The livestream viewers stared at the screen for a long time, unable to recover, though their expressions were rather complicated.
It was beautiful.
It would have been even better if the music playing in the livestream had not been “Real Men Must Fight.”
The software played music automatically. Afraid he would miss the game’s sound effects, Lin Cimian had muted the livestream audio on his end, so he noticed none of this. All his attention remained on the game.
Once the “Nine-Tailed True Form” talent expired, his health returned to a single sliver. Lin Cimian hardly dared breathe. He turned around with extreme care, afraid that moving too vigorously might literally exhaust his character to death.
If he died now, he would not be able to collect the rewards, orz.
Lin Cimian had intended to go find Good Day, but Good Day walked over to him first. Lin Cimian let out a breath and was just about to send a message when, in the next second, all his injuries vanished and his health bar instantly filled.
…Had he just used a Resurrection Pill?!
The Resurrection Pill was the most expensive medicine in the shop. True to its name, it could revive someone on the spot even after death.
Because it was outrageously expensive and not very cost-effective, people usually only kept a few on hand when an entire guild was running a dungeon together, just in case the team had to start over after a wipe. Players who threw money at games without caring about the cost were, of course, the exception.
Lin Cimian grew anxious, assuming Good Day simply did not understand.
[Current] Sleepless Tonight: You could’ve used the most basic healing medicine. The injuries can recover slowly afterward.
[Current] Good Day: That would take too long.
With ordinary medicine, Lin Cimian could keep himself barely alive until the System finished judging the match, but recovering all the way to full health would take a great deal of time. Lin Cimian was a streamer; he could not possibly sit around in a healing pool for ages. A Resurrection Pill really was the best solution—it was just somewhat wasteful.
At the sight of this, part of the audience instantly became excited.
[Thank you. I’m shipping it!]
[He really… sob.]
[That isn’t a pill he bought. That’s clearly his heart he handed over!]
[Usually he looks dirt-poor, but at the critical moment he spends like a tycoon and buys a Resurrection Pill. This is love!]
The System announced the result of the wager and transferred the stakes to the winner. Lin Cimian put his own items back into storage, then carried the purple weapon over to Good Day.
[Current] Sleepless Tonight: This is for you. Its attributes suit you really well.
[Current] Good Day: Thank you.
Another portion of the viewers were career-minded fans, and their attitude was completely different:
[I hate men who live off someone else! Mianmian fought himself half to death in the arena while he just stood off to the side doing nothing, and now he still gets a purple weapon!]
[Just asking: can the number-two patron get this treatment too? If yes, I’m throwing gifts at the stream right now!]
[I believe now that the streamer definitely isn’t an online romance scammer, because he’s the one getting scammed out of money!]
[Can you turn off the livestream music? I’m just trying to watch a stream. What the hell are we fighting for?!]
[Looks like I’m not the only victim. This song is ruining my appetite just from hearing it.]
Lin Cimian had no idea what had happened earlier, but seeing everyone protest so fiercely, he deleted the music plug-in. The song had long since changed by then, so he never found out what they had been reacting to.
That couple had not only delivered a purple weapon and materials to him; they had also delivered traffic. The number of viewers in his livestream hit a new high, and his follower count continued climbing.
Lin Cimian played for a while longer. As the night deepened and his usual bedtime arrived, he said goodbye to the livestream viewers despite their many pleas for him to stay.
After shutting down the computer, he was just about to wash up when he suddenly noticed his illuminated phone.
The screen was still displaying the interface from earlier: the livestream platform’s private-message window.
[Good Day: Sorry. I didn’t see your message earlier.]
[Sleepless Tonight: It’s fine. The platform doesn’t give message notifications, so it’s normal not to see it.]
[Sleepless Tonight: Um… would it be convenient to add each other on WeChat? I won’t spam you or send messages that bother you!]
They had become more familiar with each other and could more or less be considered friends. It would be more convenient to talk on WeChat, and Lin Cimian had noticed that other streamers also added people there.
It was rare enough for Lin Cimian to take the initiative and ask for someone’s WeChat. He was extremely unpracticed at it, but Good Day replied quickly, sparing him the awkwardness he had imagined.
[Good Day: Sure. I’ll add you.]
Lin Cimian sent over his WeChat ID. A few seconds later, he received a friend request. After accepting it, the two continued talking on WeChat.
Good Day’s profile picture was a cat, and his WeChat name consisted of a single character: “Yan.” His Moments page was completely empty, giving off an aloof impression, but he replied very quickly.
Looking at the name “Yan,” Lin Cimian suddenly felt something subtle and strange, but he did not think much of it and took the initiative to greet him.
[Sleepless Tonight: Same time tomorrow?]
[Yan: Sure.]
[Sleepless Tonight: Little fox offering flowers.jpg]
It was a tactful way of ending the conversation. In Yan Shiyue’s mind surfaced one of the comments he had seen just before the livestream ended:
[The streamer’s ending this early. Is he going out to party with friends?]
Lin Cimian was a minor living alone. If he went out this late at night, it might not be safe.
Yan Shiyue was much older than him and could almost be considered half an elder. He should ask one more question.
[Yan: Going to sleep?]
[Sleepless Tonight: Mm-hm. I’m a little sleepy.]
Yan Shiyue knew that at this age, saying “I’m going to sleep” could also carry another meaning: I don’t want to talk to you anymore; I’m going to do something else. Given his position, however, it would be inappropriate to question him further. He merely restrained himself and replied:
[Yan: Mm. Drink a glass of milk and go to bed early.]
Seeing the message, Lin Cimian could not help imagining what the other person might look like.
Probably mature and steady, a little stern—like the successful older boy next door from when he himself was a tiny kid. Someone who seemed distant, but who unexpectedly had a very good temper and was even somewhat gentle.
Lin Cimian amused himself with the image in his mind and could not resist rolling over before flopping onto his back on the bed.
His phone screen was still lit. On the other end, Yan Shiyue sat neatly dressed with an original English-language book open before him, the room seeming almost scented with the faint, austere smell of ink.
After thinking for a moment, he stood up, walked to the bedside, and called his personal assistant.
The call connected. “Xiao Liu, there’s something I’d like to ask you to do.”
The personal assistant immediately perked up.
Yan Shiyue had almost completely withdrawn from the entertainment industry and shifted his focus to managing his company. He had not had a single engagement in the past two full months, which meant his personal assistant had effectively been on vacation for two months as well. Every day, the assistant looked at his generous salary with the guilty unease of someone being paid for doing nothing.
Now that Yan Shiyue had finally contacted him, the assistant let out a long breath of relief and asked with excessive enthusiasm, “Brother Yan, don’t worry. I’ll definitely get it done!”
“Help me find someone to level a game account. Price doesn’t matter. My only requirement is that they work efficiently.”
The personal assistant: ??? What the hell?!
A game… power-leveler?!
He suspected something was wrong with his hearing, or perhaps his language comprehension had suddenly malfunctioned. He understood every word individually, so why did they make no sense when put together?
“Sorry, I didn’t hear clearly.” The personal assistant deliberately enunciated every word. “You said… a game power-leveler?!”
The man on the other end gave a low hum of confirmation. His voice was calm, containing not the slightest trace of emotion.
The personal assistant was so shocked he nearly bit his tongue. Yan Shiyue’s image in his mind was simply too upright and dignified for him to accept the scene his imagination immediately produced:
Yan Shiyue, impeccably dressed in a suit, sitting solemnly at a computer desk like the assistant’s eighteen-year-old, dyed-blond younger brother, one foot propped on the office chair while pounding on a multicolored flashing keyboard and screaming nonsense over voice chat, greasy bedhead sticking up everywhere, looking exhausted yet excited enough to practically throw himself headfirst into the game.
…Stop imagining it. Merely thinking this was disrespectful to Brother Yan!
“O-okay. I’ll take care of it immediately.” The personal assistant barely managed to recover his voice and stammered out the words.
“All right. Thank you,” Yan Shiyue said in a deep voice.
The personal assistant stared blankly ahead, utterly disordered by the turn of events.
This was way too fucking absurd. He was desperately curious about how a game power-leveler could possibly have anything to do with Yan Shiyue. His brain short-circuited, and he blurted, “Brother Yan, have you been playing games lately?”
“Mm.” Yan Shiyue’s tone was as natural as if he were discussing the weather, without the slightest hesitation.
“Brother Yan, is there anything else you need me to do?”
“No.”
Before the call ended, the personal assistant thought he heard Yan Shiyue give a soft laugh and murmur something under his breath, his voice indistinct:
“I can’t let the kid keep protecting me all the time.”
The personal assistant stared at his phone with a conflicted expression. He stood rooted to the spot for five whole minutes and still could not decide whether those words had been real or merely his imagination.
The kid?
Could Brother Yan be playing games with his six-year-old nephew—
