Chapter 189: A Few "Outstanding Students"!
After sending Lin Chang off, Pei Qian soon received a transfer notification.
A total of 300,000 yuan, and it all went straight into Pei Qian's personal account.
Clearly, the system had no issue with people giving Pei Qian money—as long as it was done reasonably and wouldn't cause anyone to question the system's existence.
But Pei Qian couldn't just blow the entire amount on himself. He had to spend part of it on props—and it couldn't be a small portion either.
In simple terms, this was to prevent Lin Chang from getting suspicious.
It wouldn't make sense if Pei Qian just took the money and vanished into a life of luxury without producing anything in return.
Lin Chang might not care at all how the money was spent—or he might care. There was no way to know for sure.
If Lin Chang ever got curious and asked about it, Pei Qian needed a believable explanation. Even if that scenario was unlikely, it was better to be prepared than caught off guard.
So, if Pei Qian pocketed 200,000 as his "appearance fee," he'd still have to spend the remaining 100,000 on props, make some surface-level effort, and slap together some kind of result.
It was destined to fail anyway—but that was fine. Lin Chang already mentally wrote off the 300,000 as a loss.
As long as Pei Qian acted like he wasn't using the money just to have fun, and Lin Chang didn't get suspicious, then everything would be fine.
Looking at the 300,000 now lying peacefully in his bank account, and seeing his personal wealth go up to a little over 370,000, Pei Qian couldn't help but sigh emotionally.
"Running a company and sweating blood to earn ten million, just to convert a measly hundred thousand…"
"But then I go and casually start a little side hustle, and bam—200,000 in hand."
"Now that I've discovered this sneaky loophole… it feels like there's even less reason for me to rely on profit to convert personal wealth."
…
July 1st.
Pei Qian opened his computer and checked his exam results.
Hmm. Barely passed across the board...
"Feels like I've been infected by Ma Yang."
"Eh, whatever. I'm still busy trying to lose money—no time to worry about grades. Honestly, passing at all is already a win."
Pei Qian comforted himself.
He was studying a liberal arts major, where exams mainly relied on rote memorization. So a last-minute cram session was usually enough to scrape by.
Right now, he wasn't considering dropping out.
Not because he valued the diploma—that piece of paper meant absolutely nothing to him.
It was just that… if he did drop out, he wouldn't really have anything else to do anyway.
These days, he would just casually attend classes, and if he didn't feel like it, he'd sleep all day in his rented apartment or play games. The only time he actually had to go to the company was right before settlement—to work hard on achieving losses.
Even if he did drop out, he'd just end up spending even more time cooped up in his apartment. His lifestyle wouldn't change at all.
More importantly, he didn't want to expose his identity.
So far, most people around him—including his classmates—only knew that he had appeared in President Pei's Daily Life and thought he was some small-time internet celebrity.
They had no idea he was the boss of Tenda.
Pei Qian had three main concerns:
The first is his parents.
The second is that if word got out that he was a company boss, his whole relationship dynamic with his classmates would implode. People would constantly pester him at school—asking for jobs, borrowing money. What a nightmare.
The third reason he kept a low profile was this:
Even though he was technically a company boss, his actual disposable personal wealth was extremely limited.
He was worried that some jealous nutjob or reckless troublemaker might notice something odd, dig too deep, and cause a huge mess.
Since he couldn't reveal the system's existence, the fewer people who knew his real identity, the better—no point in inviting unnecessary risk.
Things were pretty comfortable for him right now, and he had no intention of changing that.
Of course, it'd be even better if he could occasionally blow a few million.
Summer break was just around the corner. Many classmates had already gone home early after checking their final exam results.
Meanwhile, his new financial-loss cycle was only just beginning.
He decided to make a list—calculate the current profits and losses across all projects and map out a new "loss path."
He opened Excel, typed out two lines of text, and then opened his browser to look something up.
But out of habit, he clicked into Aili Island and started watching anime instead.
Before he knew it, over an hour had passed.
"Wait—what was I planning to do again?" Pei Qian suddenly asked himself, dazed.
Just then, his phone rang.
Seeing the name on the screen, Pei Qian was momentarily stunned.
"Uh… Mr. Zhang?"
It was his university counselor—Zhang Wei.
Pei Qian was a bit puzzled. Why was Mr. Zhang calling him?
He didn't hold any position in the student council, and judging by his grades, there was no way he'd be in the running for any scholarships or awards.
So what could this be about?
Zhang Wei's tone was quite friendly:
"Pei Qian, I heard you acted in a short series and joined some kind of studio? Sounds like things are going well—is that true?"
Pei Qian had a sudden realization—ah, he must be talking about Feihuang Studio.
He had acted in the short series President Pei's Daily Life, and since he was rarely in the dorms, most of his classmates already knew he was off doing something media-related.
That information must've trickled back to Zhang Wei through various channels.
Pei Qian simply admitted it:
"Yeah. Is something wrong, Mr. Zhang?"
Zhang Wei chuckled, "Not at all! I just thought, you always kept a low profile, but turns out you've been off building your career! And still managing to keep up great academic performance—impressive!"
What 'great academic performance'?
I barely scraped a passing grade...
Zhang Wei went on praising him so much that Pei Qian started to feel a little embarrassed.
Then again, this was normal. At most universities, counselors care less about grades and more about job placement rates.
Students like him, who could definitely land a job right after graduation and weren't at risk of unemployment, were a relief for people like Zhang Wei.
Still, it was clear that Zhang Wei had another reason for the call beyond compliments.
"Well, it's like this—graduation season is here, and there are some 'outstanding students' in our fourth-year class who haven't landed jobs yet. I was wondering if you could talk to the leaders at your studio and see if you could help make some introductions?"
Pei Qian instinctively tried to deflect:
"Wouldn't it be better for them to go through the campus recruitment channels?"
Zhang Wei coughed lightly, "Campus recruitment… of course they tried, but nothing suitable came up. Otherwise, they wouldn't still be jobless at this point."
Pei Qian understood instantly.
Ah, so they couldn't find jobs.
Clearly, Zhang Wei's term "outstanding students" was just a polite cover. That almost caused some serious confusion.
In reality, what he meant was more like "students left over after campus recruitment."
Even though Handong University was a top-tier school with a 90% job placement rate, there were always some students who didn't manage to find work.
That was just how it went.
Moreover, that so-called "90% employment rate" was full of hot air.
Every year was labeled "the most difficult graduation season in history," and it was genuinely hard to find a satisfying job. Most students just grabbed whatever they could get, often quitting after two or three months.
Some even got themselves "employed" by getting registered under a relative's company—and that counted as a successful job placement too.
For universities—especially counselors like Zhang Wei—raising the employment rate was a major headache.
Employment statistics were used to evaluate the performance of colleges and their faculty, so they had to do whatever it took to boost those numbers.
Besides pushing students to participate in campus recruitment, counselors would also proactively reach out to companies themselves.
If they could place even one or two students, that was already a win.
Clearly, Zhang Wei was hoping to use Pei Qian as a bridge to get in touch with someone at Feihuang Studio, and see if there was any chance—even a slim one—of slipping in one or two of the remaining students.
The chances might've been low… but hey, what if it worked?
Pei Qian couldn't help but laugh.
Now that's what I call coming to the right person!
It was true that Handong University was a top-tier school, and anyone who got in had to have a decent IQ.
But the students Zhang Wei had on hand now? They'd already been thoroughly filtered by the market.
It was already July, peak graduation season.
Those who had secured guaranteed admission into grad school were already off enjoying life.
Those who'd landed jobs were either already working or about to start.
Those planning to retake entrance exams for grad school had already told their counselors.
The only ones left on Zhang Wei's list were those who wanted to work—but had been rejected over and over through countless rounds of campus recruitment and still hadn't gotten a single offer.
Isn't that exactly the kind of talent he was looking for?
Pei Qian immediately replied,"Don't worry, Mr. Zhang, leave it to me. Why don't you send me their resumes? Or maybe just let them know to come in for interviews?"
Zhang Wei hadn't expected Pei Qian to agree so readily:
"Ah—alright, great!"
After exchanging a few pleasantries, Pei Qian hung up the call.
Before long, Zhang Wei sent over the resumes of those students to his email inbox.