After ending the stream, Zhao Biezhi looked at the data summary provided by the backend and realized that besides the carousel Weiming had gifted, which was worth a thousand, a few other people had sent her small gifts like “lollipops” and “music notes.”
Though modest in value, they were enough to prove that choosing to livestream had been the right call.
Most importantly, study streams had far greater fan retention than regular streams. In a society saturated with relentless competition, one had to keep running just to stay in place—there was never a shortage of people with the desire to learn.
As long as Zhao Biezhi went live, there would be a steady stream of viewers entering the chat, people willing to learn and hoping to force themselves into “self-discipline” through collective studying.
Humans were inherently social creatures. Most of the time, if they could find a place where they fit in, it could greatly soothe their anxious and restless minds.
Zhao Biezhi’s companion-study livestream precisely capitalized on this, achieving a win-win outcome that benefited both herself and her viewers.
The next morning, Zhao Biezhi got up early, washed up, and rummaged through the fridge for the bread, ham, and eggs she had bought earlier. She quickly made a simple sandwich for breakfast.
At seven o’clock, she adjusted her camera setup and started the stream right on time.
Today, she continued with problem-solving and review.
Generally speaking, most first-time exam candidates would start by reading textbooks and watching online courses.
However, she had already taken the exam once before—and passed with high scores. She had a solid grasp of the knowledge points involved, and the answering techniques taught in those online courses had long been internalized.
Therefore, she chose to dive straight into practicing problems to build her sense of the exam, while using error analysis to identify and fill gaps in her knowledge.
For Zhao Biezhi, this was the fastest path to achieving her goal of passing the provincial civil service exam in a short time.
Almost as soon as she went live, the words “Weiming has entered the livestream” popped up on the public screen.
Zhao Biezhi blinked, surprised that the other person was so eager.
[Good morning! Zhi zhi~]
A bullet comment from the other person appeared on the screen.
Considering that the person was, after all, her “top spender,” and since there was no one else in the livestream yet, Zhao Biezhi quietly replied, “Good morning.”
The other person said nothing more, and she quickly gathered her thoughts, lowering her head to immerse herself in the sea of practice problems.
…
A month passed in the blink of an eye. The company seemed to have completely forgotten about Zhao Biezhi’s existence.
Perhaps her agent, Chen Yong, had deliberately put in a word with the company, worried that Zhao Biezhi might stir up some negative trending topic for Xin Yun.
Through this month of problem-solving, she had basically completed her first round of gap-filling review and now had a clear understanding of her own level. Next, she would continue steadily working on the administrative aptitude test questions while also beginning to prepare for the essay portion.
In the morning, she opened her stream as usual.
Through her efforts over this period, Zhao Biezhi’s novel form of livestreaming had attracted quite a few exam candidates and students, and her follower count had grown by around five thousand.
With finals week approaching, the peak daily viewership could reach two to three thousand people.
Even Zhao Biezhi herself couldn’t help but marvel at the importance of finding the right trend. After all, the original owner had spent four years building this girl group, and her Weibo followers had never even broken into the four-digit range—and over half of those were zombie accounts. The real active followers probably numbered no more than two digits.
[Zhi Zhi, good morning]
[Zhi Zhi-jie, still grinding through practice questions today?]
[Zhi-jie is truly a force to be reckoned with in the civil service exam world. Lately, lots of people have been imitating her by hosting study-with-me livestreams, but none of them can grind from morning to night like she does. She doesn’t get distracted at all.]
[Zhi-jie, always imitated, never surpassed!]
[You’ve made a name for yourself in her livestream, with Zhi-jie guiding your studies, but you show her zero respect—you won’t even call her Director Zhi!]
[Director Zhi!]
Zhao Biezhi watched the barrage of playful teasing scrolling across the screen and shook her head helplessly. She was about to look away and start today’s studying when her sharp eyes caught a comment drifting past.
[Zhi-jie, could you share how you manage to sustain such high-intensity studying for so long? Is there some kind of mental secret?]
Zhao Biezhi’s movements paused slightly. She lowered her head and thought for a moment. “A mental secret?”
“I do have one, but I’m not sure if it’ll be useful for everyone.”
[Ahhh, Zhi-jie replied to me! Tell us, tell us~]
[I really want to know too. Zhi-jie, please share!]
“Mm…” Zhao Biezhi organized her thoughts for a moment. “My mentality is actually quite simple…”
At the dining table on the first floor of the villa, Lu Xichao had been about to take a bite of the small bread roll in his hand, but he paused mid-motion upon hearing the first half of Zhao Biezhi’s sentence.
Then, the very next second, he broke into an expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
“I think every person who studies should have a sense of urgency.”
“If the books you can’t finish memorizing or the questions you can’t finish today are like owing high-interest loans, then if you don’t complete your tasks, the loan sharks will come knocking tomorrow to collect by force.”
The words coming out of her mouth were utterly absurd, yet her tone was completely serious—which somehow created a strange contrast that made it all the more endearing and comical.
Because he had never seen her face, Lu Xichao subconsciously conjured up an image in his mind: a little teddy bear with a stern expression saying those words to him.
At that thought, Lu Xichao couldn’t help but cover his mouth and quietly chuckle.
Such an unusual display naturally caught the attention of Uncle Zhuang, the butler standing nearby.
He watched Lu Xichao stifling his laughter, a deeply complicated emotion flickering in his eyes. After a long moment, he let out a silent sigh.
Ever since he had started watching this livestream a month ago, Lu Xichao’s life had gained a bit more vitality.
After that accident three years ago, he had become completely lifeless and listless. It wasn’t until just now that he finally showed a hint of the energy befitting someone his age.
But after the person on the screen finished speaking, she seemed to sense that the topic was a bit inappropriate, so she didn’t continue it and instead jumped straight into today’s studying.
Uncle Zhuang watched Lu Xichao, who was sprawled on the table, staring intently at the screen. His hair was black and smooth, falling neatly across his forehead. When he looked at the screen, his eyes sparkled brightly, like a little puppy.
Seeing him take such an interest in something for once, Uncle Zhuang’s heart softened, and he called out, “Chao Chao…”
Lu Xichao turned his head around. His fair, delicate face had soft, gentle features, radiating a strong youthful spirit.
“You really like this streamer?” Uncle Zhuang asked.
Lu Xichao blinked, then nodded heavily. He picked up his phone from beside him and typed a line in his notes app, then held it up for Uncle Zhuang to see.
“I really like Zhizhi.”
Uncle Zhuang paused, then spoke tentatively: “Then… do you want me to—”
Before Uncle Zhuang could finish, Lu Xichao shook his head like a rattle-drum, frantically typing on his phone’s keyboard.
“Don’t go bothering her!”
Uncle Zhuang was taken aback at first, then nodded helplessly and said okay.
Lu Xichao’s gaze dimmed slightly. He pressed his lips into a faint smile and typed another line on his phone—
“This is already good enough.”