The final match was reaching its climax.
The two-lead-one formation had been working seamlessly, but now only Chen Bai and his temporary teammate remained.
The reward notification kept flashing in the corner of the screen.
Chen Bai saw it but ignored it.
His teammate raised his gun and swiftly took down an opponent on the hillside.
At the same time, Chen Bai caught an enemy flanking from behind and finished them off without hesitation.
Their movements were fluid, their teamwork flawless—there was zero suspense about the outcome.
A second before the match ended, Chen Bai leaned back, took his hands off the keyboard, adjusted his headset, and grinned.
“Goodbye, friend.”
It was a genuine, joyful laugh.
[HAHAHA, Erbai, you must be so relieved right now!]
[The happiest moment of the whole stream—he’s finally free!]
[Forget the game—doesn’t anyone else think Erbai’s laugh sounds so nice? Damn, I forgot to record it!!]
[Don’t worry, we got you. The screen-recording team is already in position!]
The victory screen appeared.
The team voice chat automatically ended.
Chen Bai swiftly exited to the main interface, leaned back, and flipped through the chat log to properly thank his audience for their gifts.
He was fully focused on thanking his viewers when, in the lower right corner, a new notification popped up.
It was a team invitation.
From Qingzhou.
The very same temporary teammate from the last match.
Still caught up in his gratitude speech, Chen Bai didn’t even notice.
It wasn’t until the barrage of comments frantically pointed it out that he finally glanced over.
His mouse hovered over the invite button.
The tiny triangle cursor bounced indecisively between “Accept” and “Decline.”
And then—
Another invitation popped up.
This time, it was from a friend who had just finished a game.
Without hesitation—
Chen Bai accepted the second invite.
[HE REJECTED QINGZHOU!!!]
[Erbai, what kind of ruthless, cold-hearted man are you?!]
[First time Qingzhou has ever invited another streamer to play… and he got rejected instantly LMAO]
[As expected of you, Chen Erbai.]
[A flowing Qingzhou, a strong and steady friendship.]
Reunited with his usual friends, Chen Bai chatted freely with both them and his audience.
At the same time, he casually sniped two enemies with perfect accuracy.
His gameplay and mood were both clearly back to peak form.
That night, the broadcast once again ended at 2 a.m.
The real winners?
The late-night viewers who had lost every single bet but won the ultimate entertainment.
As expected, tonight’s viewer count was higher than usual.
Most likely because his match with Qingzhou had drawn extra traffic.
After signing off, Chen Bai turned off his computer and removed his headphones.
The moment the PC fans stopped whirring, his surroundings fell into complete silence.
Checking the time on his phone, he stretched, his stiff joints cracking slightly.
Then, he pocketed his phone and headed to the bathroom.
Tomorrow morning, he had to visit the film set.
The director was already scheduling his scenes.
Tomorrow would be for costume fittings and observing the filming process.
So, tonight, he had to sleep early.
The contract process had moved surprisingly fast.
Chen Bai originally thought it would take a while—but thanks to his agent’s godlike negotiation skills and the production team’s urgent need, the deal had been finalized that very afternoon.
He had no idea how the negotiations had gone.
But judging by the director’s expression, Gao Qian had definitely squeezed the producer for a lot of extra gold coins.
Morning: Red Bean Paste Buns & a Close Call
Breakfast was last night’s red bean paste buns.
Portable. Convenient. Perfect for eating on the go.
And as expected—
Chen Bai almost overslept.
He stumbled out of bed, brain cells still in sleep mode, eyes barely open, mouth full of red bean paste bun.
He was practically running on autopilot.
Thankfully, the film crew was nearby.
He barely made it on time.
Last time, he arrived as an outsider.
This time, he was part of the team.
The director and assistant director were both busy with active shoots.
Rather than disturbing them, a crew member led him to the makeup department first.
The makeup artist was already waiting.
When Chen Bai entered, she stood up with a polite smile.
He returned the gesture with his own friendly greeting.
Makeup & Styling
Makeup was easy for him.
Ah Huai was a terminally ill patient—so his makeup needed to emphasize his sickly appearance.
But…
Chen Bai had just recovered from hospitalization and stayed up late every night.
His pale skin and tired complexion were already perfect for the role.
The makeup artist barely had to do anything.
Instead, she focused on deepening his facial contours to make him look more striking on camera.
Next: Wardrobe.
The styling assistant arrived, carrying a set of clothes for him to try on.
Ah Huai had three outfits in the film.
Originally, these outfits were picked for the previous actor.
However, after seeing Chen Bai, the director had decided they didn’t suit him.
So, with limited time, the crew had found an alternative set based on the director’s new requirements.
Now, they had to see if it fit properly—otherwise, they’d have to find another option fast.
The new outfit:
Loose, linen home clothes with a beige, knitted wool cardigan.
Soft. Warm. Comforting.
Perfect for a sickly but gentle young man.
Chen Bai changed into it.
The dressing room lights were pale and cool-toned.
He stood in front of the mirror, head slightly lowered, his long eyelashes casting faint shadows.
His wrists were thin and pale, the oversized knitted cardigan adding a delicate, fragile touch.
For a moment, no one spoke.
It was like Ah Huai had stepped right out of the script.
After a brief silence, the stylist coughed lightly.
“The outfit… is it okay?”
Chen Bai looked up and smiled.
“It’s actually more comfortable than my own clothes.”
That one smile completely changed the atmosphere.
The sunlight streamed through the window, softening the air.
Even the room seemed warmer.
The stylist, caught off guard, couldn’t help but laugh.
She reached out to adjust his slightly wrinkled collar and said,
“It’s time for Group One to take a break.”
Which meant—
It was the perfect time to meet the director.
Since the makeup artist needed to touch up the actors during the break, she took Chen Bai along.
Time to officially step into the role of Ah Huai.
As long as he had a mouth, Sheniu could chat with anyone, anywhere.
After only a short walk, Chen Bai had successfully upgraded his relationship with the makeup artist—they were now friends on WeChat.
On Set: A Tense Atmosphere
When they arrived at the filming location, the shoot was still ongoing.
The director’s brows were furrowed, the atmosphere heavy with tension.
The makeup artist whispered an explanation:
“They must be struggling with too many NGs.”
Chen Bai nodded, then squatted down near the camera, quietly observing.
The tension on set was palpable.
The actors were clearly feeling the pressure.
Every action, every glance—carefully rehearsed but visibly stiff.
The director finally called for a break.
Instead of immediately resuming, he decided to pause and let the actor regain their state of mind.
The silence on set quickly dissolved into organized chaos.
- The actor’s assistant rushed forward with a water bottle and towels to prevent their makeup from smudging.
- The makeup artist followed closely behind, touching up their foundation with a portable kit.
- The camera operator checked the playback.
- The stage manager hurried to reset the scene.
Everyone had a job to do.
No one dared to disturb the director.
Well.
Almost no one.
The man squatting nearby suddenly stood up and walked toward the director.
He squatted back down next to him and greeted him cheerfully.
The director glanced over and immediately noticed the outfit.
His frown relaxed slightly.
“This fits much better,” he remarked.
Chen Bai guessed the scene they were filming.
“Was that the scene where the male lead tears up the letter and gets caught by the heroine?”
The director looked up.
“Yeah.”
He picked up a script and handed it to Chen Bai.
Then, he paused—something wasn’t right.
“Wait—how did you know?”
Chen Bai wasn’t supposed to have the full script.
Before today, he had only been given the portions related to Ah Huai.
Chen Bai accepted the script, thanked him, and grinned mischievously.
“Didn’t you send an electronic version when we signed the contract?”
That was technically true.
But the contract had only been signed yesterday.
This scene was already midway through the script.
The director straightened slightly and asked, “How much have you read?”
Chen Bai held up two fingers and said casually,
“Just a little. Not much.”
But in reality, he had stayed up all night reading it several times.
Understanding a script was one thing.
But seeing it come to life on set was an entirely different experience.
Without knowing the context, watching the shoot would be meaningless.
Since he had scenes scheduled for the next day, today’s main task was simply to observe and absorb.
The Flyer That Changed Everything
By afternoon, his observation session ended.
Chen Bai had to head home—it was dinnertime.
On his way out, he ran into the makeup artist returning from a quick supply run.
She handed him some things she didn’t need and asked him to throw them away.
It was a flyer.
She had picked it up, but hadn’t found a trash bin nearby.
The dressing room’s bin was already full, so she had no place to throw it.
Being the helpful citizen that he was, Chen Bai took it without thinking.
Then, he glanced down.
It was a supermarket flyer.
A flyer filled with discounts and promotions.
Supermarket flyers…
…are dangerous weapons.
His half-lidded eyes slowly widened.
Meanwhile, at Another Film Set
At an old abandoned factory, another crew had just wrapped up their shoot.
The work had been intense, but they had finished ahead of schedule.
After changing out of costumes, several assistants were finally off duty.
An assistant turned to Xu Sinian, who had just put on his coat, and asked,
“Teacher Xu, are you going to eat?”
Xu Sinian buttoned his sleeve, his movements smooth and practiced.
Without looking up, he replied, “No, you guys go ahead.”
The assistant had expected this answer.
Every day, at almost the same time, they asked.
Every day, they received the same response.
They had their theories.
Maybe Teacher Xu was busy.
Maybe he had personal matters to handle.
But in reality…
Xu Sinian wasn’t busy at all.
He just wanted to go home on time.
A Familiar Routine
After passing through the neighborhood a few times, he had memorized the route home.
Nothing ever changed.
As he walked by the locksmith shop, he glanced over.
Closed.
Then, he reached the residential building.
The stairs were silent, his footsteps the only sound in the corridor.
His neighbor had a strange habit.
Every time, like clockwork, when he reached the final flight of stairs—
The door would swing open.
A cheerful “Good evening!” would be thrown his way.
And then—
A random home-cooked meal would be offered, disguised as a “breakfast replacement.”
It had happened so often, it was starting to feel scripted.
Xu Sinian climbed the stairs as usual.
This time—
When he reached the last step—
The door didn’t open.
He stopped in front of his door.
For the first time, his neighbor didn’t appear.
His gaze flickered toward the old wooden door next to his.
Then, he looked away.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out his key and lowered his head to unlock the door.
