At the headquarters of Xinbo, in the CEO's office, Assistant Xu walked in with a cup of coffee as usual. His expression was stern, his demeanor composed, and even the way he closed the door was meticulous—so calm it was as if he had never seen the viral video titled "Seductive Streamer Debunks Rumors Live: Luxury Ride-Sharing Edition Has Me Losing It."
Once the door shut, the man inside pinched the bridge of his nose.
Ji Shiyu stared at the documents on his desk, but his mind was filled with the image from the video—Gu Ran, still in her pajamas, hadn’t even eaten breakfast before rushing to her livestream to debunk the rumors.
As if she couldn’t tolerate it for even a second.
Couldn’t tolerate the slightest whisper of scandal involving him.
Ji Shiyu’s gaze darkened.
As he looked around the office, for a fleeting moment, it felt like he was transported back to that afternoon.
An ordinary afternoon, no different from any other. Xu Hui had informed him that Miss Gu was here, and then she stood before him, asking if they could get married quickly.
Or rather, not even a wedding—just an afternoon, two hours at most, to get a marriage certificate.
Later, Gu Ran ran out of this office in tears.
And never came back.
Never would.
Ji Shiyu closed his eyes, his chest tight with an ache so dense it was suffocating.
He had always been proud, raised in privilege, accustomed to being in control of everything in his life.
Including his relationship with Gu Ran.
He had initiated it, watched her eyes light up with joy, waited as she stood on her toes to press an awkward kiss to his lips. But he had never imagined that one day, she would be the one to end it.
And she had never been more resolute.
Only then did he realize—it wasn’t Gu Ran who was panicking after the breakup.
It was him.
Ji Shiyu knew the fault lay with him.
He tilted his head back, regret washing over him like never before.
……
After her early morning outburst on stream debunking rumors, Gu Ran slept through the afternoon like the dead.
When she woke up, it was almost dark outside.
Scrolling through Weibo, her feed was flooded with clips of her furious livestream—her rant about "losing it" over the rumors, her sarcastic remark about whether people wouldn’t be satisfied until the CEO rolled his eyes and kicked her.
Since she’d streamed earlier, she wasn’t going live that night. Yawning, Gu Ran burrowed deeper into her blankets and opened a food delivery app to order dinner.
She navigated to her usual lobster spot, ready to place an order, only to find the page displaying: "Today’s lobster sold out."
Gu Ran: ?
She’d ordered from here countless times. Why was it suddenly sold out today?
Curious, she checked the reviews and found a flood of new ones:
"Ordered because Cat’s Paw’s #1 beauty did! The lobster was amazing!"
"If RanRan says it’s good, it’s gotta be good. 10/10!"
Gu Ran: "..."
She should’ve blurred the shop name.
Now they’d bought it all, and she had none.
The owner owed her commission.
Pouting, Gu Ran begrudgingly browsed for another restaurant and placed an order.
Afterward, she got up and wandered around her apartment, pausing by the window when she spotted the familiar car parked downstairs again.
Its headlights were still on.
It had become a habit—night after night, she’d glance outside, and there it would be. Sometimes, there’d be a call or two from a new number. Other times, it just sat there, silent.
Gu Ran pressed her lips together and ignored it.
Ding Ze had sent her a list of recent sponsorship offers to consider, along with an invitation to Cat’s Paw’s annual offline carnival event.
Every year, Cat’s Paw hosted a fan meet-up where popular streamers from different categories were invited to participate.
Gaming streamers would livestream matches on-site, sharing tips and even teaming up with lucky fans. The beauty and talent streamers would perform—singing, dancing—just like they did in their streams.
As Cat’s Paw’s "most beautiful streamer," Gu Ran’s meteoric rise had made her one of the most anticipated guests at this year’s event.
The thought of attending made her nervous. Meeting fans in person was nothing like interacting with them through a screen.
She wasn’t a celebrity—just an internet personality whose fame existed mostly online. She rarely got recognized in public and had never experienced being surrounded by real-life fans.
She confessed her nerves to Ding Ze.
Ding Ze: "You’re telling me you’re nervous with a face like that?"
"Go look in the mirror. You should be the least nervous one there."
The Cat’s Paw Carnival had another nickname among fans—the "ugly duckling reveal." While most beauty streamers looked decent after meticulous styling, there were always a few whose real-life appearances fell far short of their filtered streams, leading to disappointed fans.
So really, the ones who should be nervous were the streamers who didn’t look like their online personas.
Gu Ran puffed her cheeks.
Ding Ze: "Oh, and tomorrow, do a giveaway during your stream. Pick ten people to win tickets to the carnival."
Gu Ran: "Got it."
The next day, Gu Ran announced her participation in the carnival during her stream and launched the ticket giveaway amid excited chatter from her fans.
"The raffle box is up! Just click the yellow button to enter! Go go go!"
Meanwhile, Ji Shiyu stared at the raffle prompt on his phone screen, where a small line of text read: "The faster you click, the higher your chances of winning~"
He tapped once, casually.
The text changed: "You’re too slow. Can’t help you."
Ji Shiyu didn’t tap again.
A moment later, the raffle ended, and the system popped up a cheerful emoji: "Congratulations! You’ve won!"
Ji Shiyu frowned slightly, wondering if the system had glitched.
Before he could dwell on it, Gu Ran began reading the list of winners on stream.
"Congratulations to ‘I Drink Iced Cola Every Day,’ ‘RanRan My Wife,’ ‘Support Role Rank 1,’ ‘Me and RanRan Sticking Together’..." She paused at the last ID, unsure how to pronounce it, so she read it letter by letter, "And ‘wdlpml.’ These ten users have won tickets to the Cat’s Paw Carnival! An admin will contact you soon to claim your prize. Congrats~"
Ji Shiyu froze when he heard his ID.
The absurdity of the situation dawned on him.
He had actually won.
Won a ticket to an offline event hosted by his own company’s streaming platform.
After the giveaway, Gu Ran ended her stream. Meanwhile, the fan group "RanRan’s Fish Pond" buzzed with activity.
[Damn, those ten winners are so lucky!]
[The giveaway tickets are front-row seats—just a few meters from the stage!]
[I’m green with envy.]
[My fingers are numb from clicking and I still didn’t win. How fast were the winners? Twenty years of single-life speed?]
[Jealousy is turning me into a monster.]
Soon, the winners from the fan group chat began to emerge. Some bragged about their good luck in a showy manner, while others mentioned they couldn’t attend the event and offered to transfer their tickets for a fee.
The list of winners was pinned by the moderators under the description of Gu Ran’s latest livestream replay.
Each ID was displayed alongside the user’s level. The lottery system had certain built-in restrictions—higher-level users had better odds of winning. As everyone scanned the list, they noticed that all the winners were Diamond-tier superfans… until they reached the last name on the list.
A Level 1 account, no titles, a jumble of random characters for an ID, and a default system avatar.
Everyone’s jaws dropped when they saw this account among the winners.
How could an account like this win tickets to the CatPaw offline carnival—and not just any tickets, but front-row VIP seats?!
At this point, all twelve branches of "Ran Ran’s Fish Pond" exploded in outrage.
[Who the hell is this "wdlpml"? How did they get so lucky?!]
[Why does a Level 1 noob get to win when I didn’t? I’m so mad!]
[This isn’t fair at all. With such a low level, we can’t even tell if they’re a fan or an anti. @Mods, can you check this person out?]
Soon, someone discovered that "wdlpml" was a member of "Ran Ran’s Fish Pond No. 9." A quick search through the chat logs revealed they had never spoken in the group. Their profile showed only one activity—a like on a rumor post linking "CatPaw’s Most Beautiful Streamer" with the CEO of Xinbo.
The fans were both shocked and furious when they saw this.
They knew Gu Ran had already debunked those rumors, yet this person still liked the post. If that wasn’t an anti-fan, then who was?!
Clearly, this was some undercover hater sent by rival fans to spy on their group!
The members of Fish Pond No. 9 descended like a storm:
[Get lost, hater! @wdlpml]
[How did this kind of person even get into our group? And how did they win?! @wdlpml]
[Mods, kick them out now!]
[It makes me so angry that someone would dislike Ran Ran—who’s so adorable—and then sneak into her fan group just to dig up dirt on her. @wdlpml, we’re talking about you.]
[Shameless! spits @wdlpml]
...
Ji Shiyu had put his phone down after winning the lottery. When he picked it up again, he was greeted with 99+ notifications from CatPaw.
He opened the messages, and the more he read, the deeper his frown became.
The notifications were flooded with furious insults from other fans. Because he had liked that rumor post and had such a low account level, they had unanimously declared him an undercover hater.
Ji Shiyu took a deep breath as he read the endless "@wdlpml, get out!" messages.
Then he noticed a new private message—from a verified account.
The profile picture was a playful half-face selfie, belonging to "CatPaw’s Most Beautiful Streamer."
Gu Ran had sent him a message:
[The fan group is a bit worked up right now. If anyone offended you, I apologize on their behalf.]
[Regardless, congratulations on winning! celebratory emoji]
[But I do want to clarify again—there is absolutely no connection between me and the CEO of Xinbo. Please don’t spread rumors. Thank you.]
Ji Shiyu stared at the words "no connection" and paused before replying:
[It’s me.]
After sending it, he hesitated, unsure whether he should reveal his identity.
This seemed to be the only way to contact her outside of WeChat and phone calls.
Ji Shiyu tried to recall the message.
But before he could, a red exclamation mark appeared in the chat:
Operation failed. You have been blocked by the streamer.
