Chapter 24

Main Character’s Halo

With all the new hires in place, I finally had a chance to breathe. Or rather—panic quietly while pretending to plan my next steps.

Visitors were trickling in, sure, but we still had too many empty enclosures. Too few animals. And based on how the system kept ramping up the difficulty like a cursed gacha game, I had a bad feeling it was time to level up.

But where was I supposed to find animals?

Should I go wander the bird and flower market again and pray something didn’t bite me?

I had no clue what I was doing.

After pacing my office and Googling “where do zoos get animals,” I decided to try the Forestry Bureau. Maybe—just maybe—I could find some abandoned wildlife and… adopt them?

Cheap. Ethical. And technically responsible. It was worth a shot.

So I found myself sitting in the Wildlife Conservation Division, staring blankly at the office director like a sleep-deprived student facing a pop quiz.

He blinked behind his glasses. “You’re… the new Lingyuan Zoo director? Hoping to take in animals that can’t return to the wild?”

“Yes! Exactly!” I nodded with all the enthusiasm of someone praying they wouldn’t be laughed out of the building.

I totally made up this idea five minutes before walking in. Sounded better than “please give me free animals, I’m broke.”

The director looked thoughtful. “Well, theoretically you qualify. But… city policy says the municipal zoo gets those animals. There’s no precedent for sending them to a private zoo.”

“Can I still apply?” I asked, like a beggar who’d seen a bread crumb fall from the heavens.

He scratched his head. “I’ll have to ask upstairs. Why don’t you leave your number?”

That was not a yes, but also not a no. I left my info and walked out, already fantasizing about elderly alpacas or rebellious hawks living out their retirement at Lingyuan.

Then—

“Little Duan!”

I froze.

The lobby was nearly empty, but the voice echoed from above. Was that directed at me?

“Director Duan?”

I looked up. There, standing on the second floor with a teacup in hand, was a familiar uncle.

No way.

The bird-and-flower-market uncle?

“You remember me?” he called, grinning.

“Uncle!” I smiled like a fool. “You work here?”

“Come up and sit a while,” he said, waving me toward the second floor.

I followed, feeling like I’d just triggered a hidden route in a sim game.

…

His office was tidy, with a modest fish tank bubbling in the corner. No giant fish monsters, though.

I peeked inside. “You didn’t bring your… aquarium boss?”

He chuckled. “Most of them are at home. Told you—I moved the TV and installed a massive tank in the living room. Dozens of fish now. Come see it next time.”

“Deal,” I said. “These ones look great too.”

“You’re too polite. They can’t compare to yours,” he said, giving me a thumbs-up. “I visited your zoo on Sunday. That ‘aquarium’ of yours? Spectacular. The animals looked so good I barely recognized the place.”

I scratched my cheek, embarrassed. “Hehe… sorry I missed you that day. I was running around.”

He set his cup down and gave me a look. “So, you here to handle something? Need help?”

Perfect setup.

I told him everything—the idea about taking in rescues, the conversation I’d just had downstairs, how we were hoping for even one animal.

He listened quietly, then nodded. “Makes sense. We’ve got too many rescues in Donghai. Orphaned babies, injured wildlife, illegally kept pets… pressure’s high. Usually, the city zoo takes them in, but they’re overwhelmed. Their space is limited. Lately, they’ve been looking to offload elderly or hard-to-manage animals.”

I lit up. “We’re ready! I mean, we’ll need an inspection, of course. But we’ve got proper enclosures now. We’ll take good care of them. Really!”

He gave me a side-eye. “Careful. It’s not all cute foxes and parrots. Older animals are a headache. Get sick easily. Expensive to treat. You might regret it.”

I quickly sobered. “Of course. We’ll stay within our limits. But we really do want to help.”

He stared at me for a beat.

Then patted my shoulder. “Alright. I’ll talk to the head of the city zoo. If things go well, maybe we can divert a few rescues from the protection station too.”

Wait, what? I blinked. One was just a maybe, but two sources?

“Uncle… what exactly do you do here?” I asked, suspicious.

He grinned. “You didn’t look when you came in?”

I had gone straight to the fish tank like a goldfish-obsessed idiot.

I turned and squinted at the plaque on his door: Deputy Director, Forestry Bureau.

Oh my god.

I nearly choked. “Director Sun, I—uh—”

“Uncle is fine,” he said cheerfully. “Figured you already knew.”

I took the business card he handed me like it was a sacred relic. It read: Sun Aiping, Deputy Director.

He was laughing at my flustered expression.

He already liked me, apparently. Something about the fish tank, the zoo, the whole “young idealist spending his life savings on tiger-proof enclosures” vibe had gotten to him.

And now he was going to help. Just like that.

I left the building in a daze.

Half my problem—solved. And I hadn’t even bribed anyone. Unless you count aquarium bonding as bribery.

…

Back at the zoo, I told the others the good news.

Xiao Su narrowed her eyes. “Director, be honest. Are you actually a rich young master? You keep throwing up buildings, adding enclosures, partnering with conservation bureaus—just admit it. I’m still not giving you a raise.”

“If I were rich, I’d have remodeled this whole staff building first,” I said, deadpan. “What you’re seeing is just a little… protagonist luck.”

Xiao Su clicked her tongue. “Yup. That’s the halo talking.”

…

One more thing on my list: marketing.

After relying on other platforms twice, I realized we needed our own social accounts. We couldn’t keep borrowing megaphones every time we had an event.

But I had zero clue how to set that up.

So I called up the media platform that helped with our earlier promos. Paid them to teach us. They even suggested doing a giveaway to build a following.

Perfect.

I asked them to register a WeChat official account. I registered the Weibo one myself. Both named: Lingyou Zoo.

Xiao Su liked snapping behind-the-scenes pics, so we agreed to manage the accounts together. She handled photos. I handled… well, vibes.

For WeChat, we could only post once a day. But Weibo? That was a sandbox.

So for our very first post, I uploaded a photo taken by our previous photographer—a baby monkey making a perfect heart shape with its tiny hands, eyes sparkling, mouth open in an ecstatic smile.

The caption?

We’re here.

And just like that, Lingyou Zoo had officially gone online.