By the time she returned from downtown, it was nearly dusk. After putting away the bags she was carrying, Zhao Biezhi tossed her neat short hair behind her head.
The stylist she’d found was no less skilled than Hu Delu!
“Mission accomplished!”
Looking at the fully stocked refrigerator, a sense of accomplishment welled up inside her.
As for that little incident she’d encountered on the way, she had long since cast it to the back of her mind.
…
After resting properly for a few days, the civil service exam study materials she’d ordered online arrived one after another. After making a rough initial plan, Zhao Biezhi began her review.
Apart from studying, she would occasionally scroll through short videos to relax. While browsing, she stumbled upon another business opportunity—starting a study-with-me livestream.
In Zhao Biezhi’s original world, study-with-me livestreams were hardly uncommon, and what they entailed wasn’t complicated.
If you didn’t bother with fancy backdrops and lighting, the simplest approach was just to set up the camera in front of you and focus on studying.
A colleague of hers had once mentioned that she’d run such a livestream during her own exam preparation. Over the course of a month, although she hadn’t earned much, she’d still managed to bring in a few hundred to a thousand yuan.
To be fair, that base salary of two thousand wasn’t too shabby when she didn’t have to pay rent, but with the new year approaching, Zhao Biezhi would likely need to make a trip back to the orphanage to visit Mother Director and the children there.
She couldn’t very well go back empty-handed.
If she could pick up a side gig, even if it didn’t earn much, it would still be better than nothing.
Moreover, it seemed that hardly anyone in this world was doing study-with-me livestreams yet—which surely meant this was a blue ocean, ripe with potential for development.
If she could earn more, she could also buy some books and stationery for the children at the orphanage and hand out some lucky money. Why not?
With that thought in mind, Zhao Biezhi quickly dug out the contract she’d signed with the dog of a company and studied it carefully. Only after confirming that there were no clauses restricting her from livestreaming did she breathe a sigh of relief.
She figured it was because livestreaming had only taken off in the past couple of years, so it hadn’t been considered when the contract was signed. As it stood now, it counted as a blessing in disguise.
That very evening, she fiddled around and started a livestream on the biggest short-video platform, “Tiaofu”—though of course, without showing her face.
The name of the livestream room was—”The Outcome Is Not Yet Decided; We Are All Pieces on the Board.”
After adjusting the setup, Zhao Biezhi set her phone aside and ignored it, burying her head in practice questions for the administrative aptitude test. The only sounds in the room were the rustling of her pen and the occasional turning of pages.
Zhao Biezhi was so absorbed in her practice questions that she didn’t notice the number at the top left corner of the livestream room—”Currently Watching”—quietly tick from 0 to 5.
A moment later, a few bullet comments appeared on the screen, but she still didn’t notice them.
…
Zhang Wei was a second-year graduate school retaker. In her first year, she’d barely scraped past the interview cutoff line, but she still hadn’t managed to escape the fate of being eliminated during the interview round.
But she refused to accept it, so she decided to try again for another year.
However, after entering December, the closer the exam got, the greater the pressure she felt, and the less she could bring herself to study. And the less she could study, the more anxious she became—forming a vicious cycle.
Stumbling upon this livestream room named “The Outcome Is Not Yet Decided; We Are All Pieces on the Board” was purely by chance. From the name alone, one could tell it was most likely related to the civil service exam.
Zhang Wei had never seen a livestream like this before—it was very quiet. The streamer didn’t show their face or speak. Once she put on her headphones, all she could hear was the sound of writing and pages turning.
The other person worked through problems at a steady rhythm, unhurried in pace and highly accurate. Even when they occasionally made a mistake, they would calmly identify where they’d slipped up and fill in the gaps.
There were very few people in the livestream room, and no one was commenting.
However, it wasn’t until the other person flipped to another page of exercises that Zhang Wei suddenly snapped back to reality.
She glanced at the time in the upper right corner—she’d unknowingly been watching the livestream for half an hour!
Not only that, but during those thirty minutes, she’d almost entered a state of flow. The anxiety and restlessness that had plagued her for so long seemed to have been smoothed away by the person on the screen.
Even though all they were doing was quietly working through problems.
Rarely finding herself calm, Zhang Wei quickly pulled out her professional textbooks, eager to memorize a couple more pages while she was in a good state.
She was about to turn off her phone to study, but just as her finger hovered over the power button, she hesitated for some inexplicable reason.
I’ll just leave it on, she thought, since the other person wasn’t talking anyway. And so she let the livestream continue playing.
The rhythmic sound of page-turning came through her earphones, while in front of her lay the professional textbook she’d long since memorized. The soft yellow glow of the desk lamp spilled across the pages. Before she knew it, Zhang Wei had focused all her attention on the text, and one by one, the obscure technical terms were clearly etched into her mind.
When she finished memorizing a chapter, Zhang Wei instinctively looked up at her phone.
Nearly two hours had already passed?
She was genuinely surprised. She hadn’t touched her phone at all during those two hours, but had devoted herself entirely to studying?
Moreover, once she’d calmed down, her memorization efficiency had greatly improved. This was arguably the most productive session she’d had in over half a month.
For someone as restless and anxious as she’d been lately, it felt practically like a miraculous cure!
Filled with excitement, Zhang Wei impulsively sent the streamer a “lollipop” gift.
It was the second-tier gift on the Tiaofu livestream platform, costing only ten yuan.
For Zhang Wei, renting a study room anywhere outside would cost more than ten yuan for two hours, and it wouldn’t even have this effect.
She didn’t feel the slightest bit reluctant about tipping this kind of streamer.
However, the other person remained buried in their practice problems, seemingly not noticing the activity in the livestream room.
But Zhang Wei didn’t really care about their reaction. After sending the gift, she continued memorizing her textbook. The night was still long, and there were always diligent people burning the midnight oil.
…
After successfully solving the final problem she’d planned for today, Zhao Biezhi finally let out a sigh of relief and gently shook her sore wrist.
She looked up at the phone on her desk—it was already almost eleven o’clock.
But what was gratifying was that the number of viewers in the livestream had unknowingly grown to over a hundred, and quite a few bullet comments had appeared in the lower left corner.
[What do you do for work, master?]
[Are you preparing for the civil service exam?]
Zhao Biezhi softly read the comments on the screen, a slight smile curling at the corners of her mouth.
“I’m currently a full-time candidate preparing for the civil service exam.”
[Wow, streamer, you finally replied to me!]
[Your livestream is different from all the others—it’s very quiet.]
[Do you only stream yourself studying?]
This user named “Lululu” seemed to be a naturally outgoing chatterbox. Seeing that Zhao Biezhi had replied to them, they rattled off another long string of questions.
“This is a companion study livestream. You can think of it as an online self-study room.”
“If you want to study with me, just click into my livestream, put your phone aside, and let’s focus on studying together.”
“I basically won’t talk much during the stream. I’ll only interact with everyone near the end, when it’s getting late.”
“You can type your study goals for today on the public screen, and when the stream ends, check in with what you’ve accomplished. We can supervise each other and improve together.”
Zhao Biezhi picked up the cup beside her, took a sip of water to moisten her throat, and then unhurriedly explained the features of her livestream room in detail.
[There’s actually this kind of livestream?]
[I hate studying the most. Streamer, let’s meet again if fate allows in the martial world.]
Zhao Biezhi blinked. She wasn’t particularly surprised by the reaction, only softly said goodbye.
Then she watched the viewer count in the upper left corner drop by one, making the already sparse number of viewers even more pitiful.
She wasn’t annoyed, though. She simply began tidying up the items on her desk while continuing to interact with the remaining viewers in the room.
“Alright, today’s stream ends here. If you found it helpful, feel free to hit follow, and we’ll continue studying together tomorrow.”
Just as she finished speaking and was about to click the end-stream button, the livestream screen stuttered for a moment.
Then, a massive carousel icon appeared in the center of the screen, followed by flashy fireworks effects.
Zhao Biezhi was stunned for a few seconds, only slowly snapping back to reality when a glittering golden gift notification began scrolling across the bullet comments.
“Thank you… ‘Wei Ming’ for the carousel.”
[Streamer, what time will you go live tomorrow?]
Zhao Biezhi suppressed her surprise at having a “top spender” on her very first day of streaming, and only then realized she’d forgotten to tell the viewers her streaming schedule.
“I’ll start streaming at seven in the morning and go until around ten at night. Anyone interested can drop by the room during that window to study together.”
She paused for a moment after speaking, as if waiting for that person’s reaction.
But that person seemed to have gotten the answer they wanted and left, without saying anything more.
Zhao Biezhi smiled and shook her head. Just as she was about to turn off the stream, a bullet comment suddenly floated across the public screen in the lower left corner.
[See you tomorrow, Zhizhi.]
Zhao Biezhi’s ID was literally “Biezhi,” so she wasn’t worried about being recognized. As she’d said before, she was currently so unknown she might as well be a regular civilian.
Still, the address “Zhizhi” coming from a stranger’s mouth seemed a bit overly intimate.
But she didn’t overthink it. After a gentle smile, she softly replied, “See you tomorrow, Wei Ming.”
…
The livestream screen dimmed, and the faint glimmer of light that had existed in the vast room vanished along with it.
The young man stared at the screen before him, pressing his lips together. In his pitch-black eyes, it was as if a stone had fallen into a deep pool, rippling outward in ring after ring of waves.
“See you tomorrow, Wei Ming.”
That person’s voice was clear and cool yet gentle, like moonlight reflecting on spring water flowing slowly over stones. But when she called someone’s name, her tone would always rise slightly at the end, inexplicably adding a hint of soft charm.
Since the accident three years ago, Lu Xichao hadn’t spoken in a very long time.
This was why he was far more sensitive to human voices and the emotions they carried than most people.
He had stumbled upon this livestream by chance, but the speaker’s voice was far too familiar, immediately drawing him in to listen.
Preparing for the civil service exam?
He recalled how, before they parted that day, she had called herself a public servant of the people, and he couldn’t help but purse his lips and smile.
He really liked…
He really liked her voice and her tone.
Of course, he was even more grateful for the help she had given him that day.
Lu Xichao hadn’t gone out alone in a very long time.
That day, seizing the opportunity while the butler and the housekeeper were busy, he had slipped out by himself, hoping to go to a bookstore in the city center to buy a newly released art collection.
Unexpectedly, he had still overestimated himself.
Simply walking from the villa district to the intersection where he encountered Zhao Biezhi had taken over an hour. If he hadn’t run into her, whether he could have even made it to the subway station was anyone’s guess.
Tonight, when he recognized that voice, the image of her figure surfaced in his mind involuntarily.
His heart suddenly skipped half a beat, as if struck by something.
Lu Xichao thought to himself silently. He slowly turned off the electronic device in front of him and turned toward his bed.
Lying in bed, his eyelashes trembling slightly, he suddenly pulled the teddy bear plush beside him into his arms. Gazing down at it for a while, he reached out and gently patted the bear’s head twice.
“See you tomorrow, Zhizhi.”
He smiled, his eyes curving like crescent moons in the sky—clear, bright, and serene.