Why My Sponsor Going Crazy Sending Me Money? - Chapter 12
Ah Long didn’t understand, perhaps she just wasn’t enlightened enough, Why the people around her had suddenly started discussing movies. Every single one of them was armed to the teeth, exuding arrogance, yet here they were, passionately debating cinematography techniques.
This was far more terrifying than if they’d been analyzing their earlier conquest of the street. Ah Long screamed internally, ‘Why don’t you talk about how you just occupied an entire block instead?!’
At least then, her emotions wouldn’t be yanked back and forth like this. Even surrounded by a dozen guns, she felt no real sense of danger, just the overwhelming impression that these people were insane.
Still, she suppressed her frustration. Interrupting was out of the question. What really mattered was that they were veering further and further off course.
Ah Long’s eyes widened as she took in their surroundings. Weren’t we just passing cornfields? How had they suddenly arrived in this hyper-modern town, where every storefront, even the floating screens overhead was playing films?
‘So this is a world of art and culture’, she concluded.
Before she could observe further, someone shoved her into a plain room. Ah Long cursed under her breath. ‘Too busy staring at the movies, didn’t even notice where we were going.’
But she remained calm. The livestream audience would fill her in.
She scanned the room. A conspicuous surveillance camera sat in the upper right corner, nothing else noteworthy.
Ah Long flopped onto the bed, letting her veil block the camera’s view. To outsiders, it’d look like she was muttering to herself, but she was actually chatting with her viewers.
“Why is everyone ‘worried’ yet donating more than ever?” she mused aloud, scrolling through pages of donations. Plenty of red gems, though none surpassed the 999-gem tier reserved for her top patron.
“Wow, hypocrites much?”
Cross-referencing timestamps, she noticed donations peaked when the gun was at her head. Notably, her top patron hadn’t contributed during that time.
‘So in life-or-death moments, people just want entertainment.’ A pang of loneliness crept in. From start to finish, ‘I’ve always been alone. Nothing’s changed.’
She shook it off with a wry smile. “I didn’t see the route when they brought me in. Did anyone catch it?”
Her tone betrayed nothing, but the chat’s glib responses stung, until a golden lightning-streaked message dominated the screen for a full 10 seconds.
Her patron had spoken.
Ah Long’s breath hitched. He noticed. While others donated, he watched.
The chat continued:
[“How can the streamer still laugh in this situation? Heartless much?”]
[“Ah Long, be careful! These people might actually kill!”]
She almost laughed, not from callousness, but because someone had seen through her act.
Truthfully, she’d never experienced anything like this. Even at her lowest, she’d only ever stood atop buildings, tempted to jump. But she knew she’d never make it up there.
‘Being held at gunpoint?’
Unthinkable.
Yet here, in this absurdity, she found an unexpected redemption, proof that someone saw her.
The realization made her greedy. ‘What if he says more?’ But the golden messages didn’t return.
Before she could dwell, an explosion rocked the building. Ah Long clung to the bed as the ground trembled. Subsequent blasts followed, but no more tremors, likely intercepted midair.
The chat erupted:
[“Streamer just got a war correspondent experience!”]
[“Pure audio with imagined visuals—what a trip!”]
Ah Long ignored them, debating whether to message her patron, when the door swung open.
The lanky man from earlier entered. Xin Hong, he introduced himself, settling into a chair.
Ah Long mirrored him, keeping her expression neutral.
“We’ve confirmed you’re not from Lm City,” Xin Hong said, tapping his translator. “Frankly, I’m not even from this planet,” she admitted, hoping the interstellar implications might buy leverage.
“Do you know what those Galaxy Hotel guests were doing?”
‘How would I?’
“I don’t know them,” she lied, widening her eyes pitifully.
“They insulted The Sorrow of Beiheze, our city’s cinematic masterpiece.”
Ah Long barely stifled her disbelief. This planet’s priorities are… unique.
Xin Hong mistook her silence for agreement. “You understand! It’s transcendent art!” His face darkened abruptly. “We need your help luring them out.”
He reached behind his back, Ah Long’s pulse spiked, but produced only a data drive.
“This is the film. Watch it. Let its truth guide you.”
She forced a smile. “Is this… The Sorrow of Beiheze?”
At his nod, she vowed, “I’ll watch it immediately.” Only when he left did she collapse onto the bed.
“Aba-Aba!” she hissed.
“Master performed excellently,” the robot intoned. “Please livestream the film.”
“Obviously.”
Odd… Aba-Aba hadn’t once mentioned “spreading Chinese culture.” What’s its real agenda?
No time to ponder. She queued up the film, warning the chat:
“Take notes. Your reviews might save my life.”
Viewers reacted:
[“I’ve seen it. Nothing praiseworthy.. maybe a cultural gap?”]
[“I can fake admiration if needed.”]
[“Wait, spoilers—”]
Ah Long slapped a hand over the screen. “No spoilers! First-time viewers deserve the experience.”
Four hours later, the credits rolled. The film chronicled the painstaking restoration of a statue named Beiheze, a process presented with grandiose visuals and overwrought emotion.
To Ah Long, it was just… a movie.
‘If I can’t fake enthusiasm for this’, she thought dryly, ‘I’ll end up even more sorrowful than Beiheze.’