"Done." Jiang Juan lifted his hands from the keyboard and mouse, stretching his arms. His white crop top rode up slightly, revealing a glimpse of snow-white waist that drew the eye.
"Wuhu, liftoff!"
"1386 points—streamer, you're so strong."
"Cat Bao, the gaming session's over. Singing time now?"
"Welcome back, Chacha! Long time no see. Yeah, I'll sing later." Jiang Juan spotted a bright danmu on-screen: "Chacha Level 15"—his moderator and an old fan.
Chacha: "Work's been busy. Business trip."
"Thanks, big sis Chacha, for the airplane gift (100 cash). Thank you." Jiang Juan formed a heart with his right hand toward the screen.
Chacha: "Sing 'Foam' later. I wanna hear it."
"Got it. I'll make sure to sing it for you, big sis." Jiang Juan smiled.
The Cat Owner: "Why don't you ever fulfill my requests?"
"Rocket gift check-in. Damn."
"Bro Juan's generous."
"Bro Juan's jealous again."
"Thanks, Bro Juan, for the rocket (500 cash). Seriously, if you ask, I'll get you to King tier on any server. Pick any song." Jiang Juan's voice was sweet and lilting, like a cat's paw scratching your palm—itchy and warm.
"You know that's not what I want."
Jiang Juan sighed inwardly. The Cat Owner was his top supporter, spending over 50k yuan. He'd refused WeChat requests repeatedly, stating they'd never be more than fans. Yet the guy insisted: "You're not like other streamers. I respect your principles. Friends, at least?" Jiang Juan saw right through it. One step—adding WeChat—would lead to chats, then video calls ("We're friends, I support you!"), then "accidental" meetups. Spare me.
Chacha: "Cat Bao, I work tomorrow. Sing now?"
"Okay, big sis. Let me grab my guitar." Chacha was helping him dodge the Cat Owner.
"Streamer plays guitar too?"
"Holy crap, those legs—I could stare for a year. How long are they?"
"All used up by the top fan." The user "ArrogantLord" was banned 24 hours by moderator Chacha.
Jiang Juan pushed his gaming chair aside, sitting on a low stool. He crossed his right leg over his left, resting the guitar's curve on his thigh, and strummed lightly.
"Cat, how much Camille did you eat for legs like that?"
"Reporting you—your legs are too long! This 1.5m-tall girl is furious."
"Sunlight makes foam colorful." Jiang Juan strummed a low melody, his voice huskier than usual.
"Amazing."
Beichen Move sent a fan card.
"Your voice was kissed by an angel. Mine was chewed by a dog."
"Beautiful foam, a fleeting spark—your promises so fragile!"
"Damn, that high note."
Chacha: "Cat Bao never disappoints."
Bu Gu Niao sent a rocket.
"Rocket? Boss, you're crazy!"
After "Foam," Jiang Juan looked up. "Thanks, Beichen, for the fan card. And big sis Chacha for the praise."
"Thanks, Boss Bu Gu Niao, for the rocket. I'll make you a moderator. Any song requests?"
Bu Gu Niao: "No song. Just call me 'Bro Gu.'"
Jiang Juan paused. Simple: one "Bro Gu" for a rocket. If Jack Ma changed his surname to Jiang, he'd be set.
"Thanks, Bro Gu, for the rocket. Thank you." Jiang Juan tilted his head slightly, securing the guitar. The black lace on his neck swayed—not like skin, but like viewers' hearts. He formed a heart with both hands.
Sometimes Jiang Juan wondered: in this cat-eared persona, he wore a mask yet felt freer. Cross-dressing let him do things he never could offline.
The Cat Owner sent a rocket. Rocket x2. Rocket x3.
"Bro Juan's going hard."
"Hahaha, he's desperate!"
"Thanks, Bro Juan, for the rockets." Jiang Juan made another heart, thinking: Men and their pride.
"Unbearable—is this a challenge?" Zhang Ning grabbed his phone, ready to send another rocket.
"Stop pretending, Bro Gu. You had that rocket saved. Win-win, right?"
"Win-win? I profit?" Guyen laughed, eyeing Zhang Ning. "Spill it."
"You won a mod spot. Your badge's Level 11—you watch her often. And that rocket? Your own money."
Guyen didn't argue. He had planned to gift it to Jiang Juan.
"Plus, I made her say 'Bro Gu,' not 'Bro Zhang' or 'Bro Zhao.' You won twice—win-win. You're win-numbed." Zhang Ning spread his hands.
"Hahaha, Zhang Ning, word genius! Win-win!" Zhao Zhuoyang burst out laughing.
"I am win-numbed." Guyen chuckled, punching Zhang Ning lightly.
"Fine, I'll split the rocket cost. Day after tomorrow—holiday. Us three hit Huoli City for hot pot. My treat." Zhang Ning patted his chest.
"So filial." Guyen grinned.
"Keep spending. Don't let that top fan flex. A few hundred bucks? Nothing." Zhang Ning grabbed his water cup, fired up.
They had rich families—monthly allowances in the thousands. Affordable.
"Not even independent, playing big shot? Earn your own cash first. Then spend freely." Zhao Zhuoyang shook his head.
"Not my type." Guyen put his phone back.
"Legs, face, waist—not your type? You're becoming a monk." Zhang Ning sipped water.
"I like spicy. Her figure? One idiom." Guyen glanced at Jiang Juan singing on-screen.
"Flat as a plain?" Zhao Zhuoyang asked.
"Nailed down." Guyen raised an eyebrow, nonchalant.
"Cough—cough!" Zhang Ning choked.
