Chapter Thirty-Eight: He Must Not Be Allowed to Approach Women

Pepsi signed an endorsement contract with He Xinghui: ten million dollars over three years, once again astonishing the casual onlookers. An average of 3.33 million a year—higher than the deals of LeBron James, Kobe Bryant, or Yao Ming.

Many bystanders couldn't help but wonder why these companies seemed spellbound when it came to He Xinghui, throwing money at him like they were under some enchantment.

Those unaware of the inside story simply watched, amused. But in the circles of sports agents, plenty had the connections to know why He Xinghui commanded such a price.

It turned out, He Xinghui could even craft advertising copy himself.

This revelation moved many agents to tears. Had they only known how capable he was, they would have done anything, even elbow Mark out of the way, for a chance to hitch their fortunes to He Xinghui.

Meanwhile, Mark was assembling his own team. Too many organizations wanted to work with He Xinghui—he could no longer handle it alone. Especially for collaborations in China, he lacked experience and connections, and didn’t know the market well.

But that wasn’t a major problem; plenty of people were eager to work with him. The success of Team Yao had left many at home with envy and resentment toward Lu Hao and his colleagues. Now, with the sudden emergence of He Xinghui, they saw another opportunity.

Even after He Xinghui’s game against the Spurs, people had already started reaching out. After his own research, Mark finally settled on a partner: Zhao Liping.

She was twenty-six, beautiful, a top graduate of the Chicago Booth School of Business, versed in law, negotiation, and marketing. Her family background was strong, her network extensive.

But those weren’t the deciding factors. Zhao Liping stood out not because of her abilities, but because she was a woman—and Mark wanted He Xinghui to interact with more attractive women.

This reason would, of course, remain a secret.

Still, Mark didn't have the final say; He Xinghui himself needed to approve.

So, at He Xinghui’s residence, he met Zhao Liping for the first time.

“Mr. He, I’m thoroughly familiar with both the domestic and international markets. I can help you avoid many pitfalls. When it comes to business promotion...”

Zhao Liping listed her strengths.

“Sister Liping, I’m not really concerned about those things. You don’t know what it is I truly want,” He Xinghui said with a sigh.

From her résumé and manner, he could tell she was an accomplished professional. But she didn’t understand him.

“Oh? Then what is it you want, Xinghui? Whatever it is, I can help you. You just need to focus on basketball—I’ll handle everything outside the court.” Hearing him call her “Sister,” she adopted a warmer tone, aiming for a closer rapport. As for what he wanted, she paid it no mind. As long as he didn’t ask for the moon, she’d try to deliver.

“What do men want, if not women? Does a million more or less really matter to me? If you could arrange a little story with a beautiful actress—if you could set me up with Yifei, Er’ou, Sanyang, Baizhi, or Wanxi—I’d sign the contract with you right this instant.”

Zhao Liping was instantly dumbfounded. She’d met her share of lecherous men, but never one so bold as to say it outright.

She suddenly felt as though she’d been transformed from a professional into a pimp—a humiliating, lowly feeling. As a woman, she could never truly comprehend a man’s primal instincts as men did.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, and I strongly advise against it. Things are different here than in the West; celebrities are held to high standards. If your conduct doesn’t measure up, no matter how well you play, you’ll be blacklisted.”

Her words were stern, but beneath the surface she was anxious. This was the best opportunity of her career—if she lost it over this, she’d regret it forever.

Still, she chose to refuse, uncertain whether He Xinghui was speaking his mind or merely testing her character. More importantly, she was unwilling to be a go-between for a man’s desires.

So Zhao Liping decided to gamble—that He Xinghui was testing her.

She guessed wrong. He Xinghui was entirely sincere.

In his previous life, he’d been born in the nineties, his adolescence coinciding with the rise of Yifei, Eryuan, and Sanyang. At seventeen or eighteen, he’d watched their period dramas and covered his walls with their posters. To say he’d never fantasized about them would be a lie.

Now, living life anew, with the chance to make those fantasies reality...

“Haha, I was only joking, testing you. Looks like you’re a woman of principle. Not bad—we can work together.”

He spoke with a straight face, though a faint note of regret colored his tone.

Fantasies, after all, are just that. In the end, He Xinghui decided not to court disaster. For all their fame, Yifei and the others had powerful backing. To think that beauty alone guaranteed stardom was naive.

At the heights he would one day reach, if he truly wished to marry one of them, that would be one thing. But if he intended to walk away after a fling, trouble would surely follow.

For safety’s sake, He Xinghui resolved to focus his amorous adventures abroad—perhaps Korean or Japanese women, or even beauties from Eastern Europe.

To chase after local women would be disgraceful; to court foreign ones would be, at least in popular sentiment, a matter of national pride.

So he didn’t press Zhao Liping further.

“My fundamental principle is to safeguard my client’s interests. Working with you, Xinghui, would be my greatest honor.”

Zhao Liping breathed a quiet sigh of relief, glad she’d made the right bet. Surely, she thought, such a witty and charming man couldn’t be so vulgar.

They shook hands, both smiling, sealing their partnership in principle. The finer details would be left to Mark and Zhao Liping to negotiate—He Xinghui had neither the time nor inclination.

Contract signed, Zhao Liping returned home in high spirits. She poured herself a glass of red wine, savoring the taste of victory. As she drank, her mind replayed the events of the day—her moment in the sun.

But as she reflected, she made a startling realization. Thinking back on He Xinghui’s tone and demeanor, she began to suspect that perhaps he hadn’t been joking after all.

Alas, another wolf in sheep’s clothing—men really are all the same, she mused with a shake of her head. Still, she had no intention of backing out.

After all, this job would earn her at least a million dollars a year, with no ceiling. If He Xinghui achieved the success of Michael Jordan, she could become the next David Falk.

Zhao Liping resolved, for the sake of He Xinghui’s image and to keep him from being led astray by women, to do everything in her power to keep him away from the opposite sex.

Men, after all, should keep the company of men.