Zhu Mingxiao forwarded the illustration to the management group chat, asking the admins to review it and share their opinions first.
Da Guan Miaomiao: Line art? Boss, this commissioned artwork is actually quite nice!
Guanli Kumu: The art style is different from before. Is it from another artist?
Guanli Dianfanbao: The detailing is quite intricate. Boss must’ve splurged this time.
Da Guan Miaomiao: Splurged indeed, splurged indeed.
Zhu Mingxiao opened the ledger beside him and marked a half-check next to the 5k commission fee.
“Nan Que doesn’t seem particularly cunning.”
Someone who didn’t dare reply to the progress-check messages, only secretly pulling all-nighters to rush the assignment—couldn’t be that clever.
He wasn’t some fool willing to be taken advantage of, scraping by on instant noodles every day while spending 5k on commissions.
He just felt this newcomer might be trying to ride his coattails, so he was testing the waters.
Lately, though, the newcomer hadn’t made any overt moves. Even after adding him on WeChat, he didn’t initiate conversations, behaving just like other newcomers—following scheduling rules, paying fines when necessary, and rarely posting works.
It wasn’t that he minded being used for clout, but he wouldn’t allow it for free. The Voice Hall’s audience was limited, and his own traffic wasn’t even sufficient for himself. He wasn’t ready to share it with others yet.
He wouldn’t let anyone who dreamed of climbing up by stepping on him get away with it.
Zhu Mingxiao had no idea that there was a small streamer lurking in his livestream every day, not only studying his streaming techniques but even taking notes and copying most of his song list.
Nan Que was equally unaware that he had nearly made it onto someone’s “hit list,” still yawning through his scheduled shifts.
Today was lucky—out of four shifts, he only had to pay one fine.
As the hall’s traffic increased, Nan Que also reaped some benefits, barely surpassing a thousand followers.
The Hall Admin also notified him that his chibi avatar was ready and asked him to test it himself. He could start streaming now.
Nan Que’s 2D animated avatar was a one-to-one reference based on his own chibi pink-haired character design.
The main body was soft pink, looking sweet and fluffy like a round cotton candy. With a round head and short limbs, when the camera’s facial capture activated, the avatar would grin when he smiled and wobble its little head when he shook his. Its eyes blinked irregularly too.
Nan Que was somewhat satisfied—it was oddly cute.
But the voice…
His normal speaking voice was quite youthful, which didn’t quite match the chibi avatar. So, he used a voice changer and forced out a couple of sentences in an artificially sweet tone.
Eww~~~~
A bit gross.
A bit cute.
Que pretended to cough twice and fanned himself. Thankfully, the avatar hid his blushing face.
After testing, Nan Que didn’t rush to start streaming. Instead, he entered the Four Seasons Spring Hall.
During peak hours, the Spring Hall ranked first on the chat room leaderboard, with over three thousand people hanging out in the hall. The public chat atmosphere was lively—some requesting songs, others chatting.
Nan Que didn’t recognize many of the teachers on mic, only X. Yinhe and X. Miracle. Yinhe was the host of both the Spring Hall and Winter Hall, and streamers could schedule shifts in either hall.
Yinhe’s voice was instantly soothing, just like his name suggested—a galaxy flowing down from the celestial palace, clear and pristine. Whether reciting lines or singing choruses, he was always so gentle.
Nan Que: ★★
Like a little fanboy, Nan Que stayed in the Spring Hall listening to Yinhe sing through two shifts before leaving.
Scrolling through his alt account’s following list, only the workaholic Xiao was still streaming at this hour. He clicked in without hesitation and began his studies.
The hour was growing late, and the number of viewers in X. Xiao’s live stream had dipped slightly, though over a thousand people still lingered.
The chat scrolled continuously with viewers bidding goodnight. Xiao switched the background music to something soothing and changed his Electric Person Avatar to a chibi version, speaking softly to coax his fans to sleep.
“Thank you for keeping me company today, my Feathers. If you’re sleepy, go to bed early. I’ll stay until you’ve drifted off~”
“No more PK battles tonight, we’re done. Yeah, I’ve had my fill today, haha.”
“I’m not tired, really. Even if I were, chatting with you would make it better.”
【Xiao Xiao, you work such long hours every day, it must be exhausting】
【Yeah, get some rest soon. Your voice sounds much hoarser than before】
【Xiao Xiao is so gentle tonight, love the bedtime lullaby~】
【LMAO, you guys are ridiculous. Raking in cash from daily PKs—how could that be tiring?】
【The moment the battle anthem plays, it’s all shouting. Your fans are so clueless】
【Easy to scam women’s money. Watch out, there might be an ugly guy behind that Avatar】
【What the hell! If you don’t like it, get out!】
【@Miao Miao, Sis Miao, time to moderate!】
【Xiao Xiao’s really made it—always jealous haters spamming the chat】
Nan Que also frowned; the nice atmosphere had been ruined by trolls.
Xiao acted as if he hadn’t seen any of it, ignoring the haters completely as he continued soothing his fans.
“It’s getting late. I’ll sing one last song before ending the stream. I’ll keep my voice soft—place your phones by your pillows, close your eyes, and listen.”
“I’ve seen the misty rains over Jiangnan, The twilight clouds chasing the waves, But none compare to the uniqueness in your gaze~”
Nan Que set down her phone, closed her eyes, and listened quietly.
Xiao’s voice was naturally deep, but when singing this song, it carried a lazy, roguish charm tinged with tenderness—like a mischievous boy lulling you to sleep.
It sent tingles through her ears.
Gradually, Nan Que fell into a deep slumber.
After Zhu Mingxiao finished singing, he thanked the leaderboard donors before ending the stream.
He removed his headphones and silently massaged the red marks left by the Motion Capture suit.
With five Shifts scheduled daily and six hours of Individual Broadcasts, the Double Hundred King badge next to his avatar had remained ever since he signed his contract.
It was exhausting.
So exhausting that after streaming, he didn’t want to speak, eat, or even sleep.
He just wanted to sit emptily in his chair until the end of time.
But tens of millions in debt weighed heavily on this young man in his twenties, suffocating him. He couldn’t stop, nor was he allowed to. Every day, he treated PK battles like KPIs, devising new ways to beg his loyal supporters for votes.
Many high-level fans were already accustomed to such scenes. Pleading and groveling tactics no longer intrigued them—they reveled in watching anchors break down in the final thirty seconds, finding schadenfreude in others’ humiliation.
Before each broadcast, Zhu Mingxiao would tell his reflection: Set aside your pride. A poor man’s dignity is worthless.
The only line he had to hold was his bottom line.
Routinely, Zhu Mingxiao hid the private messages from his top supporters in the Douzi backend, ignoring their excessive demands.
He streamed relentlessly, hoping to compensate with sheer hours for the money that could only be earned by plunging into the abyss. He repeatedly reminded himself: You haven’t fallen that far yet. Stay a poor man with dignity.
Clicking open today’s earnings, he did the math and finally felt a little better.
Today, I only gained a little over sixty followers, and the number of viewers in the live stream has dropped, stuck at just over 2,000 and not increasing. I still need to persevere and find a way to break through the bubble.
Although my current income far exceeds that of my peers, it’s still a drop in the bucket when it comes to paying off debts.
His goal is to become a top-tier streamer.