Ma Koukou: “.”

Ma Koukou sent a sixty-second voice message.

Li Baixi directly closed WeChat, got up from the bathtub, took a shower, blow-dried his hair, changed into pajamas, and got into bed.

At this time, Ma Koukou sent a few more messages.

Li Baixi put the phone beside his pillow, but then found the unread message notification dot too glaring, so he opened the voice message.

Ma Koukou showed his amazing dubbing talent, using different voices to imitate Young actor and Cheng Ping to authentically present the conversation: “‘I haven’t apologized like this since I graduated from elementary school!’… ‘The person you should apologize to is not me’…”

Li Baixi: “…”

Ma Koukou sent a screenshot of Li Baixi’s previous message: “Who Cheng Ping ends up with is none of my business.”

Ma Koukou then cropped a few smaller parts from the screenshot:

“Who he ends up with is none of my business.”

“Who he ends up with.”

“Ends up.”

Li Baixi: “…………”

Ma Koukou: “My Queen, forgive me for being blunt, but your tone…”

Li Baixi “tsk”-ed, threw the phone aside, and didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence.

The phone suddenly buzzed persistently.

Li Baixi answered angrily: “Have you gotten too full of yourself recently?”

There was silence on the other end.

Cheng Ping’s hesitant voice came through: “Still… still okay, I guess?”

Li Baixi: “…”

Cheng Ping’s original purpose for this call was to extend an invitation.

“I recently got an endorsement deal for a makeup brand, and they’ve arranged a live makeup session where they want me to promote new products. The brand asked if I have any familiar makeup artists to invite…”

The more Cheng Ping spoke, the less confident he felt, his mind filled with Li Baixi’s words about being “full of himself.” Even though it was explained as a misunderstanding, it hit a sore spot.

He hoped Li Baixi wouldn’t notice that his whole speech boiled down to the first sentence: “I got an endorsement deal for a makeup brand.”

He felt like an elementary schooler desperately bragging about scoring three-pointers but missing each time: I’ve made it, things are different now, asking you to do my makeup isn’t charity anymore.

Li Baixi was still reeling from the earlier misunderstanding and, recalling his conversation with Ma Koukou, felt strangely guilty: “Congratulations, what brand?”

Cheng Ping: “Urban Decay.”

His heart was in his throat. He didn’t even know the brand’s status, whether it was high-end enough to justify his confidence.

He knew Li Baixi would do some commercial flattery no matter what, so he perked up his ears to discern some genuine reaction from his tone.

Li Baixi: “Cool.”

Cheng Ping: “?”

Li Baixi suddenly snapped back to reality, realizing he had spoken with the straightforwardness of a straight guy, and hurriedly added: “Super cool.”

Cheng Ping: “???” What kind of devilish phrase is that?

Li Baixi agreed to the invitation and quickly hung up.

Cheng Ping, puzzled by his unusual behavior, stared blankly for a while before calling his manager: “I got a makeup artist for the live stream.”

Manager: “Don’t tell me it’s Li Baixi.”

Cheng Ping: “It’s Li Baixi.”

Manager: “…”

Cheng Ping braced himself for the usual cautionary advice about “avoiding suspicion” and “keeping distance,” but unexpectedly, after a moment of low pressure on the other end, he only heard: “Got it. I’ll inform the brand.”

He couldn’t believe it worked out so easily. He stared at his phone until it automatically locked and reflected his current expression.

“Yikes.” He tossed it aside instantly.

On the day of the live stream, Cheng Ping finally had a direct sense of his newfound fanbase.

His team had chosen this live stream as his first public appearance after gaining fame because it was an online event with no paywall, maximizing exposure.

Sure enough, the live stream room was flooded with fans before it even started. Despite the empty seats on screen, the comments were flying like snowflakes.

[Waiting for Ping Ping!!! My wallet is ready, give Ping Ping some glory!]

[Is there a bare face? Camera guy, please be kind to our Ping Ping!]

And a few confused old fans from his gaming days: [What’s this? Saw the platform’s homepage push Cheng Ping’s name, thought he was finally streaming games again, what’s going on?]

Of course, there were also some passersby: [If you’re selling your looks, at least be sincere about it. Whoever uses beauty filters is a dog.]

Such comments naturally sparked a barrage of replies, but the instigator was just looking to stir up trouble, becoming more active instead.

At this moment, Li Baixi and Cheng Ping, having gone through the process with the brand, sat down in front of the camera right on time.

[They’re here, they’re here! Ping Ping’s bare face! So handsome!]

[……]

[Who’s the person on the left? Didn’t hear about any other guests.]

Makeup artists’ appearances aren’t as widely known as celebrities’, so most people who came for Cheng Ping, despite seeing Li Baixi’s name in the live stream description, didn’t know what he looked like.

A tablet was set up on one side of the table to allow the guests to see the audience’s reactions. Li Baixi glanced at the comments and said, “Let’s greet everyone.”

In this kind of live stream, the makeup artist usually cues the process and hosts the session, while the celebrity acts as the sidekick.

Cheng Ping was clearly not a skilled sidekick, and for some reason, seemed quite nervous, saying stiffly: “Hello, everyone.”

“Hello, everyone. I’m today’s makeup artist, Li Baixi,” Li Baixi introduced himself, answering the audience’s question.

[……Makeup artist??? Are the standards for makeup artists this high now?]

[I have to say this: Isn’t the makeup artist better looking than Cheng Ping?]

[One’s bare-faced, one’s fully made up, not a fair comparison.]

“Today, I’m very happy to be doing Cheng Ping’s makeup. We’ll be using Urban Decay’s new Honey Palette.” Li Baixi held the eyeshadow palette up to the camera. Part of the brand’s process required him to introduce the product.

“This palette mainly features earthy and gold tones, luxurious and abundant, just like its name suggests, evoking the biblical land flowing with milk and honey. I’ll use these colors to create a luxurious eye makeup look for Cheng Ping.” Li Baixi smiled at Cheng Ping.

Cheng Ping suddenly realized he should say something, stammering: “Looking forward to it.”

Li Baixi: “…” What’s he nervous about?

“Let’s start with skincare.” Li Baixi picked up a bottle of toner.

Cheng Ping finally spoke up: “Why is there a white paper stuck to this bottle?”

His question was so straightforward. Li Baixi held back a laugh: “To cover the brand, because it’s a different brand’s product. Showing it costs money. Close your eyes.”

Cheng Ping obediently closed his eyes: “Shouldn’t they be paying us?”

“Trademark fees, you know. Ever heard of Disney? If your movie shows a Mickey Mouse, expect a lawsuit.”

Cheng Ping suddenly opened his eyes, lowering his voice unconsciously: “Then why did you mention those three words?”

“Which three words? Mickey…?” Li Baixi laughed, “Just mentioning it won’t get us sued.”

Comments:

[……]

[Is it just me?]

[It’s not just you.]

[I don’t dare say, but looking around everyone here.]

[Say it! Don’t be afraid! Shout out loud: I have a new ship to sail!]

Li Baixi had moved on to foundation, starting his own narration mode and ignoring the comments: “We’re still using two shades of foundation this time, the base color and a slightly darker one to emphasize bone structure. Then contouring… Cheng Ping’s jawline is great, this angle needs highlighting.”

Cheng Ping instinctively moved his eyes to the mirror, glancing at his jawline.

Though he wasn’t great at banter, his every move was far more interesting than scripted commercial flattery, and the comments were going wild.

[“Li Laoshi praised me, gotta check it out.”]

[Absolutely, I never knew the silent rapid-fire shooter could be so soft.]

[Aren’t you the one who dares to go against anyone? What’s with this look! Forcing us into shipping them!]

Standing outside the camera, the manager was coldly watching the comments.

When Cheng Ping invited Li Baixi, she knew it would develop into this. With Li Baixi’s looks, even if they acted coldly, fans would still imagine things. Let alone if they showed no awareness of avoiding suspicion.

The manager looked at the cheerful Li Baixi.

Her gaze was caught by Ma Koukou, who was standing by to help, looking at her with confusion, and finally confirming: Nope, not mistaken, it was disdain.

Ma Koukou: “?”

What’s she got to disdain for?

At this point, Li Baixi was doing Cheng Ping’s brows, their proximity increasing.

Ma Koukou resisted the urge to argue, turned to pick up his phone, and dropped a deep-water bomb in the comment sea: [Look closely, isn’t Ping Ping’s ear red?]

The comments exploded.

Li Baixi finished the brows and picked up the eye primer: “This time, the gold eye makeup will look better the more pigmented it is, so primer is essential. We’ll use a large blending brush to apply this basic nude color over the entire eyelid, then apply dark brown to the crease and lower eyelid…”

Ma Koukou stepped

 forward to hand him the conical brush for precise application, deliberately blocking the iPad from Li Baixi’s view.

Li Baixi: “Why are you standing so close?”

Ma Koukou: “Observing and learning.”

Li Baixi: “…” I’d believe you if it were true.

Ma Koukou knew he didn’t believe him, so he came up with a more believable reason: “Ping Ping is so handsome.”

Li Baixi gave him a disdainful look and then suddenly remembered something, laughing: “So, everyone calls you Ping Ping now?”

Cheng Ping: “…Mm.” His expression was rather aggrieved.

Ma Koukou was curious: “Was there another nickname before?”

Li Baixi casually said: “Wasn’t it Cheng Shen before?”

The comments exploded again.

Li Baixi almost immediately regretted his slip of the tongue and quickly steered the topic back: “Finally, use a small flat smudge brush to apply the darkest color to the outer third of the eye and slightly along the lower lash line. After applying the earthy tones, it’s time for the highlight. We’ll layer this sparkly gold color onto the inner corner and middle of the lower lash line… How does it look? Instantly luxurious, right?”

Li Baixi glanced at the iPad, and Ma Koukou had to step aside.

Li Baixi finally saw the direction of the comments and visibly stiffened.

[It’s over, we’ve been discovered.]

[Hahaha, Li Laoshi: Stunned.jpg]

[Li Laoshi, look at me! Whenever I apply eyeshadow, it looks dirty, why?]

Li Baixi was an old hand and quickly filtered out a visible comment, answering: “It looks dirty either because you didn’t control the dark color well or because of blending issues. I’ll explain in detail another time, okay? Now we’ll do the inner eyeliner…”

[Ah, such gentle techniques, such a slightly coquettish tone. Beauty knows no gender, I approve of this marriage!]

[Ping Ping, your blush is almost reaching your neck…]

Someone suddenly realized: [The skin texture is so clear, no beauty filter?]

[My bro is naturally gorgeous, no need for filters! Where’s the person who said whoever uses filters is a dog? Come out!]

Of course, no one came out.

Instead, someone found a new angle: [Cheng Ping really has sunk to the point of clinging to a makeup artist for fame, eye-opener.]

Cheng Ping didn’t miss the brief moment of stiffness in Li Baixi when he saw the comments.

After Li Baixi finished the eyeliner, he took the opportunity to move freely and immediately glanced at the iPad, just in time to see this sour comment.

He didn’t mind the word “cling,” but the phrase “clinging to a makeup artist” poked at an old wound. Fortunately, he remembered to manage his expression, smiling at the iPad coldly.

Li Baixi: “What’s wrong?”

“…Nothing.”

Cheng Ping didn’t know if Li Baixi saw similar comments, causing him to stiffen.

He didn’t even know what Li Baixi thought of him.

That night, he checked Weibo.

As per the brand’s request, he posted about the live stream. The comments were a mix of admiration, shipper comments, and those surprised by Li Baixi’s looks after watching the replay.

Li Baixi also posted about it, but his comments were different. Aside from Cheng Ping’s fans looking for more hints, many of Li Baixi’s own fans were watching the spectacle: “Which little star dares to ship themselves with Li Laoshi after one live stream? Look at Li Laoshi’s collaboration list. Do you think you’re worthy?”

Cheng Ping knew stepping into the entertainment industry meant learning to ignore such comments, but he couldn’t help scrolling through them all, trying to gauge Li Baixi’s feelings about the shipper comments.

Was he indifferent? Angry? Did he think Cheng Ping wasn’t worthy?

He even went through all of Li Baixi’s past Weibo posts. They were all a mix of makeup pictures and glamorous backstage photos, similar to his WeChat Moments.

After scrolling through hundreds of formulaic photos, he suddenly wanted to know if Li Baixi had a private account.

But he couldn’t just ask. Cheng Ping remembered Li Baixi mentioning watching his game live streams and even tipping.

On impulse, he logged into his retired live stream account, which he hadn’t used since quitting gaming, and checked his tipping records.

He didn’t know which ID Li Baixi used, tried several common names, but found nothing, feeling increasingly ridiculous.

Forget it.

He was about to log out when he received a friend message: “?”.

It was from his former team captain.

The former captain was streaming and saw the comments about Cheng Ping logging in, realizing it might not be a hacked account.

Wasn’t Cheng Ping supposed to be acting? Why log in now? Was his account hacked?

The former captain thought he had matured since then.

After forcing Cheng Ping out, the team had brought in fresh talent, and the new season’s results were good, with their best performance in recent years at a major event.

However, in this improved team, the former captain felt increasingly out of place.

An esports player’s career is brutally short; slower reaction times and declining hand speed are inevitable, and his decline was surprisingly rapid. He figured he had one or two seasons left, but his performance would only worsen.

Rather than gradually losing fans, he needed to plan for his future now.

Without Cheng Ping’s looks or other talents, the former captain’s best bet was the most common route: transitioning to streaming after retirement. Popularity in streaming didn’t always rely on top-tier skills; personality and topics could draw viewers.

So, he needed to build his streaming audience now.

Seeing Cheng Ping online was a golden opportunity for creating buzz. Given Cheng Ping’s current fame, any interaction between them could spark news.

The former captain decided to act nonchalant: “Cheng Ping’s online? Hacked account?”

He sent a question mark in front of his live viewers, hoping it wasn’t a hack.

No reply came.

The former captain thought over his script, cautious not to seem too obvious, and finally sent: “Why are you online suddenly?”

He clicked send but received a failure message.

Cheng Ping blocked him right after seeing the question mark.