19: Chapter 19 Don't be a coward. Who hasn't fallen into a pit before?

The hotpot restaurant Brother Cannon mentioned was hidden deep in an old alley. The storefront wasn't big, with a faded red sign hanging above it that read "Old Li's Lamb Spine Hotpot." It was just 11 o'clock, but seven or eight tables were already occupied. The scent of cooking smoke mixed with the fragrance of lamb bones poured out from the door cracks, making one's stomach growl.

"The owner of this place used to work in a slaughterhouse. All the lamb spines he picks are full of bone marrow; it's so satisfying to gnaw on!" Brother Cannon charged inside, familiar with the place. His voice was so loud it startled the red lanterns hanging at the entrance. "Brother Li, the usual spot! A medium pot, mild spicy, and add two jin of bone marrow!"

The owner, wearing a white apron, poked his head out from the kitchen and smiled when he saw him. "Fat Cannon, you're here? Brought a friend today?"

"My brother, Zhang Fan!" Brother Cannon patted Zhang Fan's shoulder and pressed him into a seat at a table against the wall. "Give my brother extra meat!"

Zhang Fan had just sat down when a waiter brought over a black clay pot. The soup base was bright red, and the lamb spines were piled up like a small mountain. It bubbled away, with red oil swirling around green onion slices, smelling so good it made one salivate. Brother Cannon unscrewed two bottles of beer and "slapped" them onto the table, splashing some foam onto the tablecloth.

"Try it!" He picked up the largest piece of lamb spine and stuffed it into Zhang Fan's bowl. "It won't taste good if it gets cold."

Zhang Fan took a bite. The bone marrow, mixed with the spicy flavor, melted in his mouth. It was so hot he kept gasping, but he couldn't help taking another bite.

"How is it?" Brother Cannon grinned, looking smug. He grabbed a piece himself and gnawed on it until his mouth was covered in oil. "Let me tell you, I've kept this place a secret for three years. I don't bring just anyone here."

After a few rounds of drinks, Brother Cannon wiped his mouth and steered the conversation back. "Seriously, Fan Zi, why don't you work with me?" He pulled out his phone and opened the backend of his livestream channel. "Look, just from those ten seconds you appeared on camera yesterday, I gained eight thousand followers. They're all asking 'who's the handsome guy?' Let's sign with an agency. You handle the on-camera scratch-offs and chatting, and I'll handle the crowd control and entertainment. It's guaranteed to be more stable than opening a studio."

He tapped the numbers on the screen. "I made a net profit of 56,000 last month. If you join, we'll split it. At the very least, it's better than working like a horse for Blue Whale."

Zhang Fan put down his chopsticks and took a sip of beer, foam sticking to the corner of his mouth. "Brother Cannon, thanks. But I really have other plans."

"What plans?" Brother Cannon raised an eyebrow.

"Start a game studio." Zhang Fan's tone was steady, his eyes shining brightly amidst the cooking smoke. "Make my own games."

"Games?" Brother Cannon was stunned for a moment, then realized. "Like the ones at Blue Whale? Didn't you work in development at Blue Whale before?"

"Yeah." Zhang Fan nodded, drawing circles on the tablecloth with his fingertip. "But I want to do something different. Blue Whale is too eager for quick success and instant benefits right now; it's all reskinned games tricking players into spending money. I want to make something that truly lets players settle down and enjoy the game, even if it earns less at first."

"Browser games?" Brother Cannon scratched his head. "I heard browser games are all free-to-play; without promotion, nobody sees them. Can you manage it as a one-man studio?"

"I'll give it a try." Zhang Fan smiled. "I saved some code frameworks back at Blue Whale; I can modify those and use them. I'll start with a low-budget one, as long as it can get up and running."

Brother Cannon stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly slapped the table, making the clay pot shake. "Alright! That's got backbone!" He raised his beer bottle and clinked it against the bottom of Zhang Fan's bottle. "If you want to do it, I'll support you!"

"How will you support me?" Zhang Fan was a bit surprised.

"Promotion, obviously!" Brother Cannon said matter-of-factly. "My livestream channel has over 300,000 followers now. I'll shout 'Zhang Fan Studio is awesome' every day and post your download link. You won't have to worry about nobody playing it!" He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "I also know a few gaming streamers. I'll get them to play-test it for you when the time comes. I guarantee we'll hype it up for you!"

Zhang Fan felt a warmth in his heart. Just as he was about to say "thank you," he couldn't help but ask, "Brother Cannon, we've only known each other for two days, why are you..."

Why are you so good to me?

Brother Cannon's smile faded a little. He picked up his beer bottle and took a big gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing. After a while, he spoke, his voice a bit raspy. "Actually... I was pretty much like you before."

"Five years ago, I opened a hotpot restaurant and got scammed by my business partner." He rubbed his fingertip against the tablecloth as if trying to wipe away something dirty. "He took all the money and left me with a pile of debt. Suppliers were blocking my door every day. At the time, my girlfriend of three years turned around and hooked up with that partner, saying, 'It's better to find a rich guy than to drink the northwest wind with you.'"

The noise in the restaurant seemed to suddenly fade away, leaving only the sound of the clay pot bubbling.

"The day I was fired from the hotpot restaurant, I only had three yuan and fifty cents left in my pocket." Brother Cannon smiled, but the corners of his eyes were a bit red. "I bought a steamed bun, crouched under a bridge, and gnawed on it while watching the water in the river. I really felt like living was meaningless. 'A single penny can defeat a hero'—that saying is so true. When you can't even afford a steamed bun, all that backbone and all those dreams are just bullshit."

Zhang Fan tightened his grip on the beer bottle. He remembered the day his landlord kicked him out; he had also been clutching his last few dozen yuan, sitting in the central park all night.

"But I didn't jump into the river." Brother Cannon suddenly looked up, his eyes brightening. "That day, I saw someone in the park livestreaming scratch-off lottery tickets, five yuan each. I took my last five yuan and bought one. I didn't win, but I rambled a bit to the camera, and someone actually sent me a one-yuan gift."

He pulled out his phone and found an old photo—he was thinner back then, but still chubby, wearing a faded T-shirt, crouching under the bridge, with his phone propped up on a stone for the livestream. In the background, you could see piles of cardboard boxes.

"It started from that five yuan, and I slowly built it up." Brother Cannon swiped the photo away. "Now I have a car and a house. Although they aren't anything fancy, at least I don't have to crouch under a bridge anymore."

He looked at Zhang Fan, his eyes filled with the warmth that only fellow travelers could understand. "I'm not as lucky as you; I couldn't win fifty thousand. But when I see you, it's like seeing myself crouching under that bridge back then—fallen into the mud, yet still wanting to climb back up."

"So, I'm helping you, not out of pity." Brother Cannon raised his beer bottle and clinked it against Zhang Fan's again. "It's to tell you: don't be a coward. Who hasn't fallen into a pit? Just get back up and keep going."

Zhang Fan's nose felt a bit sore. He raised his beer bottle and took a big gulp. The bitterness of the beer mixed with the warmth in his heart, making his eyes brim with moisture.

"To Brother Cannon!" His voice was a bit raspy.

"To ourselves!" Brother Cannon also finished his beer and wiped his mouth. "When your studio opens, I'll be your first tester! If it's not fun, I'm going to roast you!"

"I guarantee you'll be so hooked you won't want to leave!" Zhang Fan smiled, the confusion in his eyes completely gone, leaving only bright-eyed determination.

The broth at the bottom of the clay pot was still bubbling, the fragrance of the lamb spine mixing with the beer foam, weaving into a warm, cozy atmosphere in the air. The wind was still blowing outside, but this small hotpot restaurant was like a shelter, gathering two people who had crawled out of the mud into a shared moment of warmth.

When it was time to pay, Brother Cannon insisted on paying, pressing Zhang Fan back into his seat. "My treat! When your studio starts making money, then you can treat me to a good meal!"

Walking out of the hotpot restaurant, the sunlight was just right, shining on the bluestone slabs of the old alley, dazzlingly bright. Brother Cannon patted Zhang Fan's shoulder. "Let's go, time to cash in the prize! Take your 'startup capital' and hurry up and get that studio set up!"

Zhang Fan touched his inner pocket; the lottery ticket was warm against him. He looked at Brother Cannon's round back and suddenly felt that the most precious thing in this world was never the fifty thousand that fell from the sky, but the warmth of someone who had also fallen into a pit reaching out to pull someone else up.