A rich man told me, “If you bark once in front of everyone in public, I’ll give you 10,000 yuan. The more you bark, the more I’ll give you, but it has to be in front of all your relatives and friends.”

I agreed.
After my relatives and friends had all arrived, I crawled on the floor and barked my first “woof.” My mom covered her face: “I raised you for thirty years, and this is what you show me?” My dad simply smashed his cup: “Disgraceful!” The relatives laughed awkwardly, and someone muttered, “Is it really necessary?”
The tenth bark. My dad’s blood pressure shot up. He pointed at the door: “Get out! I don’t have a son like you!” My older uncle stepped forward: “Stop barking. Our family doesn’t lack this little money.” I didn’t stop.
The hundredth bark. One million. The living room went silent—only my “woof,” one after another. My mom stopped crying and started looking down at her phone. My dad sat back down and lit a cigarette. The relatives exchanged glances at each other, and no one cursed me anymore.
The five hundredth bark. My mom brought a glass of water and set it in front of me: “If your throat is hoarse, take a break.” My dad passed me a cigarette: “Smoke one, then keep going.” My aunt nearby sighed with feeling: “This kid—he can bend and stretch.”
The thousandth bark. Ten million. I stood up, and my throat was already beyond speech. The whole room exploded—my mom hugged me and cried, “My son has what it takes!” My dad patted my shoulder and said to the relatives, “Which family’s kid can bark ten million?” My cousin leaned over: “Brother, let me bark a few times for you.” My third uncle ran straight to the rich man: “Sir, I can bark too—give me a chance!”
From beginning to end, I didn’t change—I’m still me. But I changed—completely in other people’s eyes.
If you bark too little, people call you shameless. If you bark more, the sound of barking becomes applause.
💬 Interactive question: If it were you, how many times would you bark?