Xie Xiaobao blew up.
Or rather, Orange Bao blew up, and Xie Xiaobao rode the wave.
Clips from his livestream went viral on Weibo, spreading from one share to a hundred, landing on countless users’ feeds.
The hashtag *#SingingCat* shot to the top three trending topics. Many followed the original fan post to Xie Xiaobao’s Weibo, and his follower count skyrocketed, jumping by thousands every few minutes, hitting five million in just two days.
At first, Xie Xiaobao was bewildered, but most of the new followers were cat lovers, showering praise on the few Orange Bao photos he’d posted. Though the sudden surge of strangers made him uneasy, the flood of cat appreciation comments warmed his heart.
He’d always been self-conscious about his chubby figure. Though he never said it aloud, he envied his older brothers’ lean, toned physiques. Even when he tried eating less, he still gained weight—especially after eating that wild fruit as a cub, which made him even chubbier.
Now, with so many people praising him, Xie Xiaobao found his plump photos on Weibo oddly endearing.
Sure, his face was a bit round, his body a bit roly-poly, his legs a bit short—but he was adorable!
Xie Xiaobao rolled on his bed, clutching his phone, giggling as he liked every comment praising him.
His sudden spike in popularity didn’t go unnoticed by Old Wang or He Yu.
They’d previously discussed Xie Xiaobao’s direction. Old Wang had big ambitions—backed by He Yu, Xie Xiaobao had access to all of He’s Entertainment’s resources. Breaking into the entertainment industry would be a breeze, and Old Wang wanted to push him toward the big stage.
But He Yu remembered what Xie Xiaobao had told him.
Xie Xiaobao didn’t want to be a celebrity. He wasn’t being humble—he genuinely wasn’t interested.
Facing Old Wang’s insistent expression, He Yu remained unfazed. “He doesn’t want to enter the entertainment industry. Rein in your plans. Just focus on managing public sentiment.”
Old Wang’s eyes flashed with reluctance, unwilling to let it go. “The timing, resources, and opportunity are perfect. I’ve got a variety show lined up that could boost his visibility. Missing this chance would be such a waste.”
“No need,” He Yu said, sliding Old Wang’s proposal back across the desk. “Your plan’s solid, but he doesn’t need it. When he’s ready, He’s Entertainment can create another perfect opportunity.”
Old Wang, seeing He Yu’s uncompromising stance, couldn’t hold back. “Is it really Xie Xiaobao who doesn’t want to enter the industry, or is it you who doesn’t want him to?”
No beating around the bush—He Yu’s blatant favoritism toward Xie Xiaobao was obvious. Xie Xiaobao might be too naive to see it, but Old Wang, at thirty, wasn’t blind. He didn’t buy that He Yu’s efforts were purely altruistic.
Yet, He Yu was an enigma. He wasn’t stingy with resources—he’d given Song Kewen a shot at training—so why was he holding Xie Xiaobao back? Countless people clawed their way into the entertainment industry, where even the brightest influencers couldn’t match its prestige. But He Yu shut down Xie Xiaobao’s best path without a real explanation.
He Yu raised an eyebrow at Old Wang’s indignation but was pleased with his protectiveness. He didn’t mind clarifying. “It’s Xiaobao’s choice. If you don’t believe me, ask him yourself.”
His tone was certain. Looking at Old Wang’s hesitant expression, he added calmly, “I respect Xiaobao’s wishes, and I hope you will too.”
Old Wang nodded. “Got it.”
Leaving He Yu’s office, Old Wang paced downstairs, mulling it over. Deciding to confirm for himself, he took a cab straight to Xie Xiaobao’s place.
When the doorbell rang, Xie Xiaobao was surprised to see Old Wang. “Brother Wang, what brings you here?”
Old Wang plopped onto the sofa, cutting to the chase with a serious look. “Your popularity’s spiking right now. This is a golden opportunity. With some promotion and the company’s resources, you could transition smoothly into the entertainment industry—”
Xie Xiaobao froze, startled by his intensity, but quickly waved his hands at the mention of the entertainment industry. “I’m good where I am. I don’t know anything about that world and wouldn’t know what to do there.”
Old Wang saw his genuine nervousness but pressed on. “You really don’t want to consider it? Being a celebrity means big money and tons of fans.”
“But I already make good money,” Xie Xiaobao said, puzzled. “And I have plenty of fans now.”
Old Wang: *…*
Recalling He Yu’s confident demeanor, Old Wang sighed, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Alright, as long as you’re happy.”
Old Wang came and went in a hurry, leaving Xie Xiaobao confused. He puzzled over it briefly but soon moved on—he had more pressing matters.
With his Weibo followers exploding, his livestream channel gained a surge of attention. New fans, missing his earlier content, flooded his comments with requests for more streams.
Xie Xiaobao had planned to rest before bringing out Orange Bao again, but with such high demand, he decided to give fans what they wanted and schedule another stream.
His current dilemma was the stream’s theme.
With so much online attention, even small news spread like wildfire. The last stream’s viral video had taught him to be cautious. Though the internet offered anonymity, he had to be careful not to let Orange Bao seem *too* extraordinary.
The stream needed to be engaging yet not overly unique. Xie Xiaobao flopped onto a pillow, tail flicking, his furry face scrunched in thought.
After rolling on the bed a couple of times, inspiration struck. He transformed back to human form, opened his phone, and launched the livestreaming app. Usually, he just skimmed the categories, but today he remembered the trending “mukbang” streams.
Mukbang meant eating on camera, often featuring big eaters or bizarre foods to draw viewers. After watching a couple of videos, Xie Xiaobao decided this stream would be a mukbang.
The food would be special—homemade cat food, courtesy of Qu Yanning. Not human food, but safe and tailored for cats.
Qu Yanning’s culinary skills shone through. The cat food was not only tasty but adorably shaped.
“You’re streaming with this?” Qu Yanning asked, arranging the finished dishes on the table.
Xie Xiaobao gave a shy “mm,” feeling a strange embarrassment despite his countless cute acts in front of his sister-in-law.
Mumbling a response, he carried the fragrant food into the study.
He’d made slight changes to the setup. The chair in front of the computer was replaced with a small square table, covered with a warm-colored tablecloth, and a cat-shaped plushie sat on the side.
Xie Xiaobao set the plates on the table, adjusted the camera angle, and, mindful of last time’s chair fiasco, placed two stools—one high, one low—behind the table for stepping up.
The stream was set for 4 p.m., with perfect sunlight streaming in. Xie Xiaobao opened the curtains, bathing the study in a warm, bright glow. After a final check, he started the computer and prepared to go live.
He’d announced the stream in advance, and fans were already waiting. After greeting them, he excused himself to “fetch Orange Bao” and stepped out.
During Orange Bao streams, Xie Xiaobao was never present, explaining that his presence made Orange Bao shy. Fans accepted this, keeping his streams smooth and uneventful.
Transforming into a cat, Xie Xiaobao wore a red string bell around his neck. Qu Yanning wanted to watch, but a bashful Xie Xiaobao firmly refused.
Closing the door, he hopped onto the table via the stools, meowed a greeting to the audience, and began.
The chat had been buzzing about the stream’s theme. The table was laden with food that looked delicious but not quite human-grade, sparking guesses.
Xie Xiaobao padded around the table’s edge before stopping at a plate of shrimp.
Qu Yanning had gone all out for the stream, blending fresh shrimp with mashed potatoes and shaping them into shrimp forms—tasty and visually appealing.
Xie Xiaobao patted the plate, licked his lips, meowed, and gobbled one down.
The freshly made food was delightful. Pleased, he grabbed another and ate it.
The audience watching through their screens was floored.
[*My lord, I’ve loved you for years, and this is how you treat me? No pets, no food!*]
[*Man’s not as good as a cat series. Someone tell me this isn’t cat food…*]
[*Wake up, it’s cat food, but damn, it looks so good. *Slurp*.*]
The chat raved about how tasty the cat food looked, dying to try it.
Xie Xiaobao, tail swishing proudly, finished the shrimp plate slowly and sauntered to the fish balls.
Round and plump, the fish balls were stacked, surrounded by carrot puree shaped like a flower—a feast for the eyes.
Xie Xiaobao tilted his head to grab the top one, but the springy, round ball slipped from his bite, bouncing away. Quick as a flash, he pinned it with a paw and chomped half of it.
On camera, the orange cat’s cheeks puffed out, purring contentedly after each bite, licking his lips.
Xie Xiaobao was in bliss—this was his most indulgent stream yet.
But the fans were losing it, joking about nibbling their fingers.
[*Suddenly starving.jpg. Grabbing instant noodles, brb.*]
[*Me too!*]
[*You won’t believe this, but I’ve downed two cups of plain water watching this…*]
[*Add me to the water gang, thanks.*]
Xie Xiaobao leisurely finished the food. Qu Yanning had made a variety but kept portions small, leaving him just slightly full. He licked his paws clean, gave a dainty burp, and paced the table a few times.
Squinting happily, he flashed a head-tilt at the camera before hopping off.
Back in human form, Xie Xiaobao rubbed his full belly and returned to wrap up.
Fans erupted when he appeared, playfully scolding him for “torturing” them with the delicious display, then demanding he reveal the chef.
Xie Xiaobao teased them with a grin, chatted briefly, and logged off.
***
The stream was another hit, but the focus shifted. Fans, tantalized by the food, flooded the hashtag *#ManNotAsGoodAsCatSeries*.
Of course, with a big crowd came disputes. Some passersby accused Xie Xiaobao of feeding Orange Bao for clout, claiming the food might harm the cat.
Fans and critics clashed fiercely, pushing the topic higher on Weibo’s trends. A Gourmet V stepped in, analyzing the dishes and concluding they were indeed homemade cat food, free of artificial seasonings.
Fans debunked the naysayers, but the controversy didn’t die down. Instead, it flared up, fueled by the initial spark.
Xie Xiaobao’s Weibo was suddenly swarmed with strangers—not just criticizing his “cat showboating” but hurling vile insults, from “fatty daring to seek attention” to “pet takes after owner, both so fat they’ve got no shame showing their faces.” Malicious comments and marketing accounts fanning the flames spread like wildfire.
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