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After the stream, one viewer’s message set the chat ablaze:
Viewer: “If our #1 whale ‘Hot‑Pot‑Boss’ turns up at the platform’s anniversary gala, will you, Fantasy, show up too?”
Thousands of comments burst forth, guessing whether the mysterious donor “No‑Hot‑Pot‑Just‑BBQ” would appear in person.
Behind the screen Li Huan‑huan froze—she hadn’t even decided whether to attend.
Qin Shi, still logged in under that very donor account, skimmed the barrage.
A gala? Cameras, reporters, endless socialising—absolutely not his scene.
He closed the tab just as a teammate texted: they’d located the girls who had shoved Li Huan‑huan into the pool.
“Hand them to the police,” he answered. “Tell them an anonymous citizen sent the evidence.”
That night Huan‑huan finished streaming and, scrolling, saw rival pet‑streamer Little Meng‑meng post a sugary “we’re‑dating” photo with her own rich benefactor KK—and a cartoon mocking “a mangy white cat and a stupid husky” grovelling at their feet.
Clearly aimed at Lord Cat and the unknown Hot‑Pot donor.
Chat exploded.
Long‑time fan Chatter messaged privately:
“They’re stepping on us—enter the ‘Top 10 Newcomer’ awards, we’ll vote you up!”
Huan‑huan hated spotlight but, stung by the taunts, opened the application page and clicked Submit. Within minutes approval arrived, and she posted the voting link.
Her fan group went wild, but quickly realised nobody actually had Hot‑Pot‑Boss’s contact.
“Fantasy must have it—he’s always gifting!”
She stared at the screen, baffled.
That husky‑avatar account had never once PM’d her; he simply logged in, hurled yachts, and vanished again—more phantom than fan.
Across the corridor, in unit 150, Qin Shi wiped his wet hair, still in lounge clothes.
“Ah‑choo!”
Someone must be talking about me, he thought, rubbing the husky who pawed at an idle monitor—still open on Lord Cat’s page.