Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Livestream Room Is Packed

“I find contentment living among mortals, yet I was once a carefree immortal in the heavens.”
“I care not for worldly possessions, but only for the allure of fine wine does my heart stir.”
“A beautiful spirit owes a maiden’s debt—overnight, all is washed clean and pure.”
“I urge the heavens, the earth, and my confidants; forgetting mountains, forgetting waters, I only wish to forget my beloved.”

The audience below was like boiling water; each wave of cheers grew louder than the last.

[Brother Lin is amazing! Brother Lin!]
[At first, I didn't get it, but after half a song—‘once a carefree immortal in the heavens’—]
[This is wild! Guys, I was secretly watching the livestream in class, the teacher caught me, pulled out my earphones, and made the whole class listen together!]
[I can't, this song is so addictive!]
[Brother Lin’s costume is truly incredible.]

That morning, Elder Qin also tuned into the livestream, intending to see what kind of work Lin Ze would present. After yesterday’s introduction, Elder Qin had grown somewhat interested in Lin Ze. Yet, as soon as he opened the stream, he saw Lin Ze come up from backstage dressed in a bizarre outfit. Not just Lin Ze—the elderly men and women behind him were dressed oddly as well. Elder Qin’s brow furrowed instantly; he praised Lin Ze for being proper yesterday, so why was he now putting on a show just to attract attention?

But the moment Lin Ze’s voice rang out, the fusion of traditional and Western instruments exploded, astonishing even Elder Qin. Lin Ze’s unique singing style seemed to suit only this kind of arrangement. If he’d gone onstage in a Zhongshan suit or a Western suit to sing this song, it would have seemed even stranger. The novelty of this song opened a new world for Elder Qin. Even after Lin Ze finished, Elder Qin hadn’t quite recovered. Strange, yes—but so pleasant to hear!

Seeing in the scrolling comments that Lin Ze’s next song would be his last, Elder Qin watched on with some anticipation. The second song was clearly weaker in quality, but the performance was complete enough and still earned a round of applause. The third act belonged to Li Xiangyu.

This time, Li Xiangyu wore an oversized T-shirt printed with a mahjong tile, and his backup dancers were all dressed as different tiles. From their costumes, it was clear this would be another fast-paced singing and dancing number.

“Hey! This is Sichuan-Shu!”

As soon as the first line burst out with a strong Sichuan accent, Lin Ze knew it was another rap filled with local flavor. The piece wove together several cities of Sichuan-Shu, major attractions, and many distinctive features into a rap. The effect was decent overall, but in terms of completion, it was clearly inferior to the previous Sichuan opera. Still, it showed that Li Xiangyu seemed set on changing his style, which was a good thing.

The fourth act was the children’s choir from earlier. So many children, hand in hand, swaying left and right as they sang—those pure, lovely voices had a cleansing effect on the soul. Unfortunately, the song itself was rather average.

With four performances complete, it was time for the first round of voting.

“Everyone, I’ll count to three. Then you’ll see a voting button in your livestream window, with options one through four, corresponding to each act. Make sure to choose carefully—you only have one vote!”

“Three! Two! One!”

Sure enough, a pop-up appeared for all still watching. Four options: from ‘The Immortal’ to ‘We Are Little Suns.’ Lin Ze’s fans quickly pressed the first button. Out of habit, some even tried to switch to alternate accounts, only to realize unverified accounts weren’t allowed to vote. After some thought, they decided it was enough—no need to rope in more people, it was too much trouble. Even the leaders in Lin Ze’s fan groups merely shared the livestream link and asked everyone to cast their votes, as if becoming fans of Lin Ze had made them lazier—no more shouting about tasks or rallying friends for votes.

Li Xiangyu’s camp was different. At the mere mention of voting, the fan leaders immediately implemented their old systems—everyone had to vote a certain number of times, and the more you voted, the higher your status in the group, with better titles awarded. The lowest-ranking members had to vote at least three times to remain in the group, and they had to send screenshots to the admins afterward. At a single command, fans started calling friends, and, if that wasn’t enough, they phoned family at home.

One vote after another—let’s help my brother debut over Lin Ze.

Backstage personnel watched the skyrocketing numbers in the livestream and were stunned. Viewer count was rising sharply.

But wait—the servers…

Just as the backstage staff wondered whether the servers could handle it, sure enough, the servers crashed spectacularly. The voting system froze, and the livestream became extremely choppy. Since livestreaming was still new, the TV station hadn’t had time to upgrade their equipment. Previously, no one watched the station’s own web streams, so nothing had ever gone wrong. Who would have thought that today, a county-level arts troupe selection would crash the entire stream?

The host was just about to start the countdown when someone hurried onstage to inform them of the situation. The host, slightly embarrassed, addressed the audience and the TV screens in the various waiting rooms:

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve run into a bit of trouble. Due to the sheer number of viewers, our livestream has stalled. It’ll take about fifteen minutes to fix.”

Fifteen minutes—still manageable. The audience’s tense expressions relaxed; time for a bathroom break or a drink.

In the waiting room, Lin Ze had already wiped off his stage makeup and changed clothes, preparing for the final performance.

“Xiao Lin, do you think our earlier act went over well?” Old Wang asked with some concern.

“Don’t worry—just look at the audience. If they’re excited, there’s no problem.”

“Wonderful!” Tian Hui helped Old Wang tidy his face. “Hearing your performance made me want to get on stage and join you.”

“Would you really let go like that, Aunt Tian?” Su Zitan laughed.

Tian Hui pressed her lips together in a smile.

Everyone was already dressed for the final act. This song would close out the competition!

Soon, the livestream was restored. The votes being counted were those cast at the exact moment of the crash. Even though there hadn’t been an official three-two-one countdown to end voting, it was still fair enough.

“Ladies and gentlemen, based on the votes at the moment of the crash…”

“In fourth place: the Tongyin Team, with a total of 2,312 votes!”
“In third place: the Sunshine Kindergarten Team, with a total of 3,125 votes!”
“For second place… and first place, who would you like to hear announced first?”