The center of attention had entered the stage, and the comment section exploded to its all-time peak.
“Rank #1’s here?”
“Bro, you’d better run before the train hits you—look at the mess you’re defending.”
“Neither of them are any good, they both belong in hell.”
The moment He Zheng saw that one message from the Top Supporter, his heart suddenly calmed. The turmoil faded; he didn’t feel wronged anymore, not even embarrassed. In a peaceful voice, he told him, “Leave the chat room first.”
The Top Supporter reacted faster than expected. Without scrolling up, just one look at the overflowing insults told him what had happened.
Someone had bullied He Zheng again.
And this time, it happened right in front of him.
He Zheng waited for his response. The room fell silent. He half-expected the man to explode and start banning people—but instead, he didn’t.
He quietly enabled mute for the entire chat. All the focus fell on his lone, distinctive red text. He Zheng held his breath unconsciously—then saw the Top Supporter type, sincerely:
[What kind of dumbass is Huang Chen.]
[What are you dogs barking for?]
[Aren’t there security cameras on set?]
[Just get the director to verify the footage. Embarrassed?]
[Then I’ll do it.]
The moment he said that, a message popped up on He Zheng’s WeChat—he wanted the director’s phone number.
He Zheng didn’t hesitate and sent it right over.
The livestream remained under global mute. Behind that eerie calm, countless people were fuming, desperate to type. He Zheng clenched the unlit cigarette in his hand. He had thought before about asking the director to step up for him, but with his low status and the director’s contemptuous attitude, that idea had always been crushed before it even formed.
He’d met plenty of people like Huang Chen. Extras weren’t considered actors—they were tools. Tools didn’t have emotions that deserved respect. Dignity was out of the question. For the past eight years, whenever similar things happened, he’d always swallowed it down, grinding his teeth, telling himself it’d pass. After all, no one would ever stand beside a nobody like him—to defend him, to feel indignant for him, to speak for him.
But now, someone did.
A powerful man told him, You might be used to enduring it, but I refuse to let you.
For no reason at all—other than: because I’m rich, influential, and happen to enjoy your streams.
….
When the director finally called back, He Zheng still felt slightly dazed.
“Hello?” The director’s voice, on speaker, echoed through the livestream for everyone to hear.
He didn’t sound friendly—you could tell he was forcing himself to be polite, bowing his head to money. He spoke quickly: “I’ll tell Huang Chen to delete the post right now.”
He Zheng was just about to reply when the Top Supporter immediately typed: [Tell Huang Chen to apologize.]
“Is it really necessary to make such a scene?”
The director’s anger simmered under his words. “Sure, Huang Chen twisted the story, but there are rules in this industry. I get that you’re loaded, but if you don’t understand how things work, stay out of it.”
The Top Supporter replied again: [Tell Huang Chen to apologize.]
“You’ll have to talk to him yourself. That’s not my call,” the director said stiffly.
The Top Supporter didn’t bother listening to his excuses: [F*** off dick head]
The call ended abruptly. He Zheng watched the whole thing with a blank expression and suddenly felt weary.
He wasn’t someone who cared much about winning or losing. The Top Supporter—normally so gentle—getting this angry for him was already more than enough. One thing was clear: Huang Chen would definitely apologize, just not tonight, and certainly not in front of the entire livestream.
“Let’s end the stream,” He Zheng said, undoing his ponytail. His voice was calm. “You need to rest.”
Once he lifted the mute, the comment section exploded again. The sudden reversal of events sent the gossip crowd into another frenzy. The truth was already out, the director had admitted it, yet rabid fans still hurled abuse—their blindness beyond saving.
He Zheng felt exhausted. Facing the screen, he said three final sentences:
“Tomorrow, I’ll post the surveillance footage on Weibo. Whoever’s in the wrong—figure it out yourselves.”
“I’ve never met my top supporter in real life. If you don’t believe it, go dig. Remember: spreading rumors is illegal.”
“Huang Chen, stop hiding behind your screen. Come out and apologize.”
…..
The instant the stream ended, the Top Supporter called.
It was around five in the morning in Mexico. After their dice game and awkward fight earlier, he had tried to sleep, but couldn’t. He got up in the middle of the night, restless and frustrated, opened the stream—and saw He Zheng being attacked.
All that pent-up anger exploded. For the first time ever, he had cursed out in front of He Zheng, using words that included genitalia.
Now that he’d cooled down, he started worrying that his image in He Zheng’s eyes might have collapsed. In his impression, He Zheng didn’t like hearing him swear.
“I’ll make Huang Chen apologize to you,” the Top Supporter said in a low, uncertain voice. “I… I cursed just now. Was that okay?”
“I saw it,” He Zheng said. “Pretty fierce.”
“…”
“Was it too harsh? I lost control, got up cranky,” the Top Supporter mumbled, trying to justify himself. “I’ll try not to do that again.”
He Zheng suddenly remembered the exact curse he’d used and became curious—what would it sound like in his voice?
“Say it again,” he said. “I want to hear it.”
“…I won’t curse anymore.”
“I’m not blaming you,” He Zheng said with a helpless smile. “I really just want to hear it—can you say it once?”
“What kind of kink is that?” the Top Supporter asked, puzzled.
“Go on, I’m listening.”
The Top Supporter hesitated for a moment, then said softly, “Dickhead.”
“Ah.” He Zheng immediately burst out laughing.
Hearing him laugh, the Top Supporter tried again tentatively, repeating in a low voice, “Dickhead, Dickhead, Dickhead?”
He Zheng’s chest trembled with muffled laughter. It took him a while to calm down before he sighed and said, “How old are you?”
The Top Supporter thought he was being serious and answered earnestly, “Twenty-three.”
“No wonder you can stay up so late.” He Zheng paused, then changed the subject. “Do you want to go back to sleep for a bit?”
“I’m actually a little sleepy,” the Top Supporter’s voice grew softer. “But I don’t really want to hang up.”
“Then don’t hang up,” He Zheng said gently. “You sleep, I’ll stay on the line.”
The Top Supporter hummed in response, finally letting down his guard. Maybe he really was sleepy—his consciousness was drifting—but his tone lightened slightly as he murmured in a low, hazy voice:
“No one’s allowed to bully you.”
His words were quiet but resolute, and that naturally clear voice carried a hint of youthful sincerity—immature, but wholehearted.
He Zheng felt something soft brushing across his heart, a ticklish warmth that made him melt. He coaxed with a teasing smile, “Sleep, little puppy.”