In the end, Xiaohan still sang in front of Shuxuem.

Not just that one song—she performed all five.

Including the very first one, "Leap."

To be fair, now that she was more comfortable, her rendition of "Leap" carried more depth than the video version—though she still couldn’t quite shake off the effects of her nerves.

But Shuxuem barely noticed.

After listening to all five songs, her expression remained utterly blank.

Doubt even crept into her mind.

—Even geniuses couldn’t churn out so many high-caliber songs at once, right?

Yet Chunan had done exactly that.

Every single track stunned her. The lyrics, the melodies—nothing about them screamed "rookie work." In fact, they all soared far above the industry’s average… No, each one could easily headline a full album!

And Chunan had stuffed all five into a single release!

More importantly, these songs seemed tailor-made for Xiaohan. Her voice—pure, youthful, and heart-piercing—melded perfectly with the lyrics. That seamless harmony was the hardest thing to achieve in any album: consistency not just between songs, but between artist and music.

Shuxuem could already picture the chemistry this album would spark upon release. With it, Xiaohan might even compete for Best New Artist this year!

A flicker of envy crossed Shuxuem’s heart. Had she debuted with an album like this, who knew how much higher she might have climbed?

Of course, the feeling lasted only seconds. In this industry, jealousy got you nowhere. Better to focus on turning this to her advantage.

Shuxuem composed herself. Instead of critiquing Xiaohan’s flaws first, she asked, "Xiaohan… do you plan to stick with this… image long-term?"

Xiaohan blinked. "Huh?"

Chunan rolled his eyes inwardly and nodded. "Yes. This image suits her best."

He’d decided this the moment he pushed Xiaohan into entertainment: market her as a pure, innocent girl. Call it persona-building. Unlike live-streaming, the music industry thrived on clear-cut images to attract fans.

Besides, no other persona fit her anyway.

Shuxuem understood this well. After a pause, she said, "Too rigid an image can limit future growth. If you’re set on this path, be ready for that. My advice? Stay flexible when the time comes."

Chunan smiled. "If we hit that wall later, we’ll rely on your guidance, sis Shu."

Shuxuem: "…I’m barely older than you."

"You’re still my senior," Chunan shrugged. "‘Sis’ feels warmer."

It also avoided unnecessary misunderstandings.

He never planned to stay in this industry long-term. If things with Shuxuem didn’t progress beyond professionalism, he’d leave without hesitation. Until then, keeping ties shallow was safest.

Friends, but only friends.

Not arrogance—just clear-eyed self-awareness.

Sighing, Shuxuem relented. "Fine. Then I’ll call you ‘Little Chu’ from now on. No objections?"

*So you want me to call you ‘sis’?*

Chunan: "…"

Xiaohan snorted with laughter. "Hahaha! That actually sounds pretty cozy!"

"Right?" Shuxuem grinned. "Then we’re practically family now."

Chunan cleared his throat lightly. "Sis Shu, what did you think of the songs Xiaohan just sang?"

"Brilliant," Shuxuem praised without reserve before diving into critiques. "But there’s room to grow—especially in handling the high notes…"

Xiaohan was undeniably gifted. Even Shuxuem had to admit it. Her voice had flaws, yet she instinctively sidestepped weaknesses.

Chunan, the composer himself, hadn’t even noticed: during tricky parts, Xiaohan subtly shifted to notes she mastered—all while keeping the melody seamless. A technique even Shuxuem struggled to perfect.

—Then Shuxuem realized both were staring at her, utterly lost.

Only then did Chunan grasp why Xiaohan’s singing had always felt slightly off from his original vision.

As for Xiaohan? She hadn’t even realized she’d done it.

She’d simply sung in the way that felt most natural.

Shuxuem froze.

…Did geniuses now come in pairs?

Chunan’s songs alone had stunned her. Now she was told Xiaohan had zero formal training? Her only prior singing experience was at KTV?

Was this some joke?

For a wild moment, Shuxuem wondered if her own skills were so lacking that theirs seemed extraordinary by comparison.

But… if she were truly weak, would she have reached her current status?

Would the entire industry be fooled?

Doubt gnawed deeper.

Their first music session ended in this strange, heavy silence.

Night fell—Chunan’s work hours. After three days off due to moving (a lifetime for a streamer), it was time to go live.

Since they were now living together, his setup was in the bedroom. After both showered, Xiaohan curled up on the bed with her guitar to practice while Chunan opened his stream.

He was playing *Plants vs. Zombies*.

Yes—the game from Lao Zhao’s team. They’d worked overtime to refine it based on Chunan’s suggestions, finalizing the title just days ago.

The game wasn’t officially out yet. Chunan had an early build to gauge audience reactions for last-minute tweaks.

So far, viewers seemed hooked.

After heavy gaming sessions, this lighthearted title felt refreshing. Chilling with chat, joking around—it was nice.

Until one comment shattered the mood:

【Is it just me, or can you hear faint singing in the background?】