Chunan felt his streaming career was veering further off course.

He wasn’t sure if this was good or bad—just vaguely melancholic.

Most importantly, he’d ultimately caved under pressure and "comforted" Xiaohan.

—*Wasn’t he the one randomly insulted first?*

Now he’d been extorted into treating her to hotpot again.

Worse, her utterly guileless sleeping face after stream made him unable to lay a finger on her—even the *thought* of it filled him with guilt.

How could a man of his integrity stoop to hitting a woman?

—*Damn it. Why does she feel like just a nuisance when I’m thinking of dating her, but suddenly like a woman the moment I want to hit her?*

Tch.

Bad mood? Sleep it off.

He slept soundly through the night.

By morning, the gloom had lifted. Gazing down at Xiaohan still fast asleep sprawled across his chest, Chunan’s eyes darkened with resolve.

He’d made up his mind.

If he couldn’t bring himself to hit her… he’d collect interest another way.

He couldn’t let her climb over his head and take charge—that’d be disgraceful. A twice-lived soul losing to a first-timer? Unthinkable.

After this mental pep talk, he pushed her off without a shred of guilt, then swiftly groped the soft mounds beneath his palms.

…*Damn. The texture was unreal.*

"Yi—!" Jolted awake by the assault on her sensitive spot, Xiaohan blinked blearily around the room before frowning in confusion. "...What happened?"

"What do you mean?" Chunan feigned innocence.

Xiaohan stared blankly. "You don’t know? I felt like just now I—"

…*What exactly had happened?*

Just… a weird sensation.

"Sleep-deprived much?" Chunan’s gaze dripped with pity for the intellectually challenged.

Xiaohan: "…"

*Was she really that out of it?*

"Anyway, it’s late. Time to get up." Chunan stood to dress. "Study the script hard these next two days. We’re both acting newbies—we’ve got to give this our all."

He had his own plans too.

Chen Peng’s script, *Those Years with My Deskmate*, was a typical youth romance film. Its selling point? Resonance. Everyone had youth. Everyone held bittersweet memories—or fantasies—of first love. Pure. Naive.

No matter how good the script was, it hinged on the actors’ ability to embody that feeling. Failure meant a dead film—and the leads carried more weight than the script itself.

The pressure weighed on Chunan.

A good performance meant triumph. A bad one? Ruined reputations. Blocked fan growth. Reallocated company resources. Years of delayed progress.

He *had* to nail this debut role.

Beyond last-minute acting cramming, he planned subtle script improvements.

Not his own edits—he recalled a near-identical film from his dimensional library: *My Deskmate*. A minor hit in his past life, even spawning the meme: *"If they won’t take you to see this on Valentine’s Day, they don’t love you."*

Chunan hated that marketing tactic—but its viral reach proved the film’s quality.

After comparing scripts, he’d found countless tweaks: smoother scene transitions, sharper emotional beats. *My Deskmate* polished every flaw while amplifying the original’s strengths.

So for two days, between streams, Chunan focused solely on this—

Leaving Chen Peng utterly bewildered.

He’d known Chunan from *Pulse*, then heard through Shu Xuemu about four more hit-level songs. *He’s worth that S-contract*, Chen had thought.

But *scriptwriting* talent?

Staring at the near-total rewrite Chunan handed him—every flaw fixed, themes heightened, unnecessary shots cut, weak scenes transformed—Chen froze.

This version could skyrocket the film’s success beyond his wildest dreams.

He Dong hadn’t just found treasure. He’d struck *diamond*.

Watching Chen Peng speechless over the pages, Chunan finally added, "Most changes are for Xiaohan’s and my scenes. Other roles stay as planned—you can shoot them normally. Just… our parts might need extra takes."

They were rookies either way.

(He hadn’t meant to overhaul so much. Script changes screamed amateur—but perfectionism had hijacked him. One tweak demanded another. Now he worried Chen would resent the audacity.)

"You’re a *genius*!" Chen Peng slapped his thigh, snapping out of his daze. "This script’s leagues better! You’ve saved my film! How could I be mad? I’ll shoot it perfectly—I’ll prove I don’t *only* make trashy flicks!"

Chunan: "…"

*Good.*