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    Chapter 48: The Rising Star Who Died from Cyberbullying (4)

    The process of making kudzu starch wasn’t complicated. From Xie Hui’s perspective, it was similar to the sweet potato starch he had tried making a long time ago.

    After letting it settle in a large vat overnight, Xie Xingzhou and his dad poured out the excess water. When he saw the thin layer left at the bottom, his eyes widened in disbelief.

    “Dad, we bought so much, and this is all we have left?”

    Although Xie Xingzhou had grown up in the countryside, he had never actually seen the process of making kudzu starch. Now, as he helped his dad pack it into dried green tangerine peels for storage, his eyes were filled with curiosity and amazement.

    Xie Hui let him take his time stuffing the peels while he headed to the kitchen to prepare lunch.

    Even though this son of his was a little older, Xie Hui liked him well enough. From a mission perspective, a task involving someone this age was actually more suitable.

    In the previous world, Xie Hui had raised Xie Qi’an from childhood, watching over her until she got married and had children. The emotional investment had been overwhelming—so intense that even now, just thinking about it stirred emotions deep within him.

    All he could do was force himself to focus entirely on this world’s mission.

    The client had been pitiful, and the mission target, Xie Xingzhou, was just as pitiful.

    Now, sitting on a small stool in the courtyard, carefully filling tangerine peels with kudzu starch, was a bright and cheerful young man.

    But in the original timeline, he had chosen to jump to his death in despair, just to prove his innocence.

    The stark contrast between sunlight and darkness made Xie Hui’s knife strokes noticeably heavier.

    What he hated most about these old-school worlds was the “protagonist innocence trope.” If the same situation had involved a supporting character, people would have dragged their ancestors through the mud.

    After finishing the meal, Xie Hui carried the dishes to the wooden table he had made in the courtyard. Before he could call Xie Xingzhou over to eat, he heard a loud yelp.

    “Ahh!! Dad, that damn goose pecked me again!”

    After finally chasing the big goose away, Xie Xingzhou sat down at the table, clutching his leg while grimacing.

    During the hot summer, he usually wore just a pair of shorts at home. Even by his own judgment, he had basically made it too easy for the goose to attack him.

    “Dad, how about we cook this goose in an iron pot for New Year’s?”

    Xie Hui had specifically bought this goose as a guard animal—it had cost him a fair bit of money. Without even looking up, he responded,

    “You look more like an iron pot.”

    Xie Xingzhou silently picked up his bowl and angrily chomped down on a mouthful of rice, as if venting his frustration on it instead of the goose.

    Once the kudzu starch had dried completely, Xie Hui stored most of it in an airtight container, leaving only a small portion aside. He mixed some with water in a bowl, sprinkled dried osmanthus flowers on top, stirred it well, and handed it to Xie Xingzhou.

    “Dad, aren’t you having some?”

    Even as he asked, Xie Xingzhou took the bowl without hesitation.

    His dad’s kudzu starch reminded him of the kind his dormmate had bought online before. That one was also stored in dried green tangerine peels.

    But in terms of taste, Xie Hui’s version was on a completely different level—it was a hundred times better.

    Aside from the strong osmanthus fragrance, there was also a unique, pleasant aroma. Xie Xingzhou finished the small serving in under a minute.

    “Take some to school and share with your dormmates. Thank them for looking out for you.”

    In the original story, Xie Xingzhou’s dormmates had taken good care of him. After his suicide, they had even tried to defend him, but public opinion was overwhelmingly against him. No matter how hard the five of them fought to explain, it was like trying to extinguish a fire with a cup of water.

    One of them had even been doxxed.

    Xie Xingzhou nodded and brought up another topic.

    “Dad, how are our chili peppers doing this year? Last time, you gave me some chili sauce, and my dormmates said it was amazing. They even asked if you were a professional chef.”

    Xie Hui glanced at his oblivious, carefree son and suddenly felt a headache coming on.

    With a personality like his, the only reason he had been able to rise to fame in the entertainment industry in the original timeline was probably just his looks.

    The original host had been an ordinary man with decent cooking skills, but nothing extraordinary. The reason his dormmates had praised his chili sauce so much was likely because they were trying to protect Xie Xingzhou’s self-esteem.

    “The basket’s hanging under the eaves. Go pick some fully ripened red chilies from the field. Since there’s not much farm work right now, I’ll make some for you.”

    “Alright! I’ll wash this bowl first, then I’ll go.”

    While Xie Xingzhou was washing dishes, Xie Hui was already considering ways to make money—maybe he could hire a good manager for his son.

    Making chili sauce would also be a good opportunity to film another video.

    Xie Hui imported all the footage from his phone into his computer. Since he had already talked to his son about it beforehand, he quickly edited a video and uploaded it to several platforms.

    Since he wasn’t under any contracts at the moment, he figured posting on multiple sites was fine.

    To maximize monetization, he even uploaded the video to an international content-sharing site.

    After finishing that, he closed the laptop and started calculating whether his summer earnings would be enough to buy Xie Xingzhou a new computer.

    The original host had bought the best computer he could afford, but Xie Xingzhou had been reluctant to ask for anything too expensive. From Xie Hui’s perspective, this computer was way too outdated—barely functional for a college student, let alone for gaming.

    When Xie Xingzhou returned with a basket full of chilies, he immediately started removing the stems in the courtyard.

    The original host hadn’t bothered removing the seeds when making chili sauce, but Xie Hui wasn’t comfortable with that—he worried there might be bugs inside the peppers.

    Waving his hand, Xie Hui shooed Xie Xingzhou to the side and started working on the chili paste himself.

    The client had spent a lifetime doing farm work, and his hands were thickly calloused. When washing out the chili seeds, the burning sensation was slightly less intense for him.

    “Dad, how about I record this for you?”

    Xie Xingzhou picked up his phone and aimed it at his dad washing the chilies, seriously playing the role of a human camera stand.

    While preparing the chili paste, Xie Hui asked about his son’s roommates and, after learning where they were from, made multiple batches of chili paste.

    For those from spicy food regions, he made it extra spicy. For those who couldn’t handle spice, he made a milder, savory version.

    Since they were all students, the chili paste would mostly be used as a meal accompaniment—it’s not like they could use it for cooking.

    “Dad, I feel like this chili paste tastes way better than the last batch.”

    Watching his dad cook, Xie Xingzhou couldn’t help but swallow his saliva.

    “I’ll save you some. You can try it tonight.”

    That was exactly what Xie Xingzhou was waiting for. He nodded eagerly, agreeing immediately.

    “Awesome!”

    That night, Xie Hui took out his phone to check the performance of his uploaded videos.

    Since video-sharing platforms were just emerging, there weren’t many creators making this type of content. On top of that, the platforms were putting a lot of effort into attracting users and even offering special benefits to dedicated content creators.

    Xie Hui was essentially the first domestic content creator in this niche. Although his filming equipment wasn’t the best, since the industry was still in its infancy, the response was surprisingly positive.

    The soothing guzheng music in the background was recorded by Xie Hui himself using a music software. Most of the tracks were his own past compositions.

    The calming music seemed to bring peace to viewers’ hearts. The videos had little background noise and very few spoken words.

    More importantly, many viewers found that after watching the videos, the background music helped improve their sleep quality.

    Many people struggled with insomnia, staying up late into the night. But when they heard the music in Xie Hui’s videos, they felt sleepy almost instantly.

    At first, people thought it was just a coincidence, but when one viewer shared their experience in the comment section, many others chimed in, agreeing that they felt the same effect.

    With the platform’s algorithm boosting exposure, the high-quality content retained many viewers, and the strong engagement led to even more exposure, creating a positive feedback loop.

    Spending the summer helping his dad film videos, Xie Xingzhou had a relaxing and fulfilling vacation. When it was time to return to school, he felt a bit reluctant to leave.

    Xie Hui hadn’t signed any exclusive contracts with any platforms, but his videos had already started generating income.

    With his first earnings, he bought a new high-performance computer for his son, keeping the old one for himself.

    That old computer would struggle with large-scale gaming and would probably crash, but for simple video editing, it was still barely usable.

    Xie Hui, being a bit particular, wasn’t entirely satisfied with it, but given the circumstances, he could only make do for now.

    Without a production team, making high-quality videos was challenging. He had already done his best within his capabilities.

    If conditions improved in the future, instead of focusing on post-production editing, Xie Hui would rather invest in better filming equipment first.

    On the other hand, for the first time, Xie Xingzhou returned to school without carrying a large woven sack, avoiding the usual strange looks from others.

    Previously, he had never cared about the curious or judgmental stares. Given his family’s financial situation, he didn’t feel embarrassed about packing his belongings in a woven sack.

    Rather than spending his dad’s hard-earned money on a suitcase, he preferred to keep using the sack. It wasn’t like a few extra glances would cost him anything.

    But this summer, his dad had secretly bought him a new suitcase. Since it was already purchased, he couldn’t refuse to use it.

    When he arrived at the dorm, his roommates had all returned earlier than him.

    Xie Xingzhou unpacked the food his dad had asked him to share with them. The portions were already divided evenly, but the roommates only took a small amount out of courtesy.

    They accepted the chili paste but simply stored it in their cabinets without touching it.

    Seeing their reluctance, Xie Xingzhou didn’t push them and quietly put away the rest.

    At first, no one in the dorm noticed anything unusual. They were used to seeing Xie Xingzhou eat mantou (steamed buns) with chili paste, so they thought nothing of it.

    Until one day, one of the roommates ran low on living expenses after buying some things. Trying to stretch his budget, he found plain mantou hard to swallow and decided to copy Xie Xingzhou by adding a bit of chili paste.

    He took a bite, chewed twice, and then suddenly froze.

    “Holy sh*t?!!!”


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