I Became Famous After I Became a Parrot in the Movie Star's House - Chapter 87

A new work after a long absence.

This is also the final step toward achieving 100 works, so it must carry a sense of ceremony.

Bai Gaoxing doesn’t rush to turn on the camera. Instead, he stretches his wings for a while, loosening his muscles and bones as he ponders the type of short video to shoot next.

The sound of flapping wings echoes in the living room, accompanied by the sight of loose feathers drifting through the air. The snow-white parrot methodically picks up the fallen feathers and politely places them into the trash can. Once finished, he perches on the screen again.

He turns on the camera.

As the boot animation illuminates the screen, a desktop filled with various live-streaming software appears before him.

Xinghuo—click!

Bai Gaoxing skillfully logs into the software and enters Li Pu’s account backstage.

As expected, more than half a month has passed since the last upload, right after the award ceremony. The number of likes and comments has surged so much that it now displays as an ellipsis. His private messages are similarly overwhelmed, with new avatars crowding the top. Scrolling further down reveals countless more.

A quick glance shows that most messages are filled with adoration and pleas for Li Pu to return with new videos soon. Fans lament how lonely they feel without Dabai.

If only they knew… Bai Gaoxing thinks. He really wants to tell them the truth: Li Pu is completely unreliable, and all these works are the result of Dabai’s initiative.

Bai Gaoxing shakes his head helplessly, performing a very human-like gesture. Regardless of his thoughts, the secret has to remain hidden—from everyone, including Li Pu.

By now, Bai Gaoxing is nearly certain that Li Pu no longer checks Xinghuo. Since posting his first short video months ago, the parrot has experienced countless moments of anxiety over the possibility of being discovered. But those fears turn out to be unwarranted. Over time, he becomes more daring, and reality seems to encourage him with a clear message: Don’t be afraid! Go wild!

Even Li Pu’s fans adapt, shifting their enthusiasm from Weibo to Xinghuo. In the beginning, each new video sparks a viral sensation, but now the audience approaches each upload with calm excitement.

Bai Gaoxing is satisfied. From any perspective, the chances of being caught secretly managing Xinghuo have significantly diminished. Still, he occasionally ponders safer methods, like uninstalling the Xinghuo software after each session and reinstalling it before logging in again.

However, the verification process is a hassle. He rarely has access to Li Pu’s phone, let alone the rare scenario where both “Li Pu isn’t home” and “Li Pu’s phone is at home” occur simultaneously.

After some self-analysis, Bai Gaoxing concludes with a classic lament: It’s just inconvenient being a bird. Resolving to locate Li Pu’s mobile number in the coming days, he moves forward with his plans.

With everything ready, Bai Gaoxing pulls out the video recorder, now covered in a fine layer of dust, and positions it toward himself.

…

At the same time, Li Pu, who is jogging downstairs as usual, receives a call from his agent.

“The filming of Cute Pet Diary is over—congratulations,” a woman’s voice comes through the line. “I was so busy yesterday I nearly forgot your schedule, and by the time I remembered, it was already quite late.”

The filming wraps up, and though Lei Li normally follows up on matters like this immediately, Cute Pet Diary is a relaxed, daily reality show centered on adorable pets. It doesn’t demand her urgency.

“Yeah,” Li Pu replies, his breath heavier than usual from finishing his run. The cool morning breeze chills his nose, and he takes a deep breath before asking, “What’s the matter?”

The agent, surprised that Li Pu is up so early, gets straight to business without further small talk.

“Cute Pet Diary received a great response. The production team hopes the guests can collaborate to promote the show until the season ends.”

“Great response” is an understatement. The show sparks a pet adoption craze. Viewers are captivated by the intelligence and charm of the four featured pets and are inspired to welcome new furry (or feathered) companions into their lives.

Some fans even go a step further, posting detailed guides on the show’s official forums about responsibly raising pets. These guides aim to prevent impulsive adoptions, fostering a mindset of care and responsibility toward these new lives.

In short, the trend is overwhelmingly positive, and Lei Li finds herself pleased with the impact the show has created.

As Lei Li anticipates, Li Pu asks, “How do they want us to help?”

Lei Li flips through her notes. “The usual process. Posting on Weibo and resharing posts from the official account. But this time, because of the live stream element, the team hopes each guest will do at least one live broadcast with the official hashtag before the season ends. If that’s not possible, they can add promotions to their personal posts.”

The frequent live streams seem aimed at all the guests, but Lei Li can tell the “if not” is specifically targeting Li Pu.

She already has his schedule planned. “The movie audition is in two weeks. You don’t have many commitments right now, so you can find time to do a live stream next week. Also, you can post more short videos with official tags. Weibo… should I handle that, or will you?”

After a brief pause, Li Pu replies, “Let’s keep it the same as before.”

Lei Li hesitates, sensing something off. “You’re not posting it yourself?”

In the past, Li Pu always hands over such tasks to the company. She is used to it. However, given his good performance recently and the fact that his personal involvement often leads to better results, she decides to ask.

Unexpectedly, Li Pu’s response mirrors his old habits, dampening her enthusiasm.

His voice comes through the line. “Sister Li, please handle Weibo for me. Let the company take care of the live stream. As for the short videos… I don’t plan on shooting any for now.”

Lei Li: “……?”

Are you listening to yourself?

Isn’t this the same man who posts Dabai’s videos almost daily? The same man who constantly shares how clever and adorable Dabai is?

Even with her years of experience in the entertainment industry, Lei Li can’t help but be exasperated by Li Pu’s blatant double standards.

“I get that personal hobbies and commercial promotions are different,” she says, trying to rein in her irritation, “but since the content is essentially the same, you don’t have to reject it entirely.”

She adds, “Besides, didn’t you handle the material for the last program perfectly?”

Lei Li takes a deep breath, holding back the words, “You’re a damn Schrödinger when it comes to shooting Dabai, aren’t you?” Instead, she silently tells herself: Stay calm. Getting angry only harms yourself.

What do people online call this kind of behavior? Saying one thing but doing another? Honest hypocrisy?

After all these years, she has come to understand Li Pu’s personality. If persuasion worked, she would have succeeded long ago. Better to save her breath.

Still, she can’t resist adding, “The company’s shooting and your own shooting are fundamentally different. After all, you’re Dabai’s owner.”

There is silence on the other end of the call, but Lei Li feels a small sense of victory. She exhales and continues, “Forget it. Let’s stick to the usual way. I have other things to handle, so I’ll hang up now. Contact me if you have any questions.”

“…Okay.”

Li Pu stares at the screen of his phone after the call ends, her words lingering in his mind.

She has a point. As Dabai’s owner, he really should take full responsibility, instead of dismissing it as “unnecessary extra work.”

Glancing toward his home, Li Pu notices how the morning light reflects off the transparent French windows. From this distance and angle, he can’t see inside clearly, but he has the vague impression of a small white figure standing there.

Probably just a trick of the light, he thinks, turning away and heading back.

Meanwhile, Bai Gaoxing has already finished filming his video for the day.

Since it has been a while, he puts extra effort into this one, avoiding his usual casual approach. Instead, he uses a popular cute pet template: “The master isn’t home today, so it’s party time!”

Rather than using a prerecorded dubbing function, he voices the lines himself.

Humming a cheerful tune, he tinkers with the screen for a moment before sending out the video.

Not long after, fans flood in.

【Ahhhh, Teacher Li, you’re finally back!】

【I’ve been waiting so long the flowers I planted have wilted!】

【If you don’t post something soon, I’m coming to your house to steal Dabai!!!】

Satisfaction.

Pure satisfaction.

Satisfied, he presses his claw next to a comment and thinks, I really want to give this a thumbs up.

But alas, his parrot physiology betrays him. He rubs his claw against the screen a few times, only to be interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

“Click.”

The door opens.

Bai Gaoxing flies over to greet Li Pu, his entire body radiating joy. His fluff glows like a baby chick, soft and adorable.

Li Pu notices his parrot’s unusually good mood. Dabai’s round black eyes gaze at him warmly, and the bird exudes an affectionate air.

Lei Li’s words echo in his mind. Acting on impulse, Li Pu reaches out and scratches the parrot’s cheek.

Bai Gaoxing squints in satisfaction, leaning into the touch. He nuzzles Li Pu with his beak, a soft and endearing gesture.

A faint smile appears in Li Pu’s eyes.

Setting his thoughts aside for the time being, he rolls up his sleeves and heads to the kitchen to make breakfast.

The morning passes as it always does—simple and serene, like a small flower blooming in a winter greenhouse.

The parrot, as usual, tries to steal his food, and Li Pu deftly pushes him away. This is followed by reading, going over scripts, and a midday nap.

By the time night falls, Li Pu suddenly realizes the day has slipped away.

The snow-white fluff is fast asleep in its cage.

Li Pu’s gaze lingers on the parrot for a moment. He thinks back to how Dabai has stopped snuggling up to him at night, probably because of the static electricity generated by his autumn and winter sweaters. The bird has been zapped one too many times.

Li Pu closes the script in his hands, his attention caught by the glow of his phone screen. It lights up with another batch of spam messages. He picks it up, hesitates briefly, and then unlocks it.

Scrolling through the apps, his eyes land on one he’s barely ever used: Xinghuo.

In this era of fast-paced live streaming and fragmented information, he’s never seriously considered diving into it. He’s ignored the company’s occasional nudges to embrace the platform.

But now, for Dabai’s sake, perhaps he can give it a try.

Li Pu’s fingers hover over the app icon, lingering as if debating his next move. Finally, he taps it, making up his mind.

“…”

This account doesn’t seem like his.

This account definitely isn’t his.

Scanning it quickly, he notices a parrot profile picture, countless notifications, and a backlog of new friend requests.

Without a second thought, he logs out of the account.

Li Pu’s confusion deepens. He’s never used his account after setting it up, and the company has promised not to use it for business without his permission. The account is supposed to remain untouched, saved for some hypothetical future use.

Could it be that Dashu registered a backup account at some point?

Li Pu searches his memory but comes up empty. His assistant rarely mentions live streaming—except for that one time when they suggested live streaming with Dabai using the company’s Xinghuo account.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and Li Pu logs back into the app, navigating to the account settings.

Username: Li Pu.

“…?”

Li Pu glances at the account ID. Although he doesn’t have a strong impression of it, he’s certain it’s his. The ID’s suffix is one he distinctly remembers setting up himself.

Next, he checks the number of followers: 39.7 million.

It has to be his.

Li Pu’s brows furrow. When did this happen? Has the company gone behind his back and started posting content using his account?

That seems unlikely. The account password is known only to his agent, who has always honored his wishes regarding live streaming.

Suspicion bubbles in his chest. Determined to get to the bottom of it, Li Pu completely logs out, searches his phone’s notepad for the account credentials, and logs in again.

It’s still the same account.

The confusion in Li Pu’s eyes deepens. He recalls that some platforms automatically post a generic greeting message when logging into an account for the first time—like Weibo.

That must be it, he thinks.

But then he clicks into the “My Works” section.

The screen fills with an overwhelming grid of videos. Bright, colorful thumbnails crowd his vision, their sheer volume almost blinding.

And at the top, bold and unmistakable:

[You have successfully published 100 works.]

Li Pu: ???