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With Ou Xiangchen’s reminder, Fang Yimeng finally leaned in to look at the phone screen. She had a habit of reading comments aloud.
“The anti-fan leader says… emo, how many seconds are there in a minute on the watch on your wrist?”
“?”
Fang Yimeng frowned and turned to glance at Ou Xiangchen.
The mentor and student exchanged a silent look and stood in awkward silence for a few seconds.
Compared to the strange yelling coming from the neighboring rooms, their space was eerily quiet.
“‘The Pillar of the Anti-Fan Super Topic’… Not bad. Your acting is good. I approve—pearl earrings.”
On the screen, the attractive woman had already tucked her long hair behind one ear, just enough to show off the full, round pearl earring dangling there.
Reading this comment, Fang Yimeng couldn’t help but laugh out of sheer exasperation.
“Thanks, anti-fan heroes. So I’ve irritated you all with my bad acting, huh? And now you’re coming into my livestream to get your revenge?”
Anti-Fan Leader of Emo-jie:
“Hahahahaha, emo’s reaction is hilarious! That ‘questioning life’ face just now—I screenshotted it for a meme. See y’all on the super topic later!”
Xiangchen Is My Husband:
“??? What kind of chaotic vibe is this?! Sweetie, don’t worry! We’d never treat you like that!”
Ou Xiangchen turned to look at the clearly amused and sarcastic Fang Yimeng. His single-lidded eyes reflected a swirl of mixed emotions.
Before she could respond to the next comment, he took the initiative and said:
“This livestream is mainly for a brief acting showcase, and we also wanted to gather feedback on our performance theme.”
Out of all five livestream rooms, theirs was the first to actually get on track and begin the real program content.
Fang Yimeng had been preparing to clap back at the anti-fans, but Ou Xiangchen’s serious introduction forced her to swallow her retort mid-sentence.
Director Zheng Xihe, who had been monitoring all the streams, noticed that Fang Yimeng’s room was clearly ahead of the others. Worried about pacing inconsistencies, he signaled for the rest to catch up.
Since the livestream setting was far from ideal, the acting was limited to short scenes and quick exchanges.
Anyone with half a brain could tell this livestream wasn’t about acting—it was a PR move. A chance for trainees to interact with fans and build momentum for the upcoming voting phase.
Fang Yimeng and Ou Xiangchen had picked a simple script: just a few lines of a lovers’ quarrel. After the hasty performance, she encouraged Ou Xiangchen to respond to fan comments to keep the chat from going cold.
The anti-fans, to their credit, knew when to back off. Realizing today’s spotlight wasn’t on Fang Yimeng, they left the comment space open for Ou Xiangchen’s fans to engage.
The young man, having always focused on studying acting, had zero experience with this kind of interactive setup. His self-questioning and self-answering were awkward and stiff.
Fang Yimeng, deciding to slack off a little, sat back and sneakily tapped into Liao Ran’s livestream. Just as expected, the five trainees behind her were sitting like statues, silent as ever, while she chirped away nonstop.
By the time all the rooms had finished their performances, it was time to vote. The other groups fumbled with the app for ages trying to find the voting feature. One after another, their giant faces took over the screen as they clumsily poked around, gradually forgetting the comment section altogether.
As the interactive element of the other streams nosedived, some casual viewers got bored and began hopping between streams.
And then—suddenly—a crisp but sweet female voice rang out:
“Everyone, do you see the three dots at the bottom of the screen? Tap here to enter the voting section. Don’t worry, even if you leave the screen, you’ll still be able to hear my voice.”
“There’s a voting room option. Five mentors, over twenty students—you each get two votes. Use them wisely.”
Compared to the chaotic, disorganized mess in the other rooms, Fang Yimeng’s stream was smooth and orderly. Her clear instructions and ongoing interactions made her livestream feel much more professional—and way more enjoyable.
Unbeknownst to her, Fang Yimeng’s competence as a spokesperson was winning her quiet admiration from viewers.
“Xiangchen, talk to them about your college acting classes or something. I’m done reading the comments. Those anti-fans tagging themselves as trolls just annoy me.”
Feeling she had done enough guiding, Fang Yimeng threw out a few harmless fibs and slid back into her chair.
At that moment, the comment section was dominated by Xiangchen’s fans, most of whom had “Sunflower” in their usernames. The anti-fans had all gone into stealth mode—but Fang Yimeng’s throwaway comment dragged them right back in.
Within seconds, the comment section was flooded with names featuring “anti-fan” keywords, each spamming endless question marks.
Fang Yimeng clicked her tongue and raised a brow.
“What’s wrong? Getting anxious now? Look at you all, panicking!”
She looked straight at the camera, arguing with her anti-fans like a feisty grade schooler. Surprisingly, the atmosphere in her stream actually improved.
“Arguing with you guys is making my blood sugar drop. I really want a matcha red bean cake right now,” she said dramatically, patting her flat stomach and sighing like a diva.
Anti-Fan Leader of Emo-jie:
“Emo’s grown up. She used to be too scared to fight back, and now she’s yelling at us head-on! Girls, tag her on the super topic so she can relive her foot-acted performances!”
Fang Yimeng:
…Thanks so much, really.
Meanwhile, as The Actor’s third episode livestream blazed on, Lu Jingshan had just finished an emergency company meeting.
With long strides, he entered the studio. His deep, almond-shaped eyes locked precisely on her stream. He happened to hear her mention cake—and paused for a brief moment—before immediately turning on his heel and walking out.
Less than ten minutes later, he returned, holding a white plastic bag. Unlike his earlier relaxed gait, his steps now carried a sense of urgency.
Back in the livestream, Ou Xiangchen was earnestly talking about what he had learned from working with his mentor on The Actor.
Lu Jingshan stood just behind the livestream setup—right in the camera’s blind spot. No one could see him, but the person in front of the lens couldn’t possibly ignore him.
Fang Yimeng blinked in surprise at the man in the casual button-up shirt standing before her. She silently mouthed a question:
“What are you doing here?”
He mouthed back one word, also silently:
“Cake.”
Fang Yimeng lifted her chin slightly, gesturing toward the camera to say, “I can’t eat it now.”
He tsked quietly, unwrapped a mini packaged cake, and grabbed a clear plastic spoon. Rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt to his elbows, he revealed his perfectly defined arms.
And that arm? It casually but unmistakably slipped into the camera frame.
With long, defined fingers holding a transparent spoon filled with matcha mousse, Lu Jingshan made his silent entrance—
—just as the buried anti-fans in the chat exploded once again.