The apartment was actually quite nice: convenient transportation, and after inspection, completely free of issues—especially the price. Because it was a sublease from the original tenant, the rent was heavily discounted, and the remaining lease term would easily carry Tan Ze through his university graduation.
He also wouldn’t have to worry about future rent hikes; by the time the rent went up, a graduated Tan Ze might not even be in Jiang City anymore.
“Tan-ge, what do you think? Is it okay?” Xia Xuan walked beside him, thoughtfully pulling a small portable fan out of his backpack to hand to Tan Ze.
Surprised by the sudden appearance of the fan, Tan Ze instinctively felt a bit odd. He smiled and waved a hand to decline, saying, “I think it’s great. Let’s rent it.”
“I’ll be rooming with you.”
Taken aback, Xia Xuan smiled, not expecting Tan Ze to agree so readily. On second thought, a hint of hesitation crept in: “Does Liang Xubai know you’re moving out?”
Would this count as poaching someone else’s roommate?
Hearing Liang Xubai’s name didn’t stir much reaction in Tan Ze. “It’s fine. He’s probably dying for me to move out anyway.”
Xia Xuan beamed. “That’s fantastic! I’ll go talk to the agent about the details and let you know when it’s time to sign the contract.”
Tan Ze nodded. “Sorry for the trouble.”
“No trouble at all, I was planning to move out and rent a place anyway.” As he spoke, Xia Xuan pulled a sun umbrella from his backpack, opened it, and held it up between the two of them.
The fierce, glaring sunlight was instantly blocked. Tan Ze cast a surprised glance at Xia Xuan. Xia Xuan’s skin bore a wheat-toned tan clearly earned from wind and exposure; ordinarily, he neither used skincare products nor applied sunscreen. Yet, heading out for a single trip, his bag contained both a mini fan and a sun umbrella—it was pretty obvious who those were prepared for.
Xia Xuan offered him a shy, boyish smile.
Tan Ze said, “You don’t need to hold the umbrella, I’m not afraid of the sun.”
“Did you put on sunscreen before coming out?” Hearing this, Xia Xuan obediently closed the umbrella, folded it up, and tucked it back into his bag.
Tan Ze shook his head. “Didn’t put any on. If I get tanned, I get tanned, no big deal.”
“You don’t wear it normally either? You’re so fair, you look like someone who uses sun protection year-round,” Xia Xuan marveled. “I heard from the girls that you have to put on sunscreen every time you go out, wear UV-protective clothing, and carry a parasol, because if you don’t protect yourself from the sun, your skin ages really fast.”
“Things like getting age spots, uneven skin tone, dryness and peeling, plus it makes you turn dark.”
God knows where Xia Xuan picked up this whole lecture on sun protection. Tan Ze knew nothing about it and chose not to keep the conversation going.
Before parting ways, Xia Xuan offered to treat him to a meal, but Tan Ze declined on the grounds that he had other plans.
As he walked, Tan Ze debated whether he needed to give Liang Xubai a heads-up about moving out, or if it would be more satisfying to just pack up and leave quietly with his dignity intact, or to inform Liang Xubai in advance along with a snarky parting message for maximum emotional payoff.
However, Liang Xubai returned very late that night. By the time he got back, Tan Ze had already been streaming for a while. Faint rustling noises echoed from outside the room, followed by the sound of running water from the bathroom—louder than usual.
Wondering what got into Liang Xubai, Tan Ze silently cranked the background music up a notch.
Black Dog: [When are you going to wear the clothes I bought you?]
Mid-stream, Tan Ze froze when he saw the message. He instinctively looked around the chat room for Black Dog, only to realize the guy wasn’t even watching the broadcast.
Quickly tapping out a perfunctory reply, Tan Ze typed:
Tan Ze: [Ge, I’m streaming right now, it’s not convenient to chat.]
After pausing for a moment of silence, Black Dog suddenly flashed back into the stream, dropped a gift, and exited without a word, returning straight to the chat window to message Tan Ze directly.
Black Dog: [End the stream early.]
Checking the time, Tan Ze realized finishing early wouldn’t be a big deal—it was only half an hour ahead of his usual schedule anyway. Viewers trickled down to a handful in the small hours of the night anyway; at that point, staying on was mostly just chatting with the chat and playing casual mini-games for engagement.
So he decisively found an excuse and signed off.
Although Black Dog wasn’t in the stream room anymore, he was clearly keeping close tabs on his status. The second Tan Ze logged off, a new notification popped up.
Black Dog: [Chasing money, aren’t you.]
Tan Ze: [><…]
Tan Ze: [I don’t know when to wear them! I really don’t wear women’s clothes in my daily life! That last time was just a punishment penalty after losing a PK match on stream, which is why I wore it.]
Black Dog: [The time after that?]
Tan Ze: [You already know…]
Black Dog: [Don’t know.]
Tan Ze: [Because you said you wanted to see, so I put it on.]
The other side went quiet for a stretch. Just as Tan Ze was mindlessly scrolling through short videos and getting ready to pack up for bed, his phone buzzed vibrantly once more.
Black Dog: [I want to see it now.]
Tan Ze’s fingers froze over the screen. He didn’t reply immediately. Watching the word “Unwilling?” pop up, he slowly moved his thumb, deciding to play along and string Black Dog along for a bit.
Tan Ze: [It’s already really late, Ge, it’s a huge hassle for me to change clothes.]
Black Dog: [What kind of perks did you used to give your top donors?]
Tan Ze felt a prickle of awkwardness. His top donors used to rotate daily—whichever random person was in a good mood and tossed a few coins into his rice bowl for the day would end up at the top of the leaderboard. He had never had a whale like Black Dog who dropped four-figure sums minimum right out of the gate.
Tan Ze: [Nobody used to gift like this before, so I mostly just chatted with everyone, sent out late-night greetings, and asked what kind of promotional videos they wanted to see. I never really sent out special perks.]
Tan Ze: [But I do have an exclusive tier with some unreleased daily and promotional photos.]
Black Dog: [Meaning none?]
Tan Ze felt his soul leaving his body. Why was chatting with a stranger behind a screen so immensely stressful? He rolled back and forth across his bed several times before deciding to exit and message Xu Xiu to ask if he ever sent out private perks to maintain his top supporters.
Xu Xiu replied promptly, confirming that he did.
[“I try my best to accommodate requests as long as they don’t cross my personal boundaries or principles. After all, we’re entertainment streamers.”]
That was Xu Xiu’s answer.
Before officially entering the world of entertainment streaming, Tan Ze had wondered about it too: why could a profession like this generate explosive wealth when done right? Why did simply sitting in front of a camera, shouting a few catchphrases, and throwing out scripted lines manage to make people willing to spend money on them?
What’s the difference between that and reaching straight into someone’s pocket?
After officially entering the industry—especially after shaking off the misconception that “good looks are all it takes to make it”—Tan Ze’s perspective shifted just a little. In truth, being an entertainment blogger/streamer wasn’t an easy gig. While plenty of people might watch a livestream, very few were actually willing to spend money on a complete stranger behind a screen.
Sure, people willing to spend money existed, but those willing to spend money on an obscure, low-name-recognition streamer like him were few and far between.
Figuring out how to get the people who normally showered big-name streamers with gifts to notice and support small, unknown streamers like them, while carefully cultivating and building engagement—that was a massive challenge. At the end of the day, the term “entertainment streamer” still came down to “entertainment.” What mattered most was emotional value.
And while mastering the art of delivering emotional value, you also had to hold the line on your own boundaries and principles; only by creating a healthy, sustainable cycle could you go far.
Tan Ze understood this logic deeply, but he genuinely harbored an inexplicable aversion to putting on a dress in private just for someone else to look at.
He replied with a rather random-sounding message.
Tan Ze: [Ge, which city in this province are you from?]
Black Dog: [Yangcheng.]
Tan Ze: [Which set do you want to see?]
He’d always had a lingering worry because Black Dog’s IP address matched his own province, and rich folks in Jiang City were practically a dime a dozen. He was terrified that Black Dog might live in the same city, and that one day they might accidentally bump into each other on the street—now that would be true awkwardness.
As long as they maintained this distant, internet-only dynamic, Tan Ze could handle it.
After all, out of sight, out of mind…
Tan Ze put on the dress Black Dog had specified. The size was an exact fit; heaven knows where this guy developed such a brutally accurate eye. The light-green hemline settled right around his thighs when he sat down, and a specially matched white pearl accessory hung at his chest, giving off a soft, rustling clatter whenever it swayed.
It was normal, not over-the-top clothing—it would’ve been even better if he weren’t a straight guy with zero cross-dressing fetish.
He snapped a photo and sent it to Black Dog.
Right then, a rustling noise came from the bathroom outside. Tan Ze felt a sudden jolt of nervous tension, but remembering he had locked his bedroom door, he settled his half-raised bottom back down onto the bed.
After Liang Xubai came out of the bathroom, Tan Ze didn’t hear his footsteps anymore, nor did he hear the lock click on the adjacent bedroom door. His room was right next to the bathroom—left turn right out the door—and he couldn’t shake the feeling that Liang Xubai was standing right outside his threshold.
Tan Ze quietly waited for Black Dog to reply, but the guy remained silent for quite a while. With nothing to do, he could only sit on the bed, spacing out and letting his mind drift back to Liang Xubai, who was still lingering outside without making a move.
Should he tell Liang Xubai about moving out?
Would it be more satisfying to announce it first and move out with his head held high, or would taking direct, silent action be the more satisfying flex?
In reality, once Tan Ze moved away, there was a very high chance he and Liang Xubai would never cross paths again. The overlap between their worlds was too thin, and since Liang Xubai was already a senior, once he left Bay View, they wouldn’t have any intersection left.
Knock, knock—
Just as Tan Ze was deep in thought, his door was knocked.
“Tan Ze,” Liang Xubai called out from the hallway. “Where’s the hairdryer from the bathroom?”
Tan Ze bolted upright, his eyes darting to the hairdryer sitting right on his desk. After drying his hair earlier, he’d brought the dryer straight into his room because blowing hair in the bathroom always left loose strands behind that he’d have to clean up, otherwise Liang Xubai would chew him out.
With Liang Xubai out of the way earlier, he’d just brought it straight in and totally forgotten to put it back.
“Tan Ze, did you hear me?”
Tan Ze stammered out an “Um”: “It’s in my room, hold on a second.”
Flustered and scrambling, he tried to strip off the dress he was wearing, desperate to tear it off in one go, when he heard a sharp rip—sounding like tearing silk. Staring in petrified horror at the hem of the dress, he saw a tear had already ripped open.
“Are you done yet?” Liang Xubai urged again.
In his heart, Tan Ze cursed Liang Xubai for being a reincarnated debt collector whose only talent was nagging!
Pulling a short-sleeve tee over his head and shoving the dress down under the quilt, Tan Ze grabbed the hairdryer and threw the door open with an aggressive aura, locking eyes straight with Liang Xubai.
Liang Xubai still had damp hair. He glanced down briefly, then raised a hand to take the hairdryer.
Taking two steps back into his room, Tan Ze awkwardly tucked one leg behind the door panel to make the scene look slightly less bizarre.
True to form, the guy who always had a sharp tongue surprised him by saying absolutely nothing, taking the dryer and turning to leave. Watching his back, Tan Ze suddenly made up his mind, opened his mouth, and called out, “Hey.”
“I’m moving out soon,” Tan Ze said, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Just letting you know.”
Liang Xubai turned his head, gave him a calm look, and offered a thoroughly perfunctory one word reply: “Congrats.”
Liang Xubai’s reaction wasn’t nearly as dramatic as Tan Ze had imagined, nor did he feel anywhere near as triumphant as he’d hoped. Closing the door, Tan Ze realized he had fallen into a mental trap.
He simply wasn’t that important. Whether he moved in or moved out, Liang Xubai hadn’t been particularly annoyed by his arrival, nor was he going to be the slightest bit shocked by his departure.
From start to finish, the only one who cared deeply about this whole thing was him.
Liang Xubai didn’t care at all, so there was no such thing as a triumphant flex.
Bare-legged, Tan Ze crawled back onto the bed, his train of thought thoroughly scrambled by this unexpected blow. He gave the soft fabric a disgruntled kick, only to belatedly pull out the dress with the torn seam.
Such a waste.
Even though he hated wearing it, this dress retailed for over two thousand yuan online, and it got ruined after a single wear.
Black Dog’s message finally arrived.
Black Dog: [Send a picture of your legs.]