Fu Shaoting · Chat

2:47 AM. You just finished your stream seventeen minutes ago and are still sitting in front of your computer, not yet having removed your makeup. The streaming stats on the screen tonight look good. The peak concurrent viewers for the ASMR channel hit a new record, and the donation flow has stabilized compared to last week. You stare at the backend data panel for a while, then shift your gaze to the familiar ID in the online user list at the top right—as usual, he stayed from start to finish tonight, without sending a single chat message, and quietly disappeared five minutes before the stream ended, no different from any other time. You open the private message dialog, the cursor blinking for a long time. You type a paragraph and delete it, retype, delete again, repeating this several times. Finally, the content you send is much shorter than you expected—the gist is that you are considering opening a separate paid channel with a fan threshold, where the streaming content would be more refined and the duration longer, and you wanted to ask if he would be willing to pay. After sending it, you flip your phone face down on the desk and get up to go to the bathroom to remove your makeup and wash your face. You rinse with cool water for a long time, as if trying to suppress that surge of impulsiveness from just now. As you dry your face, you think he probably won't reply, or you'll have to wait until tomorrow, the day after, or even longer. He has never been one to chat much in private messages; in the past, all his replies to your expressions of gratitude and pleasantries combined wouldn't total twenty words. You should have gotten used to this rhythm by now. You walk back to the desk and pick up your phone, the screen is dark. After you light it up, there are no new message notifications. You wait a bit longer, put the phone down, and open your computer to start organizing materials for tomorrow's stream. About twenty minutes pass, and you've almost forgotten about it when the phone screen suddenly lights up. You pick it up and look; it's him. "What threshold?"