Chapter 73: The Mysterious Invitation from the Internet Celebrity

Wu Miaoran was gently filing her exquisitely manicured nails, paying little heed to this so-called taboo.

“Oh my, are you saying those streamers who died suddenly were struck by divine retribution?”

“Divine retribution? I’ve never heard of any religion or deity being that harsh with humanity. Even if those people were guilty of false advertising, it’s hardly a capital offense, let alone deserving such a cruel fate,” Duan Xiaoyu remarked with a sigh.

“If this so-called store-exploring taboo is truly man-made, then it must be connected to the nuclear insects. Whoever laid down these rules likely harbors a deep resentment toward store explorers—it wouldn’t be a whim,” Lü Mou said thoughtfully.

“Fortunately, our streaming has always been honest. I’ve never accepted fake endorsement ads. On the contrary, I’ve roasted plenty of garbage restaurants. Just for that, boss, don’t you think you owe me something?” Wu Miaoran said, brimming with pride.

“You do deserve commendation. I’ll file a request, giving you a twelve-hour contract reduction bonus!” Lü Mou replied, puffing on his pipe.

“Come on, that’s stingy!” Wu Miaoran retorted, annoyed.

Lü Mou ignored her, hastily steering the conversation elsewhere.

“But in any case, we weren’t the first to discover this rule. A week ago, netizens had already speculated about it. Xiaoyu listed it among the many possibilities. Later, a few reckless streamers tested the taboo, and it gained some recognition in a small circle. Now, most store explorers are wary about taking random gigs. Many viewers are even celebrating this taboo, believing it purifies the online environment and saves them from bad recommendations.”

Duan Xiaoyu tapped his keyboard, and a chart appeared on one of his monitors. He gazed at it and said, “Looking at the death toll trend, aside from this taboo, I suspect there are at least three other taboos. Though the number of deaths has decreased, it’s not because streamers suddenly became virtuous—it’s because more of them are switching professions. Even after the platform rolled out generous bonuses and incentives, the results were negligible.”

“That’s true. Still, some stubborn ones keep exploring stores. This taboo hasn’t been officially confirmed or announced yet; once it is, many streamers may return. After all, this business is lucrative and relatively easy—changing careers isn’t simple. It’s easy to go from frugal to extravagant, but hard to go the other way. Most store explorers are young; to fall from grace so abruptly is tough to adjust to,” Lü Mou commented.

“All right, anyway, we’ve posted two store-exploring videos without incident. I doubt we’ll be so unlucky. What I’m most concerned about now is when Director Lin and Old Third will return. Spending every day with this dead fish is boring me to tears,” Wu Miaoran said, resting her chin on her hand.

“I’m even more eager. In the past few days working with you, I’ve managed to survive only by reading over a dozen self-help workplace guides,” Duan Xiaoyu shot her a sidelong glance.

“Bah! I’m perfectly cultured and reasonable—if you weren’t always nitpicking and petty, we’d get along just fine,” Wu Miaoran glared at him.

“Men’s magnanimity is built on enduring grievances,” Duan Xiaoyu shook his head.

“They’re temporarily out of contact, probably on a mission. Their skills shouldn’t be a concern; if there’s any progress, they’ll let me know immediately,” Lü Mou replied, his tone calm.

Wu Miaoran responded with a casual sound, but internally she suspected the boss was more anxious than he let on—the smoky, burnt scent clinging to him betrayed his nerves.

As they spoke, Duan Xiaoyu suddenly received a message. He glanced at it and said, “The new intern just sent me a text. Apparently, a celebrity left a comment under our recent store-exploring video, wanting to contact Miaoran for some material—seems urgent.”

“Oh? How did I miss that?” Wu Miaoran immediately grabbed her phone and opened the creator dashboard.

What she saw surprised her. She hadn’t expected a major influencer to leave a comment under her latest video.

The video itself was nothing special, mostly relying on her and Su Mido’s looks to carry it—it hadn’t even made the trending list.

Yet a top influencer had reached out, which was odd.

Opening the comment, she found it flooded with calls to “catch” and memes related to the influencer.

This influencer was named Uhebaru, known as “Tatar Bro” for frequently mentioning the Tatars. He had around fifty million fans across the internet, with over fifteen million on the All-People Superstream platform.

Although Wu Miaoran was approaching ten million herself, she was still relatively inexperienced compared to this early celebrity.

Examining the comment, she found it simple but urgent: “Bug Beauty, please DM me when you see this. I want to provide some material—urgent!”

Duan Xiaoyu saw the comment too and was surprised: “He rarely interacts with other streamers. Once, he even mocked store explorers on air, vowing never to collaborate with any of them. Why would he suddenly comment here?”

Lü Mou also checked All-People Superstream on his phone, and after seeing the comment, said in a low voice, “He deliberately chose a video with fewer views, likely to avoid attracting too much attention.”

“There’s probably another reason—at the end of this episode, I mentioned wanting to collect adventure-themed material. That’s probably why he commented right away,” Wu Miaoran mused, scrolling through her phone, her brows furrowing in confusion. “This is strange—he’s been inactive for two months, with no statements or updates. Why reappear now?”

“He went offline because of a legal dispute with another streamer, as he mentioned during a broadcast. Both ran unique grassland restaurants, mainly serving out-of-town visitors in yurts, and often posted collaborative videos, creating a meme about ‘trading celery for meat.’ Later, they fell out over a dispute about stuffed meat, went their separate ways, and Tatar Bro stopped streaming to focus on his restaurant,” Duan Xiaoyu explained.

“That can’t be right—even if they had a falling out, why turn down easy money? His live streams routinely broke a hundred million in sales. Running a restaurant alone can’t bring in that kind of income,” Wu Miaoran argued.

“Hmm, maybe he’s facing other troubles and that’s why he’s seeking you out,” Lü Mou speculated.

“Alright, I’ll DM him,” Wu Miaoran said.

Because her inbox was overwhelmed, she couldn’t find Tatar Bro in the list, so she had to message him from his homepage.

Upon opening the DM interface, she saw his message: “Bug Beauty, please leave me a contact when you see this. I’m facing some very bizarre issues and hope you can help. We can discuss the details by phone or in person.”

Lü Mou and Duan Xiaoyu leaned in. Lü Mou frowned and asked, “Why did he come to you? How does he know you can solve his problem?”

“Maybe he just wants to script something. I’ll send him my work number and ask later,” Wu Miaoran replied, typing her work number into the chat.

To her surprise, she had barely sent the number when a call came through almost immediately...