Rising in popularity

Ever since the square dance video hit the trending charts, Gu Yi had become nothing short of a local celebrity in his neighbourhood. People in the community group chat would tag him constantly:

“Xiao Gu, we made it on the city news!”
“With Xiao Gu boosting the team, we’re ranked #1 in the Chaoyang Cup—everyone, give Xiao Gu a round of applause!”

The “Chaoyang Cup” was a square dance competition for retirees and middle-aged residents. It was only in the preliminary stages, but their community had already left the others in the dust on the official voting page.

Lately, that was all the group chat talked about. Gu Yi had added a few uncles and aunties on WeChat, and their Moments feeds were flooded daily with links to vote. Gu Yi had even shared one himself to help out.

“Fuli Complex is still being salty, saying we’re cheating and brought in an outsider. Well, let’s see them invite someone like Xiao Gu if they can!”
“Exactly! They’re just jealous! Let’s be honest—if not for Xiao Gu, would the Chaoyang Cup even be this popular?”

Watching them argue made Gu Yi laugh. He dropped a “peace and love” meme in the chat, and suddenly all the usually silent residents started piping up:

“@Xiao Gu, come over for tomato beef stew tomorrow!”
“I’ve got fresh milk at home—Xiao Gu, are you in? Come grab some.”

His fridge was now packed to the brim. For the next month at least, food wasn’t going to be an issue. Overwhelmed by their enthusiasm, Gu Yi found an excuse and quietly disappeared from the chat.

---

His Weibo following continued to grow, though the pace had slowed since the peak of the video’s virality.

Trending topics came and went fast. Gu Yi hadn’t seized the moment to build up his fanbase—he hadn’t even claimed the video as his own. He ignored Zhu Yu’s @ completely, which didn’t sit well with Zhu Yu’s fans.

“Wasn’t Gu Yi ranked 198 in the last popularity poll? Zhu Yu was third. Honestly, he’s giving Gu Yi way more attention than he deserves.”
“What’s with Gu Yi’s ego? He’s already irrelevant.”
“+1. Poor Zhu Yu.”

That night, eagle-eyed fans noticed Zhu Yu had liked a Weibo post about friendship. Although he quickly unliked it, the damage was done. Fans swarmed to Gu Yi’s inbox, demanding he apologize.

Gu Yi didn’t even see those messages. If Shao Jing hadn’t reminded him, he wouldn’t have opened Weibo at all.

Instead, his phone was full of headlines like “This Small Complex in S City Is Suddenly Going Viral!” and “Is Your Neighborhood on the Chaoyang Cup Popularity Rankings?” He spammed all of them with thumbs-up emojis and reveled in the praise—while also thinking about what to cover in his next livestream.

Part of it was his sense of responsibility as a teacher. But also, the provincial civil service exam in Province C was just a month away, and fans had been messaging his stream’s backend asking for more lessons.

“Teacher Gu, please do more lectures!”
“I used the base-period formula you taught, and I got 100% on two whole test papers—amazing!”

Gu Yi found it hard to say no.

Since he hadn’t streamed in two days, he’d dropped a spot on the education leaderboard. With the provincial exams nearing, the top ranks were filled with big-name tutors—every one of them flaunting credentials like “MSc in Science,” “Senior Lecturer at X Institute,” or “Top Instructor at Y Academy.” Among their sharp suits and professional headshots, Gu Yi’s idol-styled profile picture looked completely out of place.

He logged back in. The moment he sorted out his test materials, the comment section exploded.

[Sitting upright and ready!]
[Waiting patiently!]
[Teacher Gu, are you really an idol from Vic?]

Gu Yi read aloud, “You want gossip or lessons? Pick one.”

[Lessons! Idols are meaningless now!]
[I’ve got my mini stool and snacks—waiting for you, Teacher Gu!]

Most of his new fans didn’t care about idol drama. For them, every extra point on the exam meant a higher chance of passing.

Somewhere in the chat, a lonely and slightly bitter “Orange Peel” sighed:
“…”

She cared about gossip.

But looking at Gu Yi—better-looking than he was three days ago, clearly basking in the glow of a second career—“Orange Peel” could only retreat into the background.

Fine. OK. Whatever.

Gu Yi had seriously tackled last year’s provincial exam. Though language comprehension wasn’t his forte, with enough practice, he’d figured out a few tricks. Numerical and logical reasoning, though? That was his turf. He’d even developed a few shortcuts and explained each question’s underlying concepts with pinpoint clarity.

Fans listened, commented, and kept sending him virtual gifts.

At one point, Gu Yi paused to take a sip of water, glanced up—and noticed his follower count had almost hit 2,000.

Last time he checked, hadn’t it just been a few hundred?

Still, whether there was one person or a thousand, his delivery stayed the same. He continued explaining test problems, fielding real-time questions in the comments. By the end of the stream, his follower count had surpassed 5,000.

Were they bots?

In fact, a huge number of viewers were furiously taking notes while watching. His livestream content had already begun circulating through civil service forums and hashtags—his solutions passed around from one chat to the next. More and more examinees started joining his stream:

[Holy crap! That’s genius!]
[This method cuts the time down so much. I spent five minutes on this one question by myself!]
[Teacher Gu, you’re a legend!]

Meanwhile, his income tracker ticked steadily upward.

Though his stream didn’t have a big-money top gifter, no one felt right leeching off his knowledge for free—everyone chipped in a little.

Before he even realized it, Gu Yi had already hit his monthly income goal of 5,000 yuan.

He figured, Next time I stream, I should go deeper into the national exam paper.

By the end of today’s session, he’d climbed to #1 on the Newcomer Education Ranking, and his placement on the platform’s overall leaderboard continued to rise.

Across the entire livestreaming platform, Gu Yi’s performance wasn’t exactly record-breaking—but within Xingyao Entertainment, it was practically a seismic event.

The company had recently entered its monthly review period for Vic, and among the dismal reports from dozens of back members, Gu Yi’s surge in popularity stood out like a neon sign.

Xingyao had dumped most of its back-tier idols into livestreaming, partly to salvage some productivity, but also with the vague hope of discovering a new breakout niche. After all, live commerce was booming. One good viral moment and some decent product placement could rake in more money than a struggling idol ever could.

Unfortunately, results had been dire. Vic’s members had been streaming for nearly a year—with no uptick in engagement. In fact, most had lost followers, wasting the company’s monthly base salary along the way.

But Gu Yi? His livestream heat index had shot up by 600%.

That kind of jump was unheard of.

And on livestream platforms, “heat” wasn’t vanity—it was money.

“Gu Yi’s in J-Team, right? What exactly has he been streaming lately?” the company president asked, frowning.

“…Civil service exam prep,” someone answered.

The president thought he’d misheard. “What was that?”

“Civil service prep. He’s teaching exam questions.”

The president blinked. “…Come again?”

That… wasn’t exactly Xingyao’s business model.

“And that got him popular?”

“Yep. His fan engagement is high too. All real viewers,” explained the head of commercial partnerships. “The platform’s already reached out. They want to sign him to an exclusive contract.”

That triggered a memory. “Didn’t Gu Yi go viral recently with some square dance video?”

The department head nodded.

Flipping through the latest internal memos, the president barked, “What the hell is Shao Jing doing? Has he still not responded to Battle of the Stars? Tell Gu Yi to accept the offer immediately!”

Everyone in the company knew Shao Jing had always favoured Zhu Yu. In the past, with only Zhu Yu drawing water from the well, the higher-ups had turned a blind eye to his bias. But now? Gu Yi was gaining traction—without the company feeding him opportunities.

The execs weren’t going to pass up a chance to cash in on a self-made success.

---

Shao Jing had thrown out a lot of tough talk recently. But now? He realized he had no leverage over Gu Yi at all.

The invitation to Battle of the Stars was rare. Gu Yi didn’t want it.

Shao Jing called him repeatedly—Gu Yi didn’t answer. He sent long voice messages on WeChat—Gu Yi left them on read.

As a manager, Shao Jing’s power came from controlling access to resources. The old Gu Yi had been eager to climb up—easy to manipulate. But this new Gu Yi didn’t even want fame.

And Shao Jing had no idea what to do with that.

Civil service tutoring? He could barely believe his ears. But the numbers were real. Gu Yi’s heat was surging. Shao Jing searched Weibo and found tons of aspiring test-takers praising Gu Yi’s clarity and teaching skills.

Were these people blind?!

Since when could Gu Yi even do this?

Left with no choice, Shao Jing decided to confront him face-to-face.

He was already simmering by the time he reached the gate of Gu Yi’s complex, his expression full of fury. Normally, the guards let him in without question—he had the access pass. But today, to his surprise, they stopped him.

Grinding his teeth, Shao Jing wrote his details in the visitor log.

The guard squinted at him. “You’re looking for Xiao Gu? And you are…?”

“I’m his manager,” Shao Jing said, irritated.

The guard raised a brow. “Doesn’t seem likely.”

Shao Jing stared. “What?”

“Xiao Gu’s a big celebrity now. You think you can just say you’re his manager and that makes it true?”

That did it.

“Celebrity? Gu Yi? Are you joking?”

“Aha! I knew you weren’t his manager,” the guard said smugly. “You must be from Fuli Complex. Trying to poach our Xiao Gu so you can win the Chaoyang Cup, huh?”

“Do you know how many people like you I stop every day?”

Before Shao Jing could respond, the guard pulled out his phone and sent a voice message to the complex group chat. Within minutes, a small army of aunties and uncles had swarmed the gate, their phones pointed squarely at Shao Jing.

“Found another spy.”

“Tsk tsk. Fuli Complex will stop at nothing. Too bad no matter how hard they try, they’ll always be second-best.”

“Xiao Gu’s got looks and talent! He even choreographs our routines. Of course other communities are desperate to steal him. But if they want talent exchanges, they should go through the proper channels. I’m reporting this to our resident council!”

By the time Gu Yi saw the photos, it was hours later. Staring at the image of Shao Jing surrounded by a sea of protective aunties, his face red and puffed up with frustration…

Gu Yi couldn’t help it.

He burst out laughing.