At 3:00 PM, Lin Bei turned on his computer as usual and clicked into the music section of Cat Station.
As an editing blogger, his job was simple.
All he had to do was lurk in various streamers’ live rooms, record whenever he heard a good song, cut it into a short video, and post it to his account.
Today, he planned to camp out at the stream of that top streamer called “Zui Yang,” who was said to be singing a new song tonight.
But as his mouse slid over his follow list, he suddenly caught sight of a name that was both familiar and unfamiliar—Shengxia.
“Oh, this girl hasn’t streamed in a long time.”
Lin Bei muttered to himself, clicking in on impulse.
Before the screen even loaded, he heard his younger sister Lin Xiaohe sidle up.
“Bro, are you watching Shengxia? The one you said sang well last time?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s streaming today? Hmm… I want to hear just how good her singing really is.”
Lin Bei didn’t reply, just frowned slightly.
He had indeed edited a video of Shengxia before.
The girl had some talent—a clean voice, decent technique—but her microphone was terrible, and she didn’t stream diligently.
The problem was, when he clicked into her live room, there was actually another person on screen.
Two virtual avatars sat side by side.
On the left was that green-haired elf Shengxia, and on the right was a white-haired catgirl with the ID “Dongxue.”
“What’s this?”
Lin Bei clicked his tongue.
He’d been doing music editing for years, and what he hated most was seeing someone who hadn’t even established themselves yet, already rushing to co-stream with someone else.
Didn’t even have enough popularity to spare, and already splitting the traffic?
Wasn’t that just foolish?
“Bro, who’s the white-haired one?”
Lin Xiaohe asked curiously.
“No idea. Newcomer, I guess.”
Lin Bei’s tone carried a hint of disdain.
The barrage on screen was still scrolling.
He swept his eyes over it and quickly noticed an ID—”Duli Juexingzhe”—arguing with the people in the room.
「Come on, that voice is obviously a voice changer. It’s just fooling you otakus.」
「Exactly, what real person has a voice like that? It’s clearly tuned.」
Lin Bei snorted.
To be honest, he kind of agreed deep down.
That Dongxue’s voice was indeed a little too good—lazy and gentle, like it had been carefully calibrated.
In their line of work, they’d seen plenty of voice changers.
At least eight out of ten newcomers used them.
“Bro, do you think it’s a voice changer?”
Lin Xiaohe asked.
“Hard to say.”
Lin Bei didn’t commit.
“Let’s just listen.”
Then he saw Dongxue agree to prove herself by singing.
“Heh.”
Lin Bei let out a light laugh.
“Here we go again.”
He’d seen too many streamers like this—accused of using a voice changer, then gritting their teeth and singing one song, either crashing and burning or singing something utterly mediocre, only to cement the label of “all technology.”
“If she can actually sing well, I’ll be impressed.”
Lin Bei leaned back in his chair, speaking casually.
The barrage started egging her on, telling Dongxue to sing a song.
[Simple, just sing a song. A voice changer is easiest to expose when singing. You dare to sing?]
[If you’re not using a voice changer, I’ll eat my hat.]
[Sing, then. Why aren’t you singing? Still looking for a backing track?]
Lin Bei watched these comments and said nothing.
Then Dongxue spoke up.
“Then I’ll sing… um, I’ll sing ‘Sunny Day.'”
“Sunny Day”?
Lin Bei quickly ran through it in his mind—he’d heard every song called “Sunny Day” on Cat Station, and none of them were any good.
It was probably an original.
“What song is that? I’ve never heard it.”
Lin Xiaohe tilted her head.
“Original, probably.”
Lin Bei’s tone grew even flatter.
“Newbies love making originals. They think singing someone else’s song isn’t prestigious enough. But in reality, nine out of ten originals are painful to listen to.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than Dongxue started singing.
A cappella.
No accompaniment. No embellishment at all.
“Little yellow flowers of the story, drifting since the year I was born…”
Lin Bei’s mouse froze over the button to exit the live room.
That voice was like a breeze blowing from far away, carrying a hint of hoarseness and an indescribable tenderness, blurring its way into his ears.
Not a voice changer.
Lin Bei was certain of it in that second.
A voice changer couldn’t achieve this flow of breath, let alone this warmth in the voice.
“Wow—”
Lin Xiaohe let out an involuntary gasp.
Lin Bei frowned and glanced sideways at her.
His sister immediately covered her mouth, but the surprise in her eyes couldn’t be hidden—it was like she was saying,
“Bro, did you hear that?”
Lin Bei ignored her and turned back to keep listening.
As an experienced editing blogger, his ears had already started working automatically.
Her breath control wasn’t too stable, her singing skill was average, her high notes were a bit tight, and her tail notes weren’t particularly polished—if you only judged technique, this newcomer Dongxue was probably only slightly above average.
But the thing was…
The melody was way too good.
Lin Bei’s fingers began unconsciously tapping along with the rhythm on the desk.
He had listened to countless songs, and it had been a long time since he’d felt this “captured” sensation.
The songs those streamers sang were either covers of popular tracks—no matter how good the technique, you could hear the imitation—or originals with stiff melodies and hollow lyrics that were forgotten as soon as they ended.
But this “Sunny Day” was different.
The lyrics felt like they were torn from a diary, every line landing perfectly—
“That day I skipped class for you, the day the flowers fell, that classroom, why can’t I see it…”
Lin Bei’s thoughts suddenly drifted.
He didn’t realize when he had closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he found himself sitting in the last row of a high school classroom.
At dusk, golden sunlight slanted in through the window, landing on the dusty floor.
The blackboard still had the math teacher’s notes, a girl in the front row was sneakily looking at her phone, and boys in the back were passing notes.
That was his youth.
No grand love story, no earth-shattering events—just afternoons dozing on desks, evenings heading to the convenience store with buddies, and those ordinary days that he thought would never end.
He was in a daze.
“In the end of the story… I still said goodbye.”
Even after the singing stopped, he didn’t snap out of it for a long time.
The live room was silent for two seconds, then the barrage exploded.
[?????]
[I’m crying, actually crying.]
[What’s the name of this song? I’m going to loop it a hundred times!]
[Sister Dongxue, you are my goddess!]
[I feel like I’m back in high school…]
[Where’s that troll? Come out and eat your hat!]
That guy called Duli Juexingzhe had already slunk out of the room.
But Lin Bei couldn’t care less about that troll.
He was still sitting in his chair, eyes fixed on the screen, his expression blank, still not out of the song yet.
“Bro?”
Lin Xiaohe called quietly.
No response.
“Bro!”
She waved her hand in front of his face.
Lin Bei snapped back to reality, panting heavily like he’d been pulled out of water.
“You okay?”
Lin Xiaohe asked, a little worried.
“Did… did it record?”
Lin Bei’s voice was a little shaky.
He quickly switched to his screen recording software, fingers flying across the keyboard—video files, today’s date, click in.
He dragged the progress bar forward.
“Little yellow flowers of the story—”
The sound came out.
It recorded.
It. Recorded!
Lin Bei shot up from his chair like a spring.
“Hahahahaha!”
He suddenly burst into loud laughter, grabbing Lin Xiaohe beside him and spinning her around twice.
“Bro! What are you doing! Put me down!”
Lin Xiaohe was dizzy from the spinning and frantically patted his shoulder.
“This song! It’s definitely going to be a huge wave of traffic!”
Lin Bei’s eyes were shining.
“If I ride this wave, I’m definitely going to gain tons and tons of followers!”
“No, I need to get editing right away, before someone else beats me to it…”
He put his sister down and sat back at the computer.
His fingers flew as he dragged the timeline, cutting out the chorus, adding subtitles, adding filters, removing noise to make the song clearer…
No, he shouldn’t adjust the sound.
This song needed that vague, half-audible, half-indistinct feeling!
“Bro…”
Lin Xiaohe rubbed her head, watching her usually calm brother now bouncing around like a little kid, and couldn’t help but sigh.
Lin Bei muttered to himself while editing.
“The title will be… ‘A song that took me back to high school, I cried for ten minutes after listening’… No, that’s too clickbaity. I need something more serious… ‘Newbie streamer Dongxue’s original ‘Sunny Day’ sung a cappella, stunning the whole room’… Isn’t that too plain?”
He paused and added another sentence.
“Anyway, I’ll add a subtitle—’That troll, you can go eat your hat now.'”
Lin Xiaohe:
“By the way, weren’t you going to listen to Zui Yang’s new song?”
“My foolish little sister, I see you understand nothing!”
Lin Bei laughed in a chuunibyou voice.
“Zui Yang’s room already has who knows how many editing bloggers camping out. But this room? There are less than a thousand viewers right now!”
“This song is definitely no worse than Zui Yang’s. As long as I ride this wave… hehehe—”
“I’m going to hit five hundred thousand followers!”