Chapter 94: Adding a Friend
Out of respect for the seven-figure sum, Chen Bai sat up in bed, hugging his pillow.
Since he was still awake, his money-making buddy decided to skip the texting and called him directly.
When the call connected, with the pillow still in his arms, he said, “Tell me the details.”
His money-making buddy didn’t dive into the details right away. After the call connected, they first remarked, “Knew you weren’t asleep.”
Chen Bai let out a modest laugh.
His manager chimed in, “Didn’t you say in the car earlier that you wanted some quick cash? Well, here’s a job.”
It was an invitation from the official BCL organizers. Not familiar with this kind of thing, she had looked it up and found out it was related to gaming.
She explained, “There’s a summer tournament in the latter half of the month. You don’t play games, which is good, but the organizers want to invite you to play a few rounds.”
According to the schedule, there was a celebrity exhibition match before the finals, where they usually invite big streamers or other celebrities. Last year, they invited a real celebrity who was supposedly pretty good at games, often sharing their stats online. But when they went on stage, they couldn’t even handle the keyboard and ended up making a huge mess.
The celebrity got roasted, and the organizers got their share of the blame. This year, the organizers were trying to redeem themselves, so they reached out to someone more skilled.
His gaming skills were solid, with previous gameplay recordings still circulating online. As long as he didn’t mess up, there was little chance of failure.
The organizers were thorough this time, pairing him with a big streamer as a backup. In case he slipped, the streamer could save the day. The exhibition match would be in the morning, and the number of rounds would depend on the situation, but the duration wouldn’t exceed two hours.
Apart from the match itself, the organizers also subtly hinted that they hoped he would stay to watch the finals from the audience.
A seven-figure payday for a day’s work sounded lucrative, but it was essentially a game endorsement. The organizers’ livestream would gain popularity, but behind the scenes, he’d have to practice a bit before the event, so factoring in the time cost, it wasn’t as great as it initially seemed.
The organizers would still profit, and he’d earn a little extra.
Picking up on the key details, Chen Bai squeezed his pillow and said, “… Livestreaming, huh.”
Livestreaming and gaming—it sounded familiar. Put the pieces together, and you essentially had Chen Er Bai.
The manager asked, “Are you in?”
Chen Yibai replied, “I’m in.”
Livestreaming wasn’t really an issue.
As long as he spoke less and acted like a cool, quiet guy, Chen Yi Bai could still be Chen Yi Bai.
With the decision made, they ended the call.
Setting his phone aside, the cool, quiet guy bent down, buried his face in the pillow for a shallow breath, turned off the lights, and immediately went to sleep.
After seven months of filming came several days of rest.
Having accepted the BCL job, diligent Master Chen got up the next day and logged into the game.
After not playing for a few months, the game interface had completely changed, becoming unfamiliar. He spent some time adjusting.
Saturday, a day off for most working people and students, he started streaming in the afternoon. He forgot to give advance notice, but there were still quite a few people in the livestream room.
Having been away from the game for so long, his viewers didn’t complain about his sparse streams this time. Instead, they were concerned, thinking something might have happened to him.
Nothing had happened to Chen Erbai. It was just that Chen Yibai had been busy with work.
[So, is Er Bai going to BCL this time?]
[You better not skip it again this time! (eyes wide open)]
[Looks like I’ll never know what Er Bai looks like in this lifetime.]
[Where’s your good neighbor? Haven’t seen you two together in a while! (Also, it’s been ages since we’ve seen Er Bai at all.)]
Just like the coordinator and Qingzhou, the livestream chat’s regulars had their annual tradition of asking the same questions.
[He’s abroad, seems like he’s got work.]
Choosing to answer only the last question, Chen Er Bai then shifted to talk about his buddy, saying, “He might be back in a few days.”
After briefly answering, he and his temporary gaming partner jumped into the game.
Having not played for a few months, his skills were a bit rusty, but after playing all afternoon, he found his rhythm again. Before starting another match, his phone, which was on the table, buzzed. It was a message from his manager.
Things had been set in motion quickly, with the contract sent to his agency, and his manager had just signed it while running errands at the company. The process was moving fast.
The tournament was still ongoing, with the finalists yet to be decided, and the venue was still being arranged. The organizers had reserved him a front-row seat, and they’d inform him of the seat number as soon as it was assigned.
His streaming partner had also been confirmed—a well-respected big-name streamer, one of his fans, according to his assistant’s research.
As long as they were reliable, it didn’t matter whether they were a big streamer or what their name was. He figured he’d meet them in person at the event. The manager didn’t elaborate further.
Leaning back slightly to keep the phone screen out of the camera’s view, Chen Bai quickly replied to the message and set the phone aside.
That evening, Qingzhou, his regular gaming buddy, logged on right on time. So, he switched from playing with the temporary partner to playing with his regular teammate.
Chen Yibai’s regular gaming buddy, Qingzhou, seemed unusually off tonight.
It was hard to describe—almost like he was playing drunk. His movements were unsteady, missing shots by a mile, but by the latter half of the game, he finally started playing normally.
After quietly looting a crate and watching the other player operate more smoothly, eventually taking down an enemy with a few shots, Chen Yibai asked, “Did something good happen to you, Zhou?”
Qingzhou chuckled and replied, “Yes.”
[What’s the good news that you can’t share with us?]
[Haha, Chen Yi Bai, when Qingzhou plays badly, he becomes ‘Caizhou’ (a bad player).]
[So happy, huh? Are you going to meet Chen Yi Bai or something?]
[Haha, the ‘Chen Yi Bai’ joke is never going to die!]
The chat was full of laughter, while Qingzhou, the person behind the screen, only unconsciously adjusted his headset, tapped his nose, and kept playing.
The summer tournament had passed its halfway point, and the teams advancing to the finals were confirmed. The organizers updated the event announcement: the finals would take place in City A’s Sports Center, spanning three days, with the celebrity exhibition match on the morning of the third day, followed by the final rounds in the afternoon.
Amid the otherwise unremarkable event announcement, two names stood out on the celebrity exhibition match list:
[Chen Bai and Qingzhou (Li Qingzhou)]
It looked ordinary at first glance, but a second look made people realize something was off. When netizens came back to it, they were stunned.
[Chen Yi Bai, why are you here?! Is this real?! The organizers must’ve made a lot of money to afford Chen Yibai!]
[I was going to rage if they invited another celebrity, but Chen Yi Bai? He’s an actor, not just a celebrity. Fine, I’ll let it go. Well done, organizers!]
[RIP Li Qingzhou’s original name.]
[I knew Qingzhou was extra happy during his last stream! So, he’s really going to play with Chen Yi Bai?! How did you pull this off and become a successful fanboy?]
[Just a heads-up for anyone who doesn’t know or may have forgotten, unlike that previous celebrity disaster, Chen Yi Bai can actually play.]
Alongside the announcement, finals tickets went on sale—and sold out instantly. On the last day of his break, Chen Yi Bai received tickets reserved for him by the organizers, sent over by his manager.
He would enter through a private route, and the ticket was purely a keepsake. While sending the ticket, his busy manager also reminded him to share the organizers’ post on his social media.
Since it was a simple task and he had some free time, Chen Yi Bai, lying on the couch, opened the app, searched for the official account, and found the latest post.
The post had been up for a while and had already garnered quite a few shares. He casually shared it as well and then logged off to send some random messages to his neighbor, who was still overseas.
From the time tickets went on sale to the start of the finals, there was a week’s gap. After working for a week, on the final day of the tournament, Chen Yi Bai was dragged out of bed by his manager. He threw on a pink hoodie and headed out.
The esports center wasn’t far from his home, just a 20-minute drive, so he arrived quickly.
When he got there, it was still a while before the event started, and the audience hadn’t begun entering. As the car drove through the private entrance, he glanced out the window and saw a large, colorful crowd standing not too far away, all wearing various team jerseys and merchandise.
His manager explained, “Those are the fans of the teams playing this afternoon. They’re wearing team gear.”
She had brushed up on this knowledge recently, so she wasn’t completely clueless now.
Chen Yi Bai nodded and took a sip of his black coffee.
The organizers had assigned a staff member to escort him to the backstage area, guiding him to a prepared dressing room.
As they opened the door, the staff pointed to a row of rooms across the hall. “Those are the players’ dressing rooms. The bathroom is at the end.”
The dressing room was bright, with gift baskets, a set of merchandise, unopened drinks, and snacks already neatly arranged inside. The organizers had thought of everything.
After the staff left and the door closed, Chen Yi Bai was immediately seated, his hat removed as the stylist started working on his messy hair.
His face was naturally photogenic, requiring little effort, but the stylist always had to wage a battle with his unruly hair. While this was going on, his manager, checking her phone, said, “After this, you can try out the equipment. They said if it doesn’t feel right, they can adjust it.”
Chen Yi Bai wasn’t picky and could adapt to any regular keyboard, so he nodded in agreement to go through the motions later.
The stylist finished taming his hair in ten minutes, and his manager quickly snapped a picture to add to her collection. Just as she was about to put her phone away, she remembered something and asked, “Didn’t you forget to share that organizers’ post last time?”
Chen Yi Bai paused mid-sip of his black coffee, “Huh?”
She was referring to the event announcement post. His manager had been too busy at the time, so she had left it to him to share, but later, their assistant noticed that his account had stayed inactive and shared it for him.
“That’s impossible,” replied Chen Yi Bai, confident in his memory. “I’m pretty sure I shared it…”
At that moment, the entire room watched as the usually relaxed Chen Yi Bai sat up straight, his eyes wide open with sudden alertness.
Without a word, he pulled out his phone and opened an app he hadn’t touched in a while. His hand hovered as he tapped the bottom-right corner to access his profile.
The interface switched faster than it ever had before, without a single lag. And there it was, before he could even brace himself—the familiar sight of his avatar holding two golden ingots alongside his username:
Chen Er Bai
Simple and unmistakably clear.
When he switched to the activity feed, he noticed that the shared post from Chen Yi Bai’s account had disappeared, even though the timestamp matched perfectly. There were already plenty of comments below.
Fruit Live had exclusive broadcast rights for the event, and they had sent tickets to their top gaming streamers to attend the tournament. All the invited streamers had shared the organizer’s post, expressing their excitement.
Chen Yibai hadn’t expressed any excitement, but he had shared the post at the right time. The comments below his post were constantly being refreshed.
[It’s the third day already! Chen Er Bai, why aren’t you here yet?]
[Chen Yi Bai is about to be in the same frame as Qingzhou, but Chen Er Bai hasn’t even shared a moment with Qingzhou yet [confused cat face emoji].]
[I’ve been waiting for three days! Er Bai, please tell me you’re actually Chen Yi Bai, and you’re already here, sobbing.]
[It’s the last day. Do I still have a chance to see Er Bai in a live stream?]
Chen Bai “…”
Alright, now he understood the problem. He had shared the post, but from the wrong account.
In the silence, Chen Yi Bai flipped his phone face-down on the table and took a deep sip of his black coffee.
No wonder Qingzhou had specifically asked him again a few days ago if he was coming to the tournament.
Dressed in a pink hoodie, Yi Bai’s youthful energy seemed to vanish in an instant, and he slumped further down his chair. His manager stopped him from sliding down any further and asked, “What’s wrong?”
With a sigh, Chen Yi Bai, who had suddenly felt like he’d seen it all, waved it off and said, “Nothing.”
Looks like he’d have to free up some time to do a few more live streams when he got back.
Though his face didn’t quite match his words, his manager stood up, pocketed her phone, and patted him on the back. “The person coming to take you to the stage is here.”
Right on time, there was a soft knock at the door.
While his manager stayed backstage to socialize with the event organizers, the rest of the crew stayed in the dressing room as Chen Yi Bai left with the staff.
The last time he watched a tournament was the last time, sitting with his good neighbor and younger brother in the audience. This time, he would be the one on stage.
The audience hadn’t entered yet, so the seating area remained dark, while the stage lights were all on, brightly illuminating the futuristic-looking blue-lit floor, which looked incredibly cool.
He didn’t have much to do, just needed to remember his seat and sit down. He wouldn’t even need to log into his own account—the organizers had prepared an account with all skins unlocked, and staff helped him log in.
The staff seemed strangely nervous, only talking about work-related matters, making it hard to chat. But Chen Bai, the social genius, never got nervous, so he casually struck up a conversation and eventually asked for the name of his temporary teammate.
Surprised that Chen Yi Bai had initiated a chat, the staff member froze for a moment before replying, “His name is Li Qingzhou. There was some traffic on the way, but he’s almost here.”
The staff member’s speech was a bit stilted, but since it was work-related, they managed to answer clearly.
Li Qingzhou. The name felt vaguely familiar to Chen Bai, as if he had heard it somewhere before.
After typing a few final keystrokes, the staff member finished logging in the account and configuring the equipment. “Please try the headset, Mr. Yi Bai. The sound is set louder than usual since the live event will be quite noisy. Let us know if it’s uncomfortable.”
Glad to finally have something to do, Chen Yi Bai dutifully put on the headset and cooperated fully.
When Li Qingzhou arrived at the venue, the staff member greeting him informed him that Chen Yibai had already arrived on time and was waiting.
After quickly dropping off his belongings in the dressing room, Li Qingzhou followed the staff through the backstage hallway, which was bustling with activity as people moved back and forth.
“Did you see him in person? Is he really that good-looking?”
“He was behind the computer, so I couldn’t see clearly. But I did see Xiao Zheng blushing…”
Two people passed by, heading away from the stage, their voices fading. Li Qingzhou glanced back at them, his hand twitching at his side. Taking a few more steps forward, he could already see the overly bright lights on the stage ahead.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the light.
Everything around him was dark, while the stage was lit brightly, with shadows moving all around.
Click.
His foot made a barely audible sound on the deep blue floor. Through the layers of people, he lifted his gaze and immediately saw the person sitting far away.
That person wore a light pink hoodie, warm and comfortable in color. Black hair fell softly over his face, and a pair of off-white headphones sat atop his head. Pale fingers adjusted the headset, the skin even lighter than the headset itself.
A staff member standing nearby, dressed in the same white uniform, said something, making the person smile. His lips curled, and his eyes softened, perfectly matching the image Li Qingzhou remembered from a long time ago.
The staff leading him didn’t notice his slight pause and raised a hand to greet the others on the stage, asking, “Where are we at?”
With that, the equipment technicians and the person sitting in the chair turned to look over. The pale gray eyes, still carrying a hint of a smile, seemed to widen slightly when they met Li Qingzhou’s.
The distance between them gradually closed, until he could see the faint blue veins on the back of the hand adjusting the headset. As the nearby staff conversed, Li Qingzhou looked down at the person across the table from him. His mind was a bit fuzzy, and when he finally spoke, it was just a simple sentence: “Sorry, traffic was bad.”
Chen Yi Bai glanced at the time on his phone and smiled, saying, “Yeah, traffic is bad at this hour.”
His voice was different from the slightly distorted one usually heard through electronic devices—direct and clear.
He gently removed his headphones, placing them on the table, then turned to the staff beside him and said, “Everything’s fine now.”
The staff took note of the settings and made no further adjustments. Though Chen Yi Bai wasn’t very talkative, the staff member responsible for his co-host was much chattier, commenting on how the two guests, despite being so different, seemed to get along naturally. “Have you two met before?”
They had, but it had been years ago. Before Li Qingzhou could respond, Chen Yi Bai nodded and said, “We’ve met a few times.”
Chen Bai had a remarkable ability to selectively remember things, like a two-terminal diode. His memory conveniently held onto just the right details, and the moment he saw this person, he recognized him as someone he had crossed paths with a few times before, someone with whom he felt a strange sense of fate.
The first time they met was in City B, right after A-Huai finished filming. The second time was on set, during the shooting of ‘Si Yang’.
The third time was in City Z, when he had gotten caught up in some commotion and lost his hat. He chose not to mention that incident, as he had subjectively decided to ignore it.
It was unexpected that he not only remembered but also recognized him. Two of the staff members were stunned, as was Li Qingzhou. After a moment, Li Qingzhou reflexively touched his ear and said, “You actually remember?”
Leaning back in his chair, Chen Yi Bai smiled and said, “Of course! Back in City B, that was the first time I ever received flowers.”
He spoke casually, his tone and pace slightly different from when he delivered lines or gave interviews—more relaxed, familiar even. It was hard to describe, but it sounded more intimate. Li Qingzhou couldn’t quite place why it felt so familiar, but as soon as Chen Yi Bai smiled, he couldn’t help but smile along.
Unlike Chen Yi Bai’s easygoing smile, Li Qingzhou’s was more restrained, with a hint of lingering awkwardness from having been out of school for so many years. His ears, which he had touched, turned slightly red.
As the staff set up the game, Li Qingzhou logged into his account.
While Li Qingzhou focused on logging in, Chen Yi Bai found himself with nothing to do. He spun around in his chair, then, as usual when faced with boredom, pulled out his phone to send some random messages to his good neighbor.
Li Qingzhou, needing to receive a verification code, also pulled out his phone.
It was a stroke of fate, perhaps. The ever-social Chen Yibai turned to him and casually asked, “Want to exchange contact info? We might find time to play together sometime.”
His roster of gaming friends was a bit sparse, so expanding it didn’t seem like a bad idea.
Chen Bai “?”
He asked so naturally, it was as if he wasn’t one of the top-tier actors who needed to be particularly protective of his contact details.
After entering the verification code, the staff took over again. Finally understanding what Chen Yi Bai had meant, Li Qingzhou, still holding his phone, stiffly turned around.
He pulled up a QR code, and Chen Yi Bai scanned it. A soft “ding” confirmed the successful scan.
“…”
As the phone screen shifted to a new interface, reflecting the image in his eyes, Chen Yi Bai’s hand, which had been poised to add a note, suddenly froze mid-air, and he began to rub his face in deep thought.
Assuming that Chen Yi Bai was stuck because he didn’t know his name, Li Qingzhou offered help, saying, “My name is Li Qingzhou—’Qing’ as in clear water, and ‘Zhou’ without the water radical. Or you can call me Qingzhou…”
You could also call me ‘Cai Zhou’ (a playful nickname meaning “vegetable porridge”).
But the screen didn’t display the friend-adding interface he had expected—it showed the interface of an existing friend.
It turned out they had already been friends. There was no need to add him again. The screen displayed his avatar and WeChat ID, along with a large note beside it: ‘Cai Zhou’.
Chen Yi Bai stared at the note with deep thought: “…”
And ‘Cai Zhou’, waiting for a friend request, also fell silent: “…”
Such a small note successfully silenced both of them.
—
