Chapter 51: Olive Branch

In the afternoon, at the shoot.

Today’s theme was rugged man style.

Yes, the coarser the look, the more striking the appeal. Zhang Yang wore a torn shirt, chest and eight-pack abs exposed, arms streaked with dirt, hoisting a hoe as he dug in the soil.

His entire outfit looked like a laborer from the old days.

“I thought I could just stand still for the shots. Didn’t expect I actually had to work,” Zhang Yang muttered, wiping his dirt-smeared face with his dusty hands. His face was streaked black. “Damn, this is a huge loss!”

Yet in this state, with his muscles on full display, instead of losing points, he only radiated more masculine energy.

Behind the camera, a group of married female staff watched, each visibly excited and slightly flustered.

“No wonder mistresses in the old days ended up with the laborers.”

“Question Tian Xiao’e, understand Tian Xiao’e, become Tian Xiao’e, surpass Tian Xiao’e!”

“The rugged man literary hero finally has a face!”

“Hehehe!”

Irene stood with her arms crossed, wearing a tea-colored blazer and sunglasses.

The laughter of the group gradually became unsettling.

Finally, she couldn’t help but glance around, and the area instantly quieted down.

Quiet is good. Quiet means I can watch alone.

Irene lowered her sunglasses and observed the tall figure at a distance, silently congratulating herself for her eye for talent.

“Are we done yet?” Zhang Yang swung the hoe in the soil, muttering under his breath.

Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine a fashion magazine would take this unconventional route, digging into a rugged man style. The audience must have shifted, huh?

“Alright!” A voice called cut from a distance. Zhang Yang tossed his hoe and stepped out of the frame.

As soon as he stepped down, staff handed him a bottle of water.

Zhang Yang took a large gulp, thinking about getting paid and leaving quickly, when he noticed footsteps approaching.

It was Irene, the director of Aisha Fashion Weekly.

“Zhang Yang, would you be interested in signing with Aisha and becoming our long-term model?” Irene asked, her tone full of interest.

“I’m not thinking about that for now,” Zhang Yang replied, shaking his head without hesitation.

Part-time, fine. Completing the task is enough. But actually signing a contract? Not happening.

“You don’t want to sign with Aisha Fashion?” Irene asked, visibly surprised. “I remember you’ve never signed with any modeling agency, right?”

“No, this isn’t my focus. Just a temporary gig,” Zhang Yang explained. “Well, about this shoot-”

He hesitated, about to make a fidgeting hand gesture.

“Oh, the payment?” Irene suddenly understood and waved for the finance staff to arrange it.

This had been agreed upon beforehand, to settle payment on-site.

“What a pity,” she thought, watching Zhang Yang accept the payment and leave without hesitation. Such talent, if developed, would have had limitless potential in the fashion industry.

But unfortunately, his ambition lay elsewhere.

With the money in hand, Zhang Yang left the shoot.

For part-time work, he preferred short, efficient gigs and multi-tasking. Besides print modeling, he didn’t plan to waste any other time.

He opened his phone and registered a ride-hailing account, planning to work as a driver that evening.

A lucky night could earn a few hundred easily, and combining it with other side gigs, reaching the ten-thousand-yuan goal for part-time income would be simple.

Night fell.

Zhang Yang, who earned fifty thousand a day, owned a five-million-yuan Bentley and a seventy-thousand watch, now dressed in the ride-hailing uniform, temporarily taking on the role of a driver.

Outside the hotel where a banquet had ended, the world belonged to the drivers.

Zhang Yang’s night went smoothly. He picked up several large orders. One recent client had clearly just finished a business meeting, face flushed from drinking.

Coincidentally, this order’s destination was Regal Edge Executive Apartments, where he currently lived.

“Thanks, young man,” said the client, a well-dressed man in his thirties, still thrilled from successfully securing a ride. He handed Zhang Yang the BMW keys and slid into the back seat.

Zhang Yang took the keys and skillfully started the car.

The man, tipsy, looked out at the glittering cityscape of Shanghai, reflecting on his years of struggle, feeling a mix of sentiment and pride.

“How long have you been in Shanghai?” he asked casually.

“Two or three years, I guess,” Zhang Yang replied.

“Two or three years, alone in Shanghai, far from home, no relatives,” the man sighed. “It’s tough for us working people here.”

“Looks like you’ve done well for yourself,” Zhang Yang said through the rearview mirror, smiling at the neatly dressed man in the back.

“Eh, even if I’ve done well, I’m still a working man, just better off than before,” the man said modestly, though a trace of pride showed.

“Envious of you,” Zhang Yang complimented lightly.

“You can do it too, young man. Times change. Don’t underestimate the youth! We’re still young, full of possibilities!” the man encouraged.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Zhang Yang replied with a smile.

The BMW sped back to Regal Edge Executive Apartments.

Familiar with his residence, Zhang Yang smoothly drove into the underground garage.

“Yep, park in the front spot near the elevator,” the man in the back instructed as Zhang Yang reversed into the space.

“All done,” Zhang Yang said, parking neatly and shutting off the engine.

“Your driving skills are good. I’ll give you five stars,” the man said, still tipsy, looking at Zhang Yang as if seeing himself years ago.

“Keep it up. Wishing you a bright future… uh, is this your Bentley?”

The man stuttered, stopping mid-sentence.

A few steps away, Zhang Yang casually leaned against his Bentley Continental GT, helmet resting on the roof, sipping water from the car.

His black hair, confident expression, and the elegant, luxurious blue Bentley all exuded effortless style.

“Want a bottle?” Zhang Yang tossed another bottle to the client.

The man’s face turned red, hands grasping the bottle as he laughed awkwardly, embarrassed.

Drinking too much really made people boast.

“Alright, I’m off,” Zhang Yang said after finishing his water, putting on his helmet, closing the trunk, and hopping onto his foldable electric scooter. “One more order, let’s aim to make five hundred tonight!”

Riding the scooter, Zhang Yang checked the new order and cheerfully headed to the next destination.

Outside a peninsula hotel in Shanghai, a fashion industry party had just ended.

Zhang Yang made a call while preparing to meet this next client.

“Here? Wait for me at the main entrance steps,” a slightly drunk female voice said on the phone, lazy yet with a hint of familiarity.