Chapter 64: Live Stream

Gu Liuguang returned to the company and didn’t stop for a moment. After finishing her styling, she was pulled off to record videos. By the end of one styling set, she had recorded several videos, though she herself wasn’t even sure how many.

The girl recording the videos even had her wave at the camera and make a heart gesture.

When the girl said “All good,” Gu Liuguang thought it was over. But the next second, she heard, “You can change into the next styling set now.”

Fortunately, the company kept the air conditioning cranked up high. After recording around ten styling sets, Gu Liuguang could finally go take a shower.

She had never used the company’s shower room before, so she hadn’t brought spare clothes. She borrowed Qianqian’s instead, since Qianqian was about the same size as her.

But after putting on the jeans, the waist was a bit loose and kept slipping down, eventually getting stuck at her hips. Her butt, on the other hand, was stretched tight.

She didn’t think it was her issue—just that the pants’ cut wasn’t great.

The clothes and pants Lin Zhenshuang bought her had never had this problem.

Gu Liuguang grabbed the waistband and poked her head out. “Qianqian, do you have any safety pins?”

The company clothes were all one-size-fits-most unless special sizes were needed—too big, and people pinned them in place. She had seen others do it before.

Qianqian was right outside. She froze for a second before saying she did and rummaged through the storage cabinet for a few pins to give Gu Liuguang.

“Want me to help?”

Gu Liuguang had planned to fumble through it herself but hesitated for a second at the offer and let go of the waistband.

Qianqian’s slender, cool hand reached over. Their fingers brushed, but Gu Liuguang didn’t notice as Qianqian pulled back.

To make it easier for Qianqian to pin, she even lifted her shirt hem, exposing a section of her pale white waist.

It was excessively slim, dazzlingly white.

Gu Liuguang looked down at the hand at her waist. Qianqian tightened the waistband, and the back of her fingers brushed that strip of skin. Even that slight contact conveyed a soft, yielding sensation.

Unlike what she’d imagined for someone so skinny, the touch was wonderful—the soft flesh seemed to press through her fingers, almost carrying a scent of body fragrance, a blend of carnal desire and innocent allure.

Qianqian kept her head down too. The pin moved nimbly in her hand like it had a mind of its own. Casually, she chatted, “Your waist is so slim. Even my XS size is loose here. Is it hard to buy clothes normally?”

She had asked Gu Liuguang for clothing links before. Sometimes she got them, sometimes Gu Liuguang said no, that they were gifts from friends.

Later, Qianqian had tried searching the images herself but couldn’t find anything. They weren’t available on the market.

Gu Liuguang thought about it. She really didn’t fuss much over clothing sizes. When she was younger, kids’ clothes always fit. Once she got bigger and went to town, she found fitted clothes hard to buy, so she only got a few skirts and kept wearing her old ones.

She never even asked Lin Zhenshuang about sizes for the clothes she bought her.

Gu Liuguang’s missions were on track now, and she didn’t want to bring up her ex anymore. “It’s fine. I can still buy the old styles.”

She assumed Qianqian was fishing for clothing links again and quickly added, “It’s not that I’m holding out. I really can’t remember the old ones. I told you some were gifts from friends.”

Lots of people at the company wore the same styles as her, so she didn’t think much of it. The System had even egged her on to open a shop window, but later she found it too much hassle—worried it’d attract review accounts and extra drama once her fans grew—so she dropped it.

Qianqian finished pinning—one on each side for a better look without messing up the fit.

Gu Liuguang checked herself in the mirror. “Other than the waist, the hips are a bit tight, but no real issues.”

Qianqian hummed and glanced once before looking away.

Once her clothes were sorted, Gu Liuguang was called away again. They needed to register her account under the company and restyle her for tonight’s stream.

The company was wildly ambitious. While Gu Liuguang was on leave, they had launched several more boy and girl groups in one go.

Gu Liuguang peered through the glass door and saw over a dozen men and women sitting inside.

Group Lives came in types too, but their company boss was dead set on premium quality. Just from appearances, Gu Liuguang thought they stood out as exceptionally good-looking among ordinary people.

While getting styled, Gu Liuguang chatted with people from other groups she knew. She heard the company planned more events later—starting by building up personal accounts before expanding.

Halfway through styling, someone else came in, scanned the makeup room, found Gu Liuguang, and mentioned arranging a short drama shoot for her.

The person notified her in a daze and left. Gu Liuguang stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror. The System hadn’t mentioned anything like this.

Had the plot deviated, or was this always a thing with minimal impact?

The others nearby acted unfazed. After asking around, Gu Liuguang learned the company boss saw how lucrative Group Lives were, fancied himself a business genius, and got talked into shooting short dramas by others.

It wasn’t a total scam—the short drama folks shared sets, saving money.

Their company had sent a few people already. The ones who weren’t total flops made some cash. But they stopped after that. Anyone wanting in had to switch contracts first.

Gu Liuguang listened for a bit and decided she wasn’t going.

After styling, Gu Liuguang waited nearby. She had just pulled out her phone when a message from Lin Shixia popped up, naturally reporting how she’d watched the director chew out someone on set today.

The new male actor’s performance was decent, but the director was a perfectionist and wanted more takes. The actor got pissy and walked off, sparking an argument.

She even sent two photos. After a string of messages, Lin Shixia ended with “miss you.”

The conflict must have resolved after that, as Lin Shixia went back to filming. Gu Liuguang got no more messages.

She scrolled up and down the screen, read it twice, then replied in cold, ruthless fashion that she had a stream later.

No reply came. Gu Liuguang frowned, thought for a moment, then sighed and pocketed her phone. She didn’t even feel like asking the other bosses for tickets.

She was even a bit annoyed seeing other messages. If Lin Shixia’s weren’t pinned at the top, she’d have to scroll forever to find it.

She had no intention of asking for tickets. The company was stingy with her hot revenue stream and had announced in the group chat early that Gu Liuguang would stream today.

Once everyone finished their stream styling, Gu Liuguang followed Xiao Yao and the others to the live room. After a bit, she realized it wasn’t the old one.

Xiao Yao said, “The company’s flush with cash now, especially our group. We have the best streaming gear. They even set up a huge stage—renovated while you were on leave. Should be ready for tomorrow’s PK Tournament.”

Mentioning the PK Tournament made Xiao Yao look worried again. She didn’t think her revenue could beat Gu Liuguang’s—she just hoped it wouldn’t look too bad.

The company was committed to the premium route. The live room’s backdrop was way more aesthetic than before: a Pure Color board behind the massive company logo letters, with a few stools and props in front.

Zhang Ze and his apprentice started directing, arranging their styles. Unlike before, where they’d stand for hours once streaming started, now there were stools.

They weren’t super comfy, though—just better than standing forever.

High stools where you had to stretch your legs straight to the floor to stay steady, making legs look longer. Next to them, oversized yoga balls that required constant balance to sit on.

Under Zhang Ze’s apprentice’s direction, they sat and tweaked angles before going live.

Deafening music blasted, hitting their ears from all sides like punches.

The others kept updating dances, but Gu Liuguang hadn’t had time to practice today beyond a quick run-through with the other group. So her BGM stayed the same, and her dance was the simplest.

Positioned as the pillar upfront in the most visible spot, the live room flooded with people the moment they went live. Online viewers hit thirty thousand instantly and kept climbing.

Back at the peak, Zhang Ze thought with emotion. He hadn’t taken Gu Liuguang’s leave seriously at first, but seeing the daily drop in viewers, he couldn’t pretend not to care.

Fewer people meant less revenue—the lowest dipped to a thousand.

Even that was thanks to him name-dropping Gu Liuguang now and then in the live room, which bumped numbers a bit. He didn’t dare imagine without it.

In other group streams, steady at a thousand was considered good traffic. Plenty hovered at double digits or a couple hundred.

Even with somewhat known artists in the group.

Viewers surged. Before they could even intro the room, gift effects barraged like bullets, switching nonstop on screen—one barely finished before the next hit.

Even the new gear nearly lagged, forcing them to disable gift effects.

Like withdrawal symptoms rebounding, the gifts poured in like a storm, thrilling and terrifying Zhang Ze.

“Little Light” dominated the bottom chat, blotting out other comments.

Almost instantly, the System auto-detected “Little Light x999.”

Zhang Ze took a deep breath, feeling heaven had blessed him with Gu Liuguang. He didn’t tell them to stop gifting but cranked the BGM faster, letting the gifting frenzy engulf the room.

Only after five straight minutes of gifts, with everyone still hyped, did he grab the mic to thank them, emphasizing Gu Liuguang was there today.