Chapter 102 – Extra
Ever since Chen Bai’s alternate account, “Chen Er bai,” was discovered, he reluctantly completed the backlog of live-stream hours owed from past agreements. After fulfilling those commitments, he quickly terminated his contract, bringing an end to that small side gig.
With his little business venture over, he no longer hosted live streams on his own but would occasionally pop up in Qingzhou’s live stream room to play games together, but rarely.
Fans would wait around in hopes of a surprise appearance, like opening a mystery box. However, since he joined the cast of his new movie, even those rare chances disappeared, and the “box” remained empty.
His time on set seemed to get longer and longer, often stretching over six months. During these periods, he attended no other events, using any free time to go home, disappearing for half a year at a time, much like Xu Sian before him.
With nothing new to see, his fans turned to rewatching his past clips and old television series, especially “Er Bai fans,” who endlessly reminisced about the days when he’d stream daily.
*
One summer evening, after wrapping up a movie that had taken over half a year to film, Chen Bai skipped stopping by the family estate to visit Mrs. Jiang and Mr. Xu, not wanting to disturb them so late.
Instead, he chose to return to his downtown residence. His manager, who had been able to drink everyone under the table without any sign of fatigue, was still sober enough to drive him home and even discuss work on the way back.
Watching him through the rearview mirror, she asked, “With this upcoming short break, do you want to take on a quick gig?”
Chen Bai, typing a message on his phone, looked up. “Hmm?”
She explained that a streaming platform had reached out with an offer for a small live-streaming project. He hadn’t streamed in a long time, and with him being in production for so long, he hadn’t made any media appearances, leaving his fans no outlet to see him. In their frustration, many had even taken to the Fruit Live platform to voice their complaints, catching the platform’s attention.
The project wouldn’t take long and had no strict format requirements—just two quick streams would suffice. Though the payment was relatively modest compared to a movie’s box-office bonus, it was more about whether he was willing to spare the time.
After considering that he hadn’t engaged with his fans in a while, Chen Bai thought it over for two seconds and nodded in agreement. Despite the late hour, the platform representatives were still working and ready to make arrangements, so his manager began coordinating right away.
Chen Yibai continued messaging on his phone while browsing for some fresh reaction memes.
It was late at night, so the road from the hotel to downtown was almost empty, making for a smooth, traffic-free drive that got them to his place in about half an hour.
When he got out, a fluffy white furball was spinning around in the yard, tail wagging furiously. Waiting for him outside was a man in a shirt and slacks, who reached out in greeting.
The gate opened, and the white “missile” launched itself at Chen Bai, who bent down to pet the dog before turning to wave goodbye to his manager and the driver. With a wave, Uncle Zhao, the driver, headed off, leaving Chen Bai to close the gate and head inside, where the lights on the second floor flicked on.
Three days later, he started streaming, using the same setup he’d had before—right from his room. Though he had a home office, he preferred the comfort of his bedroom, where he’d installed a computer near the floor-to-ceiling windows with great lighting. His favorite routine was to finish up work, then flop directly onto his bed, blissfully content.
He logged back into his old “Chen Er Bai” account rather than bothering with a new one. It had been so long since his last login that even the platform looked different than he remembered. The interface now resembled a celebrity account, and his inbox was full of private messages with notification dots that kept popping up no matter how many he cleared, so he gave up and went straight to starting the stream.
Though he hadn’t streamed in a while, his muscle memory kicked in—he adjusted settings with practiced ease, and even set up the camera with his usual efficiency. However, he suddenly realized it was angled down at his keyboard, so he raised it to capture his face instead. Afterward, he browsed between the Entertainment and Gaming categories before finally settling on Entertainment.
Today, his friend Qingzhou was busy and couldn’t join. After the summer tournament incident, his other casual gaming buddies were cautious whenever they played together, making things feel a bit different, so he’d started joining them less frequently. While he’d play a few games today, he didn’t plan to play long, preferring to just chat with viewers.
By the time he started the stream, the Fruits Live platform had already promoted the event heavily since the contract was signed. Fans had received ample notice, and many had been waiting for hours before the stream began, determined and loyal. Viewership skyrocketed within seconds, reaching five figures almost immediately and still climbing.
Given his past streaming experience, Chen Bai turned off the gift option right from the start, leaving only the chat and the rapidly growing crowd in a much cleaner interface, free from the lag of constant gifts.
Everything felt just like before—same account, same interface, same games. But soon, fans noticed a difference: in the top-right corner, where there used to be a view of the keyboard, was now a smiling face framed by a sunlit room.
Leaning an elbow on the desk, his tousled hair falling over relaxed eyes, he gave a small wave with a polite smile, greeting his viewers: “Hello, friends.”
He was so casually laid-back, it felt as if he were greeting actual friends face-to-face.
Netizen:
[!!! I can’t believe I’m seeing Chen Erbai’s actual face on stream!]
[Haha, look at that hair! Erbai, you really don’t care about looking star-like for us, do you?]
[This is the same guy who wore that 39.99 yuan shirt on stream for years, y’all, come on! ]
[Yes! Finally! Only Fruits Live could actually bring Chen Yi Bai here!]
[So, are we gaming today? Where’s Brother Xu? What about Yiwan?]
“Just a couple of games today, since no one else is online.” He scanned a few comments and lazily ruffled his hair, not bothering to tidy it up much. “Old Xu’s downstairs brushing Yiwan.”
He kept a slight sense of reserve, but not too much.
Clearly, the missing “buddy” referred to Qingzhou, and the chat was filled with teasing comments about him missing out.
Once the game loaded, Chen Bai finally straightened a bit, clicking into the interface. The game had changed a lot since he’d last played. Without teammates, he was flying solo. Having not played in a while, his rank had dropped, but his hidden score remained high, so he was still matched in a high-level game. With the chaotic mix at the season’s start, even high-ranked matches had their share of misfits, and he quickly got a taste of being cannon fodder.
Using a basic starter gun, he took down a flashy but clueless opponent, claiming their loot box. His opponent may have been unskilled, but they had good luck and plenty of useful items for him.
Since he couldn’t play the baiting game alone, he was forced into direct face-offs. Win or lose, it was straight to the ground.
Luckily, he hadn’t lost a shootout yet—his recoil control was fast and steady, easily turning the team game into a solo mission.
In the past, he’d played behind a keyboard, but fans finally saw him during the summer tournament. Back then, he tried to keep up a “cool guy” image, but now they were witnessing a far more genuine Chen Er Bai as he streamed his usual gameplay.
Though his hands were in constant motion with fast, fierce play, he remained comfortably lounged in his chair, glancing occasionally at the chat, even chuckling at some comments, his brows curving in an easy smile.
Chat Comments:
[Oh no, Er Bai’s streams definitely don’t need a camera—I barely watched the game and was just staring at his face! (He’s so cute when he smiles, omg!)]
[Self-professed face con here. If Er Bai had used a camera from the start, he could’ve become even more famous than Yi Bai!]
[Who else remembers him once saying, ‘I look plain,’ or ‘You’ll all be disappointed.’]
[Brother Xu, tell me how I’m wrong. I just want a gamer boyfriend who smiles like this, cooks well, and has a great personality—is that so much to ask?]
After one game, his four teammates were all thoroughly eliminated, but he managed to carry his ragtag group to victory and took on the role of MVP.
This time, after the game ended, he didn’t immediately return to the lobby. Instead, a small red gift box popped up, seemingly a mystery reward.
The ever-helpful audience explained via the chat that it was the game’s anniversary, so each winning team member received a gift box. However, the boxes were usually filled with basic items, and the odds of getting something rare were practically zero.
Chen Bai “Perpetually Unlucky” pondered with one hand propped under his chin. After a brief moment, he muttered, “Hang on,” removed his headset, and left his seat.
The viewers couldn’t see him after he left, but they could hear his footsteps gradually fading and the sound of a door opening, followed by a call from outside: “Old Xu!”
A short time later, Chen Bai returned, bringing his luckiest charm—the “King of RNG” himself, Xu Sinian. Trailing behind was a cute little white fluffball of a dog, tagging along without any purpose but its adorable presence.
With something to ask of his friend, Mr. Unlucky even relinquished his prized seat and handed over the mouse. Standing off to the side, he gave the fluffy dog some pats, politely asking for Xu Sinian’s assistance with the box.
Xu Sinian clicked the mouse to open the box, while Chen Bai continued petting the dog, his hand brushing loose fur off. With a small smirk, he handed the fluffy clump over to Xu Sinian’s free hand, saying, “Here, a little something for you.”
Xu Sinian looked down at the soft white fluff in his hand, then chuckled, “Thanks.”
Having given his “gift,” Chen Bai was in high spirits, replying with a carefree “You’re welcome,” and kept petting the dog. When he found more loose fur, he quietly slipped it into Xu Sinian’s hand—apparently, he was in a generous mood with these gifts today.
Within barely a minute, Chen Bai’s constant little actions captivated the audience, who were thoroughly entertained watching him share his “thoughtful gifts.”
