Chapter 95: The Baiting Mini-game
Their in-person meeting had come as a surprise, and Chen Yi Bai finally realized why Li Qingzhou’s name had seemed so familiar.
The two staff members, still processing the exchange of contact info and the ensuing silence, watched as Chen Yi Bai suddenly whisked Li Qingzhou away, the two of them heading off to the side to crouch in sync.
Squatting by the stage, Li Qingzhou opened up the message thread with the person he had been chatting with the previous day, his head still deep in thought.
Meanwhile, Chen Yi Bai, having finished his contemplation, leaned over to catch a glimpse of the screen. His eyes widened, and whatever he had been about to say was swallowed back. In disbelief, he said, “We’ve known each other for so many years, and yet your note for me is still just my full name?”
On the screen, clear as day, was the note: ‘Chen Erbai’, neither a word more nor less.
Li Qingzhou “…”
The conversation had clearly veered off course, and from a technical perspective, ‘Chen Erbai’ wasn’t even his full name. With his thoughts tangled up, Li Qingzhou didn’t know what to say. Eventually, he muttered, “I’ll change it then.”
When he said he’d change the note, he genuinely meant it. He started editing it on the spot, but his fingers hesitated over the keyboard.
Should he change it to Yibai or Erbai?
In the end, under Chen Yi Bai’s expectant gaze, he settled on Er Bai.
Satisfied with the change, Er Bai finally realized something was amiss.
Familiar livestreams, familiar games, even familiar teammates—his cool-guy persona might not hold up.
Today seemed to be turning into a strangely difficult day. The cool-guy Chen Yi Bai couldn’t help but rub his face.
Having seemingly resolved something but also nothing at all, their brief conversation ended, and the two of them returned to their original positions.
Li Qingzhou tested his headset, while Chen Yi Bai picked up his phone again, continuing to send random messages to his good neighbor, hoping to absorb some cool-guy energy through digital means.
As he typed, Li Qingzhou, wearing his headset, glanced over at him twice before turning his attention back to his own screen.
At exactly 9 a.m., the lights in the audience came on as people started taking their seats, while the livestream began. Although the event hadn’t officially started yet, the livestream room was already packed.
By 9:30 a.m., most of the audience was seated, and the livestream kicked off as the crew adjusted the cameras.
Even though the camera only captured an empty stage with an occasional staff member passing by, the livestream room was still packed with people.
Most were waiting for Chen Yi Bai and Qingzhou, but a small dedicated group was persistently searching for the elusive Er Bai.
Tickets for the finals were sold per session, with each new session requiring a new ticket. The invited streamers from the previous sessions had moved to a different location, now seated on one side of the stage, conveniently grouped together. The camera panned over familiar faces that the audience had already seen.
At exactly 10 a.m., the host took the stage.
The lights above the audience dimmed, focusing on the stage center as the host greeted the crowd, microphone and cue cards in hand.
“Dear audience, welcome to today’s finals. After two days of intense competition, we’ve finally arrived at…”
Even backstage, the vibrations from the sound system onstage could be felt. Though the host’s voice was muffled, the faint sound of background music still managed to reach them.
Handing his phone to his agent, and after letting the stylist fuss with his hair for a moment, Chen Yi Bai set out from the dressing room.
On the way, he ran into the new friend he had just made that day. Staff members leading the way and handling any sudden issues walked ahead, while he and his new buddy walked side by side.
The deeper they went into the passage, the more pronounced the vibrations from the stage became. Master Chen let out a slow exhale.
Li Qingzhou glanced down at him and asked, “Nervous?”
Master Chen nodded honestly, “A little.”
Though he had seen plenty of big events, both domestically and internationally, and could ad-lib on the spot at award shows without flinching, it wasn’t the stage that made him nervous. It was more of a gut feeling that something unusual might happen today.
Qingzhou could only offer reassurance, saying there probably wouldn’t be anything to worry about. They would be onstage for less than two hours, play a few games, and then step down. As long as nothing unexpected happened and they kept their conversations brief, the time would fly by.
They had arrived. Just ahead was the deep blue stage floor, and Chen Bai responded with a brief acknowledgment.
Reclaiming his cool-guy persona, the host’s words faded as the staff quietly gestured for them to enter. He stepped into the spotlight.
As soon as he set foot on the blue stage, the sound of the crowd surged like a tidal wave.
The noise filled the entire venue, drowning his ears in a volume many times higher than what he’d experienced with his headset during practice. He didn’t raise his hand to cover his ears. Instead, his loose pink long sleeves cut through the air as he waved with a smile.
For a brief moment, the roar of the crowd more than doubled in intensity.
[I know Yi Bai’s popularity is high, but why are the men in the audience screaming louder than the women? Isn’t that kind of weird?]
[My wife looks so good, even in pink! (clutches heart and collapses)]
[Hahaha, Qingzhou’s ears are so red—he must be thrilled to be so close to his idol!]
[Chen Yi Bai, the walking wrench of humanity. The moment I saw a male coworker secretly saving pictures of Yi Bai in the office, I knew he was a goner.]
[Why don’t I have a ticket?! Event organizers, why didn’t you sell 100,000 tickets!]
Backstage and among the crowd, even the staff didn’t anticipate how much more intense the atmosphere would be than expected. The sound in their earpieces was almost drowned out by the cheers.
The fact that Chen Yi Bai was a guest for the opening wasn’t announced in advance. Just like before, the event schedule was posted along with ticket sales, and the tickets were quickly snapped up by gaming fans eager to watch the competition. By the time others found out that Chen Yi Bai would be there, the tickets were already gone. Logically, the audience today should have mostly been fans of the afternoon finals.
In the darkness below the stage, camera flashes flickered continuously. Chen Yi Bai was used to it by now. His eyes never shied away, and he occasionally smiled while responding to the host’s questions.
As the time neared, the host concluded with hopeful remarks about the collaboration between two guests who weren’t previously acquainted. With that, the host left the stage on time.
Chen Yi Bai smiled, but at the mention of the words “weren’t previously acquainted,” his eyes twitched imperceptibly. Beside him, Li Qingzhou mumbled a vague “hmm.”
They returned to the same spot they had rehearsed in earlier that morning. After a brief exchange with the host, Chen Yi Bai was finally able to sit down.
Once he put on his headset, the outside noise instantly quieted. He could still hear it faintly, but it didn’t interfere with the sound coming through his earpiece.
In a corner of the venue, out of sight of the audience, a staff member raised their hand and gave the signal to start.
The game map and matchmaking were randomized. Once the match was confirmed, the game began, with the computer screen projected onto the large display.
As the loading screen transitioned, Chen Yi Bai turned to look at his buddy Qingzhou. From an angle where the cameras couldn’t see, Qingzhou gave him an “OK” gesture.
The last time anyone had seen Chen Yi Bai play a game was years ago, and that video still existed, having been played and replayed to the point of being worn out. Back then, he had single-handedly ended the career of a high school student who skipped classes to play games, and now that same person was his teammate. From playing online to sitting next to each other in real life, it felt both strangely unfamiliar yet familiar at the same time.
They exchanged a few words but not many. Normally, Chen Yi Bai was all smiles, but when it came to gaming, he was all business. His usually cheerful demeanor was replaced by a cool, detached look. His light gray eyes reflected the screen, and he only spoke a few words here and there.
When choosing a landing spot, he marked Y City. When it was time to jump, Qingzhou immediately followed him down. It wasn’t until they landed safely and started looting nearby buildings that the taciturn cool-guy finally realized and politely asked, “Is Y City okay?”
His teammate responded cooperatively, “Yeah, sure.”
[? Is there a delay on my end? Why is he asking after they’ve already landed? (eyes wide open)]
[Maybe there’s a delay on my end too. I don’t game, so I thought it was some special communication style (eyes closed)]
[No delay, I’m here in person. He really asked after landing.]
[Dude, why are you asking after you’ve already started looting?! Isn’t that even more intentional?!]
Maintaining politeness to preserve a sense of unfamiliarity was one of the key strategies Chen Yi Bai employed, and only he and his little buddy knew how much effort he put into it.
Y City was large, and they were lucky. In the early stages of the game, they didn’t encounter any other players. When the first circle started shrinking, they were still inside it. Although they didn’t loot much, at least it was peaceful.
While they didn’t find much, others did. Hearing gunfire in the distance, Chen Yi Bai casually adjusted his headset and said, “Shall we take a look?”
So, they went to check it out.
The result of their little scouting trip was that each of them took out one player and stripped the enemies clean. Satisfied, Chen Yi Bai chuckled and said, “Thanks for the gifts, nature.”
His buddy kept looting, coughing lightly.
Chen Yi Bai quickly wiped the smile off his face, reverting to his usual cool demeanor.
From the outskirts of the city to the center, the two of them scouted out several other players and successfully achieved moderate success.
But just reaching a modest level of wealth wasn’t enough—Chen Yi Bai had his eyes on a lone player passing by with a sniper rifle. When he wanted something, he got it. Qingzhou nodded without hesitation and asked, “Should I give it a try?”
Chen Yi Bai glanced at his decent gun and then at the distance to the hillside ahead. “Give it a shot,” he replied.
Qingzhou moved, stealthily making his way through the woods on one side, searching for a good sniping position.
The livestream viewers thought this was the end for Qingzhou.
[Who casually walks down the road with a sniper like that? What a trap!]
[Facing Yi Bai, Qingzhou’s playing like a total newbie…]
[Am I the only one who finds their behavior odd? Qingzhou and Chen Yi Bai shouldn’t have fallen for such an obvious trap.]
Unaware of the viewers’ comments, Qingzhou positioned himself, half-hidden in the trees, and set up his gun.
On the hillside, beyond some gray-green rocks, the black barrel of the enemy’s sniper rifle poked out, aiming at Qingzhou’s location.
Bang—
Qingzhou aimed at the sniper. The sniper aimed at Qingzhou. A brief silence followed, then a gunshot rang out. But it didn’t come from either Qingzhou or the figure hidden on the hill.
From an even higher point, Chen Yi Bai quickly holstered his gun and slid down the slope. The notification that his teammate had been knocked down appeared. The sniper, who had been acting as bait, paused, noticing the movement on Chen Yi Bai’s side and raised his gun.
Another gunshot followed.
Qingzhou took out the sniper. These two players were the last survivors of their team, and with no chance of being revived, they were eliminated.
With that simple coordination, Chen Yi Bai secured the sniper rifle he wanted, along with some unexpected medical supplies, grinning with satisfaction.
With a sniper in hand, Chen Yi Bai was as good as halfway to winning the game. The rest was almost a given, and before they even had a chance to employ any classic bait tactics, the game was over—they had successfully claimed victory.
As the screen shifted, Chen Yi Bai leaned back, instinctively reaching for a water cup that should have been on the table. Halfway through, he remembered he wasn’t at home, and there was no cup, so he quietly retracted his hand.
Noticing what Chen Yi Bai wanted, Qingzhou, seated beside him, grabbed the bottle of water near him, twisted it open, and handed it over.
[Just a passerby here, but are we sure these two don’t know each other?]
No one could confirm whether they knew each other, but the audience was starting to lose track of what “knowing” even meant.
The first round lasted nearly half an hour, and after that, it was time for a short break. Once the data finished loading, the staff connected a live chat system to the computer during the break, and semi-transparent messages started popping up in the bottom-left corner of the screen, similar to the livestream format.
Amid the flood of messages, Chen Yi Bai caught a glimpse of a couple about “Er Bai,” but he quickly looked away and took a sip of water.
The second round began after a ten-minute break.
The chat integration was meant to boost interaction. Despite his cool persona, Chen Yi Bai still managed to respond briefly during downtime.
They won the second game as well. After securing two solid victories, they were halfway through their mission for the day. The progress bar was nearly full, and it was close to the end of their shift. Exhaling in relief, Chen Yi Bai straightened up and prepared for the next round.
The account provided by the organizers was of a high rank, as was Qingzhou’s. After winning the first two games, they were placed in a high-tier match for the third.
High-level matches came with their own playstyle, and Chen Yi Bai, who was used to these games from his livestreams, was already well-prepared. He traded two kills and low health for a sniper rifle, along with the medical supplies he needed to heal. Back on his feet, he expertly controlled his weapon, aiming quickly and accurately.
They entered a building, with Qingzhou looting nearby while Chen Yi Bai crouched by the window, eyeing a small black dot rapidly approaching from the distance.
It was a vehicle, and though it was unclear if the occupants had good loot, Chen Yi Bai had time to spare, so he decided to give it a shot.
As the vehicle approached, turning from a black dot into a recognizable outline with a visible driver, Chen raised his gun and carefully aimed.
The car wasn’t quite within range yet, and as he tracked it through his scope, Chen Yi Bai had some time to glance at the chat.
[Yi Bai’s going to be the kill leader again, I bet.]
[You really love sniping from high places, don’t you, Chen Yi Bai?]
[Meanwhile, Qingzhou’s still diligently looting in the back, haha!]
“Can’t say for sure about the kills,” Chen Yi Bai casually responded while tracking the vehicle, “but the view is definitely nice from up here.”
The car drew closer, almost within firing range. Just before pulling the trigger, Chen Yi Bai glanced at one last chat message.
[Isn’t Yi Bai going to do the usual bait tactic today?]
His attention shifted back to the driver’s head, and without thinking too much, he absentmindedly replied, “Not today, maybe the day after tomorrow.”
There was a bit of thought in his answer, as he had already considered that he had work tomorrow and couldn’t stream. But not much.
Bang—
One shot rang out, and the driver was instantly knocked out, accompanied by the sound of the audience reacting.
A brief pause, and then the chat exploded.
[!!! What did you just say, Chen Yi Bai?! Say it again!]
[??? I knew something was off! How are you two cooperating so well? Your habits are exactly like Er Bai’s!]
[I knew something was weird when you tried to drink water after the first game! I called it! In Er Bai’s streams, there’s always a water cup in that spot! He always drinks after every game!]
[Er… I mean, Yi Bai?! Wait, hold on, let me process this. My brain’s not working.]
[So Qingzhou was in on it! Haha, you guys should look at Qingzhou’s expression! He looks like he’s struggling to keep up!]
[No wonder something felt off. Chen Yi Bai, who’s usually so chatty, was oddly quiet during the game! Turns out you’ve been holding it in the whole time!]
The elusive Er Bai, who had been missing for two days, didn’t show up backstage like his fans had suspected. Instead, he had been right under their noses—on stage, in plain sight.
Li Qingzhou “……”
As soon as he heard the response, Li Qingzhou glanced sideways at the person sitting next to him.
The person involved hadn’t even realized what he had subconsciously said, quickly taking down another kill.
Then, his eyes twitched slightly.
…That’s when it hit him, he finally realized what he had just said.
His gaze only left the screen for a moment, and he quietly turned his eyes back to the computer.
The game was nearing its end. The final shrinking of the safe zone had begun. With a pair of blank eyes and an expression of odd numbness mixed with confusion, Chen Yi Bai continued his killing spree, effortlessly securing the “Kill Leader” title.
As the game ended and the victory screen appeared, he moved his hand off the keyboard, slowly and silently wiping his face. He closed his eyes slightly, feigning exhaustion.
He had dodged all the suspicious comments in the chat, but right before the game ended, a sneaky curveball caught him off guard when his attention was elsewhere.
His instincts were right today.
In a way, the most exciting part of the final game wasn’t the impressive performance of their team, where the duo took down five opponents with just a sliver of health and claimed victory. No, the entire livestream audience was focused on Chen Yibai’s expressions.
[Yi Bai, why aren’t you laughing anymore, hahaha]
[Haha, stop laughing—Yi Bai’s about to fall apart, haha]
[“We don’t know each other,” “Yeah, sure”]
[Yi Bai, were you born with an aversion to smiling? (peeks around)]
When the grueling final match ended, the naturally stoic Chen Yi Bai quickly took off his headset, signaling the end of his workday.
He greeted his teammates swiftly and bounced off to the break room, practically leaping as he went.
He moved so fast that no one had a chance to react. Li Qingzhou hadn’t even managed to extend a hand before Chen Yi Bai had disappeared.
By the time Li Qingzhou quickened his pace to follow him to the break room, he found a few people leaning against the hallway walls, chatting while looking at their phones.
These people were familiar—they were likely Chen Yi Bai’s manager and assistants.
Hearing footsteps, the manager glanced up while still talking and looking at her phone. Noticing Li Qingzhou’s gaze, she gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, and to avoid any misunderstanding, she explained the current situation. “He’s inside, talking to a friend on the phone.”
Apparently, the moment his friend’s voice came through the phone, Chen Bai’s eyes filled with tears, so they couldn’t exactly leave him outside for everyone to see. Out of respect for his privacy, they had stepped out to give him space.
On stage, Chen Yi Bai had been a relentless killing machine, but offstage, he was crying and ranting to his friend—typical behavior for Chen Bai.
After thinking it over, Li Qingzhou realized who the friend must be. He lowered his gaze and replied, “I see.”
Chen Bai’s emotional phone call didn’t stop him from quickly trending on social media.
As soon as the livestream ended, internet sleuths got to work, digging through Chen Bai’s history.
Although it seemed almost certain what was happening, Chen Bai hadn’t admitted anything directly. His more cautious fans began to search for evidence. The first thing they discovered was that the timing of Chen Er Bai’s livestreams always aligned perfectly with his filming schedule.
They had always wondered why he would disappear for months at a time. It turned out that when he said he was working in a remote location, he wasn’t kidding—the “scam team” they had suspected him of joining was actually just a film crew.
To make things even more bizarre, their beloved streamer had suddenly become a top-tier actor. Fans of Er Bai found themselves typing more question marks than ever before: [?]
Old livestream recordings were unearthed, and fans dove into a specific board game video. Finally, someone noticed something unusual:
[Wait, so Neighbor Bro is actually Xu Sinian??]
