The strange ring formed by towering buildings blocked her sky.

After Ji Fanxing finished speaking, she gently embraced her guitar, pressing her fingers firmly against the strings and began to play.

The guitar rendition of “Sea of Flowers” differed completely from the duet version performed on the third episode stage of “King of All Singers.” There were no overly complex techniques; instead, she infused every lyric with emotion simply through subtle changes in tone and controlled breaths as she sang. Ji Fanxing’s casual, languid posture as she strummed the guitar, accompanied by her gentle voice and its melody, created a soothing atmosphere.

“Time stands still, every flower blooms~
Far away, love becomes clear~”

…

The interplay of her singing and the guitar’s music was deeply moving. Viewers had never experienced such a livestream before. It was no different from performances by celebrities on television, but the interactive nature made it feel especially intimate. Remembering Ji Fanxing’s earlier words, many felt as if the song was sung just for them.

Gradually, comments in the live chat slowed down. The previously aggressive remarks disappeared.

[It’s so beautiful.]
[My God, I never knew this song could be sung this way. So unique, and it’s so comfortable to listen to.]
[I feel instantly relaxed. I’ve never seen a livestream room like this before—this is great.]

In the conference room, the managers of DouShou were also captivated by Ji Fanxing’s singing. Some closed their eyes, listening intently, and a few even wore expressions of enjoyment.

On the large screen, Ji Fanxing’s livestream, which had started with just over a thousand viewers, saw the numbers rise steadily as soon as she began singing. Every viewer who stumbled upon her broadcast found themselves unwilling to leave.

“Oh my god, look at the number of people online!”

Someone’s shout jolted those who had been lost in Ji Fanxing’s voice. Everyone turned to the screen to see the number of viewers in her livestream jumping by the thousands.

10,000+
15,000+
20,000+
30,000+!!!

This was an unprecedented rate of growth in the world of Dragon Nation’s livestreaming! Not even famous extreme sports streamers, risking their lives for high-stakes performances, could achieve this.

But Ji Fanxing needed only to sing a song.

Data on the big screen kept rolling, showing that in the backend, very few people had left the livestream within three minutes.

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Of those who did leave, most had accidentally scrolled away and returned again.

Feng Teng, who was closely monitoring the backend, felt his eyes grow brighter. These numbers confirmed his hypothesis: the shallow, restless livestream environment in the country wasn’t because viewers preferred it, but because there wasn’t enough quality content.

When livestreaming first emerged, many had tried all sorts of approaches. The W-Star people had a strong sense of copyright—even singing someone else’s songs in a livestream required purchasing the rights, which was a considerable expense for streamers.

Even those who spent heavily on copyright eventually discovered that viewers had grown bored of dull, repetitive, cliché songs and entertainment. No one wanted to waste time on their phones anymore.

In the end, the most popular streams turned out to be those with sensational or bizarre content.

As a result, more and more streamers pushed boundaries, and as viewers’ thresholds increased, content became ever more extreme to retain fans. Gradually, the reputation of the livestreaming world deteriorated.

If all DouShou streamers could be like Ji Fanxing, with irreplaceable substance drawing in traffic, there’d be no need to cater to viewers’ odd demands. The ecosystem could become healthy.

For any enterprise, a project only thrives long-term if it forms a positive cycle.

Feng Teng felt he had found a breakthrough—perhaps they could collaborate more deeply with Ji Fanxing…

In the capital, high school student Zhang Shuyi still sat by the neighborhood’s flowerbed.

The late spring night carried a chill, a gust of wind swept away her body heat, making her feel even colder.

Though her warm home was just within sight, Zhang Shuyi didn’t want to move at all.

The thought of returning home filled her vacant eyes with fear.

“Is that all you scored on the entrance exam? How dare you come back?!”

“I’ve worried and cried for you since you were little—is this how you repay me?!”

“I don’t have such a stupid daughter! Get out!”

“How did you get this question wrong again?! You must’ve been born just to spite me! If I’d known, I should’ve gotten rid of you…”

Her mother’s words seemed to echo in her ears, and Zhang Shuyi’s head drooped almost to the ground.

She’d done well on those questions during practice, but lately, whenever she picked up her pen during exams, her hands would tremble uncontrollably, making it impossible to think calmly.

It was as if a mountain loomed before her, blocking her future, blocking all hope.

Perhaps… it would have been better if she’d never been born.

The college entrance exam was still about a month away, yet Zhang Shuyi felt she wouldn’t make it to that day.

She looked up at the tall buildings all around her, her gaze swallowed by their heights. As her eyes tried to follow their lines upward, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, making her lose her sense of direction.

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Zhang Shuyi realized that her sky had been encircled by the buildings—leaving only a small circle visible above her.

Deep inside, a voice quietly asked: If she climbed higher, would the sky no longer be blocked? If she died, would her mother finally be happy…?

The song ended.

Light shone down on Ji Fanxing, draping her in a halo.

Ning Ze looked at his phone, feeling his heartbeat skip.

[Ding, viewer Ning Ze sent an airship] ×1

[Ding, viewer Ning Ze sent an airship] ×2

…

[Ding, viewer Ning Ze sent an airship] ×10

Spurred by Ning Ze, others began gifting as well—soon, the phone screen was filled with special effects from gifts.

Students secretly watching Ji Fanxing’s livestream at home couldn’t help but want to send gifts too.

[Sorry, the streamer has enabled a minor filter. You are unable to send gifts.]

The student stared blankly for a moment, then took a screenshot and posted it to their social account.

“All those saying Ji God’s livestream is just for money, come out and get slapped!”

…

In the livestream room, Ji Fanxing set down her guitar, satisfied as she saw the chat had become much cleaner. At this moment, viewers had stabilized at over 36,000.

Her song had successfully silenced the oddballs and trolls.

The screen was flooded with requests: “Sing it again.”

Ji Fanxing smiled gently, pampering her fans as she spoke:

“Hello everyone, I am Ji Fanxing, a contestant from ‘King of All Singers.’ I’m delighted to meet you all here.”

[I just saw two contestants from ‘King of All Singers’—I think they were second and third place.]

[Wow, are you a celebrity? DouShou’s management is amazing—inviting a star to livestream.]

[Stars are truly impressive. That guy sang well, too, and that girl named Hailan, her voice was soft and delicate when she spoke.]

Ji Fanxing was a little surprised when she saw these comments.

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