The Top Star Fell for Me at First Sight After I Transmigrated as a Dog-Like Streamer - Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Forced to Move

Her gaze shifted past the camera, landing on Bai Xun’s tile on the screen.

“Mr. Bai, would you like to introduce yourself first?”

Caught off guard by the cue, Bai Xun straightened up instantly, feeling the familiar tension of a student being called on in class. “Hello everyone, I’m Bai Xun. I’m a short-video creator currently focusing on daily vlogs and life-hack content. Um… the proposal was put together on short notice, so it might be a bit unpolished. Please feel free to interrupt or ask questions if anything needs clarification.”

Fu Yu nodded, offering a timely response.

“We will judge the level of maturity. You only need to elaborate on the details of the plan.”

“Right, okay.”

“Then, Mr. Bai, you may begin explaining the core of the proposal. Focus on what ‘Easy Go’ is, what you expect it to achieve, and any other parts you deem important.”

Taking a deep breath, Bai Xun opened the refined version of the pitch he’d worked on that afternoon.

“While drafting this, I noticed a phenomenon: although there are various promotions throughout the year, there isn’t a truly singular, large-scale ‘consumption node’ that captures the attention of the entire internet. Individual store discounts are fragmented and inconsistent.”

“For users, the decision-making cost is high—they don’t know when the best time to buy is. For merchants, scattered activities fail to create a ‘buzz,’ and the impact is diluted.”

“So, I thought: if the platform sets a unified promotional festival and concentrates merchant discounts into the same period, it would create a ‘concentrated stimulus’ effect…”

As his professional knowledge took hold, he grew more comfortable. He spoke fluently for nearly ten minutes before realizing he might be oversharing. When he finished, he looked tentatively at Fu Yu and the others, waiting for feedback.

After three seconds of silence, Fu Yu stopped taking notes and interlaced her fingers.

“First, my judgment: I believe this plan is viable.”

The others echoed her sentiment.

Fu Yu then shared a screenshot of the specific requests Bai Xun had included at the end of his email.

“Mr. Bai, your primary requirement is terminating your contract with your current company. Is there anything else? For instance, regarding liquidated damages, you can be more specific so our legal colleagues can provide a direct solution.”

“Besides the termination, I want to maintain the normal ecosystem and ownership of my account. As for the damages, we can discuss those further if issues arise later.”

“We understand. Does Legal have any questions?”

Since Bai Xun’s requests were reasonable, Fu Yu had no reason to refuse.

“I need to review the details of the MCN contract. After that, I can give you a risk assessment.”

“Understood,” Fu Yu said. “Mr. Bai, please send a copy of the contract to the legal inbox. We will have a preliminary plan for you within the next day or two.”

Bai Xun was stunned. This… is going way too smoothly.

The meeting transitioned into a detailed brainstorming session lasting nearly an hour before Fu Yu finally wrapped things up. She looked directly at Bai Xun. “I’ll leave you with a definitive conclusion.”

Everyone went quiet.

“Mr. Bai, we intend to include you in the core ‘pilot creator’ list for ‘Easy Go.'”

“If this festival takes off this year, you will be among the first ‘IP Co-builders.'”

“Furthermore, since your current contract might hinder the project’s launch, I am having our legal department intervene to assist you. TaoMai generally doesn’t invest resources into unstable creators,” she paused, her tone softening with sincerity. “But we see great potential in you. Please focus on your content; we will do our best to provide you with a safety net.”

That final sentence felt like an anchor, finally steadying Bai Xun’s heart.

His throat felt tight. “I… I will do my best.”

Fu Yu shook her head. “It won’t be just you doing your best. It will be all of us together.”

…

After the meeting ended and the screen went dark, Bai Xun sat in silence, immersed in the fulfillment of his work. He leaned back and let out a long breath, laughing foolishly to himself.

But before he could dream of the future, he remembered his unedited street-stall video. He gave up on trying to fix his sleep schedule for now. Fortunately, the footage was solid. As the rendering progress bar crawled along at 3:30 AM, he estimated it would take another hour.

As he stretched in his chair, a sudden knock sounded at the door.

“Is the delivery here already?” he muttered. He called out “Coming!” and peeked through the peephole.

In that instant, his hair stood on end and his tail bristled like a brush.

Standing outside was a girl with long hair. A mask and hoodie hid almost her entire face, leaving only a pair of eyes fixed on the door with intense resentment. She pulled out a phone and made a call; Bai Xun’s phone lit up almost simultaneously.

A private number.

“Bai Xun, right?” Her voice held a distorted excitement. “I’m warning you: stay away from Yue-Yue. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do—building your fame by riding his coattails? I won’t allow it.”

“Don’t think just because he’s blinded by you now that you’re safe. I’m telling you, you’ll be alone eventually.”

The heart-rate monitor on his wrist let out a sharp warning beep. His pulse was skyrocketing.

With trembling fingers, Bai Xun ended the call recording. He didn’t know if the person outside had left, but he felt as though his soul had been ripped from his body. He stood up unsteadily, ignoring the ache in his legs, and frantically turned on every light in the apartment, drawing all the curtains tight. Then, his knees buckled, and he sank to the floor.

It was then he noticed a few photos shoved through the gap under the door.

They were shots of Yu Congyue leaving the set on his last day of filming, and photos of Bai Xun wearing his scarf during the latter half of the livestream. The scarf around his neck had been circled aggressively with a red oil-based marker.

Bai Xun had never been particularly brave; he usually needed a full screen of “bullet comments” just to watch a horror game stream. The flickering motion-sensor light in the hallway didn’t help. The image of that blurred, ghost-like face burned into his mind, making his breathing tight.

He wanted to message Yu Congyue, but after staring at the chat interface for a few seconds, he withdrew. It’s too late, I shouldn’t bother him.

He thought it was an isolated incident, but the person became more obsessed. First, she lurked at night; then, she began standing at his door during the day, screaming profanities. It got to the point where neighbors avoided the area entirely.

Finally, after a message from his landlord, Bai Xun took his recorded evidence to the police.

The police were efficient and caught her quickly. It was the same girl who had shoved him the day before his street-stall event. However, faced with the reality that she was a minor with a history of bipolar disorder, all he received was a half-hearted apology note and some flimsy guarantees.

Seeing the exhausted fatigue on the parents’ faces, he eventually softened, signed the settlement, and went door-to-door with fruit baskets to apologize to his neighbors.

He reported the situation to his MCN, but the manager—likely still holding a grudge—gave a vague “we’ll observe” before going silent. The harassment didn’t stop. Photos were still shoved under his door, and the insults in his DMs escalated into relentless SMS harassment.

He couldn’t rely on the company. Two weeks had passed, and the answer remained “wait a bit longer.”

Though he hated to leave the place he had painstakingly made his own, he knew he would go crazy if he didn’t move. He couldn’t focus on creating content like this.

Over the next two days, he began packing. He tucked his familiar belongings into cardboard boxes, enduring the constant pings of harassment on his phone. He looked utterly drained.

Knock, knock, knock.

Bai Xun’s breath hitched. His shoulders tensed instinctively, and his hands began to shake again. He had developed a phobia of “opening the door,” but he feared that if the person stayed outside making a scene, the neighbors would suffer.

“Xiao Bai?”

The voice from the other side was familiar.

The tension drained from his body instantly. He let out a long, shaky breath and pulled the door open. The moment he saw Yu Congyue, his nose stung with an uncontrollable urge to cry.

Yu Congyue frowned, scanning him from head to toe. The “puppy” whose eyes had lit up over good food just days ago was now disheveled and soulless, even his “fur” looking dull.

“I heard you’re moving? Why so sudden?”