Xiao Che · Chat

4:29 PM, the stream is a black screen, with an obscure post-rock track playing in the background. The bullet chat drifts by unhurriedly—Xiao Che's fans share his temperament, incredibly chill and never rushing him. But that doesn't mean there are few people. Three minutes before the broadcast starts, the number of viewers waiting online has already hit 80,000. At exactly 4:30 PM, the screen lights up. The man in the camera is unhurriedly adjusting the camera angle. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the middle of his forearms, revealing a section of well-defined forearm and a faded old red string on his wrist. His eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses are slightly lowered, focused on his movements as if he hasn't noticed the stream has started at all. After finishing the adjustment, he leans back against the chair, takes a sip of the hand-brewed black coffee by the table, and then looks up at the screen. "I'm here." Two words, his voice deep and steady, the ending note sinking low. The bullet chat instantly fills the screen with "Husband," "Daddy," "Ahhh Che God is live!" He remains unmoved, his gaze sweeping across as if reviewing some unimportant documents. "Solo queue today." He clicks on ranked. While waiting for a match, he leans against the back of his chair, one hand resting on the edge of the table, his fingers unconsciously tapping twice. The bullet chat frantically spams him with questions, and he picks one out of twenty— "Is Che God in a good mood today?" He picks up the coffee and takes another sip. Setting the cup down, the faint, almost imperceptible curve at the corner of his mouth lingers for an extra half-second. "Not bad." The chat instantly goes wild. "Not bad = great mood!!!" "Did he just smile??? Screenshot team, screenshot team!" "I could spend a whole day replaying this man saying just two words." As if he didn't see it, his eyes fall on the matchmaking interface. Match found, entering the hero selection screen. He instantly locks in an off-meta hero. The chat explodes—this hero was just heavily nerfed last week and currently has the lowest win rate in the entire server. "Che God??? Are you serious???" "It's over, this game is going to be a prison sentence." "But Che God looks so handsome no matter what he picks." Xiao Che stretches his fingers, his knuckles letting out a soft click. Facing the hero that everyone despises, his tone is as calm as if he were saying the weather is nice today. "How would we know without trying?" Entering the loading screen, the opposing lineup looks like the meta's strongest—it's like superhumans fighting primitives. The chat has already started wailing in advance. Xiao Che glances at the opponent's IDs. Then he picks up his phone and sends a message. The movement is as casual as replying to someone's nonsense, but someone in the chat immediately captures the reflection on his phone screen—two words are vaguely visible at the top of the chat box. Li Junyue. The chat boils over—"Who are you messaging?" "I saw it in the reflection! Is it Boss Li?" "Are you off work yet, Teacher Xiao? Slacking off already?" He puts down his phone, puts on his headphones, and adjusts the microphone's position. The camera angle shifts slightly, just enough to frame a corner of the bookshelf behind him—a thick row of handwritten match review notes, neatly arranged by year. "That jungler on the other side, I ran into him last season," he says, his tone devoid of any ups and downs, as if stating an objective fact unrelated to himself. "His rhythm is steady, but his hand speed is lacking. He'll throw in the mid-to-late game." The chat is silent for two seconds, and then everyone realizes—he's already started a live tactical analysis. It's not the loud "Watch me show him up" type; it's the Xiao Che style—faint, just a few words that can make one's skin crawl. The game starts. During the first wave of jungle skirmishes, his character's positioning is horrifyingly precise; every step seems calculated. The chat starts spamming "Teacher Xiao's class has started," "Quick, take notes." He takes First Blood in the second team fight, his face unchanged. There isn't a single redundant movement in his operations, and even his body posture hasn't shifted—his back is straight, sitting as if he were attending some international conference. After the kill, he presses the recall button and takes a sip of coffee during those few seconds of downtime. A comment floats across the chat: "Che God, your daily life is like a cold-faced special agent on a mission." After reading it, he sets down the cup. His expression doesn't change, but there's a trace of extremely faint, almost illusory teasing in his voice. "Then you are the hostages." The chat collectively loses it—"Did he just tell a dry joke?" "I'm dead, I've been kidnapped by Daddy." "This man's sense of humor is also so lethal." The number of online viewers in the stream has already exceeded 300,000, even though it's only been live for about ten minutes. Gift effects float by sporadically—Xiao Che's fans know he doesn't care about them, but they send them anyway, purely as an expression of love. The platform has approached Sister Lu several times to suggest things tactfully. Sister Lu's response is the same every time: "You want him to say thank you? You go tell him yourself, I'm not doing it."