After Ji Shiyu disappeared through the doorway, no one in the room spoke for a long moment.
If they hadn’t misseen it, Ji Shiyu had suddenly appeared earlier and then followed Gu Ran out.
The atmosphere grew heavy.
One of the girls sitting beside Qin Wenyi tentatively broke the silence, "Wenyi, did Ji Shiyu just… not see you?"
Qin Wenyi tightened her fingers at her sides and smiled. "Probably."
It might have been an explanation, but everyone knew better. The moment Ji Shiyu entered, his gaze had swept over everyone in the room. Qin Wenyi, seated prominently in the center, couldn’t have been missed.
And regardless of whether he had seen her or not, Ji Shiyu had unmistakably followed Gu Ran out just now.
He had come tonight for that little canary of his.
Silence fell again.
Qin Wenyi recalled the icy look in Ji Shiyu’s eyes when their gazes had briefly met earlier, her nails digging faintly into her palms.
She knew all too well about the years Gu Ran and Ji Shiyu had spent together—how he had built her a gilded cage, showered her with tender touches.
Just like the first time she had seen Gu Ran, the daughter of a mere Ji family chauffeur, yet radiant with a beauty impossible to ignore.
…
Gu Ran thought she had handled Yuan Mengxuan’s birthday party quite well today. Everything had gone smoothly—except for Ji Shiyu’s sudden appearance.
Swinging her small purse cheerfully, she walked out, only to hear someone call from behind, "Gu Ran."
She turned and saw Ji Shiyu standing there, with Xu Hui, his assistant, further back.
Her brow furrowed slightly, and she pressed the elevator button without a word.
Just as Ji Shiyu reached her, the elevator arrived.
Gu Ran stepped inside, but Ji Shiyu caught her slender wrist.
Facing her again, he swallowed hard. "We need to talk."
Xu Hui discreetly vanished from sight.
Gu Ran glanced down at her captured wrist. "What could we possibly have to talk about?"
"‘The Untold Stories of Me and My Ex’?"
She nearly laughed at her own joke, twisting her wrist. "Let go."
Ji Shiyu didn’t release her, his gaze heavy. "Listen to me."
"Qin Wenyi and I had already broken up before she faked her death."
Gu Ran froze for a second, then asked, "Are you trying to explain that when you were with me, you weren’t thinking of someone else?"
His silence was answer enough. His throat moved. "Come home with me."
Gu Ran stared at the man who was once again trying to drag her back into that cage.
She yanked her hand free. "Let me go."
Placing her hands on her hips, she reminded herself that anger made people ugly and forced herself to stay calm. "Fine, let me apologize too, okay?"
"I shouldn’t have impulsively decided to get married without your consent, then vainly spread the news everywhere, and even begged you in your office. You weren’t wrong—it was all my fault."
"But you didn’t agree, did you? You made it clear you never proposed, never even planned to marry me. So we had what you might call… a semi-peaceful breakup."
"I left without a fuss, didn’t cling to you, didn’t drag you to the civil registry. So what’s with this sudden insistence on me coming back?"
"Am I not allowed to change a life I don’t like? Do I have a label on me that says ‘Property of Ji Shiyu’s Aviary’?"
"Goodbye." She moved toward the elevator, but Ji Shiyu reached inside and pressed a button, causing the doors to close before she could enter.
Gu Ran whirled around, furious.
Ji Shiyu’s voice was low. "What if I say we’ll get married?"
Gu Ran: "…What?"
He repeated, "Come home. We’ll get married."
Her expression twisted with disbelief. She wanted to ask more, but all that came out was, "No. Way."
The adjacent elevator arrived just then, and Gu Ran slipped inside, quickly hitting the close button.
Ji Shiyu watched the floor numbers descend, his chest tight.
Suddenly, he remembered that day—Gu Ran running out of his office in tears.
Back then, he had rejected her far more cleanly. Far more cruelly.
He closed his eyes, feeling like he couldn’t breathe.
…
The next morning, Gu Ran lounged in bed scrolling through her phone and noticed that Yuan Mengxuan and her clique of nine-square-grid friends had gone radio silent after the birthday party started—no posts, no updates.
Pleased, she opened the Cat’s Paw app and saw that her fan group, "Gu Ran’s Fish Pond," had expanded to its ninth iteration.
With a new pond opened, Gu Ran made her customary appearance.
[Good morning, everyone~]
[Welcome, new friends!]
Fans immediately swarmed in:
[OMG, a live Gu Ran sighting!]
[Morning, Ranran!]
[No stream yesterday, but we finally get to see you tonight. teary eyes]
[What’s the plan for tonight’s stream? More gaming? grin]
Gu Ran: "…"
Her contract with "Spirit Realm" stipulated that as a promoter, she had to stream the game twice—once in cosplay, once in casual wear. Tonight was the second round.
She took a deep breath and replied: [Yep! Don’t forget to tune in~]
Fans flooded the chat with [Got it!]
Exiting the group, she launched "Spirit Realm," equipped all the premium skills and spirit beasts the company had gifted her, and confidently entered the beginner zone again.
Fifteen minutes later.
Staring at the "Use a Revival Pill to respawn?" prompt on her screen, Gu Ran collapsed onto her bed in despair.
She had died. Again.
She was truly hopeless at any competitive mobile game beyond match-three puzzles.
For the first time, it dawned on her that gaming required talent—just like how some people were tone-deaf or uncoordinated, she was simply terrible at games. Top-tier gear, bottom-tier skills. Even the beginner zone was a battlefield.
She had played "Spirit Realm" since its beta, practicing diligently for two and a half hours daily, studying guides religiously. When Ding Ze heard she was still stuck in the beginner zone, he’d been stunned.
And tonight, she had to stream it again.
Last time, viewers had been too distracted by her cosplay to care about her dying three times in an hour. But what if someone actually paid attention to her gameplay tonight?
Could she hire a stand-in? The thought flashed through her mind, but she dismissed it immediately. A gaming streamer had been exposed for using a stand-in before, and the backlash had been brutal. Besides, it’d be cheating her fans.
Her only option was to wear another pretty dress to distract them. Focus on the beauty, not the gameplay.
With that plan in mind, she got up to wash up.
Midway through her skincare routine, Ding Ze’s call interrupted her.
"What level are you in 'Sacred Spirit Realm'? Have you entered the Canyon Zone yet?" Ding Ze asked immediately as soon as the call connected.
Gu Ran hadn’t felt this nervous since her dad used to ask about her final exam grades as a child: "Why... are you asking?"
Ding Ze: "Just answer honestly."
Gu Ran had no choice but to confess: "Level 13. Still in the beginner’s zone."
Ding Ze: "?"
Gu Ran: "I really tried! Give me ten more days of grinding Little Dun Rats, and I’ll hit Level 15 and leave the beginner’s zone!"
Ding Ze sounded as if he’d just heard something earth-shattering: "You mean your entire Level 13 was achieved just by killing Little Dun Rats?"
Gu Ran: "Is... is that not okay?"
Ding Ze sucked in a sharp breath.
Little Dun Rats were the lowest-level, easiest monsters in "Sacred Spirit Realm." Naturally, since they posed no challenge, the points earned from defeating them were minuscule. Only new players grinding from Level 1 to 2 would bother with them—anyone past Level 3 or 4 wouldn’t even glance at them.
And yet, Gu Ran had somehow managed to reach Level 13 purely by killing Little Dun Rats!
Finally, Ding Ze understood why Gu Ran had insisted she’d "really tried." Going from Level 1 to 13 by defeating creatures that gave only one point per kill? That was nothing short of a Herculean effort.
Gu Ran: "Why are you suddenly asking me this? Do you want to form a guild with me?"
Ding Ze felt a wave of despair. He sent her a link: "Just read this."
"Our collaboration with 'Sacred Spirit Realm' is pretty much dead."
"Future game-related promotions are probably off the table too."
Gu Ran clicked the link Ding Ze had sent. It led to a trending post on Cat Paw Forum with the title:
"Famous streamer’s gameplay of the very game she’s promoting is this bad. Let’s all take a look. eyeroll.jpg"
Her heart sank as she scrolled down. The poster had clipped several moments from her last livestream—where she’d cosplayed while playing "Sacred Spirit Realm"—and turned them into GIFs.
Without sound, the GIFs couldn’t capture her panicked commentary during the stream: "Run! Hide! Let’s just stay here—ugh, I died!" Nor could they show the supportive banter from her fans in the chat.
All that remained was Gu Ran’s character flailing about, showcasing a level of incompetence so staggering it seemed almost artistic.
The gaming section was Cat Paw’s largest and most active community, with 70% of users downloading the app specifically for game streams. Seeing this kind of gameplay left them all stunned.
The poster added below:
This is the game she’s promoting, by the way~ Posters are plastered all over the subway.
The thread quickly blew up.
[She’s clearly never even played the game she’s shilling.]
[Beauty streamers being bad at games is whatever, but this is HER OWN PROMOTED GAME. That’s just shameless.]
[Isn’t this the "Cat Paw’s #1 Beauty"? Pretty face, zero effort. Just here for the easy cash, huh? laughs]
[Can’t even bother to play the game she’s paid to promote. Why should fans bother either?]
[I’ve never seen someone just hide in a bush mid-combat. Legendary.]
[I swear, watching these GIFs just lowered my own skill level.]
[Same. I feel dumber now.]
[Everyone, close your eyes!]
[Let’s save these GIFs for future gaming drama. Imagine your fave’s rival playing like this LOL.]
...
Gu Ran spotted a few comments defending her—things like, "I watched that stream. RanRan might not be skilled, but she was trying her best!" But when she refreshed, those replies were gone. The OP had clearly deleted them.
Now she understood why Ding Ze had called to ask about her level and progress.
Because tonight, she was contractually obligated to livestream "Sacred Spirit Realm" again.
Soon, small gossip accounts began reposting the thread, all with near-identical captions:
"Epic fail! Cat Paw’s hottest streamer can’t even play the game she’s paid to promote. Maybe try pretending to care next time?"
This was clearly a coordinated attack. Ding Ze had warned her—her rapid rise to fame had made her a target. And with more fans came more haters, some who despised her for no reason at all, armed with nothing but malice.
The only way to shut them down now would be to deliver a jaw-dropping, god-tier performance in tonight’s stream.
But for Gu Ran, who’d reached Level 13 by killing Little Dun Rats? That was about as feasible as winning the League of Legends World Championship on her first try.
Gu Ran’s voice wavered: "The contract never said I had to be good at the game."
"I wasn’t slacking. I did practice."
"I know," Ding Ze sighed. "The game company probably never imagined someone could be this... naturally untalented."
Gu Ran: "..."
Ding Ze: "Maybe just cancel tonight’s stream. I’ll talk to the game company. We’ll apologize—your poster campaign did well anyway. Skipping one stream won’t hurt."
Gu Ran tightened her grip on her phone.
She opened the Cat Paw app again. In her fan group, "RanRan’s Fish Pond," her clueless but devoted fans were rallying to defend her for the first time.
The original forum thread had devolved into chaos as more of her "Little Fish" fans jumped in to argue on her behalf.
Some even DM’d her, begging her to skip the gaming stream tonight—haters would flood the chat, and it wasn’t worth the stress.
Gu Ran stared at the posts mocking her skills, accusing her of taking easy money without effort.
After a long silence, she posted a system-generated announcement on Cat Paw:
"Cat Paw’s #1 Beauty streams 'Sacred Spirit Realm' tonight at 7:30! Don’t miss it~"
