Huayu: I Have a Doraemon

Chapter 53 Points Goal: 600 million

On Sunday, the sun squeezed in through the gap in the curtains, shining brightly onto my eyelids.

Lin An frowned, then instinctively rolled over and bumped his head against Doraemon's head.

"Awooo—!"

"ah--!"

Two screams rang out at the same time.

Doraemon jumped out of bed, clutching his head, his eyes wide open, staring blankly at Lin An, who was also clutching his head.

"What are you doing?!" the blue fat man grimaced.

Lin An felt even more aggrieved than him: "Why did you put your head so close to my pillow for no reason?"

"This is my pillow!"

"This is my bed!"

The two stared at each other for two seconds, then simultaneously deflated.

Lin An sat up, scratched his messy hair, yawned, and turned to look out the window.

Sunlight had already filled half the roof, and a few sparrows hopped and chirped on the windowsill.

"What time is it?"

It's almost ten o'clock.

Lin An paused for a moment, then asked, "Why didn't you call me?"

Doraemon retorted confidently, "You didn't call me either, did you?"

The two looked at each other again and then sighed simultaneously.

To help Old Zhao pay off his debts, Doraemon collected a whole bunch of scrapped electrical appliances that other repairmen would never accept.

These semi-discarded appliances are time-consuming and laborious to repair, and to avoid further damage from bumps and knocks, they cannot be stored in the interdimensional pocket; they can only be piled up in the next room.

Lin An was no less impressive.

Script translation isn't something you can just quickly finish by inserting a translation cassette tape.

This involves word usage, stress logic, and the design of dialogue rhythm.

The script for "Triangle" was over fifty pages long. In order not to miss the deadline, he rushed to finish the script and almost died on the spot.

"Once this is over, I need to take a good rest and recuperate for a while..."

Lin An muttered something, threw off the covers, slipped on his slippers, walked to the sink, turned on the tap, and splashed two handfuls of cold water on his face.

The cool touch dispelled most of the lingering sleepiness.

He looked up and stared at his face, still damp with water droplets, in the mirror for two seconds.

The bluish-black color has faded somewhat, but it hasn't completely disappeared yet.

Doraemon was exhausted, but he still couldn't help but worry:

"What if we don't have enough money by next Friday?"

Lin An glanced back at him and said calmly, "Then let's find an opportunity to heal him with the tools."

As for the subsequent debts and the abnormalities caused by the unusual treatment, that's none of his business.

People always have to pay the price for their actions.

Doraemon thought about it and realized it was a good solution, which made him feel much more relaxed.

"How many points have you accumulated?" he couldn't help but ask curiously.

Lin An immediately became wary. "What are you planning to do now?"

"Just ask."

Doraemon knew what he was thinking and comforted him:

"Your points are related to my progress in getting home, so I won't waste them."

That's not necessarily true... Lin An muttered to himself, then calmly said:

"I currently have 7522 points remaining, and I have already used 8978 points. I need 21022 more points to reach the next level up."

Doraemon nodded repeatedly, very satisfied.

"Keep it up! At this rate, I should be able to go home in less than 50 years," he encouraged.

50 years... Lin An's lips twitched, somewhat speechless, yet also curious:

"At which specific level do I need to go to buy the time machine?"

Doraemon said, "I don't know. Time machines are not for sale; you can't buy them in this kind of store."

Lin An glared, about to speak, when Doraemon preemptively soothed him:

"I don't need to buy a time machine; I just need to open a wormhole and send a message to my future companions."

"I can't believe it's possible..." Lin An couldn't help but ask curiously.

What items are needed to open a time-space wormhole?

Doraemon said, "There's no specific gadget that can do that. However, I can buy a few time-travel and space-travel machines, disassemble them, and then reassemble them."

He counted on his fingers and said optimistically:

"If everything goes smoothly, it will only take 600 million points to achieve this."

600 million... Why don't you just rob someone?!

Lin An recalled the points he had redeemed during this period and felt that Doraemon's math skills were a bit off.

Uh... it seems like there's nothing wrong with it.

In less than two months since he came to Beijing Film Academy, he has earned nearly 10,000 points through various scripts and miscellaneous illustrations... He hasn't even redeemed the scripts for "Blind Shaft" and "Kung Fu Panda" yet, and the TV series "iPartment" is currently being filmed... All of these combined are more than enough to redeem 10,000 points.

Converted, his average monthly points income is about 1.

If this pace continues, it is indeed possible to accumulate 600 million points in 50 years.

However, this does not take into account the points required for upgrading permissions, or the waste caused by the failure of the wormhole project.

A scene suddenly flashed into Lin An's mind:

Approaching seventy, with white hair, I leaned on a cane and shakily took a stack of points redemption vouchers from Doraemon's hand, asking in a hoarse voice:

"How much more is needed?"

Doraemon has aged terribly; his once round body has shriveled up, and he has hearing aids in his ears, shouting at the top of his lungs:

"Just one more ten thousand!"

The two old men embraced and wept bitterly.

Lin An shuddered, and the image vanished into thin air.

Doraemon squinted and said, "Are you thinking about random things again?"

"No!" Lin An denied it outright.

Doraemon looked incredulous.

Lin An was too lazy to argue. He threw away the towel, changed into a hoodie, slung his bag over his shoulder, and turned to walk towards the door.

"Where to?"

"School."

"Isn't it Sunday?"

"I need to oversee the editing and wait for Gao Yuanyuan's call."

Doraemon stopped talking.

I left the room, walked through the corridor, and went down the stairs.

The convenience store is open.

Old Zhao was squatting behind the counter, unpacking boxes of instant noodles from the cardboard boxes and stacking them on the shelf.

Hearing the noise, he raised his eyelids slightly, his voice hoarse: "You're up?"

Lin An hummed in agreement and was about to leave when Old Man Zhao suddenly said:

"Get me a bottle of milk."

Lin An paused, turned around and looked at Old Man Zhao:

"What?"

Old Zhao repeated himself calmly:

"Milk is good for your health."

Lin An paused for a few seconds, then took a bag of Sanyuan pure milk from the shelf and tentatively asked:

"Bookkeeping?"

Old Zhao waved his hand and continued unpacking the cardboard boxes.

The copper bells jingled.

Lin An stepped out of the convenience store and disappeared into the crowd in the streets and alleys.

……

……

Beijing Film Academy, Library.

Lin An easily obtained the library card, but before he could even go upstairs, his arm was grabbed.

"You've finally arrived!"

Ji Tao's face peeked out from behind the door frame, his expression a mixture of excitement and eagerness.

What are you doing?

Lin An steadied herself and irritably shook off his hand:

"What kind of behavior is this, pulling and tugging in a library that's supposed to be a respectable place?"

Ji Tao completely ignored his protests, shifted the angle of his grip on his arm, and tightened his hold even more.

As he pulled Lin An towards the exit, he lowered his voice and said:

"Stop talking nonsense and come with me, something terrible has happened."

Lin An raised an eyebrow slightly: "Is 'Internet Addict's Diary' causing trouble again?"

"no."

"Is the TV station going to withdraw its investment?"

"No, not exactly."

"What's wrong?" Lin An asked impatiently.

Ji Tao didn't stop, pulling him into the office building's entrance, and they rushed upstairs, uttering two words:

"Good thing."

Lin An didn't believe it.

In this circle, "good things" are "bad things".

The two went up to the third floor, and at the end of the corridor, the door to Zhang Hua's office was ajar.

Ji Tao knocked twice, and without waiting for a response from inside, he pushed the door open and entered.

Lin An followed him into the office, glanced around, and then froze in place.

There were more people in the office than he had imagined.

Zhang Hua sat in his usual spot by the window, with several documents spread out on the desk in front of him.

His expression remained relatively calm, but his fingers holding the cup lid were noticeably white.

Lin Cong stood by the window, arms crossed, back against the wall, his expression a mix of shock and bewilderment.

All of this was within Lin An's expectations.

But the three people sitting on the sofa were completely beyond his comprehension.

On the sofa to the left sat a man in a black jacket, his hair neatly combed, with a refined air, who was looking down at a magazine.

Lin An recognized him.

Zhang Yadong.

He had seen this face on record covers and in entertainment magazines in his previous life; that carefree demeanor was so distinctive.

A woman was sitting next to him.

Sunglasses covered half her face, long black hair was draped over her shoulders, and she was wearing a loose gray knit sweater. She was slumped in the sofa like a lazy cat.

Even though Lin An couldn't see her whole face, her natural aura instantly triggered an alarm in his brain.

His gaze mechanically shifted to the right.

The third person.

A young man, also wearing sunglasses, in his early twenties, was rather thin and wore a denim jacket, his hair slightly covering one eyebrow.

He crossed his legs, held a Walkman in his hand, the headphone wire peeked out from his collar, and swayed slightly to the music, completely immersed in his own world.

Lin An felt his brain short-circuit for a moment.

He blinked.

Blinked again.

Lin An stiffly turned his head to look at Zhang Hua, his eyes conveying a silent question:

What's going on?

Zhang Hua picked up the thermos, took a sip of water, and hid his face behind the lid.

Lin An then looked at the forest.

Lin Congchong gave him a wink, meaning: I don't know either.

Lin An suddenly thought of something, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

Gao Yuanyuan, you really screwed me over.