Chapter 94: A Father’s Love Is Like a Mountain

The atmosphere in the private room was a little awkward.
That one line—“Grandpa Meng”—called Han Bin, a man barely past thirty, an old man. Could anyone call that reasonable?
Lin Chuan regretted it too; how had he failed to control himself moments earlier?

“Master Han Bin, please sit down,” Yuan Ye hurried to stand up and smooth things over.
Han Bin smiled, pulled out a chair, and sat. “Don’t call me Master. I’m just a host at a wedding company. Call me by my name.”

Lin Chuan sat as well. “Then I’ll call you Brother Han. I heard from my cousin that you’re interested in our matchmaking program, is that right?”

“Correct,” Han Bin nodded. “A matchmaking show has real novelty. If we add fresh ideas to such a traditional formula, it will be truly watchable.”

“Ah, that cousin of mine,” Yuan muttered with a wry smile, “didn’t even tell us in advance. I should have brought the proposal for *If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask* so you could take a look.”

“Review the proposal? Why not. Don’t beat around the bush. Just say it clearly. If Han Bin hosts this, what can you offer? He may be only a wedding company host now, but the two of you have seen his professionalism and standard.”

Hearing the word “offer,” Yuan grinned and spoke broadly, “No problem. If Brother Han is willing to come to our TV station, his compensation will not be lacking. For every episode we record, we’ll give…”

On this matter, Yuan was by no means stingy. He and Lin thought the same: the show was good, the concept fresh, but without a proper host, it would lose much of its shine.
Though Han Bin could not rival the big-name hosts, he was highly capable—especially skilled at controlling the rhythm of a live event. If they could bring him over, it would be a win for both the station and *If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask*.

Yet before Yuan could finish, Han Bin interrupted, “Director Yuan, talking about money is too vulgar. I’ve already told you: I’m genuinely interested in this show, and I truly believe in its future.”

What did he mean, that “talking money is too vulgar”? If not money, what benefit could they offer? Yuan frowned slightly and, by instinct, glanced at Lin.

Lin grew quiet, then said after a pause, “Mr. Han, I believe *If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask* can give you a bigger platform.”

The words were vague, and there seemed to be a meaning underneath—perhaps even a kind of promise. Yuan didn’t understand. He looked at his cousin, who only smiled faintly and turned her gaze toward the lobby by the window.

“Such a benefit gives me no reason to refuse. I’m looking forward to this collaboration,” Han Bin said, standing and holding out his hand.

“I hope, Mr. Han, you won’t disappoint me,” Lin smiled and rose to shake.

At that instant, both men shared a sense of mutual recognition.

When Yuan and Lin came out of Yuehua Hotel, Yuan was still confused. “Xiao Chuan, what exactly did you give Han Bin?”

Lin smiled. “What else could we offer? *If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask* itself is the biggest offer.”

“I still don’t get it. Inviting him here is just to host *If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask*. Is that an offer?” Yuan was even more puzzled.

Lin offered no explanation, flagged down a taxi, and got in a step before Yuan.
“Hey, you still haven’t answered me. What’s going on? Can’t you stop teasing?” Yuan followed and climbed in.

“Driver, to Spring City Television Station.”

Two days later, on the streets of Spring City, a few people stood there with microphones while others carried cameras.

“Miss, what’s your opinion on matchmaking?” a reporter who didn’t look much older than a college student stopped two girls and asked.

“Matchmaking? So old-fashioned. Do people still do this? Heh.” one girl laughed.

“Then what do you think about matchmaking?” the reporter pressed.

“It’s nothing special. I just think matchmaking was a way people used in ancient times. In modern life, no one should be doing it, right? Even if they do, I wouldn’t go to one myself.”

“Alright, thank you.”

“Handsome, may I ask—do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend?”

“Who are you?”

“Um, I’m a reporter from the station. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Oh, you’re from the TV station. What do you want to ask?”

“Do you have someone?”

“Of course I do. Why are you asking this? Are you really a station reporter? Show me your credentials.”

“Sir, would you let your child go out for matchmaking?”

“Matchmaking? My wife and I are together because of matchmaking. Honestly, I think it’s more reliable than this… online acquaintance thing these young people call meeting friends.”

“If a matchmaking program comes on television, would you watch it?”

“Matchmaking show? What’s it called? I’ll find out. Which channel is it on?”

“It’s called *If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask*. It’s a Spring City Television matchmaking program; it hasn’t aired yet.”

“It hasn’t aired yet? Then what are you talking about? Why are you keeping this old man entertained? Alright, I’m going to play chess now—stop asking.”

“*If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask*? Is it a matchmaking show? When does it air, and are there any celebrities?”

“Celebrities? Why should there be celebrities? It’s just a life-and-dating show.”

“Whatever it is, who’d watch without celebrities? And matchmaking is just men and women sitting together asking about cars and houses. How cliché.”

“Thank you for your answer.”

“Miss, do you watch *If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask*?”

“Wait—are you recording this from behind me? Is it live? One second, I need to touch up my makeup.”

“This is recording, not live. What do you think about matchmaking?”

“Just hold on, I’ll be right there. Hey, don’t leave. I’m ready now. Go ahead and ask.”

Such street interviews continued for several days, producing answers as strange and varied as the interviewees themselves.

Some older people held a warm feeling toward the word “matchmaking” and were eagerly waiting for *If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask*.
Some young people, however, looked down on it. To them, it was a relic from ancient times, a tradition that had survived into the present. With the internet so advanced now, who still depends on matchmaking to find a partner?

Among the many responses were numerous oddities. Once these clips appeared online, they stirred lively discussion.
For a while, the very word “matchmaking” became a sensation, and netizens debated it passionately. In just a few hours, that short batch of interview videos was shared nearly ten thousand times.

Of course, that was only part of it. Through all that discussion and sharing, *If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask* gained free publicity by accident, and the effect was excellent. Many began waiting expectantly for the first episode.

“Incredible,” Yuan said with a broad laugh in the office at Spring City Television. “I originally thought street interviews were hard work for no benefit, but I never expected such a result.”

“It's only preheating,” Lin said from behind his desk, smiling. “We’ve introduced the name of *If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask*. Next comes the first episode’s filming. How are your preparations?”

“Ready. We can film on schedule,” Yuan replied, carefree.

“Then for the first episode, audience admission is free. But if people want to watch in person, they need to register on the station’s official website, and three hundred will be selected by random draw,” Lin instructed.

“All right, I’ll go prepare.” Yuan nodded and turned away.

When the door shut, Lin exhaled deeply, his shoulders finally relaxing.
Almost a month had passed in constant bustle over *If You’re Not Sincere, Don’t Ask*, draining both energy and time. Most painful of all, he had grown farther and farther from spending time with his son.

Thinking of that, Lin pulled out his phone. The screen lit with a photo of his son, the handsome face lit by a bright smile like sunshine, so adorable.

Then the phone suddenly vibrated, and a child’s voice began to sing, “I always take from you and never say thank you; only when I grow up do I realize how hard it must have been for you. Each time I leave, I pretend to be at ease, smiling and saying go back, but as I turn away, tears fill my eyes.”

That was Lin’s ringtone—the one he had recorded in Beining from his son. No accompaniment, no processing, just a five-year-old’s tender voice singing “Father,” slightly off-key, and yet Lin loved it.

“Hello,” Lin said, listening quietly before answering.

“Dad, why haven’t you come back yet? I miss you.” His son Lin Yiyang spoke with a crying tone.

“Yangyang, Dad’s at work,” Lin said, suddenly unsettled.

“But… I miss you,” Lin Yiyang replied, his voice wavering as if he were crying.

Lin frowned. What had happened to Yangyang? He didn’t usually cry like this. Had something gone wrong? Before Lin could ask, his grandfather took the phone.

“Xiao Chuan, don’t worry. Just a while ago, Yangyang and I watched a drama, and then he wouldn’t stop saying he missed you. No problem, keep working.”

“What drama?”

“It’s called… *A Father Like a Mountain.*”

At the title, Lin had no words. No wonder Yangyang had reacted so strongly.