("Damn it! I've been looking for the live stream button for ages and still can't find it. What the hell is going on?"
"I'm a female streamer, and I was so happy when I heard we could go live. But after searching forever and still not finding the option, I've completely lost hope. The greater the hope, the greater the disappointment."
"Don't be too upset. Just ask someone. You're good-looking—people would be happy to help you."
"What kind of twisted logic is that? This isn't a world where you can survive just by being pretty."
"Has anyone here watched that 'saint cherry tomato' live stream?"
"Watched what? I got bombarded with messages just now. The stream info got pushed away."
"Me! I'm watching it."
"Me too. If anyone wants the link, I can post it in the group.")
The chat was beginning to shift intone. Since there was no visible live stream button, those interested in streaming couldn't do it even if they wanted to.
The only person who had figured out how to go live was Su Chen.
He was the only survivor in the entire world who knew how to activate the function. So instead of blindly searching the interface, it was much easier to just ask him.
The answer was within reach—but what none of them knew yet was that they weren't even qualified to live stream.
If they ever found that out, they'd be devastated.
After all, collecting twenty Warrior Badges wasn't something that could be done easily.
Su Chen wasn't an idiot either. He knew the best content—like barbecue and hot pot—shouldn't be shown right away. It'd pack more of a punch if he saved it until the viewer count reached a certain level.
At the moment, fewer than ten people were watching the stream, and almost no one was chatting.
Even though a lot of people were talking about how to go live, the number actually interested in watching Su Chen's stream was just a tiny fraction of that.
But that was to be expected after only a few minutes. It wouldn't be long before the numbers started doubling.
Soon, over three hundred people had joined, and the chat room finally came alive with bullet comments.
The streaming system worked just like the ones people were used to: viewers could tap the little red heart or send virtual gifts.
Of course, these "gifts" weren't things you bought with money.
They were personal items donated by viewers, converted into points based on a standardized exchange rate, and used to rank fans on the leaderboard.
However, the vibe in the stream was beginning to take a turn for the worse.
("Why's he wearing a clown mask? Is he too ugly to show his face?"
"Who the hell is this guy? Is he insane, just lying there in sunglasses?"
"What's even the point of this stream? Are we just watching him sunbathe?"
"What's going on? The guy isn't even talking. Did he fall asleep or something?"
"Can't believe hundreds of people are watching this loser lie there. How bored do you have to be to watch this crap?")
Su Chen was sitting on a stool in the grass, sunbathing while wearing a mask.
The sun was warm but a bit too bright, so he threw on a pair of sunglasses.
The viewer count kept rising—soon, it was up to one or two thousand people.
Even though most of them had come just to trash him, Su Chen didn't care.
Infamy is still fame. His goal was to attract people to his stream, whether they were there to praise or insult him.
Once the viewership hit a certain threshold, he could switch to his eating-show segment and start reeling in followers.
His original goal was 100,000 viewers. With a typical conversion rate of about 1%, that would net him roughly a thousand fans.
That kind of ratio meant a real shot at building a following—after all, with a large enough population, there's always someone who enjoys watching live streams.
Su Chen lay back in his chair, soaking in the sunshine.
("This guy's such a dumbass."
"Not a single move—what the hell is this garbage?"
"Jesus, it's the middle of the day and you losers are watching this instead of working?"
"Haha, that clown mask is terrifying. My little sister saw it and started crying, and I still can't calm her down.")
As the stream gained traction, more viewers with decent manners began to trickle in, and they started pushing back against the haters.
("Can you people stop spamming insults and just watch the damn stream? Do you have any self-respect?"
"Exactly! If you don't like the guy's style, just leave. No need to trash talk."
"I was just looking for a relaxing stream. This handsome dude sunbathing is fine by me. No need for the hate—just scroll away if it's not your thing.")
The stream was now divided into two camps.
One side was the Keyboard Warrior Squad—trolls constantly spamming hate and trying to ruin Su Chen's reputation. They made up the majority of commenters.
The other side was the Civil Citizen Squad—people who were fed up with the toxicity online. They were far fewer in number, only about a fifth of the first group. Most of them just hated noisy keyboard clacking, while only a rare few genuinely enjoyed Su Chen's content. After all, everyone has different tastes—even the most niche content will find its audience.
Then there were the clueless bystanders who had just wandered in and planned to leave immediately—until they stumbled upon the drama.
Let's be honest—who doesn't love a good fight? Even toddlers will join in a square dance if they hear the music.
So it's no surprise that today's internet-addicted adults were all 5G-speed rubberneckers.
No matter what the cause, once a fight breaks out, there'll always be people willing to stick around and watch.
Su Chen's stream already had decent click-through rates, but very few were actually staying to watch him.
Because, let's face it, he wasn't doing anything—just lying there sunbathing with sunglasses on. Most people had no idea what he was trying to do, and anyone not already interested would bail after a few minutes.
It was way too boring to retain viewers.
But somehow, that worked in his favor.
Maybe people were just that bored in this world, because more and more of them started arguing in the chat. Newcomers were no longer even looking at Su Chen—they were too busy watching the comments.
Curiosity got the better of them. They wanted to see how it all played out, which meant they weren't leaving anytime soon.
For Su Chen, it was a godsend. He had assumed it would take all morning to hit 100,000 viewers.
But within just half an hour, his stream had already reached over 50,000—and they weren't just passive numbers either. Most of them were actively engaging.
Su Chen was secretly overjoyed. As the argument in the chat escalated, more and more people jumped in to voice their opinions.
The viewership kept climbing—50,000... 60,000... 80,000!
______
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