Chapter Twenty-Six: Farewell-Superstar King(Nian Nu Jiao)

With half a million viewers, one might barely be considered a celebrity on the Platform, but on Kuku, such numbers were reserved for the true legends; only a handful of streamers could claim such popularity. By the time Su Tong finished the second round of the inspiring youth anthem “I Believe,” his audience had swelled to 580,000. In less than three hours of promotion, the stream had gained 400,000 new viewers—a feat unprecedented in Kuku’s history.

“Thank you, thank you all!” Su Tong was deeply moved. This final broadcast on Kuku had drawn to a perfect close.

“Encore!”

Even after hearing it twice, the audience still felt unsatisfied and called for yet another performance.

Su Tong touched his throat and glanced at the time—almost eleven at night. With an apologetic wave, he said, “Sorry, my voice can’t take it anymore.”

His voice was already hoarse, and his throat ached dully. The song demanded not just powerful high notes, but also repeated, wrenching shouts in the middle, making it a heavy burden. His voice was not naturally robust, so simply completing the song twice was already a remarkable achievement—a performance beyond his usual limits. A third time was simply impossible.

“Damn it, I came late and only caught the last few lines.”

“There’s no recording either? What a loss! Curse Kuku for advertising only after the stream had already started. I was stuck in some trash streamer’s room and missed it.”

“I’m begging—if anyone has a video or audio recording, please send me a copy.”

“I can’t believe I forgot to record it myself. Unforgivable. I feel like punishing myself.”

Many were disappointed, but they didn’t complain further. After all, those who paid hadn’t made a fuss, so those who listened for free had even less right to grumble. Sometimes, one must know their place.

At that moment, Su Tong set his guitar on the bed, sat back down, and cradled Xiaoxiao, whose eyelids were drooping with sleep. Xiaoyu snuggled up beside him, also looking exhausted.

These were the last few minutes on Kuku. Holding Xiaoxiao and embracing Xiaoyu, Su Tong felt a deep reluctance to let go. The true die-hard fans numbered only a few thousand; some might have realized Su Tong was about to leave, but the tens of thousands of viewers were still in the dark, all asking when the next broadcast would be, promising to return.

Su Tong simply laughed, pretending not to see the questions, and said, “Though tonight was meant to be a farewell broadcast for Xiaoxiao, in truth, the main character this evening is me. Well, it’s a bit embarrassing, I admit—the title was just a gimmick. I apologize for that.”

Even fans who knew nothing sensed something different in his tone. Su Tong was rarely this polite; tonight, he’d said “I’m sorry” many times, a phrase he’d hardly ever used in past broadcasts—perhaps not even once in ten sessions.

“Brother, you’re talking a lot tonight.”

“Brother, you don’t really want Xiaoxiao to leave, do you?”

The chat scrolled with questions.

Su Tong did not reply. As for not wanting Xiaoxiao to stop streaming—on the contrary, he was relieved. It was precisely because Xiaoxiao had always insisted on participating in the broadcasts that he felt guilty and ashamed.

And then there was Xiaoyu. Even if she loved to sing, she shouldn’t have to stream for hours every day. She still had school, had to take care of her little sister, and do chores.

“Here, I owe not only all of you an apology,” Su Tong said, smiling though his eyes sparkled with unshed tears as he hugged the two sisters tightly, “but also my Xiaoyu and Xiaoxiao. Thank you for your hard work.”

Normally, such words would have seemed unremarkable, but the soft backing track of “I Believe” played on, adding weight to the moment.

Xiaoyu was deeply moved. In the past, her brother had always made her anxious, so much so that she lived each day in fear of making a mistake and being scolded. But now, he had completely changed—he had finally become the big brother they needed, doting on these two orphaned sisters as if they were his own children.

Xiaoyu didn’t cry, but she lowered her head, nervously twisting her clothes, occasionally sniffing and wiping her eyes.

“I wasn’t a good brother before, and in the past three years, because of our family’s situation, I was especially harsh on Xiaoyu and Xiaoxiao,” Su Tong said, his tone almost self-mocking, though a smile lingered on his face. “There were even viewers who scolded me in our Room, calling me a fraud with no conscience, saying I paraded Xiaoyu and Xiaoxiao around to win pity and beg for gifts.”

At this, Su Tong suddenly laughed loudly. It sounded hearty, but everyone could hear the sorrow beneath it.

“Brother…” Xiaoyu buried her head in Su Tong’s embrace, her voice quivering with tears.

“Damn those scumbags. I’ll fight them all, fight the world, fight their mothers if I have to,” the battle-hardened fans of the Room began to flood the chat with declarations.

“Whoever said that, I’ll wipe out his whole family!” others chimed in, their emotions rising and falling with Su Tong and Xiaoyu.

Winter in the Yellow Mountains, curling smoke, the Fire Pioneer—these moderators and old fans felt their noses sting.

Too many people, too many opinions. The Room had barely five thousand loyal fans after a year, mainly because everyone wanted to protect Xiaoyu and Xiaoxiao. If the fanbase grew too much, it would attract all sorts, including those who would spew malice. The admins might tolerate it, but they could not bear to see Xiaoyu and Xiaoxiao hurt.

The Room’s fans, though only numbering four or five thousand, contributed nearly five thousand Daqin coins in gifts every month, with almost three thousand reaching the streamers themselves—a level of support unmatched in any other stream.

“We really did need the money, so we always fulfilled the minimum required hours each month. For a few hundred yuan, even if we were just idling, even if Xiaoyu and Xiaoxiao were doing their homework, the stream would go on,” Su Tong admitted candidly, though without self-pity. “Sorry, everyone. Sorry to my Xiaoyu and Xiaoxiao. I am to blame.”

Xiaoyu buried her face in Su Tong’s chest, and Xiaoxiao, also in his arms, sensed something was wrong. Her little mouth pouted high, her big eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill, ready to burst into sobs at any moment. Yet she held back, using her tiny hand to wipe her sister’s tears instead.

Many watching on the other side of the screen felt their throats tighten, their tears dangerously close to falling.

Childlike hearts were left desolate, realizing how cruel they had once been.

Su Tong, seemingly oblivious to the somber mood, continued, “You all may have noticed by now—my new songs are either children’s tunes, campus ballads, or folk songs. In the future, I hope to broaden my horizons and experience, and create more diverse music. I love to travel, to set out on the road; the different landscapes and people I meet inspire different emotions and ideas. I say all this to let you know in advance: after tonight, the Room will be taking a break, pausing our streams for a while.”

“Thank you to all our fans, to the Kuku platform, and to everyone who supported us. The Room will only grow stronger. I love you all. Good night.”

With that, Su Tong ended the stream. As the broadcast cut off, it seemed that the sound of Xiaoxiao’s crying echoed one last time.