Chapter 146: Considered a Kind of Growth

Chapter 146: A Form of Growth

After a bedtime chat that lasted as long as a yoga session, Qin Jiao said, "Let me tell you something..." paused for two seconds, hung up, turned off her phone, and went to sleep.

"Childish. Do you really think that will help you sleep soundly?"

Meng Caiwei hung up, speechless. She got up to make a late-night snack and simultaneously called her assistant to mention the hand-drawn poster work for Meng Fan, asking him to look into it.

She didn't explicitly say it was for her younger brother; she framed it as a studio Qin Jiao was involved with that handled post-production film work.

Given the late hour and the assistant's knowledge of the close bond between the two women, he took the request seriously. When soliciting work, he would naturally leverage Meng Caiwei’s name.

Meng Caiwei knew this, and she wasn't rigid. Since she had confirmed Meng Fan possessed the ability to provide "equivalent value," she wouldn't just leave him to fend for himself after merely making inquiries; she was determined to see the matter through.

After eating and letting her food settle, just as sleep began to wash over her, she suddenly recalled Qin Jiao’s parting words: "Let me tell you something..."

At nine o'clock, Meng Fan went to Qin Jiao’s office to sign a simple non-disclosure agreement, promising not to leak any content from the sample footage. He received partial clips—not the full film, but enough to provide context for the posters. The client would also be in touch with him directly.

The deadline was generous: half a month away.

That made sense; for most people, a high-quality illustration takes at least half a day, and after finishing one, they’d have little energy left for another. Averaging one a day was considered high efficiency.

Additionally, Meng Fan received a ten-thousand-yuan advance.

With that settled, he took the flash drive to class.

After class and dinner, he returned to the dorm to review the files. Combined with the information he already had, he formed a clear concept of what he needed to draw.

Ten illustrations. Even with high standards, Meng Fan felt one afternoon would suffice.

In other words, earning fifty thousand in an afternoon. Meng Fan was quite satisfied with this earning potential; how to turn these sporadic events into a steady stream would depend on news from Meng Caiwei.

He had no time to draw that afternoon, as the second round of the Fine Arts Academy basketball tournament began at three o'clock, with the Animation Department playing their first match.

The China Academy of Art had ten secondary colleges, each with a team in the second round. They were split into two groups, A and B, playing a round-robin to determine the top two, who would then advance to the semifinals.

The Animation Department was in Group A, facing the New Media Department of the School of Intermedia Art.

The School of Intermedia Art had only three departments and fewer than three hundred students total—only a few dozen more than the Animation Department itself.

Statistically, they weren't strong, and in reality, they weren't.

Meng Fan started as a point guard—the world’s only point guard who didn't dribble.

Ten minutes into the first half, the outcome was clear, and Meng Fan was subbed out by the fifteen-minute mark.

They easily took the first match of the group stage.

As usual, Meng Fan slipped away during the celebrations. Back at the dorm, he gave the copied manga content to Chen Daqiang. Even with his god-tier skills, the assistant’s work still had to be handled by Chen.

Chen Daqiang shivered at the workload: "This much?!"

"You have a week to finish," Meng Fan said.

"No wonder you told me to stop tutoring," Chen Daqiang said with a wry smile. "If it’s this much every week, I’ll have to quit one of my tutoring jobs."

"Suit yourself."

Leaving that behind, Meng Fan went for a run.

After his shower, while scrolling through his phone, he saw several WeChat messages from Meng Caiwei—one, two, three... seven business cards in total.

Then a message: "Add them yourself."

"All of them?" Meng Fan was excited.

Meng Caiwei didn't reply.

He added them one by one. Once confirmed, they immediately sent over their requirements, along with video clips or cloud passwords.

Seven production crews: three TV dramas, two films, and two variety shows.

The materials included the creative teams, and most of the actors and stars were familiar names.

The pay was decent; some were higher than Qin Jiao’s offer, some lower, with the lowest set of posters averaging over two thousand yuan each.

To Meng Fan, there was little difference between high-quality hand-drawn posters and novel illustrations, yet the film posters paid ten times more.

Checking the deadlines, the longest was half a month, the shortest a week.

There was nothing he couldn't draw.

So, he took them all.

The clients were polite and responsive, and he settled everything during dinner.

Meng Fan knew their attitude was surely due to Meng Caiwei. He hadn't mentioned being her brother, but they clearly understood he was someone she had personally recommended. As long as the work was up to par, no one would be foolish enough to ask questions.

Dinner was brought back by Chen Daqiang again: braised pork spine rice sets—spine, pickled cabbage, rice, and soup, four portions in total.

The pork was tender and fragrant, the meat falling off the bone with a nudge of the chopsticks. The pickled cabbage was a perfect, appetizing touch. With Xing Tage away, Meng Fan ate heartily, finishing the extra portion as well.

Sometimes he had to marvel that finding good food was a talent—not just a natural sensitivity to flavor, but a stroke of luck on the path to discovery.

Chen Daqiang was the type who couldn't cook, but could find incredible food, regardless of price.

The strangest part was that if anyone else went to the same shop, the food never tasted quite the same!

Meng Fan respected that, and felt lucky for it.

After eating, he strolled back. Along the way, he felt a surge of ambition to pull off something big tonight. He had never really cared about money before, let alone felt any interest in it.

When drawing illustrations for novels, he hadn't considered the money at all, thinking only of how many people he could draw to his livestream through the authors' official accounts.

He hadn't been reckless with money, but he had no concept of it either; if something seemed right and he had the funds, he spent it without considering its worth.

Meng Fan thought, this must be a form of growth, too.

It felt good.