4: Chapter 4 Invitation to Venice Beach

The guitar leaned against the armrest of the second-hand sofa, already covered in a thin layer of dust.

Alex stopped his fingers from tapping on the keyboard, his gaze passing over the half-edited footage on the screen—this time, it was making various street signs in Los Angeles "sing," a project two levels more complex than the dancing sculptures—and landing on the natural wood-colored instrument.

Memories surfaced: a fifteenth birthday gift; his mother smiled and said he should have some artistic temperament, while his father muttered not to let it distract him from serious matters.

The original owner lost interest after a few lessons, and it became an ornament.

Now, it might serve as another kind of "ornament."

This thought stemmed from the unfolded course schedule on the desk, stamped with the University of Southern California emblem.

Behind the eye-catching "Principles of Economics 101" and "Academic Writing" followed a glaring blank space.

He, Alex Su, was theoretically a freshman about to enroll in the fall.

The premise for the trust fund left by his parents to cover tuition and living expenses was that he had to be a "student."

The system could exchange for marksmanship, physical fitness, and future songs, but could it exchange for a genuine university diploma?

Perhaps it could, but the string of zeros following that price was something he dared not even think about right now.

He needed the identity of a "student" as a cover, a shell that reasonably existed within the social system.

But time and energy... He rubbed his temples, looking at the dense tracks on the editing timeline.

"Maybe I should find an 'assistant'?" he muttered, then immediately dismissed the idea.

It was too early, and too conspicuous.

Just then, a notification popped up from the email icon in the bottom right corner of the computer.

A new email arrived with a direct subject line: 【YouTube Creator Meetup Invitation (Venice Beach Bar)】.

The sender was a person named "Benjamin Foster," who claimed to be an editor for a small tech blog and also a video enthusiast.

The email said that a few content creators living in Southern California felt that online comments alone weren't exciting enough, so they decided to host a small meetup this weekend at a familiar bar in Venice Beach to discuss creation, algorithms, and the "damn ad rates."

The end of the email specifically added: "Watched your 'Sculpture Dance Troupe,' great idea. Looking forward to meeting the mastermind."

A meetup.

Alex leaned back into his chair, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the desktop.

This meant leaving his "digital cave" and stepping into the real social arena.

The benefits were obvious: understanding the peer ecosystem, building early connections, and even catching collaboration opportunities.

The risks were also present: he was too "new," as new as an overly smooth sheet of white paper.

His knowledge base surpassed the era, but his social identity, interpersonal network, and even daily consumption traces were still at the level of an eighteen-year-old orphan.

A "genius creator" who drove an old Honda Accord left by his parents and wore a standard college freshman hoodie to a meetup?

This image combination felt indescribably awkward, even... suspicious.

He needed to quickly "fill in" this identity, at least to make it seem reasonable on the surface.

His gaze fell back on the guitar.

An idea emerged.

He closed his eyes and summoned the system.

Popularity balance: 365 points.

He browsed the list and found his target:

【Instrument Mastery: Guitar (Folk/Pop Introductory Level)】 - 80 points

Description: Allows you to fluently play common chords and pop song accompaniments, sufficient for most non-professional occasions.

【Basic Social Intuition (Non-commercial)】 - 50 points

Description: Enhances comfort and conversational continuity in non-utilitarian social settings, reducing awkward silences.

"Redeem." He did not hesitate.

【Consumed 130 points. Redemption successful.】

【Remaining Popularity: 235 points】

Knowledge about the guitar fretboard, chord fingering, and basic rhythmic patterns flooded into his muscle memory, while a subtle perception of social atmosphere became clear.

Next, he needed to solve the "outfit" problem.

The system couldn't directly conjure clothes and cars, but it could give him knowledge and discernment.

He filtered again:

【Introduction to Second-hand Luxury Appreciation (North American Market)】 - 45 points

Description: Identify classic models, judge condition, and understand general market prices to avoid getting ripped off.

【Men's Daily Dressing Logic (Business Casual and Below)】 - 40 points

Description: Understand the basic principles of occasions, body types, and item combinations to get rid of dressing haphazardly.

Redeemed again.

【Consumed 85 points. Redemption successful.】

【Remaining Popularity: 150 points】

His mind was instantly filled with brand history, collection characteristics, valuation methods, and guidelines on how to combine colors, fabrics, and cuts to create a "casual yet refined" feel.

Armed with this new knowledge, he began his first true "real-world shopping trip."

The goal was clear: not flashy, brand-new show-off pieces, but items that were "full of history," "used for a long time but well-maintained," and "fitting for a young creator without looking deliberate."

He drove (still in that old Accord) to several high-end second-hand and vintage clothing stores in Pasadena.

The process was like a hunt.

Ultimately, he acquired a Brooks Brothers navy blue casual blazer with slight wear on the collar and lining but an excellent cut, a pair of vintage Levi's 501 jeans, a soft white cotton shirt, and a pair of Clarks desert boots with soft, supple leather.

At another shop, he found a vintage Hamilton Khaki Field manual-wind watch at a very reasonable price, with a slightly scratched dial but a perfect movement.

Vintage military style, understated, yet subtly exuding a hardcore edge and taste.

Finally, the biggest investment: a car.

Relying on his newly acquired appraisal knowledge, he spotted a 2007 BMW 330i Coupe (E92) at a dealership specializing in European used performance cars—silver-gray, six-speed manual transmission.

The previous owner was a car-loving middle-aged engineer, and the maintenance records were as detailed as medical charts.

It was expensive, almost exhausting most of his cash reserves on hand and requiring a small loan.

But when he sat in the cockpit and gripped that solid-feeling gear shifter, he felt it was worth it.

The car wasn't new, but it was fast enough, stylish enough, and "cool" enough to fit the image of a young person who might have made some money from creation, without being as ostentatious as a nouveau riche.

The night of the meetup, Venice Beach.

The salty sea breeze was mixed with the rhythm of street performers' hand drums and the sweet, cloying smell of marijuana.

The bar was tucked behind a row of colorful shops, its sign inconspicuous.

Alex parked his BMW and didn't go in immediately.

He leaned against the car and lit a Marlboro bought at a convenience store (purely for the pose and the smell; he didn't really want to smoke), letting the sea breeze disperse the smoke.

He was wearing that outfit, the watch subtly appearing and disappearing at his cuff, with no rings on his fingers.

The "social intuition" granted by the system allowed him to keenly capture the surrounding environmental information: the attire, demeanor, and interaction styles of the people entering and leaving the bar.

A few minutes later, he stubbed out the cigarette and walked in.

The interior of the bar was more spacious than imagined, the lighting dim, and the music was just the right kind of jazz.

There were already over a dozen people there, gathered in twos and threes.

Alex recognized a few "acquaintances" at a glance—not in reality, but from their YouTube channel avatars.

Kevin from the "Garage Lab," who did hardcore DIY and always left his studio in a mess, was gesturing while arguing with someone; a channel owner famous for acerbic film reviews sat alone at the bar with an arrogant expression; and there were a few others who did beauty, gaming, or travel vlogs, their faces either familiar or strange.

The organizer, Benjamin, was a tall, thin man with glasses who warmly approached: "Alex? Wow, you're not quite what I imagined. Welcome!"

His gaze quickly swept over Alex's entire body, pausing subtly for a fraction of a second on the Hamilton watch.

"Benjamin, thanks for the invitation." Alex smiled and shook hands, with moderate pressure.

He was introduced to a small circle.

The introduction was brief: "This is Alex's Wonderland, the one with the dancing sculptures."

Several people cast curious glances.

"So, did you really do it all by yourself?" a girl who recommended indie music asked, "No team?"

"A one-man army for now." Alex took the beer handed to him by a waiter, "Maybe I should find some help next time if I want to film something more 'dynamic'."

He hinted at the "singing signs" project currently underway.

The conversation quickly spread.

Everyone complained about the unfairness of algorithms, shared experiences of accidental viral hits that quickly cooled down, and ranted about YouTube's hit-or-miss customer service.

Alex mostly listened, occasionally interjecting, always hitting the mark or throwing out an interesting angle.

He mentioned he was still a student, enrolling in the fall, and that making videos was both a hobby and an experiment.

This identity immediately resonated—several people present were also students or recent graduates, instantly closing the distance.

When someone asked about the future direction of his channel, he didn't boast, but said: "Still exploring. I think content, like 'people' themselves, needs a bit of authenticity and a bit of surreal surprise.

Just like..." His gaze caught the old guitar in the corner meant for guests to play, "Just like giving a familiar melody a strange new accompaniment."

Under the encouragement of a few people, he half-reluctantly picked up the guitar.

The entry-level skill granted by the system was enough to cope.

He played a simple chord progression, the intro to Nirvana's "Come As You Are," but slowed it down with a touch of blues.

It wasn't stunning, but it was fluent enough, and that casual, relaxed posture was more convincing than anything he could have said—this was a creator with a life, with preferences, and not just data.

The music stopped, and applause and whistles rang out.

The atmosphere became even more harmonious.

That acerbic film critic even raised his glass to him for the first time ever.

At the end of the meetup, Benjamin found him privately and lowered his voice: "Alex, it's great to meet you. There's something... I have a friend who runs an outdoor brand; they want to find some channels with a fitting style for product placement, the budget isn't high, but the products are good.

I think your channel has a very unique vibe, maybe you could give it a try? If you're interested, I can make an introduction."

The tentacles of commercial cooperation reached out for the first time.

"Sounds interesting," Alex exchanged private contact information with him, "Thank you very much, Benjamin. Stay in touch."

Leaving the bar, the sound of the waves became clear.

Sitting in the BMW, he didn't start it immediately.

The car still retained the unique scent of mixed new leather and old machinery.

He glanced at the paper bag containing old clothes on the passenger seat and recalled everything from tonight: the probing gazes, the relaxed conversation, the vibration of the guitar strings, and that final invitation.

He started the engine, the rhythm of shifting the manual gears clear and crisp.

The car drove away from the bustling Venice Beach, merging into the brilliant and indifferent flow of Los Angeles's night traffic.

Tonight, he not only built a "wonderful world" with videos but also used a meticulous yet casual performance to outline a more three-dimensional and credible profile for himself in the real world: a young creator with emerging talent, unique taste, a bit of mystery, and a touch of student-like awkwardness.

That dusty guitar might not gather dust anymore.

And the system's popularity number had silently jumped up by several dozen points during the meetup just now.

The online and offline worlds were slowly and firmly intertwining with him at the core.

The University of Southern California course schedule was still waiting for him on the desk.

That would be the next stage he needed to carefully balance.

But for now, he gripped the steering wheel, feeling the roar of the engine, and drove toward his seaside cottage in Santa Monica.

There, half of "Los Angeles that sings" was still on the timeline, waiting for him to complete it.