"Can the streamer show their face?"
"Wife, carry me to higher ranks."
"The enemy top laner’s getting wrecked—you tower-dived him three times."
"Not showing your face? Press F to pay respects! Press F to pay respects!"
"Today, I’m targeting this top laner. Last time he queued with me, he was 1/6 and still cursed at me. I hold grudges." Jiang Juan scored another kill on the enemy top laner. As he recalled, he glanced sideways at the scrolling comments on his second monitor.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the Rengar targeting mark above his head. He instinctively gripped his mouse but quickly relaxed, pretending not to notice.
"Ah!" Jiang Juan turned back just as the enemy Rengar pounced, unleashing a combo that wiped out his champion.
"What the heck? You scared me! Where’d he come from?" Jiang Juan patted his chest, looking genuinely startled.
"Hahaha, loves browsing Taobao."
"I’m back, bros. How about you?"
"Meow Meow never disappoints—always randomly throwing his bounty."
"No, I died ’cause I was reading chat. Your fault." Jiang Juan exhaled and stood up from his gaming chair.
A moment later, he returned with a thermos in his left hand. He sat down and took small sips.
"Wow, streamer’s profile is gorgeous."
"Bare-faced? So pretty—you could rely on looks but choose skill instead."
"Top donor’s back overnight. This tank? Not worth opening!"
"Hmph, chat’s full of clueless guys. Bare-faced? Can’t you see the obvious makeup?"
"Thanks to Sui_u_er_an for the airplane gift. Appreciate the support." Jiang Juan adjusted his posture and continued the match.
Sui_u_er_an: "Streamer, how do I add your WeChat?"
"Sorry, I don’t add WeChat. Level 14 fan badge or 5,000 on the contribution leaderboard—equivalent to 500 cash—to become a mod."
"Polite mod? You?"
"Boss, you’re at a huge loss."
"F**k, refund my money!"
Jiang Juan skimmed the comments but didn’t ban the trolls.
His streaming income included a base salary for hitting monthly hours, plus 30% gift commissions and platform-arranged ads. Jiang Juan never asked for gifts—not because the cut was low, but because he refused to add anyone on WeChat. Was he supposed to fake flirting for cash? To him, the effort and reward were wildly unbalanced. By Das Kapital’s logic, he’d only consider it for 300% profit.
Still, with 70% ad commissions plus base pay and gifts, his monthly earnings hovered around 5,000 yuan. His agency knew he was male and had pushed to use it as a gimmick to boost his popularity. Jiang Juan flatly refused. He streamed for one reason: to cover living and dorm fees. Once senior year ended, so would his streaming career.
Jiang Juan’s father, Jiang Jianguo, came from a middle-class background. His grandfather had poured everything into Jiang Jianguo’s education. His father didn’t disappoint—he got into Cambridge University, built a fortune through sheer grit, and married his classmate (Jiang Juan’s mother) in his thirties. After Jiang Juan’s birth, his father shifted his business to China.
Jiang Juan’s grandfather had drilled one rule into his son: top grades or get beaten. During Cambridge, beyond tuition and bare-minimum living costs, Jiang Jianguo earned every extra penny himself.
Jiang Jianguo passed this philosophy down. Jiang Juan’s monthly allowance was 300 yuan.
At Jiayuan Private High School, that barely covered basics—let alone the 7,000-yuan-per-semester dorm fee for his four-person international class suite with private bathrooms.
Jiang Juan had argued with his father: China wasn’t abroad. High school part-time jobs were scarce; high-paying, flexible ones? Nearly impossible. No tutor would hire a student still in class. How could he pay this?
Jiang Jianguo, his biological father, stared across the desk and said words Jiang Juan would never forget:
"Jiang Juan, everyone has value. You’re just my investment. Don’t disappoint me."
Since childhood, Jiang Juan rarely saw his parents. He tried to understand them, chasing top grades to repay their sacrifices. He told himself they loved him—they just prioritized family. He’d be their pride.
Until those words shattered his pride, leaving him exposed. The ground vanished beneath him; his soul floated away. In that moment, Jiang Juan understood—the branch under his feet had snapped.
