Making money is nothing to be ashamed of

Years later.

Little Cannon was attending a gala.

Just as he stepped off the stage, his assistant came rushing over in a panic.

"Director Feng, Director Feng..."

A Cantonese veteran singer nearby instinctively chimed in, singing a line from an old hit: "Strike the south first! The wind... scatters dreams!"

"..."

"..."

The scene fell into awkward silence.

Even a bit chilly.

The singer quickly nodded in apology and hurried away.

Pretty embarrassing.

Damn it.

Our dashing guy rarely makes a comeback, and the first thing he encounters is this mess. Who’s to blame?

Only the song’s overwhelming popularity back in the day.

It’s ingrained in everyone’s bones, okay?

Especially since the assistant’s frantic, high-pitched tone matched the opening of Let Everything Go with the Wind.

...

Little Cannon didn’t dwell on it.

Mainly because his assistant was too flustered.

"What’s the matter?"

"Director Feng, it’s bad, really bad!"

"I can damn well tell from your face, so stop yapping and get to the point," Little Cannon snapped.

The assistant finally calmed down a bit.

But what the assistant didn’t know was that Little Cannon was already considering replacing him.

This assistant had only been with him for two or three years. He was handy and sharp-eyed, but his jumpy personality, fine in private, felt downright embarrassing in public.

If word got out, people might think Boss Cannon couldn’t manage his team or mentor his staff—basically, incompetent.

...

The assistant quickly explained the situation.

Little Cannon was stunned. "What? My Weibo and short videos got bombed?"

"No."

"Someone’s targeting me on a large scale?"

"No."

"Damn it..."

Little Cannon was furious.

He was getting on in years and hadn’t suffered many setbacks lately.

The only real trouble he’d faced was from Young Master Cao.

Even now, Young Master Cao rarely singled him out, even when promoting films—no longer fixated on tormenting him alone.

After finally enjoying a few peaceful years in his twilight, why was he suddenly under attack again?

These youngsters nowadays don’t know how to respect their elders.

Every Tom, Dick, and Harry thinks they can mess with his accounts.

Little Cannon growled, "Who started this?"

"It’s... it’s Cao Cheng’s fans."

"Damn that Cao—wait, Cao Cheng? Who’s Cao Cheng?"

The words slipped out before his expression shifted. "Young Master Cao?"

The assistant nodded hurriedly.

This assistant was young, having only worked under Little Cannon for a few years.

He’d never met Young Master Cao or witnessed the history between him and Little Cannon, but he’d heard bits and pieces.

He just couldn’t tell whether they were genuine rivals, sworn enemies, or old friends who’d bonded through conflict.

Hard to say.

Little Cannon’s lips moved, cursing under his breath, but no sound escaped.

After a moment, he waved it off. "Forget them. I’ve got a packed schedule—no time for petty squabbles."

"..."

The assistant’s mouth twitched. "Right, right. I’ll arrange the car then."

Little Cannon dismissed him with a wave.

Once the assistant was gone and no one was around, Little Cannon stealthily pulled out his phone and checked his platforms.

He had no clue what was happening.

And he wasn’t about to investigate in front of his subordinates—what if he couldn’t retaliate later? That’d be humiliating.

So now, in private, he scrolled through the online chaos.

After some digging, he realized Young Master Cao wasn’t really involved.

It was just fans stirring trouble, spreading word about the movie’s end credits to new fans.

Some busybodies actually went back to check.

That’s when they noticed the post-credits acknowledgment of Young Master Cao—fulfilling the bet—along with that cringeworthy line: Young Master Cao is the most handsome...

But it flashed by at the very end, almost as soon as it appeared.

...

Which was why fans were pissed.

They called Little Cannon sneaky—if you can’t honor a bet, why make it?

Squeezing every loophole to fulfill it? No wonder they say you’ve got a small heart... and other small things.

That’s what some fans said.

Probably venting Young Master Cao’s anger for him, straight-up roasting Little Cannon.

They claimed his nose, face, aura, even his walk—everything screamed small package.

Damn it.

That’s crossing the line.

Little Cannon laughed in fury.

If these weren’t Young Master Cao’s fans, he’d have... whatever, no point arguing with tasteless fangirls.

Even if I am small, I still get whatever I want.

Pfft!

...

But Little Cannon knew he had to respond.

Otherwise,

these fangirls would never let it go.

Ordinary fans might curse him a few times and move on.

But Young Master Cao’s fans were different—once they targeted someone, they’d hound them into existential crisis.

Especially the older ones. No swearing, no family insults—just clever little stories, never naming names.

Sometimes their analyses were scarily accurate.

Like the small package theory.

No legal recourse there.

Resigned, Little Cannon called his PR head to draft a response.

Future movies would acknowledge Young Master Cao right at the start—

Let everyone hear him call Young Master Cao handsome.

Happy now?

Damn it.

Little Cannon was exasperated.

Though he used to find it humiliating, now he barely cared.

...

Because the world was entering an era of entertainment. People were more accepting.

Even state media.

Unless it was a matter of principle, folks were incredibly tolerant.

Everyone loved jokes.

Could take a joke, too.

A great time for filmmakers.

In this era, even if you screwed up, people wouldn’t curse your entire family or wish death upon you—just some lighthearted sarcasm.

This "cyberbullying" was miles better than before.

Back then, it was genuine curses, mom insults, ancestors dragged through mud—even real-life assaults on actors who played villains.

Now?

Many villains had fanbases. Audiences separated actors from roles.

The more hate a character drew, the more support the actor got—proof of their skill.

What a difference.

...

But.

Many people, even companies, hadn’t fully grasped this entertainment era.

Those who did? Already raking in profits.

Take the brand Baleno.

They leaned into Old Huang’s infamous "country bumpkin" dig—the one that nearly sank them—and it drew flocks of new buyers.

That’s understanding the times.

Others?

Like Brother Kun.

Embraced self-mockery, memes—blew up nationwide.

But...

Some Brother Kuns.

Like the no-skills singer.

Misread the era, got roasted by memes...

Sure, the trolls went too far.

But his response? Out of touch.

Invited even more sarcasm.

Fans these days love to meme everything.

Of course,

you can't really say whether this era is good or bad.

Everyone has their own definition.

But Xiao Gangpao knows—he’s sharp enough to recognize when to lean into self-deprecation and meme culture.

Especially as an entertainer or director.

Fans eat it up when you poke fun at yourself or play along with the jokes.

At the end of the day, it’s about making a living.

Nothing to be ashamed of!