"What exactly should we film?"
Half an hour had passed, but the crew’s discussion still hadn’t gotten anywhere.
It’s not that no one had ideas or creativity—on the contrary, there were too many ideas and too much creativity, and that’s why everyone was having choice paralysis.
Plus, everyone was worried that Dundun wouldn’t cooperate, so they just kept shooting each other’s suggestions down.
Head writer Lele gave her mushroom haircut a little shake:
"Why can’t we go with my idea for Dundun coding for Qiang? Qiang is coding late at night, Dundun watches from behind shaking its head, then when Qiang gets sleepy and knocks out on the side, Dundun goes tap-tap-tap and finishes coding... It’s simple, creative, and really nails the pain point of programrs having to work overti..."
Shen Jiayue said:
"But Dundun can’t type though..."
As she spoke, Dundun was right where the cara could catch it, seriously tapping away on an old discarded keyboard, just like a tiny programr.
The sound of the keys interrupted Director Shen’s speech, and without even turning her head, she said:
"Ugh, Dundun, stop ssing around, we’re having a eting here... The keyboard idea is fine, but how’s that any different from my play-the-piano suggestion?"
As soon as "play the piano" was ntioned, Dundun straightened up, leaned back, and closed its eyes a bit.
It lifted its two paws, tapping rhythmically on imaginary keys, its round head bobbing gently with its body. That intoxicated expression—totally the vibe of a music master lost in a piano performance.
"Pianos just aren’t relatable, it’s not like every ho has a piano. But a keyboard? Everyone’s got one, and keyboard tapping hits right in the feels for office workers..."
The group couldn’t agree, and finally decided to just shoot so daily footage of Dundun eating, drinking water, and playing gas.
Whether they used these clips later or not was another story, but at least they could keep them for material—just in case they needed to patch up the edit later.
Once that was set, they started discussing locations next.
Exhausted from playing, Dundun lay sprawled on the far end of the conference table, looking completely drained.
Like, I’ve already put on my best dead-tired performance, and you guys still can’t make a decision? I’m begging you, carry harder!
At the sa ti, in the Lin Ji’s Food social thread—
Out-of-town fans who’d finally made it to Beijing were all posting updates, sharing their excitent at tasting Lin Ji’s food:
"Damn! I finally got to eat at Lin Ji’s, and the hype is real!"
"Getting up at the crack of dawn and catching the high-speed train was totally worth it! Bro, I’m just gonna hype this food to the moon!"
"Every day I see my Beijing friends posting foodie pics and making drool, and today it’s finally my turn, a country bumpkin! This stewed fish entrails is even better than what they make back ho in the Northeast!"
"I’m basically treating Lin Ji as my HQ while I’m in Beijing—having lunch AND dinner here every day."
"Heard Lin Ji’s breakfast is also amazing, but sadly it’s not open to outsiders, only a lucky few insiders get to try it."
"Ugh, you guys are making crave it again..."
Besides geeking out about the food, everyone was also making plans to et up in real life with those online pals they’d been joking around with in the comnts before.
For example, the always-active tower crane operator, Liang Mountain, tagged the blind taxi driver in a post:
"Bro, I’m at Lin Ji’s! Eating Noodles with Braised Eggplant and Pork Sauce with a platter of braised ats and sweet-and-sour pork. When you getting here? I wanna have a drink with ya."
The reply ca fast:
"Just picked up a run to Universal Film City, gonna be a while before I’m back. You go find a place to stay first, I’ll hit you up after my shift. The light’s about to turn green, later."
During National Day, all of Beijing’s tourist spots get totally slamd, and ride-hailing and taxi drivers rake in the cash too.
Liang Mountain’s real na is Liang Hanwen, but that na’s way too pretentious for the construction site vibe, so he switched it to the much snazzier Liang Mountain.
Liang Hanwen’s about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and his biggest hobby is scrolling on his phone while sitting high up in the tower crane.
One day he randomly ca across Lin Ji’s Food online, and instantly beca a Lin Ji fan.
Now he follows Lin Ji’s foodie updates every day, posting his own daily stuff too, and he’s befriended regulars under the topic like "Blind Taxi Driver," "Invisible Chicken Wings," "Lost Roasted Whole Sheep," and "Spring Breeze Cannot Blow You."
This trip to Beijing was all about tasting Lin Ji’s food and finally eting those internet friends in real life.
Liang Hanwen shot back a "drive safe" ssage, and was about to put away his phone when Lu Lu popped up in the comnts with a surprised emoji:
"Whoa, you’re in Beijing, Good Drought Bro? You still at Lin Ji’s? If you are, tell your table number, I’ll get the kitchen to send you so soup."
The online friends who helped pump up Lin Ji’s topic heat showed up in person—it totally called for Zhu Yong to whip up so soup.
Liang Hanwen quickly replied:
"Dy-yu (Daiyu) Sis, you’re the best! I just ordered soup, but let’s eat together tonight. I just took a selfie with Boss Lin, and he said there’ll be roast chicken for dinner—it’s just finished braising and still soaking in the pot."
Right after replying to Lu Lu, the Beijing buddies started chiming in to welco him too, and after so back and forth, they decided to simply book a private room upstairs for dinner, eat, and chat together.
As for the bill, it’s straight-up AA (split evenly).
We’re all just hardworking souls here—everyone knows how tough it is to make a living, and how hard life can be.
No way could they let just one person foot the bill—they had to split it fair and square.
Soon, the local Beijing internet friends all confird they’d join in.
Once the headcount was set, they opened a group chat, pooled their money via AA transfers, and then everyone reported what dishes they wanted to eat.
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