Not just anyone on the street knew who Lin Shixia was, but at BH Media, no one didn’t know Lin Shixia.
Everyone at BH Company, from top to bottom, knew that Gu Liuguang liked Lin Shixia and was her fan.
Even the bosses in the BH Group Live fan group knew that Gu Liuguang liked Lin Shixia.
Lin Shixia had a highly distinctive appearance. In the entertainment industry, which was extremely demanding on looks, she stood out uniquely. It could be said that her face was more famous than the characters she played.
Not everyone knew the name Yao Xia, but as soon as they saw her photo, anyone who had seen it remembered her name. It had reached the point where mentioning her name brought Lin Shixia’s face instantly to mind.
She was also accurately recognized in “spot the celebrity” entertainment videos.
Lin Shixia’s name scrolled by quickly. With a careful look for a few seconds, people could distinguish it. Even if they couldn’t, the System would help identify the keyword that appeared most frequently in a short time.
When Zhang Ze saw the three words “Lin Shixia,” he first thought it was the group of simps in the company group fawning over Gu Liuguang. Once he realized this was the live stream chat, with the stream’s audience fans talking about it, his eyes widened unconsciously, and his mouth hung open.
Without realizing it, he blurted into the microphone: “Is that real?”
The drama Heavenly Dao had extremely minimal promotion— so little that viewers only discovered it through big data recommendations at the bottom of the site or by specifically filtering for new dramas.
Ninety percent of the cast were newcomers. The early promotion was half-hearted, like it was made for money laundering. It launched with three episodes straight away, gaining a small burst of popularity from the actors’ looks.
Later, the actors’ solid performances, gripping plot twists, and engaging storyline drew organic buzz. Even opportunistic marketing accounts jumped on the hype to recommend it. Seeing the rising heat, the production team finally started actively promoting.
Lin Shixia’s portrayal of Yao Xia was both righteous and evil—part of the positive protagonist group in the early stages, then a scheming villainess after her blackening.
Viewers loved shipping the protagonist group’s friendships or romances, but when it came to Lin Shixia, it sparked massive debates. Any post tagged “Yao Xia,” no matter the title, kicked off arguments right away.
Lin Shixia generated the most fans and haters, and the most discussion—especially during summer break when elementary, middle, and high school kids, big and small, binge-watched. They either adored Yao Xia or hated her guts.
In both cases, Lin Shixia’s current popularity surpassed even the male and female leads of Heavenly Dao. While the leads hustled on variety shows, Lin Shixia ran events and shot new projects, with too little footage leaked, making fans feel like a prime circle-expanding opportunity was wasted.
But this didn’t hinder Lin Shixia’s skyrocketing fame. Too many breakout photos circulated, and in the entertainment world full of beauties, she stood alone—energetic and sweet, yet with an elegant, poised presence.
So Lin Shixia’s Douyin account had plenty of fans. The drama hadn’t fully exploded yet, but her followers had reached five million, all from just one simple self-introduction video.
Zhang Ze didn’t have time to wonder how these people spotted Lin Shixia in the live stream—on Douyin, only users with high spending levels got special entry notifications.
They could also set it to not notify or buy anonymity cards, hiding their info so others only saw “Mysterious Person.” Of course, those weren’t cheap either—starting at three hundred thousand a month.
His hands shook a bit as he scrolled through the room’s online viewer list.
The online viewer list ranked by spending level and gifts sent in the stream—the more gifts, the higher up. Then it subdivided by user spending tiers, showing how many earls, viscounts, and so on were present.
He tapped it open, and the list stretched on long.
Roughly scanning, there were over a hundred high-spending users and gift-givers, showing the terrifying strength of Gu Liuguang’s fans.
Zhang Ze had no time to marvel. He scrolled down hard, trying to see if the Lin Shixia everyone mentioned was really in the live stream.
He remembered Gu Liuguang mentioning in the group that Lin Shixia was shooting a drama this period.
A quick scroll found nothing. With the stream still live, Zhang Ze couldn’t keep digging. As Tiantian finished her dance, he quickly switched to the next person, planning to check when it was Gu Liuguang’s turn.
No Lin Shixia. Zhang Ze chuckled into the mic twice. Because of his earlier blurted question, plenty in the chat still replied that it was real.
The live stream had no screenshot function, so Zhang Ze didn’t know if Lin Shixia was really there. On one hand, he thought celebrities wouldn’t watch Group Lives—Lin Shixia was beautiful beyond heaven and earth; why watch others?
But switching to Gu Liuguang made him think it might actually be possible.
Zhang Ze: “It’s a fake account, right? Maybe a staffer logged in wrong and clicked by accident. I really didn’t find it.”
If he could, he’d really want to screenshot his screen for everyone.
Tiantian finished dancing, and the music switched back to upbeat standby tunes.
Lin Shixia’s name still scrolled, with viewer numbers surging wildly—who knew if new people were joining or if the crowd was just trolling him. Looking more, he saw comments asking “Where’s Lin Shixia?” “Who gets the thrill of the System showing Lin Shixia is watching the live?” “What are Lin Shixia’s staff doing?!!”
Zhang Ze glanced back at his colleague, who shook his head, shrugged, and mouthed: I didn’t see it!
He couldn’t let the chat’s momentum continue. Without thinking, Zhang Ze swapped the standby music for Gu Liuguang’s exclusive BGM, All Things Grow.
No leg sweeps this time. Lights dimmed; he feared they wouldn’t see Gu Liuguang’s face and quiet down.
Music paused. Gu Liuguang saw the cue and stepped forward a few paces. Closer now, she saw the chat scrolling furiously in the bottom left of the projected screen—too fast to read, so she assumed it was about the same as usual.
A highly rhythmic DJ beat kicked in first, followed by a sped-up, chant-like voice echoing in the stream: You said back then there was vast white snow behind the house, golden flags fluttering in the wind through the valley…
Still a close-up shot. Eyes down at first, she lifted them to the camera as the intro played.
Her emerald fox eyes gazed sharply, that hint of green shimmering like rainbow lights under the dazzling effects—cold, noble, like rare colored diamonds.
As the music swelled, the camera pulled back, revealing more of her.
Like an oil painting coming alive under the artist’s brush—colors blooming vividly, the stunning beauty sharpening into breathtaking clarity.
Finally, she tilted her chin up toward the lens for less than half a second before turning away without hesitation, leaving only her back view—leaving viewers entranced by her retreating figure.
The chat seemed to glitch for a moment, lagging two seconds before exploding again. No longer just “Lin Shixia,” but intertwined with “Little Light,” flooding the screen like a torrent, blotting out everything else.
A Kunpeng Wanli gift blasted across.
Zhang Ze snapped back, glanced at the sender, and naturally announced: “Thanks to Fox Sister for the Kunpeng Wanli! As expected, clothes make the person—Little Light’s new look even scored a Kunpeng Wanli… Fox Sister, what else do you want to see? Just tell Little Light~!”
High-spending bosses in Group Lives got moderator perms, so their comments floated as danmaku across the center screen.
After speaking, Zhang Ze held his breath watching the feed. He didn’t see Fox’s comment but an unexpected gift effect.
【User Lin Shixia sent “Douyin No.1 x999.”】
【Congratulations, user Lin Shixia has leveled up to lv.5.】
【Congratulations, user Lin Shixia’s fan placard has leveled up to lv.14.】
…
The chat finally slowed, then surged madly seconds later. Viewers spiked to 150,000 without stopping.
Gift effects kept coming too. Everyone watched Lin Shixia’s Noble Rank climb from 0, her fan placard shooting from newbie to max level 20 fast. Fan level capped, but intimacy kept rising.
Tap the fan group, sort by intimacy—Lin Shixia was already top ten, still climbing slowly.
Chat style shifted gradually—
“Holy crap, it really is Lin Shixia! Thought it was a prank!”
“Same Group Live as Lin Shixia’s fans? Group photo!”
“Is Lin Shixia trying to go bankrupt? Anyone know how much she’s spent?”
“Lin Shixia lost her mind??? Money laundering???”
“I’m numb… So clearly watching someone whale in minutes…”
“Someone stop Lin Shixia!!!”
It went fast. Zhang Ze had never handled such insane traffic. His mood matched the fans’: shock from “Holy crap, it’s really Lin Shixia herself,” then surprise and thrill at the massive gifts.
Realizing Lin Shixia wouldn’t stop, his burning excitement cooled. This had to be an accidental spam; such amounts would come out of pocket later.
Until Lin Shixia finally paused, casually sending one Kunpeng Wanli.
Everyone froze like paused. After a dozen seconds with no more, they realized.
—Lin Shixia farmed for so long… just for one Kunpeng Wanli?
No further action came. Zhang Ze finally reconnected, mic in hand, stammering: “Uh, th-this… thanks to Lin Shixia… boss for the… uh, one Kunpeng Wanli?”
Real or dream? Lin Shixia gifted their Group a Kunpeng Wanli?
Right after his thanks, Lin Shixia sent another.
Zhang Ze thanked smoothly this time.
Gu Liuguang stood center stage. Hearing Lin Shixia’s name, she thought Zhang Ze misread and stepped forward instinctively to check the screen—only seeing dense chat and new gift effects lighting up behind.
Hearing Zhang Ze thank Lin Shixia for gifts again, Gu Liuguang froze. Though clueless why everyone said Lin Shixia was in the stream, just hearing she’d gifted her made her grin uncontrollably—her emerald fox eyes crinkling cutely.
The next second, the stream got hit with ten more Kunpeng Wanli.