Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Magician of Movement

“How interesting! No wonder he’s gaining fans—he’s truly a hidden gem among streamers!” Wang Zhaoyi sighed in admiration.

As a viewer, although she played King of Glory herself, she was just a diamond-tier amateur, unable to fully grasp the subtleties of Lin Hao’s maneuvers, nor the layers of high-level play: mechanics, awareness, positioning, even the nuances of lane management—strategies deep as an ocean. Yet on the surface, what she could see was that in every match, Lin Hao taunted his opponents in new and creative ways, yet his rivals seemed helpless against him.

That feeling, when you put yourself in the moment, was exhilarating for the audience.

“Hao Ran, are you free now? I’d like to confirm a few details about the streaming room’s poster with you, and also discuss some promotional resources from Shark.” Wang Zhaoyi sent Lin Hao a message via WeChat, then nervously rubbed her hands together while waiting for his reply.

But after five minutes, there was still no response.

Strange, she thought. Normally, if she texted him after a stream, he’d see it and reply right away.

As she waited, she began to feel a little anxious. Was my tone not respectful enough?

Usually, when a guild representative communicated with a streamer, the staff would at least maintain an equal footing. For most small-time streamers, there was even a hierarchy—since the guild determined resource allocation for promotion, and even the streamer’s salary had to be processed through the guild before reaching their accounts.

But for big-name streamers, the guild’s power was much weaker. Even if they withheld promotional resources or deliberately sidelined them—so what? Big streamers naturally attracted attention and influence. If you didn’t want them, there were plenty of other platforms waiting to snatch them up.

Just a few years ago, Zhang Fenfang had been held back on Shark, her viewer count capped at six hundred thousand. After moving to Tiger’s Den, her numbers soared to ten million—a perfect example.

The reason Lin Hao hadn’t replied was because he was still gleefully drawing cards in the system.

He drew a “Bald Qiang” card, enjoyed the experience for a moment, then finally opened his eyes and returned to reality.

“Sure, could we chat via a voice call on WeChat? It’s more convenient to discuss by phone,” Lin Hao replied.

Huh? Wang Zhaoyi blinked in surprise, but agreed.

“Hello?”

“Is this Hao Ran? Good evening.”

“Good evening.”

“Here’s the thing—about the streaming room poster, let me know if you have any preferences. For instance: background, color scheme, whether to include a portrait, and the slogan…”

Her voice, soft and gentle, drifted through the call. Judging by her tone, she must be quite young.

“Background and colors are up to you. I’ll send you a full-body photo for the portrait in a bit.”

“And the slogan for your stream?” Wang Zhaoyi asked as she pulled a notebook from her bedside drawer, uncapped the pen perched on its cover, and began jotting things down.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the part that highlights your strengths, your selling point—for example, some slogans are ‘Number One Li Bai in the Country, Racing to the Top’ or ‘114 Ranked Duels, Fifteen National Titles’…”

With her examples, Lin Hao immediately understood.

Except… he didn’t have any national titles to brag about.

Nothing particularly boast-worthy, either. “Top 50 Provincial Guan Yu Dominates the Canyon”? Far too unimpressive.

Although some of his heroes genuinely performed at national level, without an official title, calling himself “Number One in the Country” would just be deceiving viewers.

“How about ‘The Magician of Positioning, Master of Taunts in the Canyon’?” Lin Hao racked his brain and finally came up with these two titles.

Positioning was one of those things—without hard data like an official ranking, you could call yourself whatever you liked. Besides, with his script-level positioning skill, the title was more than appropriate.

As for “Master of Taunts in the Canyon,” that was no exaggeration either. No one else in the high ranks taunted opponents so frequently and audaciously.

Wang Zhaoyi thought it sounded good, too. Soon, the two of them finalized the poster design’s direction.

“By the way, I can also apply for a Shark platform certification for you—the kind you see under many streamers’ channels, like ‘Number One Li Bai in the Country’ or ‘Brother Monster of National Rank’…” Wang Zhaoyi added suddenly.

Lin Hao recalled seeing that—it was a recent Shark initiative, but not particularly authoritative. After all, there was even a Shark streamer whose most popular content was picking fights in midnight matches, berating teammates in low-tier games, and getting crushed, all for entertainment.

Yet under his official Shark certification, it read: “Number One Li Bai in the Country.”

“‘Magician of Positioning’—if possible, please apply for that for me,” Lin Hao replied. The title itself sounded impressive.

Late at night, Liu Wei’s armored vehicle started up again.

Tonight’s lineup was the same: Liu Wei, Xinran, Yifan, Xiao Jie, and Shiguang.

Yifan wanted to climb to the top with Charlotte this month, so he’d called these other top-tier streamers from Tiger’s Den to queue up and boost his performance score.

He should’ve invited his old Dream Team, but tonight Beimou was streaming console games and Dai Zi was on leave.

Five top-100 players in their respective roles, all queuing together—only professional teams could hope to challenge them.

They’d won three games in a row. Yifan stretched contentedly, saying, “This is great—five-man queue is a world apart from being locked in the solo ranked grind!”

“Haha—Yifan, locked in again? Didn’t you crush us earlier today?” Xinran chuckled.

“Your Xi Shi dragged me all over the place! Winning was pure luck,” Yifan said, then suddenly recalled something. “Oh right, Xinran, you mentioned before—about that Shark streamer Hao Ran? I ran into him twice in a row!”

“What did you think? Is he subtle, skill-wise? Did you ever lane against his Elder Master?” Xinran asked quickly.

“I don’t want to lane against him ever again! Both times I faced him, I kept hearing the recall sound echoing in my head afterward,” Yifan complained. “His Elder Master is miles behind me in other aspects, but when it comes to positioning, he’s truly incredible—I have to admit it.”

“Hmph, if I match against him next time, I’ll use Xi Shi and hook him until he’s lost in the fog!” Xinran huffed, vowing vengeance.

Both streamers, having been tormented by Lin Hao, now associated his name with the sound of recalling to base and the arrogant “Sorry” quick chat. The memory of his cocky antics made their teeth itch with frustration.

That night at seven, when Lin Hao’s fans opened Shark Live, his channel was the first recommendation.

But instead of the usual live screenshot, his page now displayed a refined poster.

Five bold words stood out: “Magician of Positioning.”