Huayu: I Have a Doraemon

Chapter 26 The First King of Doujinshi

Lin An, who had been intelligent since childhood, quickly sorted out his thoughts and then asked the most important question:

"I don't know who ordered these posters."

If it's a game company, art institution, or a commercial brand, then you need to be careful with the works you submit.

Currently, most of my energy is devoted to writing scripts, and making money through drawing relies entirely on my ability to create illustrations. I must strike a balance between making money and keeping a low profile.

Tang Yu glanced at him, a hint of wariness creeping into his eyes:

Why are you asking this?

What? You think I'm trying to steal your partner? Lin An found it amusing, but remained outwardly calm:

"Different customers have different needs; market research and data analysis are the foundation of business success."

Tang Yu paused for a moment, then slowly nodded:

"Very professional."

"A professional con artist..." Lin An thought to himself with a self-deprecating smile.

Tang Yu no longer doubted, turned around and rummaged through the metal cabinet, pulled out a brown paper folder, untied the tangled cotton thread, and took out a stack of neatly bound A4 papers.

"Most of the orders are from students at nearby universities."

He handed over the folder, saying casually:

"Posters for graduation plays, promotional posters for club activities, hand-drawn display boards for campus drama festivals... Occasionally magazines and formal companies also come in, but of course, these are not our main clients."

Why are you going into so much detail about something that's not the main point... Lin An was speechless for a moment, then took the folder and opened it.

The pages turned between my fingertips.

The first one is actually a performance poster for "Thunderstorm," in a black and white sketch style, with a group of figures lined up in a row.

The next page is a promotional poster for a New Year's Eve party, with a bright red background and gold lettering, a typical festive style.

Flipping through the pages again, the hand-drawn display board for the campus drama festival features several abstract stage silhouettes with smooth lines and balanced composition.

All three are concept drafts, with only a general framework. The specific requirements and client information are listed below, and the content is detailed, but the most important element, the phone number, is missing.

Lin An understood that Tang Yu had done this intentionally, so he wisely kept quiet.

He flipped through the pages one by one, his expression calm, silently assessing the painting skills and style of these works.

When Lin An turned to the fourth page, his finger suddenly stopped.

The content on the paper suddenly changed; it was no longer a play poster or a gala promotional image.

Instead, it was a girl with pigtails, wearing a sailor uniform, her skirt fluttering slightly in the wind, revealing a section of her thigh...

The painting is exquisite, with smooth lines, and the girl's expression carries just the right amount of shyness.

Lin An blinked, looking at Tang Yu with a blank expression.

Tang Yu's lips curled slightly:

"This is all art. Many of my clients are very devout; they are completely absorbed in art."

Are art and piety used here?

Lin An's lips twitched, and the image of Hai Qing's hesitant expression flashed through his mind.

No wonder no one knows who "Haiqing" is; he's probably using a pseudonym.

Anyway, if it were me, I would definitely use a pseudonym. No, if it were me, I wouldn't come in person at all!

Lin An muttered to himself, then subconsciously turned another page.

This time, there were two girls, one with long, straight black hair and the other with shoulder-length short hair, dressed in completely different styles of clothing, leaning against each other in a rather ergonomic posture.

Lin An swallowed hard and instinctively turned the page again.

The scene became even more... unrestrained.

"How is it?"

Tang Yu's voice came from behind, tinged with amusement: "Very artistic, isn't it?"

He said calmly, "There's no need to feel ashamed. This is every man's dream, and it's also the highest honor for us as painters."

Tang Yu chuckled and grinned, saying:

"I could tell from your face that you're one of us."

What do you mean by "can tell just by looking at his face"? I feel like punching him!

Lin An's lips twitched again, and he felt deep regret for revealing his real name.

If he becomes famous in the future, this will definitely be a black mark on his record! It might even cause his career to collapse!

But Lin An felt that this was not his fault. Who knew that Hai Qing would introduce him to this kind of job?

It's outrageous!

……

……

Under the setting sun, Lin An walked out of the west gate of Beijing Film Academy.

In addition to textbooks and notebooks, there were also several Dragon Ball line drawings given to him by Tang Yu and an "art order" in his schoolbag.

He walked through the alley with a blank expression, his pace quickening considerably as he had come, as if something was chasing him.

"This Haiqing..."

He muttered something, his tone complicated.

While you might say she's unreliable, she did help me find a job.

She's reliable... but the job description just doesn't seem right.

The alleyway was filled with the aroma of dinner from each household, a mingled sound of sizzling stir-fries, the noise of televisions, and the cries of children.

Lin An turned into Old Zhao's courtyard and pushed open the glass door of the convenience store.

The copper bells jingled.

Old Zhao sat behind the counter, with a plate of peanuts and a bottle of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) in front of him, watching the news broadcast on the small TV on the wall.

Hearing the noise, he raised his eyelids slightly:

"You're back?"

"Um."

Lin An responded and took a bag of instant noodles, a sausage, and a bottle of Beibingyang soda from the shelf.

"Keep it in the books," he said.

Old Zhao snorted but didn't say anything, which was taken as tacit approval.

Lin An went upstairs and pushed open the door on the left.

Doraemon was sitting cross-legged on the floor of that small room, surrounded by screwdrivers, wrenches, multimeters, and an old-fashioned radio that had been half dismantled.

"You're back?" The blue fat man looked up, his round face smeared with a black oil stain.

"Um."

Lin An threw his schoolbag onto the bed, unscrewed the Arctic Ocean soda, and tilted his head back to take a big gulp.

The cool orange-flavored soda slid down my throat, taking away the last bit of summer heat.

"How was your day?" Doraemon asked.

Lin An said, "We've found two ways to make money."

"So fast?" Doraemon's eyes widened.

"One is writing screenplays, and the other is drawing."

Lin An didn't mention "The Sacred Tree," but instead took out the few "Dragon Ball" line drawings that Tang Yu had given him and handed them to Doraemon.

"This is a sample. Just copy it. Someone will buy it once it's finished."

Doraemon took the line art, looked at it over and over twice, and nodded:

"This isn't difficult. With a drawing cartridge, you can draw one in twenty minutes."

Lin An glanced at him in surprise:

"I thought you didn't approve of me using props."

Doraemon explained:

"I don't mind you using props, I just hope you don't become dependent on them."

He said, "Props aren't a cure-all."

But I think props are omnipotent... Lin An silently raised his bar, and at the same time felt like he had caught something, and immediately fell into deep thought.

Doraemon, thinking he was becoming resistant, softened his tone somewhat:

"You don't need to worry about money. I'll pay your rent until you find a permanent job."

After saying that, he smiled and encouraged, "A teacher from your school just called to say that your script has been approved."

Lin An quickly came to his senses and asked, puzzled:

"Teacher? Which teacher?"

Doraemon dreamed for a moment and said:

"His name seems to be Zhang Hua."