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In less than a month, Nan Que had already become an “old hand” in the Voice Hall. Opening Douzi felt like an archaeological dig!
The screen showed the company’s public avatar—an ugly, humanoid black puppy suit that looked quite serious.
“Today is my first day streaming, with only a few viewers. I don’t know why I’m being asked such questions.”
“I won’t form partnerships.”
“I can’t bear the fate of two people.”
“With that said, can you rest assured now?”
The video was just over ten seconds—extremely short, with no context provided.
Nan Que found it puzzling. In the clip, Xiao seemed provoked before blurting out those words.
The comments section was flooded with questions about the situation, but the original poster never responded.
He had previously considered suggesting Lovecast form a partnership to smooth their path, never expecting Lovecast had blocked that route from the very beginning.
However, this stance earned appreciation from many casual fans. While partnerships were common in Voice Halls, few lasted long. Most split to “purify” their fanbases after gaining traffic.
Most audiences preferred remaining ordinary solo fans, sparing themselves the agony of watching their favorite streamers “date.”
Nan Que closed the video, feeling an inexplicable sense of loss.
After a heavy sleep, Nan Que woke up to another sunny day.
Staring at his phone flooded with messages like “Where’s the promised 8 a.m. stream?” and “You’re all talk, bro,” he expressionlessly muted them all.
How boring these people were.
They must have gotten their schedules tangled and were just being naggy.
Walking into the hall, he found Zhang Zhe freshly awake, lounging on the sofa while ordering takeout.
“Starving! What should we eat?”
Nan Que copied his languid posture. “Whatever. Let’s eat before our shifts.”
After ordering, they sat blankly together awaiting delivery.
“Now that Voice Hall’s become our formal job—seven or eight hours daily, almost like a real workplace—barely making ends meet… how do people actually get rich here?”
Nan Que kept his eyes closed, mercilessly prodding his insecurity. “Your singing’s mediocre, your streams lack charisma, you’ve few connections, and your fanbase isn’t wealthy. How exactly do you plan to get rich?”
“You grind relentlessly! Longer hours are just the foundation. Top streamers all started this way.”
Zhang Zhe nearly lunged at him. “I’m just venting! After a damn month, I’ve barely covered electricity bills—haven’t even recouped the computer and equipment costs. Can’t I complain?”
“If you’re still worrying about petty cash like electricity and computers, have you bought an avatar? 2D models cost thousands, facial capture another few thousand. For a 3D virtual human? That’s 200-300k.”
Nan Que delivered the final blow. “Even with full setup, breaking even would take at least a year.”
Zhang Zhe sighed. “I want shortcuts.”
Nan Que: “Cut the crap. Didn’t you want shortcuts when breaking up with your girlfriend?”
Zhang Zhe was just an ordinary boy from an average family—could sing a little, play guitar. As Nan Que put it, his ex—a wealthy, beautiful girl—must’ve been bewitched to date him. After over a year of sweetness, Zhang Zhe ended it, convinced their worlds were too far apart.
The girl was quite “magnanimous” too—heartbroken as she was, she didn’t hesitate at all when calling him a pigheaded fool. Before blocking him, she left Zhang Zhe with a harsh ultimatum: if he ever wanted to rekindle things, he shouldn’t even think about it without first achieving a “small goal” of a hundred million.
So even though Zhang Zhe was the scumbag who initiated the breakup, he ended up getting dead drunk and crying the hardest.
Crying aside, Nan Que still admired his bro’s “backbone”—clearly regretting it right after ending things, yet he stubbornly refused to look back, instead throwing himself into Voice Hall work.
“Sheng Qing, you damn… that foul mouth of yours!” Zhang Zhe snapped.
Furious at him, Zhang Zhe took both portions of takeout back to his room without letting Nan Que have a single bite.
“Hey, I’ll die from overeating!” Nan Que tried to salvage the situation.
“I’m a bottomless pit! If I can’t finish it by noon, I’ll keep eating through the evening! You deserve to starve, damn it!”
Nan Que: …
With a deducted slot, Nan Que had no time to order more food and could only tearfully settle for instant noodles, forcing down a few bites.
The afternoon shifts turned into pure torture. Nan Que’s Song List was already limited, and he’d been learning new songs right under Zhang Zhe’s nose all this time.
Now, things went south—Zhang Zhe had it out for him, singing ahead of him every time a slot was deducted. The moment Nan Que picked a song, Zhang Zhe would sing it first.
[Is Zhe going for a pop persona today? A rapper singing pop isn’t bad either!]
[You can diversify your Song List now, bro—sounds great!]
[Why does Mic 7 always pause a bit after getting on mic? Is that a black mic?]
Nan Que quickly turned on his mic to explain, “No black mic! I was just picking a song, sorry, sorry!”
[Can’t you pick in advance? Basic skills lacking, huh?]
[Lots of newcomers in the Hall lately, sisters, please go easy on them~]
Nan Que felt wronged, but he couldn’t say it out loud.
In the final shift, he lost to Zhang Zhe again.
After enduring four shifts, Nan Que finally reached his limit!
He clicked on Zhang Zhe’s avatar in the Hall!
And sent him a sports car (T＿T)
After finishing his song, Zhang Zhe started thanking the leaderboard and beamed at Nan Que’s sports car. “Oh, bro, thanks to my bro X. Nan Que, hahaha! This is so embarrassing!”
Nan Que: You son of a gun!
[X. Nan Que: It’s the least I could do, bro, you sang amazingly.]
Zhe: “No worries, little bro. I’m not taking the next slot, so rest easy, hahaha.”
The host finally caught onto their feud.
Host: “Oh hahaha, I was wondering why Nan Que—who’s usually so strong—kept slipping up today. So it’s because your bro’s blocking you!”
[I’m dying of laughter, I was about to say today Zhe’s songs all sounded like Nan Que’s Song List.]
[Nan Que’s grievance: I’m totally grateful, hahaha.]
[Nan Que: So pissed! Only option was to gift bro a sports car! You two are such entertainers.]
The public chat flooded with happy “hahahas.”
Nan Que, who’d worked all day for nothing: Can’t even smile.jpg
Zhang Zhe left his shift for an Individual Broadcast, while Nan Que stayed on his shift, honestly singing his songs. His tasks went a bit smoother than before.
Just as he was thanking the leaderboard, the Winter Hall event notification group tagged him.
X. Guandeng: This Friday at 8 PM @Nan Que @Sha Zi, both new teachers please prepare! The Winter Hall newcomer event slot will grandly commence for you two!
X. Guandeng: (evil grin)