The regular viewers of the livestream quickly noticed something unusual—Erbai was no longer playing his usual bait games with his regular friends.
Unbeknownst to them, Chen Erbai had made a new wild friend. The moment the livestream started, the screen showed him teaming up with his new partner.
And this so-called “wild friend” was none other than Qingzhou—a name that most viewers were very familiar with.
In an instant, the barrage of comments exploded across the screen.
Chen Bai glanced at the chat and said, “Due to some force majeure… Anyway, we now have a new friend. My throat? Oh, it’s nothing, just a slight cold.”
(Force majeure—referring, of course, to the cash prize.)
He had accepted Qingzhou’s invitation. Most streamers belonged to guilds, so when they formed teams, they naturally played with guild members. But Qingzhou, an independent streamer with no established team, ended up finding him—another unguilded, free agent. Given the current situation, Qingzhou was probably the most suitable teammate he could have.
Although this recruitment event was just a competition between streamers and not an official tournament, it was still a significant opportunity. After all, streaming was their livelihood, and most participants were skilled players. The competition would test not only their individual gameplay but also their ability to cooperate as a team. And the only way to improve team coordination was through constant practice.
So, in the days leading up to the competition, he and Qingzhou ended up practicing together almost every time.
Bait games were fun, but the temptation of the cash prize was hard to ignore—so they had to take a backseat until after the tournament.
At first, the viewers assumed Qingzhou was just another temporary teammate, picked up randomly like his past partners. But over time, they noticed something different.
These two weren’t just occasional gaming partners—they had become each other’s permanent guests.
Whenever one of them started a stream, it was almost guaranteed that the other would be online soon after.
And in just a few short days, Erbai’s chatty side had fully emerged.
Previously, he had little time to talk while focusing on gameplay. But now, he could casually chat with both Qingzhou and the audience while sniping enemies—seamlessly balancing gameplay and conversation.
At first, Qingzhou’s fans thought Erbai was a stoic, silent master player.
But after a few days, they finally realized the truth.
Now, they were completely used to his rapid, sharp-tongued complaints in team chat. Before they knew it, even Qingzhou’s viewers were joining in on the banter.
With this new dynamic, the number of concurrent viewers in Erbai’s livestream had doubled—and was still steadily increasing.
But even with this growth, the stream had to be temporarily suspended.
The rain had stopped, and the weather had been perfect lately—a great time for outdoor filming.
That meant a night shoot in a neighboring city, B. Since the filming schedule required them to stay overnight in a hotel, he wouldn’t be able to return home.
So, the stream had to be put on hold.
The night before the scheduled break, after finishing his stream, Chen Bai added Qingzhou on WeChat.
Since he wouldn’t be able to stream the next day, he figured that if the shoot ended early, he could always find an internet café near the hotel for practice.
WeChat was much more convenient than sifting through the countless private messages on his streaming account.
After sending the request, it was already late.
Chen Bai put down his phone and went straight to sleep.
Bedtime: 2 AM. Wake-up time: 7 AM.
The next morning, there was no time to stop by his usual breakfast shop.
Running dangerously close to being late, he sprinted to the main road outside the old street where the film crew was stationed—managing to jump onto the crew’s bus just before the director arrived.
The neighboring city wasn’t far, but the outdoor filming crew was surprisingly large, with a ton of equipment being transported as well.
Luckily, a single bus was enough to take everyone and everything in one trip.
As the bus started moving, the exhausted passengers finally caught their breath.
Chen Bai pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the scenery outside the window, and sent a message to his neighbor, updating him on his miraculous feat of waking up early.
It was 7 AM—even the birds in the trees were still asleep.
Yet, his neighbor replied immediately.
Not only that, but the message contained a rare admission of fault.
Sitting diagonally in his seat, Chen Bai lowered his gaze and typed:
[Try rewording that.]
The phone displayed [The other party is typing…], then after a brief silence, a message popped up:
[Very impressive.]
Chen Bai smiled in satisfaction, sent a 🌹 emoji in return, and finally put his phone away.
Then, he slept through the entire bus ride.
This was his last location shoot—once it was finished, all of his filming obligations would be completed.
The director was personally overseeing this shoot, meaning it was especially important.
Chen Bai needed to be in top condition—no mistakes allowed.
That meant:
✔ Getting enough sleep
✔ Eating well
✔ Keeping a clear mind
They left in the morning and arrived at the filming location around 1 PM—just in time for lunch.
After eating at the hotel, the technical crew headed straight to the filming site to begin setting up.
Since this was a beach shoot, there was no on-site dressing room.
So, the makeup artist and stylist stayed behind at the hotel to prepare the actors’ looks in advance.
Despite being in charge of all the actors, there were only two actors for today’s shoot, so they were both assigned to the same room for makeup.
Chen Bai’s styling was relatively simple, whereas the female lead’s hair and makeup took much longer.
While waiting, the room became an impromptu gossip hub, where the crew spilled every piece of behind-the-scenes drama they had.
By the time the stylists finally finished their work, it was time to head out.
Tonight’s shoot was a sunset scene by the sea, meaning it could only be filmed in the evening.
And now, it was just about time to set off.
City B was close to the sea, and on the way from the hotel, the blue ocean stretched endlessly into the horizon. The area had many beaches, and their shoot was set at a small, typically deserted beach.
Yet today, that deserted beach was packed with people, forming a dense circle around the filming site.
Fortunately, security was present, allowing the arriving cast and crew to pass through quickly.
The director, who had been beside the cameraman adjusting the angles, noticed their arrival and waved them over. Once they got close, he explained, “The filming permit was approved, but as you can see, we can’t block off the area. This is the only way we can shoot today.”
Since the surrounding area wasn’t a part of the film set, the crew couldn’t clear out the spectators.
The most they could do was politely ask onlookers not to take photos or make loud noises.
And now that the leading actress was on set, the number of bystanders was only going to increase.
Filming under such conditions was far more stressful than working in a closed studio. Even seasoned actors couldn’t avoid the added pressure. The most the director could do was give them advance notice so they could mentally prepare.
Chen Bai glanced toward the black-clad figure standing at a distance.
Only now did it truly dawn on him—the person who casually chatted with him about gossip and trivial matters was actually a high-profile celebrity.
As the sky gradually darkened, the crowd around them continued to grow, and the atmosphere on set grew tense.
The crew worked faster, making their final adjustments as the fiery red sun began its slow descent toward the sea.
Sitting side by side in simple costumes, the leading actress turned toward the man beside her and asked, “Is this your last scene today?”
Chen Bai smiled and nodded.
With the final payment for his role coming soon, that smile was truly heartfelt.
The actress chuckled and said, “Once you’re done, the director will probably give you a little gift.”
Chen Bai raised an eyebrow. “A small gift?”
She replied, “Actors who’ve finished filming often receive a parting gift. You’ll see when the time comes.”
At that moment, the middle-aged director known for his surprise gestures began calling the actors to their marks.
Today’s scene was Ah Huai’s final moments.
Ah Huai had spent most of his life in a cramped little house on the old street.
Now, for the first time, he was sleeping beneath an open sky.
His name contained the character for “water”, yet in all his life, he had never seen the vast ocean.
Now, weakened and haggard from illness, he could barely speak. He no longer had the strength to read like he used to.
But one day, he suddenly seemed full of energy again.
He took a piece of paper and wrote a message to the visiting female lead—“I want to see the sea.”
At that moment, everyone understood.
Ah Huai’s father supported his mother, who stood unsteadily, as they watched their son leave the courtyard one last time.
The female lead brought Ah Huai to the beach.
Dressed in a simple white shirt beneath a light sweater, his thin figure moved slowly toward the shoreline, the ocean breeze ruffling his hair as the setting sun bathed everything in its golden-red glow.
Elsewhere, the setting sun illuminated the streets, and the warm glow of a flower shop’s lights flickered on.
After moving the flowers from outside back into the shop, Li Qingzhou casually wiped his hands on his florist apron, then began untying it.
“Sister, everything’s been moved inside. I’m heading out now,” he said.
Behind the counter, a woman was wrapping a bouquet. Without even looking up, she remarked, “Two more girls asked for your contact info today.”
Li Qingzhou paused mid-motion. “Did you give it to them?”
“No,” his sister replied casually, handing over the freshly wrapped bouquet. “But since you’re here, help me deliver these. I’ve got two more orders, and I’m too busy.”
She continued, “The delivery’s at the beach, near the fork in the road. It’s not far. You’ll still have time to get back and stream.”
Li Qingzhou sighed, setting aside his apron and taking the bouquet.
It was a bunch of sunflowers, wrapped in light yellow paper, radiating warmth.
“What about the customer’s phone number?” he asked.
His sister, already busy with another bouquet, answered, “The recipient is with a film crew. Their phones are on silent, so calling won’t work. Just go to the location, and someone will find you.”
Then, as if remembering something, she added, “And don’t take your motorcycle. It’s too noisy. Just take the shop’s van.”
It sounded a little unreliable, but Li Qingzhou still followed her instructions and took the delivery van.
The destination was easy to find.
He didn’t even need to check the address—it was clearly the place with the biggest crowd.
As he approached, though, he realized the problem—without squeezing through the sea of people, there was no way the film crew would notice him.
With no other choice, he pushed his way forward, murmuring apologies as he navigated through the crowd.
After much effort, he finally reached the innermost part.
Carefully holding the bouquet close to his chest, he straightened up, following the gaze of the people around him—
And then, he saw a pair of light-colored eyes reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.
