The camera was set up to show everything below the neck, focusing on the keyboard.
The live broadcast was categorized under the gaming section. As a new streamer, Chen Bai wasn’t expecting much traffic, but viewers gradually trickled into the stream.
He glanced at the chat briefly before starting a new game.
Chen Bai had tried this game a couple of times before. While he wasn’t completely proficient yet, he was no longer at the embarrassing level of dying immediately after landing. Back then, his character had crawled across the map like a helpless maggot. Now, at least, he could survive for a bit longer.
The game was a team battle with five players per team, split into two groups. Three players had happily gone off together, leaving Chen Bai paired with the fourth player on the team.
The fourth player was a chatterbox—a noisy, flashy guy with an equally flashy playing style. He moved like a target begging to be shot.
Chen Bai, still recovering from his injuries, wasn’t exactly at his best either. The two of them, with their erratic and awkward movements, somehow made an oddly fitting pair.
Despite their low rank, Chen Bai’s historical record was decent. This triggered the game’s matchmaking system to pair their team with stronger opponents. Even so, thanks to sheer luck, Chen Bai and his teammate managed to survive into the latter half of the game.
While the three-man group on their team took charge of the killing spree, Chen Bai and his companion contributed little more than nervous giggles.
Hiding in a building while gunfire erupted outside, the rookie player screamed in panic, his voice cutting through the chaos. Meanwhile, Chen Bai calmly practiced raising and lowering his gun against the wall, trying to regain his muscle memory.
Inside the building, it was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. It felt like the two of them were in a completely different world. They even had time to chat casually. Chen Bai took a moment to glance at the live broadcast chat.
To his surprise, the number of viewers had grown significantly since the start of the stream.
But it wasn’t because anyone expected him to perform well. Most of the viewers were there out of curiosity, wondering how long these two clueless players could survive on pure luck. The chat was filled with comments betting on their demise before the final circle. One viewer confidently wagered a gold bean, a small gift on the platform, predicting that the pair would get wiped out in one wave.
Chen Bai, still casually aiming his gun at the wall, said, “Thank you in advance for the gold beans.”
Perhaps his words carried some kind of jinx.
Right after he thanked the viewer, their three-man group ran into unfavorable terrain and was wiped out by an enemy ambush. With no chance of being revived, they were eliminated, leaving only Chen Bai and his rookie companion alive.
Now, the two of them had no choice but to leave the safety of the building. Even the overly optimistic rookie couldn’t help but break into a nervous sweat.
They moved cautiously from one building to another, staying just outside the edge of the shrinking final circle.
Judging by the gunfire earlier, it was clear that someone was camping nearby. If they stayed put, they’d die to the encroaching poison circle. But stepping out meant risking a sniper’s bullet.
The live chat exploded with laughter, the screen filling with “HAHAHA” spam.
Chen Bai, unfazed, turned to his companion and said calmly, “Brother, we’re friends, right?”
The rookie player responded with an enthusiastic, “Of course!”
“Good,” Chen Bai said. “Friend, can you step out for a moment?”
The rookie didn’t understand the request but stood up bravely.
As expected, he was shot down instantly.
Two gunshots rang out.
One came from an enemy sniper lying in wait. The other came from Chen Bai, who had spun around and fired a quick shot in the direction of the sound. The enemy fell at the same time as the rookie.
The chat exploded in confusion.
[What just happened?!]
[I looked away for one second. What did I miss?]
It was simple: Chen Bai had used the rookie as bait. When the enemy sniper revealed their position by shooting the rookie, Chen Bai immediately pinpointed them using the sound and the minimap. He then fired a perfect counter-shot, taking the enemy down.
To summarize: one for one.
[This man is so devious!!]
[Devious, but oddly impressive.]
[I can’t believe the same guy who was shooting walls earlier did this. [Frowning cat emoji]]
[Rookie, be careful who you trust. [Pat on the shoulder emoji]]
The rookie wasn’t angry. On the contrary, he seemed to have found a new sense of purpose. Realizing his value as bait, he willingly embraced his role. From that point on, he became a flashy decoy, sacrificing himself repeatedly for the greater good.
By the time they reached the final circle, the rookie had fulfilled his mission and was gloriously eliminated.
Perhaps it was thanks to his sacrifices, but the final battle turned out to be surprisingly easy. Two remaining squads fought each other, leaving one team dead and the other badly injured. While chatting casually with his viewers, Chen Bai sniped the injured player and secured the win.
As the victory screen appeared, the live chat was filled with disbelief.
[How did this rookie team actually win?!]
Curious and confused, many viewers stayed to watch the next few rounds. But the more they watched, the less they understood.
Chen Bai’s gameplay was a paradox. On one hand, he seemed like a clueless noob—he even managed to kill himself with a grenade at one point. On the other hand, his sniper shots were uncannily accurate.
Despite the chaos and mistakes, Chen Bai somehow maintained a 100% win rate that day. By the time the stream ended, viewers realized they had spent over two hours glued to the screen without noticing.
Before logging off, Chen Bai thanked the viewers who sent him gifts and ended the stream.
The moment the broadcast ended, Chen Bai leaned back in his chair, rolling his wrist to ease the strain.
This was just a test run. His stitches had only recently been removed, and his hands still weren’t fully healed. He couldn’t stream for long. Still, the income from this first broadcast exceeded his expectations, especially for a new streamer.
After resting for a while, he leaned forward again, checking the stream’s statistics. Noticing a backlog of messages, he changed his default ID to [Chen Erbai] and opened the platform’s messages.
One of the messages was from the platform, asking about a contract. Chen Bai tapped out a quick reply on the keyboard, his fingers moving with practiced ease.
During the days under contract with the platform, Chen Bai kept a consistent live streaming schedule. He streamed every evening and into the early morning, ensuring his hours were stable and predictable.
After finishing his late-night stream, he would collapse into bed, waking up the next morning like a wandering soul. Of the three meals a day, breakfast was the only one he didn’t cook himself.
It was another groggy morning. The weather was good, and sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating a corner of the quilt. Chen Bai squinted his eyes, sat up, and shuffled to the bathroom in a pair of worn slippers. After washing up, he threw on a coat and headed out.
Downstairs, there was a small breakfast shop. By this time, the morning rush had passed, and the shop was quiet. Chen Bai bought two steamed buns, holding them in one hand as he walked to the locksmith shop nearby.
He lowered his head, took out the key, and unlocked the door.
This locksmith shop belonged to his landlord. When Chen Bai returned from the hospital, the landlord learned about his nighttime work schedule and offered him a daytime job. The job was simple: sit in the shop, wait for business, and help out when customers needed services.
This line of work turned out to be surprisingly easy to pick up. Chen Bai spent some time studying for the professional qualification exam and quickly got certified. Now, he worked whenever there was business and spent the rest of his time sitting in the shop, browsing for other freelance opportunities. Occasionally, someone would come in to ask for his contact information, and Chen Bai would dutifully take out the QR code for his work account. The landlord had printed it for him, but so far, no one had added him.
As the afternoon wore on and fewer people passed by, Chen Bai closed up shop and headed to the vegetable market. He made it just in time to buy what he needed for dinner before the uncles and aunts who frequented the market packed up and went home. Carrying his groceries, he returned to his apartment.
The supporting character he had replaced wasn’t much of a cook, so the kitchen had been practically bare. After returning from the hospital, Chen Bai had purchased a few essentials, making the space functional enough to prepare meals.
After finishing dinner, Chen Bai washed the dishes, dried his hands, and turned on the computer.
The screen lit up, and he glanced at the medicine bottle sitting nearby. Only then did he realize that his supply was nearly gone.
It was still early, and the pharmacy nearby should still be open. Setting aside his computer for the moment, Chen Bai grabbed his phone, keys, and coat, then headed out.
The pharmacy was open, and the medicine he needed was in stock. However, the purchase cost him over a hundred yuan, leaving him chilled in more ways than one as he walked home through the cold wind. Holding the medicine in one hand, he kept his head low against the breeze.
Just as he was walking, his gaze shifted slightly.
In this old, quiet neighborhood, there weren’t many people walking around at this hour. Yet, ahead of him, someone else was also braving the cold wind alone, heading toward the residential building next door.
It was the same building where Chen Bai lived.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the stairwell. His own footsteps merged with the other person’s for a moment before they separated again.
Chen Bai climbed the stairs, the medicine in one hand. When he looked up, he saw a man standing at the top of the stairs, right in front of the door next to his. The man wore a black coat, his hat pulled low, obscuring much of his face. His sharp features and cold demeanor made him seem unapproachable.
This must be his neighbor—someone Chen Bai had never met before. Judging by the fact that even the original supporting character didn’t remember this person, it was likely he didn’t live here permanently.
As Chen Bai took out his key to unlock his door, he asked casually, “Did your friend forget to give you the key?”
The man glanced at him briefly and replied in a cold tone, “Yeah.”
The man’s icy aura didn’t faze Chen Bai in the slightest. In fact, his eyes lit up at the response. He quickly unlocked his door, stepped inside, and shut it behind him.
The corridor fell silent once again.
Xu Sinian lowered his gaze to his phone. This apartment had been a gift from his grandfather, and he had come here tonight to retrieve something left behind. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten the key in the lounge at the filming location.
The lounge was far from here, so his only option was to call his assistant and have them bring the key next time.
Just as he was about to dial, the door next to him opened again.
Light spilled into the corridor, and the man he’d just spoken to appeared once more. This time, he wore a bright, enthusiastic smile.
“Friend, need a special service code?”
Xu Sinian turned to look at him. The man’s messy hair framed his surprisingly bright eyes, and the loose collar of his thin coat revealed a hint of his slender collarbone. Xu Sinian frowned slightly, his brows knitting together.
Before he could refuse, the man stepped forward and pulled out a small booklet, presenting it with a flourish.
“Professional lock-picking, registered with the police, fast and worry-free!”
The tone was cheerful and professional, as if he were reading from a sales pitch on a late-night infomercial.
The booklet in question was Chen Bai’s professional locksmith qualification certificate.
“Special service,” as Chen Bai had called it, referred to his door-to-door unlocking services.
Xu Sinian stared at the certificate, his expression unreadable.
