Chapter 166

After wrapping up the location shoot for the film adaptation of New Song of Sending Off the Lover in Langshan, Wei Sheng followed the production team to a film studio to finish the remaining scenes. As soon as filming concluded, he immediately led his team back to Forked Ridge without missing a beat.

Wei Sheng’s internet tech company was partnering with Forked Ridge to launch an e-commerce incubation platform. This news was already an open secret among the film crew.

“That Wei Sheng really knows how to waste a good hand. Don’t you dare follow his example,” said Liang Aiai, Chen Qingyao’s agent, with a sigh when she heard the news.

Chen Qingyao herself wasn’t a fan of Wei Sheng’s attitude—treating his side ventures like his main career. She considered herself someone with artistic aspirations. Joining the entertainment industry wasn’t just about making money for her. Hearing about Wei Sheng’s latest antics only made her feel more certain that they were not on the same path.

In the film, the two of them played a couple. Under normal circumstances, hyping up their on-screen chemistry during promotions wouldn’t be a big deal.

But thinking about how Wei Sheng had been bouncing around lately—launching an e-commerce platform, training influencers in Forked Ridge, livestreaming to sell off-brand sanitary pads and cheap knick-knacks for 9.9 yuan with free shipping—Chen Qingyao felt that creating a fake romance with him would be beneath her. She was reluctant, to say the least.

If it weren’t for the nostalgic value of the Song of Sending Off the Lover IP, and her hope of winning a main-theme film award with this project, she would have preferred to never see Wei Sheng’s face again.

She had no interest in faking a relationship with a livestreamer who sold sanitary pads.

Wei Sheng had no idea he was being looked down on by his co-star. But even if he knew, he wouldn’t be bothered. As the saying goes, with the whole internet dragging me through the mud, who do you think you are?

In fact, it was a blessing in disguise that Chen Qingyao didn’t want to fake a romance. It saved him a lot of trouble.

At least for now, Wei Sheng was far too busy to even think about promoting the new film.

Thanks to his “gentle persuasion,” the village officials of Forked Ridge quickly realized their shortcomings and matched Wei Sheng’s intense work pace.

The officials split into two teams. One team worked with Wei Sheng’s crew to register and organize information on villagers signing up for the e-commerce incubation program. They also rented out a few village houses and did some light renovations to turn them into training centers for the platform.

They planned to rent two more houses to serve as dormitories for the instructors. According to the plan, Wei Sheng’s team would send trainers to Langshan twice a month to conduct group training sessions.

The other team, handpicked by Wei Sheng for their eloquence, followed him to every rural market in and around Forked Ridge. They also visited nearby towns to learn from others’ experience. Eventually, they compiled the first edition of the Forked Ridge Specialty Product Catalog.

Handcrafted silver jewelry with a long history, organic high-mountain mist tea, handmade wicker crafts, farmhouse rice wine, glutinous rice cakes, camellia oil, chili powder, sweet potato starch, konjac, cured fish, ham… When the list was finally compiled, even the village officials felt a little sheepish.

Were these really specialty products?

Weren’t these just the everyday foods and goods they all consumed at home?

Aside from the silverware, ham, and camellia oil, which were a bit pricier, the rest were the most common items found in any rural household. Would anyone actually buy this stuff online?

“Trust me, you have no idea how powerful authentic local goods can be…” Wei Sheng reassured them.

At the same time, in Forked Ridge Village, Jiang Dayu shaved his beard, put on his best clothes, and stood in front of the mirror, forcing a smile that looked more like he was about to cry.

No wonder the older generation used to say that people who’ve lived hard lives are born with sorrow etched into their faces. No matter how he tried to smile, the man in the mirror looked like he was mourning. Jiang Dayu’s already weathered face fell even further.

He was one of the first villagers to sign up for the Rural E-commerce Incubation Program. He had no choice. He had two kids about to enter college, and he and his wife weren’t the type to favor sons over daughters. Their eldest daughter had excellent grades. How could they bear to let her give up her education—the one chance to change her fate in the eyes of rural families?

They had no choice but to grit their teeth and support both children.

But with just farming and seasonal labor in the city, how many years would it take to save enough for two college tuitions?

Jiang Dayu had heard that livestreaming could make money. But how exactly it worked, and what kind of people could actually earn from it, he had no clue. So when the village announced a free training program to teach them how to livestream and do e-commerce, he clung to it like a lifeline and signed up immediately.

But after registering, he and his wife started to worry.

His wife was a hardworking, traditional woman—great at farming or hauling bricks at a construction site—but ask her to talk to a camera? Chat with strangers online? Just the thought of it made her feel faint.

Jiang Dayu was slightly better. He usually handled the “diplomatic affairs” at home and had no trouble talking to other villagers. But the moment he faced a camera, he couldn’t get a single word out.

After the first training session, the instructor Wei Sheng had brought in was nearly ready to jump off a building.

“Boss Jiang, these villagers just won’t do! Their Mandarin is rough, and while the dialect might be charming to local audiences, it’s barely a bonus. Worse, they freeze up on camera, and when they do speak, it’s all stammering. What are we supposed to do?”

The instructor was so flustered that he slipped into his hometown dialect.

“Don’t panic. Let’s do a test livestream first so I can see for myself.” As the boss, Wei Sheng had to be the calmest one in the room. Still, he was surprised they couldn’t find even one decent candidate. That didn’t make sense.

He’d reviewed the list of trainees. Aside from a few who were full-time farmers or odd-job workers, most were regular vendors at local markets. They might not be silver-tongued, but they were used to dealing with strangers. If you couldn’t talk to people, how could you survive in a rural market?

But after watching a few test streams in the studio, Wei Sheng finally figured out what the problem was.

It wasn’t the trainees who were unqualified. It was the training team’s strategy that was flawed.

To put it simply, the company’s training materials for Forked Ridge were nearly identical to what they had used in Haitangyuan Street. But the issue was, the scripts and sales pitches used by professional livestreamers—while effective in cities—didn’t translate well to rural settings. These market vendors had completely different customer bases and communication styles compared to mainstream e-commerce.

“Boss, I really tried… o(╥﹏╥)o”

Fang Cheng, the lead instructor, was on the verge of tears.

He’d been training teams for two years and had never encountered a situation like this.

“Let me think… That’s enough for today. Have everyone go home and rest.”

The next morning, Wei Sheng gathered the training team and headed back to the local rural market.

The market was as lively as ever. But after crouching there and observing for a long time, Wei Sheng finally noticed what made this place different.

“Are all these vendors socially anxious or something? Why isn’t anyone shouting to attract customers?” Fang Cheng had noticed it too.

They hadn’t picked up on it before, but after careful observation that day, they realized that vendors in Forked Ridge—whether they were full-time sellers or locals hawking their own goods—pretty much all behaved the same. They’d set up their stalls, lay out their products, then sit back and sip tea, puff on dry tobacco, or chat. Only when someone approached would they say a few words. Haggling was minimal.

In short, their business style was extremely laid-back.

The products were laid out, the prices were about the same across the board. Buy it or don’t—your call.

Even more baffling, not only were the sellers socially reserved, the buyers were too.

There were a few vendors from out of town selling fruit, clothes, or leather shoes, shouting into loudspeakers to draw attention. But hardly anyone stopped by. Instead, the stalls where the sellers just quietly displayed their goods were swarmed with people browsing in a self-service fashion. Once they found something they liked, they’d call the vendor over to ask the price.

Even the haggling was Zen-like.

Customer: “Can you go a little cheaper?”

The shopkeeper replied, “Five yuan less!”

If the customer was satisfied, they’d pay and leave with their goods.

If not, they’d just move on to browse other stalls.

There were even more socially anxious vendors who skipped the whole bargaining process altogether. They’d simply write the price on a piece of scrap cardboard with a calligraphy brush, then add a line underneath: “Small business, no haggling, thank you!”

Wei Sheng: “…”

With social anxiety like that, how are they supposed to livestream and sell products?!

“Let’s give it a try. We’ll change up the livestreaming style. There are plenty of socially anxious folks online these days—maybe someone will actually like this kind of vibe,” said Wei Sheng, finally making the call after an all-night meeting.

Village Chief Jiang Yongzhi hadn’t expected to run into this kind of problem either. The villagers couldn’t shout into the camera, nor could they dance around while yelling, “3, 2, 1, click the link!” So how were they supposed to livestream?

“Boss Wei, I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect it to be like this,” Jiang Yongzhi said, embarrassed.

Still, apology aside, as village chief, Jiang Yongzhi sincerely hoped Wei Sheng’s team could give them another shot at success.

He had never studied psychology and didn’t really understand what social anxiety meant. To him, it just seemed like being quiet. If you don’t know how to talk, you can learn, right?

“I’ll think of something,” Wei Sheng sighed.

He already had an idea in mind, but whether it would actually work, he couldn’t say for sure.

At that moment, a certain figure suddenly appeared in Wei Sheng’s mind…

This person’s name was Jiang Yayan. Just from the name, you could tell his parents had high hopes for him.

Unfortunately, he was famously socially anxious in their class. Not only was he bad at talking, he outright refused to communicate with others. To minimize verbal interaction with his roommates, he even invented a set of “Common Social Interaction Cards.”

These cards were meticulously designed. The front displayed what he wanted to say, while the back had reusable sticky notes. If he needed to borrow homework or ask someone to grab him food, he’d just hand over a card.

He was quite particular about it too. For requests that required more effort—like asking someone to pick up fruit from the market or bring back barbecue—he’d write the delivery fee on the back of the card so they’d know to bring it back for him.

Wei Sheng once thought Yayan was mute. Then one day, he saw him pick up a phone call and argue with his dad for a bit. That’s when Wei Sheng realized—this guy could talk after all!

Wei Sheng had always been a social butterfly. He couldn’t understand why someone with a perfectly good mouth would go to the trouble of making cards to “speak” for themselves, especially when a single sentence could do the job.

That is, until one day, Yayan suddenly started dating—a girl from their department who was also socially anxious.

Watching the two of them sit face-to-face, chatting fervently via WeChat instead of talking out loud, Wei Sheng finally understood. Socially anxious people weren’t friendless. In fact, they might be even more active online than the extroverts.

Maybe he could borrow a page from Yayan’s book and design a set of official communication scripts for the Forked Ridge crew?

“What? You want these streamers to give up interacting with fans and just read from a script?” Fang Cheng stared at his boss in disbelief.

“Unless you think you can get these villagers to shout ‘Old irons, 666!’ into the camera, or dance while yelling ‘3, 2, 1, click the link’?” Wei Sheng shot him a look.

Fang Cheng: “…”

“Let’s give it a try. Who knows, maybe reading from the script will help them warm up to the camera over time.”

“So… we’re doing it?”

And so, that night, the very first livestream of the Forked Ridge e-commerce incubator platform began in a makeshift studio converted from a village home.

The day before the livestream, Wei Sheng had asked his friends to help spread the word and shared the link with the crew of the film adaptation of New Song of Sending Off the Lover.

Originally, he’d planned to have the cast interact with the Forked Ridge villagers during the livestream while they were filming nearby. But the lead actress refused to change the script, so Director Chen Shu pinned all his hopes on the drama version of New Song of Sending Off the Lover and sped up production. As a result, by the time the livestream platform was ready, the film crew had already wrapped up their outdoor shoots.

Still, since the village had served as a filming location, the crew gave them some face. Everyone helped share the link, and the director even had the film’s official social media account repost it.

Even so, the brand-new livestream didn’t attract much traffic. Most of the viewers were Wei Sheng’s own fans.

As a die-hard fan of “Teacher Wei,” Jiang Xinyue didn’t just tune in herself—she also sent out a company-wide message urging everyone to help boost the new livestream’s popularity. But to her surprise, the more people watched, the more confused they became.

What was up with today’s host? They were just reading from a script the whole time? Not even trying to hype things up? And could they at least look into the camera once?

Jiang Xinyue exited the stream with a puzzled look, then clicked back in through the link Wei Sheng had posted. Yep, same middle-aged uncle as before.

What the heck was going on?

(End of chapter)

Translator’s Notes

• “3, 2, 1, click the link!”: A common countdown tactic in Chinese e-commerce livestreams to create urgency and prompt viewers to immediately click the purchase link before a deal ends.