The Top Star Fell for Me at First Sight After I Transmigrated as a Dog-Like Streamer - Chapter 51

Chapter 51: Is It Love?

“Welcome to the newcomers in the livestream! Tonight, our guest is Director Shi from the orphanage. She has brought us sachets and hand-woven pendants made by the children themselves. All proceeds from tonight’s sales will go toward improving the children’s daily lives. As a charity ambassador, Xiao Bai will personally cover the shipping costs for all items sold tonight. Thank you again for your support and trust…”

Bai Xun was invited to the TaoMai livestream studio. Being in a wheelchair didn’t hinder his performance at all; he picked up the host’s cues perfectly and added thoughtful details. While introducing the products, he ensured Director Shi didn’t feel awkward, keeping the atmosphere incredibly harmonious.

After sufficient hype, the first batch of pendants sold out in less than two seconds. Both those who secured an item and those who didn’t flooded the chat with comments. Director Shi, still processing what had happened, was moved to tears by the enthusiasm of the audience. She pressed her hands together, repeatedly thanking the viewers on the screen.

“Thank you so much for your love for the children’s pendants. Since each one is handmade by the kids, we cannot mass-produce them. I hope you all understand. If there is another opportunity, we will notify you immediately. Thank you again for your passion and support.”

The four-hour livestream ended. While it didn’t reach the peak sales of the Wooge livestream, it exceeded expectations by 20%.

TaoMai was also very generous, directly transferring the sales from the pendants—plus an additional 5% of the total session sales—into the orphanage’s account. Seeing this, Director Shi gripped Bai Xun’s hand tightly, looking as if she wanted to say something but was hesitating.

Noticing her intent, Bai Xun had Matt push him to a nearby café that was still open. They found a quiet corner to sit, and Matt discreetly waited at the front counter.

The drinks had just been served. As he picked up his cup to moisten his throat, a single sentence from Director Shi nearly made him lose his grip.

“Child, you aren’t Xiao Bai, are you?”

Bai Xun’s heart skipped a beat.

“How is that possible? Director, you’re really…”

He didn’t even realize his voice was trembling. He forced himself to stay calm and put down the cup, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet Director Shi’s eyes.

“Don’t be afraid. You are a good child, too. But I watched Xiao Bai grow up. You and him… are different.” Director Shi wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand and took a deep breath to steady her tone. When she looked at him again, her eyes were bloodshot. “Xiao Bai was kind, just like you, but his personality made him too easy to bully. He never told us when he was wronged. Child, rest assured, I will keep this secret until the day I leave this world. I only want to ask you one thing.”

Bai Xun looked up blankly at the person before him.

“When he left… Was it painful?”

Hearing this question, he instinctively frowned.

When he first transmigrated, the medicine bottle by his side was more than half empty. The nausea and the suffocating pressure in his chest were proof enough of the agony the original owner had endured before the end. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell such a cruel truth to this elderly woman. After a long silence, he shook his head.

“That’s good, then. That’s good.” As if a weight had been lifted from her heart, Director Shi studied Bai Xun carefully and nodded gently. “Xiao Bai once told me he wanted to change, to work hard to become a confident and generous person. Thank you for helping him fulfill that wish.”

He wanted to say it was the least he could do, but the lump in his throat made it impossible to speak. After a long while, he whispered, “When you mentioned ‘that incident’ last time, were you referring to Cheng Yi’er killing Little White?”

Director Shi’s grip on her cup tightened. She nodded and looked out the window. “Yi’er’s heart was buried too deep. He did many things flawlessly back then; we couldn’t possibly suspect a frail ten-year-old child. He caused Xiao Bai and many other children a lot of unnecessary stress and pain.”

“Xiao Bai had the deepest bond with him, so that incident was a massive blow. He refused to communicate with anyone for years before his condition finally improved slightly.”

“But Xiao Bai is gone. I don’t want you to bear their grievances. Your future is wide open, and you will surely have a brighter life. Child, for your own sake, stay as far away from him as possible.”

…

On the drive home, Bai Xun watched Director Shi’s figure fade into the distance through the window, his heart heavy with mixed emotions.

He had anticipated that he might be suspected by those close to the original owner, so he had tried his best to mimic small details based on the clues left behind.

But a fire cannot be wrapped in paper forever. Though his appearance hadn’t changed, the soul inside was different. If the Director could see it, the scheming Cheng Yi’er likely could, too.

But it didn’t matter. Who would believe a story as bizarre as transmigration? He’d be lucky not to be labeled a lunatic.

Then again, given Cheng Yi’er’s mental state, they were both pretty close to being lunatics anyway.

Thinking of this, Bai Xun rolled his eyes and took a long sip of his takeaway fruit tea.

Regardless, he was Bai Xun now. He had food, drink, a job, and a backer. He would make money when he needed to and take revenge when he had to. At the very least, he would do as much as possible during this period before Yu Congyue got married and he had to keep his distance.

His thoughts drifted back to the question that made his heart ache.

He pressed his forehead against the cold window, his breath creating a small patch of mist on the glass. He finally couldn’t help but ask, “Matt, how long have you been working with Brother?”

They happened to hit a red light. When he and Matt locked eyes in the rearview mirror, he saw the clear excitement in Matt’s eyes.

“About six years? Why do you ask, Xiao Bai?”

“In these six years, has Brother Yu ever had any…” Bai Xun regretted it the moment the words left his mouth, but he pushed through with a subtle phrasing, “…any intimate relationships?”

“Yes,” Matt answered without a second thought.

Bai Xun’s heart sank to rock bottom. He regretted asking. He let out a strained “Oh,” only to hear Matt’s follow-up.

“You.”

What?

Matt propped his head on one hand, thinking hard for a few seconds before giving a more precise answer: “Only you.”

What?

As if afraid Bai Xun would misunderstand, Matt added as he started the car: “In all my time working for him, I’ve never seen anyone else stay at President Yu’s house.”

What?

Bai Xun’s head buzzed in a chaotic mess. He barely heard the rest of what Matt said, responding with a few dazed “Mms.” He felt the same sense of lost bewilderment one might feel after winning the lottery jackpot.

Rather than joy, it was more a sense of unease and dread.

After sensing the signs last time, he had comforted himself by saying he wouldn’t lose out either way. But now that the matter was almost out in the open, separated only by a thin layer of paper, he found himself afraid to take that step.

What was he afraid of?

When Bai Xun arrived home, it was nearly 1 AM. Yu Congyue wasn’t back yet.

After a quick wash, he lay in bed, curling up and hugging his tail. The familiar sound of waves played in his ears.

What am I really afraid of?

Was it that Yu Congyue’s feelings weren’t obvious enough? No, he was one step away from saying “I like you” outright.

Was it uncertainty about their future? Not that either. Even if he quit this industry, Yu Congyue had the power to support him in any new field.

Tossing and turning, he still couldn’t reach a conclusion.

The door opened softly. Bai Xun quickly closed his eyes and adjusted his breathing to feign sleep.

He felt Yu Congyue’s face move closer. The warm breath made his heart itch.

Shortly after the sounds from the bathroom ceased, Yu Congyue got into bed and lightly circled his arms around Bai Xun’s body. He heard a very soft voice, thick with exhaustion.

“Goodnight, Xiao Bai.”

…

He barely slept. Early the next morning, Yu Congyue tucked him in and quietly left.

Bai Xun sat up, clutching his pillow and looking out the window. He closed his eyes to listen to the movement downstairs. He could faintly hear Yu Congyue giving instructions to Matt—something about making sure to take Bai Xun outside today to get some sun.

Only then did Bai Xun realize the details he had been ignoring.

Perhaps because Yu Congyue’s kindness was so natural, Bai Xun had grown accustomed to accepting it. In a mere six months, he had felt more love than in the previous twenty-odd years of his life combined.

And he finally realized what he was afraid of.

Yu Congyue was good to him—whether it was the shifting of resources or support in every sense. It could be said that without Yu Congyue, his short-video career wouldn’t have been so smooth. It had been so smooth that he had developed a near-blind confidence, feeling he could be “good brothers” with Yu Congyue because his own value was independent and their “friendship” was equal.

But what if there was no Yu Congyue?

Then he might have followed the original owner’s destined path. The initial gambling agreement might have made him a bit of money, but given the speed at which his “Market Series” was being plagiarized and remade by others, he wouldn’t have kept up with the internet’s pace of iteration.

Look at the downfall of “DiDi Didi”—a single mistake could make a millionaire influencer vanish. Beyond the criticism from netizens, there was the kicking-from-peers and the overwhelming tide of smear campaigns. Public favor vanished overnight.

When his former company tried to drag him down the same way, it suffered an unexpected backlash. Was it because justice resides in people’s hearts? No, it was mostly due to the backend manipulation of public opinion.

He couldn’t help but wonder what his feelings for Yu Congyue truly were.

Was it love? Perhaps.

He liked the atmosphere of nesting on the sofa downstairs with Yu Congyue to watch movies; he liked the sensation of Yu Congyue gently stroking his head when he was anxious; he liked the expression of genuine pride on Yu Congyue’s face when he succeeded; and he liked the absolute sense of trust that Yu Congyue would stand by his side no matter what.

But can this be called “romance”?

Bai Xun couldn’t guarantee the motive behind the birth of these feelings.

Was it because, as a transmigrator in a strange world, Yu Congyue was the first person willing to give him constant care, leading him to treat the man as a lifeline and mistake dependency for love?

If he accepted Yu Congyue’s feelings openly, what would he face?

Bai Xun wasn’t afraid of being judged by the public. He was more afraid that he and Yu Congyue would follow his parents’ path—from a passionate, life-and-death love that led to eloping abroad, to the day they regretted it, grew bored, and eventually tore each other apart in a total fallout. At that point, he would lose his deepest bond in this world.

After that, he would have nothing.

These thoughts rushed into his mind like a tide. The surging sense of suffocation felt as though it were tearing a hole in his heart.

Maintain the current relationship. Keep playing dumb. Until I have the ability to handle this feeling properly.

This was the best solution Bai Xun could come up with for now.