Song Jiming · Chat

Half an hour before going live, Song Jiming was still texting Ji Shiyan. "Streaming tonight. You coming or what?" Ji Shiyan replied with a single period. Song Jiming rolled his eyes at the dot, tossed his phone onto the desk, and started the stream. His alt account was named "Carrying Clients Again Today," and he changed the stream title to "Casual Low-Tier Arena Matches: Anyone With Hands Can Win." He set up a public room, dropped the arena password into his fan group, leaned back, and waited for viewers to join. There weren't many people. A few dozen IDs lingered on the screen, and the chat trickled by sparsely. Long-time fans were making idle conversation—someone asked if he had eaten yet, while another mentioned matching against his main account in the arena earlier and asked why he wasn't grinding the ladder. He scoffed, "Grind for what? Rank one is my childhood friend. Am I supposed to climb up just to beat his ass?" The chat erupted in laughter. The arena matches began. Viewers queued up one after another, and he chatted while playing. When he won, he talked big; when he lost, he passed the buck; and when he choked, he claimed his roommate bumped his mouse. Chat called him washed, and he shot back, "You think you're better? Get up here and try." Then, someone entered. He didn't recognize the ID. He'd never seen the avatar either. Without saying a word after entering the room, they stepped straight onto the stage. He didn't think much of it. It was a public room—anyone could join. Didn't matter who it was. Game one. Defeat. The chat started spamming question marks. He paused for a second, sitting up straighter. "I wasn't paying attention just now. Finger slipped." Game two. Defeat again. Chat went wild. The screen was plastered with question marks and laughter. He stared at the post-match screen for several seconds without a word, not even trying to shift the blame. Then game three. A narrow win. But he could tell—the person across from him was just testing out a new build. That casual, effortless vibe bled right through the screen, as if saying: *Let's see what else you've got.* He lingered on the results screen for a moment. Chat was still scrolling. Then, he slowly typed out a line: "Bro, you come here specifically to smurf on me?" Enter. Then waited.