Lin Bei woke up very early the next day.

No, to be precise, she hadn’t slept at all. She was still tweaking the script at three in the morning; by five she could barely stay awake and dozed off for a bit, only to be jolted awake again by excitement at seven.

“I have to shoot this video today,” she announced to Su Chen, who was sipping coffee in the living room, her eyes ringed with dark circles.

Su Chen gave her a quick once-over.

“You look like you’ve just been robbed.”

“That’s post-creation fatigue,” Lin Bei said, rubbing her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand—artists are like that.”

“You’re not an artist; you’re unemployed.”

“Even unemployed people have the right to pursue their dreams!”

Su Chen put down his coffee cup and looked at her.

Lin Bei had already learned how to read that look—he was trying to figure out whether she was being serious or just talking nonsense.

“Have you finished the script?” he asked.

“Finished!” Lin Bei held up her phone. “There are eight money-saving tips in total, covering everything from grocery shopping to cooking.”

“Let me see.”

Lin Bei hesitated for a moment, then handed him the phone.

Su Chen glanced at it for about thirty seconds.

During those thirty seconds, his expression went from frowning to twitching at the corners of his mouth, then to pursing his lips and taking a deep breath.

“Lin Bei.”

“Mm?”

“The tip ‘How to wash dishes more efficiently with dish soap’—the core of that trick is ‘use less soap and more water,’ right?”

“That’s right! A lot of people use way too much dish soap when they wash dishes; actually, just a tiny bit is enough.”

“That’s not a trick—it’s common sense.”

“But common sense doesn’t mean everyone knows it!”

Su Chen took a deep breath and kept scrolling.

“‘How to revive wilted vegetables’—soak them in ice water with a little white vinegar.”

“That one’s okay, I guess!” Lin Bei leaned over. “I’ve tried it many times, and it really works!”

“That’s passable.” Su Chen continued scrolling. “‘How to mop the floor with expired milk.’”

“Is that no good?”

“Are you going to mop the floor again?”

“No! It’s a cleaning tip! The lactic acid in expired milk can soften stains.”

“You used my bath towel to mop the floor last time, my facial cleanser to wash socks the time before that, and now you want to use expired milk to mop the floor?”

Lin Bei opened her mouth: “That’s different.”

“Different in what way?”

“Milk is for mopping the floor, not wiping my face.”

Su Chen closed his eyes and handed the phone back to her.

“For the first video, don’t talk too much. Three tips are enough. Viewers can’t remember eight.”

“But—”

“Three,” Su Chen said firmly. “Make it clear, make it interesting, and show your own style. If you cram eight in there, no one will be able to watch it all.”

Lin Bei thought about it and realized he might have a point.

She lowered her head and deleted five, leaving just three: the trick to reviving wilted vegetables, the supermarket discount schedule, and how to make a two-person serving of sweet-and-sour ribs on ten yuan.

“As for the last one,” Su Chen glanced at it, “how are you planning to do it?”

“Buy discounted ribs from the supermarket, use cheap vinegar, and don’t bother with fancy sugar.”

“Use my ingredients as a demonstration.”

“What?”

“Use mine. I’ll buy the ribs.” Su Chen stood up. “And your phone’s camera resolution isn’t good enough—let’s use my camera instead.”

“You’ve got a camera?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of camera?”

“A Sony A7M4.”

Lin Bei didn’t know much about cameras, but she’d heard the name. She knew that camera could buy her ten phones.

“You’re lending it to me?”

“No, I’m helping you shoot it.” Su Chen walked into the room, pulled out the camera and a tripod. “If you shoot it yourself, your hands will shake like Parkinson’s disease.”

Lin Bei wanted to argue, but she realized her hands really were shaking. Maybe it was because she was too excited—or maybe she’d had too much coffee.

“So, can you shoot it?” she asked.

“I minored in photography in college.”

“What else haven’t you minored in?”

“Agricultural economics, photography, psychology.” Su Chen set up the tripod. “And cooking—that’s not a minor; I taught myself.”

Lin Bei watched him expertly adjust the aperture and shutter speed, and suddenly felt like this guy was a real treasure. No, a treasure landlord.

“Su Chen.”

“Mm?”

“Do you really know how to do everything?”

“No.” He said without turning around. “I don’t know how to just lie around.”

“Are you subtly criticizing me?”

“I’m stating a fact.”

Lin Bei decided not to quibble with him.

The shoot began.

Lin Bei stood in the kitchen, facing the camera, and suddenly felt completely uncomfortable.

“Hello everyone, I’m Lin Bei…” Her voice sounded dry and flat, like she was reciting a textbook.

“Stop.” Su Chen poked his head out from behind the camera. “You don’t usually talk like that.”

“How do I usually talk?”

“You usually sound like you’re arguing with someone.”

“That’s called being lively.”

“Then be a little more lively now.”

Lin Bei took a deep breath and started over.

“Hello everyone, I’m Lin Bei, an unemployed loser.” She flashed a bright smile at the camera. “Today I’m going to teach you a secret trick: how to use discounted ribs from the supermarket to make sweet-and-sour ribs that even a squeaky-clean landlord will eat three bowls of.”

End of Chapter 13: Chapter 13