The Top Star Fell for Me at First Sight After I Transmigrated as a Dog-Like Streamer - Chapter 21

Chapter 21: The Massive Crash

Bai Xun slept until two o’clock in the afternoon.

His entire body felt as if it had been run over by a truck; from his neck to his ankles, everything ached. He suddenly regretted not being more consistent with his exercise routine.

With great effort, he rolled over and picked up his phone. He lounged with one leg propped up on the duvet for a while before realizing something was off.

When did I change into pajamas? Why don’t I have any memory of what happened after getting out of the car?

Whatever, not important.

His stomach was growling; he was in desperate need of food.

Dragging his weary body through a slow wash-up consumed almost all his remaining energy. When he saw the meal on the dining table, neatly sealed with plastic wrap alongside a handwritten note, he felt more than ever that Yu Congyue was an angel.

“Xiao Bai, I have a shoot today and can’t check my phone often. If you need anything, talk to Tracy. The food on the table just needs a quick reheat. There are cherries in the fridge—wash them before eating. I’ve also unwrapped the tea brick for you; just break off a piece to brew. You exhausted yourself yesterday, so rest well today.”

He peeled back the plastic wrap. The aroma of the food, once heated in the microwave, made his mouth water. After patiently heating everything, he arranged the dishes, found a nice angle, and snapped a photo for Yu Congyue.

[AA Fortune Bai]: Ge! It’s delicious! Thank you, Ge!

Yu Congyue didn’t reply; he was likely still busy.

Bai Xun leaned back in his chair, scrolling through short videos while he ate. It turned out the internet moved even faster than he imagined. The feeds, once dominated by shock-value challenges or “thirst traps,” were rapidly being filled with new, creative themes—clearly much more interesting than before.

He was incredibly grateful that he had set a high bar with the first episode of his new series; even now, three episodes in, he hadn’t seen any successful copycats.

Soon, however, he stumbled upon an even more interesting video.

“Three Questions for Influencer Didi: Is it really for a review, or are you committing misdeeds in the name of content?”

Oh?

He quickly noted the blogger’s name, switched to a burner account, and hurried to join the drama.

“Didi claims to be a review streamer. I ask you: did you do any background research? Knowing full well this is a nature reserve, you still chose to trespass and fly drones illegally, disturbing wildlife. During your stream, you performed suggestive acts and didn’t even take your trash with you.”

The blogger was clearly prepared. The thirty-minute video was packed with “hard hammers” (solid evidence). Screen recordings and screenshots vividly showed the violations. The blogger even displayed his work ID, which clearly identified him as the head of the Yunnan Nature Reserve. He had personally gone to the site to film the trampled vegetation and the various trash left behind.

The video had been posted at 9:00 AM. By now, the likes had reached a staggering 800,000. The 17,000 comments were polarized: some were making excuses for Didi, but most were expressing blunt skepticism and rage.

[This is so irresponsible. Do they do zero research for their videos?]

[I remember entering this reserve requires a 7-day advance application stating the number of people and purpose. The official website has public records. I just checked; there are only 4 applications in the last month. None of them match.]

[This is malicious. Any single one of these points is a legal violation.]

[@Yunnan Cyber-Police, @Yunnan Nature Conservation Association, get to work!]

There was no doubt that the company was in a total frenzy right now. Just thinking about the manager’s face twisted in rage made Bai Xun want to laugh.

He unhurriedly cleaned up the dishes, humming a little tune as he grabbed his laptop. He sat happily on the outdoor terrace, enjoying the sea breeze while editing his video. The sun was perfect, the air held a hint of salt, and the temperature was just right. He sat there until sunset.

When he finally sent the video upstairs to render, he stood up and gave a long, satisfied stretch, looking out at the endless coastline. With a cup of black tea worth over a hundred thousand per brick and fruit worth hundreds per box, he finally understood the true meaning of “relaxed and happy.”

He pressed his palms together and closed his eyes, silently thanking whatever triggered this transmigration. He thanked the original owner and he thanked Yu Congyue. At the very least, he got to experience this kind of luxury in his lifetime.

“Thank you, universe—”

“Hmm? Why are you suddenly thanking the universe?” Yu Congyue walked home to find Bai Xun standing on the terrace with open arms, muttering to himself. As he got closer, he saw the video editing software.

“Ge, you’re back!” The tail behind Bai Xun wagged even faster. He leaned in toward Yu Congyue, grinning mischievously. “Thanking the universe for sending Ge to my side! Thank you, universe!”

Yu Congyue was startled by his sudden proximity. Looking at Bai Xun’s moving lips, he was instantly reminded of last night’s “kiss.”

“Ge, why is your face red? It’s not hot out, is it?” Bai Xun tilted his head, looking at him in confusion.

“Probably just the heater in the car. The temperature is going to drop tonight; you should come inside.”

Yu Congyue quickly turned and entered the house first, terrified that more of his “cracks” would be seen.

Bai Xun didn’t find it strange. He went back to scrolling. In the hours he’d spent editing, more “hard evidence” against Didi had appeared. Some streamers had even dug up problematic statements from Didi’s early livestreams.

Given the current momentum, if the company wanted to protect Didi, they would have to pay a heavy price.

“Hmm? Why are you suddenly so happy again?”

Yu Congyue brought over the packages he’d picked up from Bai Xun’s new apartment. He turned to see Bai Xun flopped on the beanbag chair, kicking his legs and wagging his tail.

“Hehe, Xing Sha’s team stole my idea, and now they’re getting their karma.” Bai Xun buried his face in the sofa, then looked up at Yu Congyue with a bit of guilt. “Ge, if I said I engineered this, would you think I’m a bad person?”

“No,” Yu Congyue denied without hesitation, rummaging through a drawer for a box cutter. “You aren’t the type to start trouble. If someone pushed you far enough to do this, they’re likely just reaping what they sowed.”

Bai Xun’s eyes curved as he continued humming his tuneless song. He scrolled through the comments, seeing the obvious “water army” (paid shills) trying to whitewash Didi. It wasn’t working.

[Is it just me who thinks Didi is innocent? The company probably chose the content, right? I think there’s more to this…]

[To the person above: forget the ‘inside story.’ Xiao Bai never turns on gifts during his streams. Your Didi made nearly six figures from that one mountain stream. Maybe pity your own 2,000-yuan salary before you pity him.]

[Exactly. I don’t believe an influencer of that size has zero choice. They’ve lost all shame just to avoid blame…]

Indeed, no one involved in this was innocent.

While digging through old chat logs, Bai Xun had discovered that Didi and the original owner were university roommates. In fact, the original owner had been tricked into signing with the company by Didi.

What was signed under the guise of “recording life and making some money” became a lever. Didi and the manager had repeatedly used the contract to coerce the original owner into doing suggestive “thirst-trap” content or fraudulent product streams. The scars on the original owner’s wrists were evidence of their shameless behavior.

When coercion failed, the company decided to sideline him completely, squeezing every last bit of value out of him through failing performance reviews. He ended up working multiple part-time jobs to pay back debts, eventually dying from exhaustion.

These were all accidental discoveries Bai Xun made while gathering materials for his contract termination.

The original owner grew up in an orphanage and had only ever met kind people. Even in university, he kept in touch with his teachers and volunteered at the orphanage during holidays. Because of this, a tiny bit of feigned kindness from Didi was enough to lead him into a trap.

The original owner was targeted because he was kind and introverted—that wasn’t his fault. Now that Bai Xun was in this body, he had gained everything the original owner once wanted. Therefore, following the principle of “reciprocity,” he wouldn’t let a single person who had sabotaged the original owner get away.

“Xiao Bai, I passed your place. Property management said you had packages. I brought them for you.” Yu Congyue placed an envelope and a small cardboard box on the coffee table. Seeing Bai Xun’s slightly sinister grin, he found it adorable and didn’t think much of it.

“Oh, packages? For me?” Bai Xun didn’t remember buying anything. “Ge, could you help me open them? My butt hurts from sitting all afternoon, I don’t want to move…”

Yu Congyue sat on the rug beside him and checked the sender.

“One looks like it’s from Xing Sha. Not sure about the other.”

He quickly opened the envelope. Inside were two copies of the signing contract. One had the “Obligations” section highlighted in red ink with a bold warning attached.

“Xiao Bai, weren’t you worried about not finding your original contract?”

Yu Congyue took a quick look and held up the clean copy of the contract for Bai Xun. He clearly hadn’t expected the people at Xing Sha to be stupid enough to hand-deliver the evidence they needed.

“They probably still think I’m the same Bai Xun they can slaughter at will.”

Bai Xun took the contract. When he’d spoken to TaoMai’s legal team, they’d offered several strategies, but the old contract on the company server had been overwritten, and the new one was full of hidden, unreasonable clauses. They were struggling to find a legal way to demand the original—and now, the “stupid people” had solved it with a “brilliant idea.”

Just as he was laughing about it, one of the “stupid people” called.

“Bai Xun, you did this on purpose.” The manager’s tone was certain.

“Did what on purpose?” Bai Xun rolled over, hugging a cushion.

“You were at the company that day. You heard us, didn’t you?”

“Which day?”

“Don’t play dumb. You intentionally proposed that damn theme to lead us into a trap like idiots, didn’t you?”

“Manager, what you’re saying is a bit nonsensical. You failed to do background research; you can’t blame the resulting mess on me.”

“Then how do you explain filming a new theme without reporting it? You knew exactly what would happen.”

Bai Xun sighed deeply.

“Do you really think I’d report my ideas after they were blatantly plagiarized? Besides, the higher-ups were expecting me to just hand over this new series, weren’t they? The company truly has no shame.”

He had no intention of being polite. After a few dismissive remarks, the manager realized he wasn’t getting anywhere and hung up.

“What? Are they still trying to give you trouble? Do you need me to handle it?” Yu Congyue asked as he opened the other box.

“It’s fine. After we discuss the details over the next two days, I can file for termination. Ge, what’s in that box?”

Bai Xun sat up and peered in.

Inside was just a picture frame and a note.

The photo was familiar—he had one in his old home too. It was a group photo from the orphanage’s New Year celebration when the original owner was eight.

There was only one sentence on the note:

[Ah Xun, how could you forget me? — Little Orange]