The studio fell into silence. Song Yang swallowed hard and took a step back, shrinking his neck. “Brothers, let us talk this out. That night was actually a misunderstanding.”
“Who is your brother?”
The buzz-cut man signaled to his underlings. The yellow-haired thug arrogantly weighed the wooden club in his hand and shouted, “Song, our boss wants you alive. Are you going to crawl over yourself, or should we make you crawl?”
Song Yang’s brain raced for half a second. “Why do you not crawl for me instead?”
“Stupid thing!” The buzz-cut man, frustrated, punched the yellow-haired thug on the head, banished him to the back of the group, and turned to Song Yang. “Song Yang, everything you do comes back to haunt you. Today, I am going to show you what happens when you mess with the wrong people!”
“I am giving you one minute to get out.” Ji Ting’s chilly voice pierced through the air like an ice arrow. The thugs did not expect him to stand his ground, and they stood there, momentarily stunned.
“What do you think this place is? This is a school. Do you think you can just run wild here?” Ji Ting scolded, his aura not losing out in the slightest; he actually dominated the room.
“Exactly!” Song Yang immediately felt empowered. He ducked behind Ji Ting and poked his head out. “Do you know who this is? This is my honorable Student Union President. If you dare to cause trouble, he will mark you for a violation, and you will be disciplined tomorrow!”
The group laughed in unison: “Hahaha, is that so? We are truly terrified!”
Ji Ting calmly lifted his phone, showing the dialer screen: “I hope you can still laugh when the police arrive in a moment.”
Song Yang waved his fists and shouted arrogantly: “Exactly! You bunch of losers are done for!”
Ji Ting turned his head and whispered: “Tone it down. If you provoke them too much, I cannot beat them all.”
Song Yang patted his chest: “Do not worry, I will not drag you down. Anyone who wants to touch you has to step over my dead body first.”
“Do not call the police yet. We can talk things out; we are reasonable people.” Seeing that Ji Ting was serious, the buzz-cut man changed his tune. “Song Yang, let me ask you, what kind of dark magic did you use on me that night?”
Song Yang lowered his voice: “That night was really a misunderstanding.”
The yellow-haired thug stretched his neck from behind: “Cut the crap! Hand over the antidote, or neither of you is leaving here alive!”
“Huh?” Song Yang’s brain stalled for several seconds. “Antidote?”
The buzz-cut man said: “I have been suffering from insomnia for days, I am dizzy, and I cannot catch my breath. It must be that dark magic of yours. Give me the cure!”
Song Yang finally realized: the simp did not bring people here because he realized he was being played; he was here because he thought he was poisoned. It turned out this idiot was still in the dark.
Song Yang curled his lips in a mocking smirk, feeling delighted, but immediately hid his smile. He stepped out from behind Ji Ting and spoke slowly with a haughty air: “You want the cure? Come here, I will tell you.”
The buzz-cut man, foolishly, walked over. “What is it?”
His underlings stood by the door, poking their heads in, not daring to make a sound. Song Yang cleared his throat: “According to my tribe’s secret arts, this poison is incurable unless you find a scapegoat. I can help you transplant the poison onto someone else.”
The buzz-cut man widened his eyes and turned toward his underlings. The thugs looked panicked, shivering as they retreated.
“Hey, you guys over there, now is the time to show your loyalty to your boss.” Song Yang deliberately fueled the fire. “This poison does not kick in right away. It just means you will get a few weird illnesses after you turn thirty and die a decade early. It is not that scary.”
The underlings were terrified. Within moments, they scattered like birds and beasts, leaving the doorway empty.
Losing face, the buzz-cut man clenched his fists in helpless rage: “A bunch of useless idiots! I will deal with you tomorrow!”
He turned back to Song Yang, shouting angrily: “Are you lying? Do you think I am stupid? I checked Baidu, and I did not see anything about this method!”
Song Yang said: “If you could find it on the internet, would it still be my tribe’s secret art? If you do not believe me, I will burn three sticks of incense for my great-grandmother tonight and ask her to visit you in a dream so you can ask her yourself.”
“That will not be necessary!” the buzz-cut man barked. “Is there really no other way?”
Song Yang pretended to contemplate, then looked at him seriously: “There is always a way. I will go back to the village this weekend and ask my master. Give me money.”
“You cursed me and you want money? You are dreaming! Do not make me slap you!”
Song Yang said: “If you speak to me like that again, I will not help you. Go back and cry to Baidu.”
The buzz-cut man clicked his tongue impatiently: “How much do you need, damn it?”
Song Yang held up a finger and signaled with his eyes: “Ahem.”
“Fine, I will pay. You better get this done, or I will crush you.”
Song Yang swindled the money and thoughtfully left his phone number, promising to help “cure” him. Before the man left, he made sure to warn him never to harass Bai Mo again.
The buzz-cut man agreed, swearing as he left and slamming the studio door so hard the building shook.
Song Yang looked at the money in his Alipay account, feeling smug, but he looked up to find Ji Ting staring at him critically.
“Swindling and lying?” Ji Ting said coldly.
He almost forgot Ji Ting was still there. He explained casually: “What swindling? This guy has been bothering my client, I am just teaching him a lesson so he remembers.”
“Client?” Ji Ting asked again.
“I have been taking jobs lately, helping students deal with some of their life troubles.”
“And your idea of trouble is arguing, teaching people lessons, and pranking them?”
“Yes.” Song Yang saw his expression looked off and dialed back his smile. “Uh, they were in the wrong first. I am upholding justice while earning some extra cash. My friend, I am in a mountain of debt. Unlike pampered young masters and misses like you, I do this for survival.”
Ji Ting said: “That might be fast money, but do you know the risks? Making enemies everywhere, are you not afraid of revenge?”
Song Yang answered indifferently: “Then let them hit me. I earn this money specifically to take those risks. Besides, my skin is thick enough to take a beating.”
Ji Ting stepped closer, looking down at him: “If you were truly not afraid, you would not have hidden in my studio so pathetically today.”
Caught off guard and intimidated by his gaze, Song Yang looked down and changed the subject: “Thanks for helping me today. In return, I am willing to spend next week…”
Before he could finish, Ji Ting interrupted: “If you are short on money, I have a decent job here. Are you interested?”
“Huh?” Song Yang did not expect the conversation to go there. He asked subconsciously, “What kind of decent job?”
Ji Ting fell silent for a moment, his gaze slowly scanning Song Yang’s face. His eyes grew darker: “I have been practicing watercolor lately, and the studio is short a model. Want to consider it?”
Song Yang opened his eyes wide, meeting Ji Ting’s gaze. He felt that the other man’s look was odd, unsettlingly direct, like a wolf salivating at a meal.
He swallowed involuntarily: “Do you need a model to paint?”
Ji Ting raised an eyebrow, his eyes curling into a faint, indescribable smile: “I need to practice figure painting.”
Song Yang’s throat tightened. He stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest defensively: “Figure painting? I do not do anything that goes against public morality. Song Yang might be shameless, but I am not that shameless.”
“What are you thinking?” Ji Ting laughed. “It is just a normal modeling job. Think about it.”
Song Yang pouted. This job did not sound very decent at all; he had a feeling he was walking into a lion’s den. He did not agree immediately and hurriedly left the studio, saying he would think about it.
When Song Yang arrived home, he was an hour late for his planned livestream. He gulped down some water, sat in front of his computer, and opened the app.
Once in, the red dots on the notification bar caught his attention. He clicked on them and saw that his self-introduction video had become quite lively.
Is that the defensive green-tea boy? He has the face to come back? Oh, an old acquaintance. I thought the voice sounded familiar; he did not even change his name. Was he not good at cursing? Let me hear him curse again. Guys, let us disperse. He is probably happy he is getting traffic. Do not let him clout-chase.
There were not many comments, only a dozen or so. Compared to the landslide of abuse he faced before, this was painless. Song Yang clicked “close” with a calm heart.
Tch. I knew people would come to step on me the moment I changed my look and came back. Curse away. I, Song Yang, have already forged a body of steel. You want to drown me in spit? Are you kidding? Not only will I not drown, I will be doing the frog stroke in it.
He was about to start the stream when he reflexively clicked on Lis’s profile to see if he was online.
Seeing the “offline” status gave him a moment of disappointment. He noticed the other’s follower count had dropped by half overnight. Under his latest post, there were thousands of comments.
He did not need to look to guess: they were all cursing him for switching sides.
Song Yang’s fingertips froze on the mouse. An inexplicable sense of guilt welled up. He did not care about the filth thrown at him, but he could not stand seeing others get dragged down because of him.
“Big boss, what are you even trying to achieve?” he muttered to himself.
He scratched his head in irritation. Feeling conflicted, he realized brooding would not solve anything, so he pulled himself together and started the broadcast.
He turned on the mic and exchanged the usual pleasantries. A few stragglers entered, but his mind was elsewhere. He was not in the mood; he randomly clicked on a shooter game and muted his mic to play.
Lis was not there, and no one spoke in the chat. The viewer count flickered, stuck in the single digits.
This intense sense of loneliness felt exactly like when he was a “male baiter” in the past; going in circles, as if he were back at square one.
He played the game absent-mindedly, feeling a weight in his chest. He lost several rounds in a row and sighed, closed the game, glanced at the message area, and turned the mic on: “Welcome, ‘One Second Landing’.”
The moment he said that, the viewer count hit zero. The user ‘One Second Landing’ had only lasted less than half a second. Song Yang felt like he had been scratched in the heart.
Boring. Truly boring.
Depressed, Song Yang ended the stream, collapsed onto his bed, wrapped himself in a quilt, and stared at the ceiling.
He did not know how long he had been staring when his phone vibrated. It was a message from Lis.
Lis: I was busy. Why did you only stream for twenty minutes?
Song Yang held up the phone, his fingers feeling weak.
Song: I am not happy. Can I call you? I do not have the energy to type.
Half a minute after he sent the message, Lis called. Song Yang picked up, his voice heavy with fatigue: “Hello…”
Lis: What happened?
“Nothing major, just a Waterloo in my streaming career.”
Lis: Your career has not even started yet; where did this Waterloo come from?
Song Yang buried the lower half of his face into the quilt, eyes fixed on the screen: “The last stream went well, but today it feels like I am back at square one. It is miserable.”
Lis: If you encounter obstacles, you have to identify the problems and solve them. Do you know where the problem lies?
Song Yang felt like this tone was strangely familiar. You and that arrogant guy have a similar speaking style; maybe you two would get along.
Lis: Actually, you opened your new account too hastily. A streamer needs operations. You need to identify your target audience first, then design a persona, style, and script accordingly. Also, what skills do you have that you can showcase? Form your own unique characteristics so fans will have loyalty and not forget you after one stream.
Song Yang thought about it: “That makes sense. Then what should I do now?”
Lis: First, I have to ask you one question: do you genuinely like being a streamer?
“Yes.” Song Yang did not hesitate.
Lis: Why?
“Maybe because it feels fun. I am a person who cannot keep his mouth shut, so having a bunch of netizens to chat with is interesting. Sometimes cursing people out is good for circulation.”
Lis: Only doing what you love is sustainable. In the early stages with no popularity, only your passion can sustain you.
“Mm.”
Lis: In that case, I can help you.
“You want to help me? Do not throw money at me, I cannot take it.”
Lis: I will help you with operations and planning.
Song Yang was stunned for a long time, finding it hard to believe.
“Teacher, are we playing a cultivation game now?”
Lis: What?
Song Yang replied: “A cultivation sim, like raising a child. Fans accompany their idol from the beginning when they are unknown, spending time and energy, witnessing their growth.”
Lis: Then I have bet my treasure on you. Can you show some spirit?
“Mm…” Song Yang lowered his head, his voice muffled in the quilt, unclear. “I will try my best. Thank you. I promise, if you really cultivate me successfully, we will split the money I earn in the future 50/50.”
He felt deeply touched, thinking that Lis was truly his benefactor. He decided to kowtow to the sky three times tonight in repentance and erase all the mean things he had said about Lis from his memory.
After a moment of silence, he did not know what had gotten into him, but he suddenly blurted out: “Teacher, can I hear your voice?”
The other side went quiet. Song Yang added: “We have known each other for a long time, but I do not even know what your voice sounds like.”
Lis: You want to hear it?
Song Yang said “Mm.” “Yeah, can I?”
As soon as he finished speaking, he heard a rustle through the speaker. The other party turned on their mic.