Chapter 56: Live Broadcast
On the rain-soaked country road, the convoy moved slowly.
Inside one of the vehicles, the windows were closed, and rain blurred the glass.
The agent, sitting beside Chu Mingyuan, propped her head up, looking at something on her phone. After a moment, she glanced over and asked, “Did you enjoy filming today?”
Maybe others couldn’t tell, but as his agent for nearly a decade, she could see he was in a good mood after the first scene.
Sometimes it’s rare to find an actor who vibes well with the team.
But this time, it was clear he had met someone interesting. Otherwise, his mood wouldn’t be so good.
Chu Mingyuan didn’t deny it. He turned his phone in his hand and looked out the window.
The agent observed him and asked, “Waiting for a message?”
Chu Mingyuan replied, “Waiting for a friend request to be accepted.”
The agent reacted, realizing to whom the friend request belonged. She laughed, saying, “So he added you after all! I told you he was fun.”
Curiously, she asked, “Who did you ask for contact information?”
“Director,” Chu Mingyuan answered, then added, “But it hasn’t been accepted yet.”
The agent chuckled. “It shouldn’t take long. He’ll probably accept it while checking his phone.”
After nearly an hour of driving, the friend request still hadn’t been accepted.
Instead of stopping by the shooting location at the inn, the vehicle headed straight back to the hotel, where lunch would be delivered. Once back at the hotel, Chu Mingyuan quickly went to the makeup room and then came out with shorter hair. Chen Bai rushed to his room to take a shower.
Just as he finished showering, his assistant arrived with lunch from the crew.
After thanking her, he closed the door and returned to his room with the meal. He sat on the sofa by the window, absentmindedly rubbing the towel on his head.
He felt as though he had forgotten something.
“…”
Outside, the sky was gray, while the room was bright. As he dried his hair, he pondered for a moment before finally remembering and grabbed his phone during lunch.
He recalled something important.
It had been quite a while since he checked on Chen Er Bai’s situation.
His finger hovered over the phone screen for a moment before he awkwardly opened Weibo.
There were over 999+ notifications waiting for him. He stared at the little red notification for a couple of seconds, ultimately deciding to switch to the background to see which account it was.
It was indeed Chen Er Bai’s account.
Stuffing a bite of food into his mouth, he lowered his gaze and clicked into the already overflowing comments.
[Chen Er Bai! It’s been one month and three days! Do you know how I’ve spent this month and three days?!]
[How about a spontaneous live stream for a chat? Has anyone seen Chen Er Bai’s occasional live streams? (grabs a passerby) (shakes) (no) (grabs the next passerby)]
[Er Bai, you didn’t really join some weird organization and can’t come back, right?!!]
[One month and three days is nothing. I can still hold on [strong smile.jpg]]
Chen Bai “…”
‘Chen Er Bai’, who had apparently joined some strange organization, stopped scrolling through the comments.
It turned out it had been a month—more precisely, one month and three days since he last streamed.
He glanced at the time, then exited the app to check his tentative schedule. It seemed there wouldn’t be much free time in the near future for a live stream.
So, the question arose.
He had just had a deep conversation with his good neighbor in the car, and both had free time from the afternoon until evening, so they agreed to play a game of Ludo, which everyone loved.
In the evening, he typically spent time researching and memorizing scripts, which he couldn’t move around or delegate.
Between the live stream and playing Ludo, he decided to take the time it would normally take for a meal to explain his streaming side gig to his good neighbor.
His neighbor listened, seemingly accepting everything without surprise.
After a brief exchange, the final decision was to live stream while playing Ludo. Clever Chen Bai successfully combined the two activities.
After lunch, Chen Bai logged back into his account. After one month and three days, he finally posted a live stream notification.
Previously, he had been called out for a notification that was less than ten words, which felt somewhat lacking. He had now learned to add a picture.
He selected a photo from his album. Although his professional photographer’s album didn’t contain many portrait shots, it was filled with pictures of food—lunch and dinner alike, in generous amounts.
He set the live stream time and randomly chose a picture from a dinner with his good neighbor over a month ago while still in City A. He noted it would just be a casual chat, without any games, and the live stream notification was complete.
Despite being inactive for over a month, his seemingly undead account still had quite a few followers. After posting the notification, a flurry of comments appeared below.
[? I actually waited until it happened!]
[Grandma, the streamer you follow is live!]
[Am I the only one who finds the food in the picture looks delicious (.)]
[Only two hours until the live stream, how can this be! How am I supposed to get through these torturous two hours!]
…
The two-hour wait was left for Chen Bai, who had risen at 4 AM, to catch up on sleep.
He had previously woken up at 4 AM when the filming schedule was tight, and he could manage a full day of shooting. Today, he could also choose not to rest.
However, he opted for a quick nap, determined to be in the best shape possible to roll the dice.
He summarized his experiences from previous games of Ludo and concluded that his continuous losses were primarily due to his state of mind.
This time, after sleeping for two hours, he was confident he would take first place.
After finishing lunch and stretching his old back to aid digestion, he felt it was about time. He set an alarm, lay back on the bed, and buried himself under the blankets, instantly falling asleep.
Outside, the rain continued, and the heavy clouds turned the day into a night-like darkness.
The 4 AM riser slept soundly, and when the alarm went off, he instinctively turned it off.
Chen Bai “…”
A gentle breeze swept through the room, flowing through the fingers of his hand that was sticking out from under the blanket, causing his fingers to involuntarily curl slightly.
As he moved his hand, the person buried under the blanket felt a slight stir in his mind. He opened his eyes, momentarily awake, and saw the blurred outline of his phone. His phone, along with the seemingly silenced alarm.
—He is fully awake now.
In an instant, he leaped up and turned on the room light. Supporting himself on the bed, Chen Bai checked his phone and saw he had a few minutes left until the stream started, letting out a sigh of relief.
He snuggled back under the covers, briefly familiarizing himself with how to live stream on his phone. Following the steps, he then half-opened his eyes, which were still a bit sluggish, and contacted his good neighbor.
Still feeling a bit groggy from just waking up, but with a few rational brain cells left, he stared at the chat box for a long time. He finally changed the chat background from a video call screenshot to a screenshot of his previous Ludo game screen where he hadn’t managed to get to the top.
With that, his preparation was complete.
At precisely 2 PM, in the midst of an otherwise unremarkable afternoon, his account—inactive for over a month—went live.
Fans who had received prior notifications stormed into the live stream, immediately expressing their intense feelings without concern for anything else.
[Wow, you actually dared to come back!]
[Look what I found! I saw the live notification and rushed right in!]
[Huh, what’s this?]
As the viewers rushed in, they noticed that it wasn’t the familiar computer screen but a mobile interface.
The phone was on a mini-game screen, colorful and vibrant.
It was unmistakably a mini-game, easily recognizable at a glance.
“I’m not trying to make you think I was taken by a strange organization and couldn’t return,” he said.
“This is Ludo,” Chen Bai said, propping his chin up in the blanket, “I’m playing some mini-games with a friend today.”
He chuckled lightly, “I’m barely managing to be a game streamer.”
[Is it with Qing Zhou? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you two together! My OTP! [cat covering heart.jpg]]
[Qing Zhou has been solo for over a month (sad)]
[Is Er Bai just waking up? Why does your voice sound so good? (gesturing) (recording) (saving)]
“It’s not, it’s with my friend.”
As he tucked the blanket around him, he tapped the icon to invite friends.
Having played together many times before, his dear friend was now the default invitee, so it was just a click away.
After sending the invite, a WeChat call came through.
Upon answering, the polite Chen Bai initiated the greeting first.
“Did you just wake up?” his good friend asked.
Although it was a question, the tone sounded more like a statement.
Chen Bai nodded and curiously asked, “How can you tell?”
There was a moment of silence from his neighbor, as if contemplating, before he briefly replied, “It’s different from usual.”
He didn’t elaborate on what was different, and it didn’t seem like he intended to continue.
[Wow, the friend’s voice is surprisingly nice! Someone stop me; I’m starting to believe what Er Bai said about the handsome guy!]
[So, is Er Bai picking friends based on looks? (just kidding)]
[It’s the first time hearing the friend’s voice! So, Er Bai, you usually eat this well!]
A few minutes into the stream, there were still many viewers joining, and the barrage of comments kept rolling in. Having just woken up, Chen Bai’s vision hadn’t fully caught up, and he didn’t pay much attention to the comments. He and his good neighbor proceeded to randomly match for the game.
At this hour, there were fewer people playing mini-games, so matching took a bit of time. He reached out from under the covers to grab a drink from his bedside, then returned to his cozy spot.
After drinking, the matching ended, and the game began.
He rubbed his hands together and confidently proclaimed, “I’m definitely going to get first place today.”
The knowledgeable good neighbor didn’t respond directly but simply acknowledged him. The unaware viewers found it amusing, commenting that it should be a piece of cake for him.
If he could win competitive games, winning a mini-game would be a breeze, and viewers didn’t think the normally dominant Chen Bai would fail at this.
—But Chen Bai indeed didn’t win the mini-game.
It turned out that winning or losing had nothing to do with his state of mind; it was purely bad luck, an irrefutable fact.
After two rounds, the viewers in the chat finally realized that this person’s luck was genuinely terrible.
[Hahaha, no wonder you were so determined and careful when rolling dice with Qingzhou before; it really is you, Chen Er Bai! (tears)]
[Your luck is terrible, worse than mine! Here’s a gift to console you [pat on shoulder.jpg]]
[Curious about why Er Bai can keep playing even though he’s so bad (no malice) (just stating facts)]
[Hahaha, I didn’t expect this to be so funny; help me!]
[Esports, being bad is the original… so this is how it is. Don’t be sad, Er Bai; you’re just an ordinary person with incredibly bad luck (tears)]
The comments seemed like consolation, but upon closer inspection, they felt off. Each remark seemed to carry a double meaning, with about nine out of ten comments making him tear up while still laughing.
Chen Bai decided not to take offense from those who were enjoying the show and bravely started the next game.
As soon as the next game began, the chat turned into a large gambling venue, with everyone betting whether he could win this round.
—Ultimately, the gambling scene couldn’t proceed, as everyone was betting against him.
His eyelid twitched violently, and as Chen Bai immersed himself in the new round, he quickly glanced at the comments, sighing heavily, “The world is cold and unfeeling… Bro, why did you start by stepping on me!”
The dice rolled a double, and his lone yellow plane took off, only to have a red piece stomp it back home.
His plane hadn’t even moved two steps!
In a split second, tears streamed down his lifeless eyes.
He collapsed back onto the bed, after failing to take off with a roll of 1, he weakly murmured, “Good comrade, avenge me.”
Having played only a few rounds, this was already at least the third time he called for revenge.
After two more rounds, a good comrade eventually caught up and stomped the red piece back home, saying, “He’s gone back.”
There was no fluctuation in tone, but it somehow carried a sense of comfort.
Chen Bai felt relieved and sank into the pile of pillows forming a backrest, continuing to roll his dice, landing on a double, and his plane took off again.
Once in the air, he recalled something and said, “Today I’m wearing your black jacket. I asked my friends, and none of them thought I looked cool.”
He felt like a total cool guy in the outfit, yet no one had said a word of praise, leaving him utterly disheartened.
Fans “……”
Although the person on the other side wasn’t present, they could probably guess why everyone else was silent. After a brief moment of quiet, he said:
“Your friend sent over a photo, it looks great.”
Then he added, “Let’s look for suitable clothes together when you come back.”
He skillfully avoided discussing the word “cool,” sidestepping it entirely.
[Regular Er Bai: If I die, I die; better for Qingzhou to help with revenge than to take more kills; Ludo edition Er Bai: Good comrade, avenge me!]
[It’s not you two… @Yu Shuiri Qing, I’m sorry; turns out you’re the one walking the righteous path in this world.]
[Friend’s voice sounds a lot like Xu Sinian’s, always unwittingly standing in for brother Xu, help!]
[Er Bai really does look good! The friend said he looks good! It must be true!]
[+1 above; if I didn’t know Xu Sinian doesn’t play mini-games, I’d almost think Er Bai really found someone.]
[For the supporters of Bai Zhou CP! Family crisis! Hurry back! (If you don’t return soon, I might just defect!)]
[To be fair, the friend has great taste in clothes; I suggest Er Bai just move into his wardrobe and forget about that 39.9. (closes eyes)]
……
Yu Shuiri Qing said nothing and sent a heart-shaped rocket, jumping straight to the top of the leaderboard.
Chen Bai didn’t see these comments. Little Red had moved behind his plane again, and he felt tense, afraid to make a mistake that might cause his hard-earned plane to crash.
It was a round of gameplay that was even more thrilling and intense than a certain first-person competitive game.
Since his luck was bad, he relied on his intellect. With his precise calculations, keen observations, and the support of his good neighbor, he managed to secure third place, giving himself a little applause for his effort.
In a game with four players, he was third in rank, but also second to last.
His good neighbor chimed in with praise.
The viewers engaged in a manual cyber applause, interspersed with countless “hahaha” comments mixed with barely noticeable encouragement, cheering on the luckless king to keep going.
The encouragement was more like laughter that was desperately held back, each word typed out with a struggle.
They had imagined what a purely chat-oriented stream would be like, considering various possibilities, but they never envisioned it would be like this. They never thought they would sincerely feel happy for someone earning third place in Ludo.
In an instant, they achieved a significant leap in rankings. Undeterred by setbacks, Chen Bai planned to continue pressing forward. He flipped over and stretched his stiff wrists in preparation.
Before he could finish stretching, he heard a flurry of footsteps and voices outside the door, a deep voice speaking in dialect he couldn’t quite understand, but it was loud enough to be heard clearly through the door.
The sounds of footsteps and conversation were soon followed by a knock.
Three knocks, neither too light nor too heavy, interrupted his preparation for the next game. Chen Bai got up from the bed and said, “Please wait a moment.”
He slipped on the slippers that had been kicked to the side of the bed and walked to the door.
Before he could ask who was knocking, the person at the door self-identified, saying, “It’s me.”
It was the voice of his good colleague, Chu Mingyuan.
Chen Bai then opened the door.
Having not seen each other for a few hours, his colleague had changed outfits, with his drooping eyes adding a touch of charm. When he smiled, he looked even more like a dandy than Zhang something, the typical dandy.
Not standing at the door like a guardian, his colleague quickly explained the reason for knocking, saying, “I have a leak in my room; the repairman is coming over now, so it might get a bit noisy.”
As he spoke, his gaze dropped slightly, and he glanced at the person inside the room, still wearing a smile that hadn’t faded. He then shifted his gaze, turning his phone in his hand.
The message was conveyed, but the person didn’t leave. Chen Bai waited for two seconds but didn’t hear a follow-up. Instead, he could hear the repairman next door discussing the leak. Since he was still waiting to start the next game, he proactively asked, “Is there anything else?”
“Nothing much.”
Chu Mingyuan looked over and asked, “Can I have one of your WeChat friend slots?”
Chen Bai: “?”
His brain, which had switched to game mode, struggled to revert to normal and didn’t quite understand what he meant. Just as he was about to ask, something suddenly flashed in his mind—he remembered seeing a WeChat friend request earlier in the morning.
Chen Bai “…”
He slapped his forehead and rubbed his messy hair.
He had thought he forgot something important today.
It turned out there was more than just the live stream; there was this as well. He had intended to check after messaging his good neighbor but completely forgot about it.
He quickly replied, saying, “Sure, I’ll approve it when I go back later.”
Chu Mingyuan glanced at his hand still on the doorknob and asked, “Are you busy right now?”
Chen Bai honestly nodded and said he was a little busy.
Busy playing Ludo with his good neighbor.
Fortunately, his colleague had good self-awareness. Upon hearing this, he nodded slightly, didn’t linger at the door, and left after saying goodbye.
After sending him off, Chen Bai waved politely and watched him walk away before quickly closing the door.
[? This person’s voice is nice too; Er Bai, are you making friends based on voices?]
[What’s going on! Let me hear, let me hear! What does “Can I have one of your WeChat friend slots?” mean? Er Bai, are you in a situation out there?]
[Busy: referring to being busy playing Ludo, and doing poorly at it (nods).]
[So the question is, should we be worried about Qingzhou or the friend at this time? [pondering.jpg]]
[Well, we could be worried about both [shy.jpg].]
“What are you all thinking?”
After closing the door, he glanced at his phone and saw some unexpected messages. Chen Bai’s eyelids twitched, and he said, “It’s a colleague; he came to talk about a leak in his room.”
He added, “If you hear a bit of noise later, don’t mind it; it’s just the sound of repairs next door.”
He snuggled back into his bed.
The voice of his good neighbor came from his phone, asking, “Is it the colleague you worked with today?”
“Yes,” Chen Bai replied. “I didn’t expect you to be able to tell.”
Good neighbor said, ‘We’ve interacted a few times before.”
His voice was calm and steady, sounding no different than usual.
Chen Bai thought the same.
This industry is small; although, according to the agent, their levels are different, they’re both actors at the top level, so it’s inevitable they’ll cross paths.
With that topic wrapped up, a new game started, and as expected, he ended up last again, tears of noodles constantly on his face.
It seemed the source of the leak had been found next door; they started fixing it, along with the sounds of heavy objects being moved. Objectively speaking, it was indeed a bit noisy.
Each round of Ludo took nearly half an hour, and after a few rounds, the streaming duration was sufficient. Chen Bai returned to the initial screen and quickly read the closing remarks.
The end of the stream caught everyone off guard; the viewers realized something was off just before he finished his closing remarks, abruptly stopping their “hahaha” laughter and attempting to roll around in the chat for a little longer.
Their strategy to roll around in the chat failed; they only had time to stuff in a bunch of gifts before the screen went black.
The stream ended.
With the call still ongoing alongside the stream, fortunately, the phone performed well, and it didn’t heat up too much.
The room fell quiet. Chen Bai flipped over in bed, having turned off the stream without hanging up the call. He switched the voice call to a video call, all while navigating to the contact interface.
He saw it: a new friend request that had come in the morning.
Half-opening his eyes, he added a note to the contact, categorizing them into the colleague group.
His good neighbor asked, “Was it Chu Mingyuan who asked for your contact information after filming today?”
Chen Bai nodded. “Sort of.”
Although it wasn’t a direct request for his contact info, it did occur after filming, so it made sense.
He glanced sideways, curious, and asked, “How did you know?”
His good neighbor seemed to sigh, closing his eyes. “Just a guess.”
