming. Zhu Ji tested the game in front of them, letting them try it too. Even the least skilled had a good eye and market sense.

After testing, the owners’ eyes lit up. They didn’t discuss buying the game immediately but enthusiastically asked Zhu Ji if he wanted to switch careers and join as a game design director. Zhu Ji politely declined.

Instead of discussing the game first, the owners had used competitive bidding, ultimately purchasing the game at a high price—50 million yuan, far above Zhu Ji’s expectations. The project was projected to earn at least 600 million in three years—a conservative estimate, with potential to grow significantly.

After selling the game, Zhu Ji hired a professional manager to handle company operations while he focused on R&D with his schoolmates. His team of alumni completed peripheral tasks, refining the software.

When the software was ready, some alumni said: “If we’d had this during exams, we wouldn’t have had to stay up late studying!” Intelligence plus effort, amplified by the right tools, could turn possibility into certainty.

After finishing these tasks, Zhu Ji checked his long-neglected phone. It was dead, dozens of missed calls and messages flooded in.

He ignored unknown numbers, replying to Yang Bingbing first, who had been worried about not finding Zhu Ji after the show. Then there were messages from directors like Zhang Daxi, who regretted losing access to the little girl during the second season. Zhu Ji declined politely, explaining the child was too young for repeated exposure.

He considered Director Zhao’s texts but didn’t reply yet. As a new parent, Zhu Ji wanted to listen to his daughter’s wishes within a safe range.

He remembered little Yinyin was outgoing and friendly, always seeing the good in people. Zhu Ji didn’t want to stifle her spirit and let her choose what she liked freely.

At the kindergarten gate, Yinyin waved goodbye to her friends, promising that after school started, as a future big boss, she’d give each classmate a small toy.

She proudly held up a small red envelope and a certificate. “Daddy, Yinyin got a certificate! The teacher said I’m very good. Everyone got flowers, but only three got certificates!”

She tilted her head, waiting for praise. Once praised, she demurely pursed her lips.

She added, “The teacher said I don’t have to go to school tomorrow. Yinyin is finally unemployed!”

Zhu Ji’s mouth twitched. No, the little unemployed baby in the world would never be unemployed.