“Why did you draw that solo portrait of me?”
Nan Que was already somewhat drowsy, yawning twice before answering him.
“Hmm… I don’t really know either. It’s just that when I watched your singing livestream, I felt like Xiao Ge you were dazzling, yet somehow lonely.”
“You might not have noticed, but every time you finish singing with deep immersion, you’d fall silent for a while. It’s like you’re feeling somewhat lost, staying in your own world, needing a moment to return to reality.”
Only after mumbling all this did Nan Que realize such comments might be inappropriate, quickly adding, “This is just my own imagination, you know how artists tend to overthink. I just casually sketched it for fun~”
Zhu Mingxiao unconsciously picked at his fingers.
“Mm, just curious so I asked. Rest early, we’ll discuss more after you wake up.”
After ending the call, looking at Nan Que’s cute avatar of a simple-lined puppy, Zhu Mingxiao felt astonished.
“An intuitive creature? Just how long has she been watching my livestreams…”
Nan Que wasn’t wrong.
His life was a complete mess. The only time he could relax was when immersed in songs – no need to think about real-world troubles, no need to consider income streams, no work messages to reply to, and no being held hostage by “fans.”
When singing became work, the only few minutes each Shift when he could pour out all his worries like being drunk were the moments he could truly vent.
Long-time fans hadn’t noticed. His daily gaming buddies hadn’t noticed. Yet this kid Nan Que had seen through him.
Zhu Mingxiao rarely lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag.
This pack had been around for over three months, the tobacco somewhat damp from moisture.
He seldom smoked these days – partly to protect his singing voice, partly because he genuinely couldn’t afford such indulgences anymore.
Tonight… no, it was already morning. Having rarely enjoyed himself for a few hours, he couldn’t resist having one.
“Damn, this damp taste is awful…” Zhu Mingxiao frowned and stubbed out the cigarette.
Half remained. After hesitating, he still threw it in the trash.
“Whatever.”
Sheng Qing plunged into dreamland, only to wake and find the sky outside still dark.
After sleepily using the bathroom and planning to return for more sleep, he was intercepted by Zhang Zhe who was getting water.
“Ancestor, still sleeping? It’s past eight – did you take the day off?”
“Eight o’clock? That’s still early, perfect sleeping time!” Sheng Qing remained groggy.
Zhang Zhe held his phone up. “It’s eight PM! Brother!”
“Ah?” Sheng Qing finally woke up a bit. “I slept that long?”
He touched his slightly hungry stomach – no wonder he felt both stuffed and starving.
Zhang Zhe was utterly impressed by this sleep deity.
“If you’re still tired, eat something first then sleep. What kind of kid sleeps all day, stays up all night, and barely eats!”
Sheng Qing took the dinner Zhang Zhe saved for him, offering an appeasing smile.
He had this habit – only eating during daytime, convinced nighttime eating was unhealthy. If he missed mealtime, he’d simply skip it.
As Sheng Qing put it: “If you’re hungry for a while, the hunger goes away. Then you can eat again in the morning.”
Until one day in the dorm, Sheng Qing starved himself until he fainted.
That day, Zhang Zhe was in the middle of a game when Sheng Qing climbed down from the upper bunk and collapsed right beside his seat. The shock made Zhang Zhe execute a world-class flash-ult—a move he never managed to replicate again.
Zhang Zhe genuinely thought Sheng Qing was about to die right there in the room. He pinched Sheng Qing’s philtrum hard, holding him while wailing loudly.
Later, he found out it was just low blood sugar, so he stuffed all the snacks his girlfriend had sent him into Sheng Qing’s mouth.
From then on, Zhang Zhe developed a psychological shadow. He would often check whether Sheng Qing had eaten, terrified that this “ancestor” might starve himself into passing out again.
“I came across another Secondary Creation video today. How did you and Xiao Ge get so close, even teaming up for the late-night Shift?” Zhang Zhe opened the video to show him.
Sheng Qing admired the fan-edited video. Though not entirely comprehensive, it was quite well done.
“Zhi Ma Hu told me I can start an Individual Broadcast next week. L. Lan is also resuming his streams, so he suggested I connect with him to ease the tension between both sides. That’s why I reached out to Xiao Ge—to have him back me up.”
Zhang Zhe grew intrigued. “Planning to break the ice?”
Sheng Qing nodded. “That’s the plan. I’ll be the lead car, testing the waters by bumping into the iceberg first.”
“Isn’t that risky for you? If the momentum doesn’t swing your way, you’ll definitely be the one catching all the flak.”
“Yeah.” Sheng Qing patted his shoulder. “So make sure to send some votes my way then, Godfather. Even if I’m gonna get roasted, I’d better stock up on support first.”
“Get out of here!”
Zhang Zhe was still a bit worried. “I respect Xiao Ge’s skills, but he’s kind of a lone wolf. He usually only teams up with people he’s familiar with. How’s your chemistry with him?”
Sheng Qing recalled last night’s duet with confidence. “Who said that? Xiao Ge is really nice!”
“Really?”
“Of course! I’ve always liked him. That voice of his—ahh~ Singing a duet with him is totally worth it.”
Zhang Zhe’s hair stood on end. “Sheng Xiaoqing, have you lost your mind? Falling for someone just because of their voice?”
“What ‘falling for’?” Sheng Qing shot him a sidelong glance. “Talking about romance is so tacky. This is called appreciating a strong talent. Don’t you get it?”
“Alright, alright, you appreciate then. Just don’t appreciate yourself into a trap!”
Zhang · Worrywart · Zhe deeply felt that as a rapper, he was acting very un-rapper-like.
“I heard that eight out of ten mid-range vocalists are chubby—they rely on fat compressing their vocal cords to produce those beautiful tones. You need to stay rational!”
Sheng Qing jumped up in a fluster to argue. “No way! Xiao Ge looks really slim!”
Zhang Zhe: ?
“You’ve seen him?”
“No, I haven’t!”
“When did you two meet?”
“We really haven’t!”
“Did things progress that fast in one night? Did you video call?”
“…I just saw his silhouette!”
“What does he actually look like? Even if he’s handsome, that doesn’t mean he’s a good person!”
“Ugh, you’re so naggy!”
“Sheng Xiaoqing! If you run off with some random guy, I’ll break your legs!”
His only response was the sound of Sheng Qing mercilessly slamming the door shut.
Zhe: Bro’s not trying to stop you, but you gotta stay rational, okay?
Zhe: Men are no good—have you forgotten getting catfished and scammed out of money before?
Zhe: It’s fine to have fun, but don’t take it seriously!
Nan Que: …Got it, Mama Zhe!
This Zhang Zhe has really lost it—now he’s resorting to generalizations!
Sheng Qing knew exactly why he was so talkative. Back when Sheng Qing used to enjoy gaming, he often hired companion players. Eventually, he became completely captivated by one particular companion’s voice and ended up pouring all his earnings from illustration work into it.
It wasn’t like he was dating the person—how could that count as an online romance?
He was just scammed, that’s all.
Sheng Qing pouted.
That companion’s voice bore a slight resemblance to Xiao’s—pleasant to listen to, professional, and incredibly patient. Sheng Qing genuinely liked him, so when he learned the companion was struggling financially, he prepaid tens of thousands to help him.
Who would’ve thought the guy would disappear without a trace?
Sheng Qing grieved for a long time and even spent money on multiple tarot readings. Each time, the reader advised him to go with the flow, saying things would eventually turn around.
He only stopped when he ran out of money.
Why dwell on the past anyway?
What’s gone is gone—yesterday is beyond reclaiming!
Sheng Qing logged into his Fan Content Alt Account. Since he wasn’t in the best mood today, he decided to edit some videos to cheer himself up!