The Top Star Fell for Me at First Sight After I Transmigrated as a Dog-Like Streamer - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: First Encounter

“Bai Xun! If you don’t produce a viral hit this month, you can pack your bags and get out—and don’t forget the liquidated damages!”

As the shrill roar echoed through the rented apartment, Bai Xun was staring blankly at his blackened phone screen. In the reflection, his face looked haggard, and the shadows under his eyes were alarmingly dark.

Bai Xun took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to piece together everything that had happened so far.

In his memory, he should have been in his apartment pulling an all-nighter to revise his thesis. Eventually, he couldn’t hold out any longer and fell asleep at his desk.

When he opened his eyes again, he had a pair of animal ears on his head and a tail at his coccyx. The thesis was gone, replaced by a short-video account that was nearly suffocating under performance pressures.

Clearly, he had transmigrated. He had landed in a place similar to the beastman worlds he’d seen in various “innovative” web dramas.

To confirm his theory, he opened the browser and searched for keywords: “Beastmen,” “Humans,” and “History.”

Soon, an encyclopedia entry popped up.

In this world, humanity had once undergone a wave of genetic restructuring. Some humans, either voluntarily or involuntarily, integrated animal genes, giving birth to what are known as “Beastmen.”

They inherited specific traits from those animals. For instance, canine beastmen had sharper senses of smell and hearing; feline types had higher agility; mermaid types possessed innate aesthetic advantages and many unconfirmed abilities…

The end of the page mentioned that humans and beastmen held equal status, differing only in career inclinations. The social structure had reached a high state of adaptation for interspecies coexistence.

Bai Xun subconsciously touched the ears on his head. He squinted and listened carefully, surprised to find that even the sound of water flowing through the pipes was clearer than before.

The encyclopedia didn’t lie. Then again, he did have two pairs of ears now.

He wanted to look up more information, but his company’s messages were popping up like death warrants. Every vibration was a reminder that his new life post-transmigration seemed even more lethal than a thesis deadline.

Relying on the high-pressure tolerance he’d developed during years of studying abroad and a bizarre sense of “if the sky falls, sleep first” chill, he turned on Do Not Disturb after the initial panic and began organizing his current situation.

…

The Reality Check

Assets: Less than 300 yuan across all bank accounts.

Debts: Two months of overdue rent; twelve remaining installments on a camera and laptop.

Career: Consistently ranked last in performance in the work group.

“Seriously, what kind of life were you living…?” Bai Xun looked at the pile of Chinese cabbage in the corner and the cabbage-and-tofu soup in the kitchen, sighed, and fell silent.

Well, at least there was an account. There was a way out.

However, the platform notifications showed the account was flagged for “low weight,” with two flashing red warnings that made his heart ache.

He opened the contract between the original owner and the company. One look nearly stopped his heart. The contract dictated that the streamer must achieve a minimum of 300,000 views per month or a twice-weekly update frequency. If any clause wasn’t met, the base salary would be deducted proportionally; if the salary wasn’t enough to cover it, the streamer had to pay liquidated damages out of pocket.

Bai Xun thought his thesis advisor’s evaluations were cruel, but he had met a true master of cruelty here.

No matter, he thought. Every problem has a solution. He decided to check current trends. As a beastman, surely there was some niche appeal to exploit?

The moment he hit refresh on the recommendation page, he was stunned. The screen was filled with streamers who were each more beautiful than the last.

Bai Xun touched his own face. He didn’t think he could compete for a living against them. Without a strong “memory point” or a unique niche, he wouldn’t stand a chance until his next life.

He suddenly felt lucky he had studied Marketing in his previous world. He understood content positioning and consumer psychology. Surely, he could find a way to turn this around.

Confidently, he scrolled through the original owner’s profile. After a few videos, the smile vanished. The content was either dry unboxing videos, boring daily logs, or meaningless trend-chasing. The entire page was a mess with no “unique selling point” (USP). Out of 3,000 followers, most were probably “zombie” accounts bought by the company.

Bai Xun locked his phone and took a sip of room-temperature water that had been sitting out for days. The cold water hit his empty stomach, making him shiver. His gaze fell on a “God of Wealth” poster taped next to his desk. The kind, smiling face and the words “May You Be Prosperous” beneath it made him want to choke up.

He thought things couldn’t get any worse.

The next second, he experienced the true meaning of “it never rains but it pours.”

A flash of white light outside was followed by a thunderclap. The room plunged into darkness. Simultaneously, his phone buzzed. A cold notification from the power company: Overdue balance.

Maybe… he should just “restart” his life.

In the darkness, he felt his way back to bed, closed his eyes, and seriously calculated the probability of returning to his original world if he “restarted.”

Just then, his stomach let out an ill-timed growl. Hunger surged up, made worse by the cold water.

Fate is mocking a hungry dog.

“I’ll think about restarting later,” he sighed. He pulled out his phone and grit his teeth, sending 30 yuan from his meager balance to the power company.

A few minutes later, the lights flickered back on.

…

The Turning Point

Bai Xun searched the map and found the nearest supermarket. He grabbed his keys and an eco-bag, counted his pathetic cash, and headed out to find food.

The building was old, but the location was good—a large shopping mall was just a short walk away. He went straight to the fresh produce section. He was prepared for his wallet to bleed, but then he saw a row of yellow tags.

Clearance Items.

The prices were half-off or lower. For a moment, he felt a sense of absurd familiarity, like seeing an old friend in an alien world.

He realized that most of the lifestyle settings here overlapped with his old world. Did that mean his survival skills could be seamlessly transferred?

He walked along the refrigerated cases and found several boxes of meat marked with yellow “expiring soon” stickers.

“Two days left and it’s already marked down?” he whispered, his tail wagging slightly. “This is practically free.”

At checkout, he skillfully opened the supermarket app and swiped through the coupons, grabbing every newcomer discount and “spend-and-save” voucher. He didn’t waste a single cent. He ended up with a bag full of meat and over 100 yuan left in his account.

Back home, he inventoried his haul. If he ate frugally, he could last over half a month.

Sitting on the floor, rubbing his tail with one hand, he scrolled through various social platforms. He discovered more good news: people in this world only learned about promotions through print media or obscure new media. The way businesses advertised was stuck in his old world’s style from ten years ago.

He thought of the small shops in the mall still handing out paper flyers.

He opened the short-video app and typed in keywords that were evergreen hits in his world:

Rat-person life — None.

Low-cost living for a month — None.

Market scavenging — None.

Consolidated money-saving guides — Also none.

Bai Xun felt his blood begin to boil with excitement. He stood up and looked at his “treasures” with a self-deprecating smile.

“So all the suffering I did as an international student was just prep for this?”

He stopped the sentimentality, opened a bag of clearance bread, and began typing. Within half an hour, a shooting script had taken shape.

…

The First Shoot

By the time everything was ready, it was nearly 4:00 AM. He looked at the map. The location was at least a 30-minute walk. A taxi would cost him two weeks’ worth of breakfast.

He grabbed his bag. Save where you can; don’t spend a penny more than necessary.

The streets were empty. The cold night wind chilled his nose, making him shiver, but the possibility of making money made his footsteps faster. When the sign for “West City Agricultural Market” came into view, he clenched his fists in excitement.

Suddenly, Clang! Clang! Clang!

He whipped around, only to realize the culprit was his own tail. It was wagging so excitedly it was indiscriminately hitting everything around it.

…He forgot he had a tail. Worse, he hadn’t learned how to control it yet.

Embarrassed, he pressed the tail down and adjusted his jacket. After securing his action camera to his chest and putting on a mask, he officially started filming.

The market was at its busiest. Wholesalers were sorting out bruised or “ugly” produce. Bai Xun approached a boss looking over an account book.

“Boss,” he started tentatively. “These ones you’re throwing away… can you sell them to me for cheap?”

The boss looked at him. In the dim light, he only saw a thin, young beastman in plain clothes. Seeing the boy’s awkwardness, he waved a hand. “Fine. Just take what’s on the ground and in those edge crates yourself.”

“Thank you, Boss!” Bai Xun quickly pulled out his phone. “How much? I’ll scan your code.”

“Can’t sell ’em anyway,” the boss said, stubbing out a cigarette. “No charge. They’re going in the trash regardless.”

Bai Xun didn’t miss the flash of pity in the man’s eyes. He felt a bit embarrassed but knelt down to start filming the segment.

“This eggplant is just squashed on one side; it’s not rotten. Cut that part off and it’s still two meals.” “These green peppers are great. Tip for everyone: if you can’t handle spice, try to avoid the ones that look all shriveled like this; they’re usually extra hot.”

His tail flicked happily behind him. When he had half a bag full, he stood up, his legs nearly giving out from crouching so long. He waited until the boss wasn’t looking, then stuffed his last 20-yuan bill and a handful of coins into one of the crates.

“Thanks, Boss! I’m off!” He bolted, disappearing into the crowd.

…

The Collision

Outside the market, Bai Xun found a quiet corner. He set up the camera on a stone pillar and sat in front of the lens with his bag.

“Look, everyone. If I bought these at a supermarket, it would cost about 30 yuan. They’re actually in good shape.” He paused. “I’m doing an extreme survival challenge right now, but normally, if you just get up early and come to the market, you can find great deals.”

The wind was freezing, and it took seven or eight takes to get it right. By the time he finished, it was 7:00 AM. He started walking back, planning his cooking shots.

Then, his phone rang. It was the manager from his agency.

“Hello?”

“What’s ‘hello’? Didn’t you see the notice? Get to the group chat and sign in, then come to the office to report your hours. Do you hear me?”

Bai Xun looked at his bag of vegetables, then at the company’s location on the map. He sighed and started running toward the office to save time.

He took a shortcut through an alley, turned a corner too fast, and slammed directly into someone.

“Ah!”

He stumbled back and landed hard on his butt. His first instinct was to protect his precious camera. The vegetables spilled out of the bag. The pain in his tailbone made him hiss. Once he confirmed the camera was okay, he rubbed the base of his tail.

When he finally looked up, his eyes met a pair of slightly confused ones.

The “dog” in him froze.

What a beautiful person.