Ding Ze seemed extremely angry: "The jealousy is practically oozing through the screen. Since when do they get to police what female streamers do? Acting like they’re some big shots—they haven’t even made it big yet and they’re already picking fights across the entire entertainment industry."
Gu Ran, however, wasn’t swayed by Ding Ze’s anger and hesitantly replied, "Honestly, I think the nickname ‘Cat Paw Princess’ sounds kinda nice."
It was even more stylish than her own "Cat Paw’s #1 Beauty." Why hadn’t she thought of that ID herself?
Ding Ze: "……"
Gu Ran found the black nickname Pei Yue’s fans had given her surprisingly acceptable. She then checked her fan group chat, "Gu Ran’s Fish Pond."
The group was filled with cheerful, drama-free banter. Unlike typical fan circles, they weren’t engaging in petty fights. Instead, they were sharing the "Cat Paw’s #1 Beauty Gu Ran’s Royal Achievements Chart," which Pei Yue’s fans had painstakingly put together overnight.
"Wow, I didn’t realize Cat Paw treats our Ranran so well!"
"Wahhh, Ranran deserves this!"
"Hope Cat Paw keeps spoiling our Ranran—long live the queen!"
"Pei Yue’s fans are so creative. How come we never thought of ‘Cat Paw Princess’?"
"From now on, ‘Cat Paw Princess’ belongs to our Ranran!"
……
Gu Ran smiled as she scrolled through the lighthearted chatter in her fan group. She was pleased they hadn’t stooped to Pei Yue’s fans’ level.
As the saying goes, like streamer, like fans.
Gu Ran had no intention of entertaining Pei Yue’s fans’ endless squabbles over a few extra minutes of screen time. She simply started a new game.
Meanwhile, Pei Yue’s fans had bombarded the official Weibo account of "Stars on the Run" with over 50,000 comments demanding an explanation. But the account remained unmoved—or rather, it wasn’t ignoring them at all. Half an hour earlier, it had posted a highlight reel of the funniest moments from Season 2.
Clearly, the production team knew about the uproar. They just didn’t care.
When Pei Yue’s fans realized the compilation didn’t even include a single shot of Pei Yue, they were livid, like a powder keg about to explode.
To make matters worse, the so-called "privileged female streamer" and her clueless fanbase of otaku weren't even fighting back. Instead, they’d happily embraced the black nickname "Cat Paw Princess," with some even thanking Pei Yue’s fans in the discussion square for their hard work on the graphics.
Are these people mentally challenged or just missing a few screws?!
We’re slapping them with black nicknames and hate edits, and they’re thanking us?!
The frustration was unbearable. With no outlet for their rage, Pei Yue’s fans fixated on those three minutes and nine seconds of extra screen time that the female streamer had gotten over their idol.
And eventually, they found something.
……
After finishing a few rounds of her casual game, Gu Ran checked Weibo again and noticed new hashtags trending:
#GuRanPeiYue#, #PeiYueDeletedPost#.
Gu Ran frowned.
Why is this still trending? Are they really still fighting over those three minutes? Don’t they have anything better to do?
By now, she was genuinely annoyed by the absurdity of it all. But when she clicked into the hashtag and saw the top post, she froze.
During the second day’s game, there was a segment where three female guests competed for props on acupressure mats. The competition was intense, and at one point, Pei Yue stumbled backward and fell, while Gu Ran seized the prop and took the lead.
The scene had been chaotic, with all three women tangled together. But upon closer inspection—thanks to a slow-motion edit by Pei Yue’s fans—it appeared that Pei Yue had been pushed by Gu Ran.
After failing to stir up much drama with their complaints about screen time, forum hate threads, and black nicknames, Pei Yue’s fans finally had their smoking gun.
And when Pei Yue herself added fuel to the fire by posting—then immediately deleting—a single smiley face emoji on Weibo, her fans erupted.
Their beloved princess, whom they coddled and protected, had been bullied on set—not only given less screen time but also physically pushed by this arrogant female host right in front of the cameras!
This time, instead of resorting to sarcastic memes about the "Cat Paw Princess," Pei Yue’s fans had a legitimate reason to attack. Their top fan accounts mobilized the troops, and the hate campaign exploded in full force.
……
Gu Ran’s Weibo feed was flooded with hate edits from Pei Yue’s fans. Her comment section and private messages were overrun with vile insults and graphic attacks.
One particularly malicious edit even depicted her kneeling in apology to Pei Yue, demanding she publicly beg for forgiveness.
As she scrolled through the relentless barrage of cruelty, Gu Ran’s hands began to tremble. Her body grew cold, and tears welled in her eyes.
She’d been the subject of rumors before—her feud with Meng Miaomiao had spawned plenty of gossip. But back then, people had treated it like entertainment. This was the first time complete strangers had hurled such vicious, dehumanizing slurs at her, telling her to quit the show, go back to her "low-class female anchor gig," even to die.
All because she’d gotten a few extra seconds of screen time.
All because she’d accidentally bumped into their idol during a game.
Pei Yue’s fans were experts at this. Watching Gu Ran’s real-time Weibo feed drown in their hate graphics and curses, they reveled in another "victory."
When it came to online warfare, they’d never lost.
Gu Ran’s phone rang.
She answered with a shaky "Hello?"
Ding Ze cursed under his breath upon hearing her tearful voice. "Don’t cry," he urged. "Stay off social media. The company will handle this."
Gu Ran wiped her eyes. "Okay."
"I didn’t push her on purpose," she whispered.
Ding Ze gritted his teeth. "Of course you didn’t. Don’t you see? They’re just looking for an excuse to attack you."
There were three female guests on the show: Pei Yue, the well-connected resource expert Sun Yuanni, and female host Gu Ran.
Both Sun Yuanni and Gu Ran had gotten more screen time than Pei Yue, and Sun Yuanni had been even more aggressive during the prop-grabbing segment. Yet Pei Yue’s fans only targeted Gu Ran.
Why? Because she was the easiest target.
Sun Yuanni had powerful backers—no one dared touch her. But Gu Ran, despite her popularity, was just a female streamer. In their eyes, her fanbase was insignificant, and she had no real protection.
After hanging up with Ding Ze, Gu Ran curled up on the sofa, hugging her knees.
……
Over at Cat Paw’s headquarters, the entire talent management team was in crisis mode.
Previous conflicts had been internal. But now their top female streamer was being dragged by a rookie idol’s fanbase, and it was a direct insult to Cat Paw’s reputation.
They were, after all, the biggest live-streaming platform in the country.
Ding Ze emerged from the VP’s office, barking orders at his assistant. "Are the materials ready? What’s the update from the show’s production team?"
The assistant nodded. "Almost done."
Ding Ze lifted the hem of his suit jacket, placed a hand on his hip, and pulled out his phone. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he finally tapped open the trending topics—only to furrow his brows in sudden confusion.
What?
Just moments ago, the real-time feed had been flooded with Pei Yue’s fans posting blacklist-worthy edits of Gu Ran. Now, it had been completely overtaken by a new wave of posts:
"Pei Yue’s Plastic Surgery Evolution," "Pei Yue Encouraging Elementary School Fans to Vote Manipulate," "Pei Yue’s Educational Gaps."
Unlike the crude smear campaigns by Pei Yue’s fans, these new posts were meticulously organized, each backed by solid evidence, presenting facts in an objective manner.
Ding Ze scanned the well-documented exposés on Pei Yue’s alleged plastic surgery and fan manipulation, only to realize they were all posted by Gu Ran’s "Little Fish" fans.
With military-like discipline, they had seized control of the real-time feed, completely overpowering Pei Yue’s notoriously aggressive fanbase—a faction that usually claimed second place to no one in online battles.
Not only was Ding Ze stunned, but Pei Yue’s fans were too.
They had attacked Gu Ran with such bravado precisely because they assumed a streamer’s fanbase was no match—just a bunch of freeloading male viewers who’d scatter at the first sign of trouble, nothing like their own fiercely loyal army, always ready to charge into battle for "Yueyue."
But just as they were celebrating their supposed victory, Gu Ran’s Little Fish fans emerged.
One, two, then whole groups, multiplying rapidly.
At first, Pei Yue’s fans dismissed them. But as their numbers swelled, their coordination grew tighter, and they systematically took over every real-time feed, fan community, and comment section.
From initial disdain to frantic scrambling, Pei Yue’s fans finally faced a horrifying realization as the flood of irrefutable evidence mounted:
They were outmatched.
Pei Yue’s fanbase had long been considered one of the most ruthless in idol fandom, with an undefeated record. Before this battle, they hadn’t even viewed the streamer’s fans as a threat.
But reality humbled them.
Gu Ran’s fans hadn’t even resorted to insults—just relentless fact-dropping.
For the first time, Pei Yue’s fans retreated in disgrace.
The spectacle left bystanders from other fan circles in awe.
[Damn, this streamer’s fanbase is next-level.]
[A lesson here: never underestimate streamers…]
[Gu Ran’s popularity is legit—her fans are ride-or-die.]
[Finally, someone’s putting Pei Yue’s rabid fans in their place. So satisfying!]
[LMAO I had no idea Pei Yue had that much work done on her face!]
While Pei Yue’s fans suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of the very fanbase they’d looked down on, another development unfolded: the official Weibo account of ClawLive (the streaming platform) made an announcement.
The post shared data analytics of their current signed streamers, revealing that Gu Ran—dubbed "ClawLive’s Most Beautiful"—dominated every metric by a landslide. The platform affirmed that all resources and promotions allocated to her were fully compliant with company policies and reserved the right to pursue legal action against defamatory rumors.
Netizens couldn’t help but laugh at the statement.
ClawLive might as well have outright said: "Our ‘Most Beautiful’ is objectively number one in every way. We finally have a breakout star who’s bringing traffic to the entire platform—of course we’re promoting her. Did you expect us to push your fave instead?"
Honestly, calling her the "ClawLive Princess" wouldn’t even be a stretch.
Soon after, someone noticed that the official Weibo account of the variety show "Stars on the Move" had liked ClawLive’s post.
When the show’s producers joined the subtle shade-throwing, the online narrative shifted entirely.
[HAHAHAHA this is too good. Thought they were bullying a pushover but ended up kicking a steel plate.]
[Do these delulu fans not watch their idol’s cringey 20-minute screen time? Even that felt too long.]
[Stop bringing your idol group’s petty lyric/spotlight fights into variety shows. Screen time goes to whoever’s actually entertaining.]
[Anyone who watched knows Pei Yue chose not to team up with Du Li—she wanted Yan Zhun for her CP-baiting agenda, but he wasn’t having it.]
[Gu Ran was the only one who picked Du Li. How is that ‘rigged’?]
[A little pushing during games is normal. If you’re so scared of your idol getting hurt, maybe she should quit variety shows altogether.]
[Feel bad for Gu Ran. Those toxic fans are disgusting.]
[Gu Ran even complimented Pei Yue’s figure during her post-show livestream. And this is how Pei Yue’s fans repay her? Tragic.]
[RanRan, please join more variety shows! Gorgeous and hilarious—total stan magnet.]
……
Still seated on the sofa, Gu Ran read Ding Ze’s update: ClawLive’s official statement was out, and they’d coordinated with "Stars on the Move." The situation was effectively resolved.
She sniffled, touched by the flood of supportive messages from fans and netizens alike.
Her Little Fish fans’ unwavering defense moved her deeply.
She refused to back down.
After drafting and redrafting, Gu Ran finally posted:
"Hello everyone, I’m Gu Ran, a streamer signed with ClawLive. Since entering this industry, I’ve held myself to high standards, hoping my broadcasts bring warmth and encouragement to your lives. I’m deeply grateful to ClawLive for their support—signing with them remains one of my best decisions."
"‘Stars on the Move’ was my first variety show. The recording was filled with nerves, laughter, and heartfelt moments. I want to thank my teammates and the entire crew. Witnessing their dedication firsthand, I gave my all in every game and interaction. While unexpected incidents may occur, I stand by every word and action—I competed with integrity, stayed true to myself, and have no regrets."
She ended with:
"This post won’t be deleted."
That final line spoke volumes.
Unlike Pei Yue’s shady, since-deleted post earlier that morning.
[YES! Go off!]
[Nothing’s worse than those cryptic ‘oops-delete’ tweets. Say it with your chest or don’t say it at all!]
[So cowardly—hiding behind fans to do your dirty work. Disgusting.]
[LMAO RanRan’s coming for blood!]
[Our RanRan IS the ClawLive Princess! Not a diss—it’s a badge of honor!]
……
After posting, Gu Ran watched as "Gu Ran, ClawLive Princess" climbed the trending list.
She set her phone down, exhaling slowly.
……
Meanwhile, at XINBO headquarters.
Ji Shiyu had just wrapped up a grueling seven-hour meeting.
Leaning back in his chair, he massaged his temples, exhaustion weighing heavy.
Xu Hui approached with his phone in hand.
The incident today had been sudden, catching him off guard. Fortunately, Cat's Paw had reacted swiftly and handled the situation well.
The vice president’s promotion prospects looked promising.
Ji Shiyu noticed Xu Hui approaching. "What’s going on?"
Xu Hui summarized the entire incident—cause, process, and outcome—in the most concise terms possible.
He held his phone up to Ji Shiyu, watching as the man’s brows furrowed tightly. Ji Shiyu took a deep, heavy breath, clearly already furious.
This reaction was well within Xu Hui’s expectations.
...
Gu Ran had been scrolling through Weibo when Ding Ze messaged her on WeChat, informing her that Pei Yue had lost a brand endorsement. A drama role she had already secured after auditions was now being recast.
Tracing the origins of these resources, they were all more or less tied to Xinbo.
Gu Ran simply replied, "Oh."
She checked Pei Yue’s fan community and saw that after losing the endorsement—especially one that had been heavily hyped for its prestige—Pei Yue’s fans were in an uproar.
Another group of fans was still fuming over their failed attempt to smear Gu Ran with the derogatory nickname "Cat’s Paw Princess." To their frustration, the nickname had now become an official moniker. Even worse, Cat’s Paw’s blatant favoritism and protection of Gu Ran despite the controversy was downright shameless. Why wasn’t anyone stepping in to stop it?
Someone suddenly remembered rumors that Cat’s Paw had been acquired by Xinbo and was now a subsidiary under the Xinbo Group.
As a result, Xinbo’s official Weibo account—which usually had little presence and only posted corporate updates—suddenly became a battleground for Pei Yue’s enraged fans.
[Your subsidiary is openly giving special "princess" treatment to one person. Aren’t you going to do something about it?]
[Big corporations usually hate this kind of thing, right? The "princess" and whoever’s backing her should be fired.]
[We hope you’ll investigate any shady dealings between Cat’s Paw and this person.]
When screenshots of Pei Yue’s fans demanding answers on Xinbo’s official Weibo were shared on gossip forums, the response was nothing but mockery. There was no way Xinbo would entertain such petty fan drama—some people’s delusional fans really had no sense of reality.
But then, to everyone’s surprise, while the ridicule was still going strong, Xinbo’s official account actually responded.
Pei Yue’s fans initially sighed in relief, smug that their demands had been acknowledged.
But their expressions froze when they saw the actual response.
It was a legal statement: Xinbo Group’s legal department would be filing lawsuits against the following individuals for malicious online defamation and harassment of their live-streaming platform’s host, Gu Ran.
Attached was an extensive list—every single Weibo ID of Pei Yue’s fans who had insulted Gu Ran that day.
The statement and the list sent Pei Yue’s fans scrambling in panic, while even bystanders were stunned.
Sure, it was laughably stupid for Pei Yue’s fans to demand that a parent company punish its subsidiary. But Xinbo’s reaction was beyond anyone’s expectations.
What was Xinbo’s stature? Cat’s Paw was practically insignificant in comparison. Yet here they were, issuing statements and even pursuing legal action—all over a single host from an insignificant subsidiary?
Though Xinbo’s statement claimed they always used legal means to protect every employee under their umbrella, the level of protection here was downright baffling.
And then there was Gu Ran, already happily live-streaming that night, flaunting her new title as "Cat’s Paw Princess" and "Cat’s Paw’s Most Beautiful Host."
"... "
This wasn’t just the Cat’s Paw Princess.
This was practically the Xinbo Princess.
