Chapter 66: Platform Call

The next morning, he first called his mother to soothe the worry she’d carried for days, then dialed Su Huan.

Now, Su Huan handled all communication with DJI just like his agent did.

“Hey, awake?”

“Yeah, I’m up. Where are you now?”

“Still at Wulan Village at the foot of the mountain. I’ll head to town soon, take a bus to the city, then fly straight to Hangzhou.”

“Good. DJI is very satisfied with your livestream—they’ve upgraded your rating. Next time you do a livestream or video, we can negotiate an even higher price.”

“That’s great, thanks to you. But I’ve got a problem—it’s not minor.”

“Oh? What problem?” Su Huan paused.

“The current arrangement between you, Fang Nan, and me isn’t formal enough. My fanbase keeps growing, my commercial rates keep rising—I can’t keep paying Fang Nan the old price. And then there’s you…”

“I’m fine. I’m just helping you during my free time,” Su Huan quickly said.

Qin Yun shook his head: “I’m planning to set up a studio. I’ll give you both a percentage.”

“I don’t want your money,” Su Huan blurted out, then immediately felt awkward and added, “We’re old classmates—why bring money into this?”

“Listen to me on this,” Qin Yun said. If he kept playing small, everything would be fine—but after one livestream netted him nearly a million, he had to formalize it, or problems would arise.

“Can you check what’s needed to register a studio? And how should Fang Nan and I structure our cooperation? I don’t understand any of this—can you draft a plan for me?”

Su Huan pursed his lips and nodded: “Alright, but we’ll have to wait until you get back.”

“No problem. I’m getting ready to leave.”

“Goodbye!”

After ending the call with Su Huan, Qin Yun replied to a few WeChat messages, then opened Douyin to check his backend.

The backend was flooded with red dots—third-party MCN agencies were practically frenzied, begging to sign him. But Qin Yun ignored them all—he’d never sign with a third-party agency.

A few private messages contained friend requests, each with a WeChat ID.

He glanced through them: Bo Lang Ge and Feng Liu Jie were among them, and several others were celebrities and top Douyin streamers.

After some thought, he added them all. Soon, friend-approval notifications popped up one after another.

The first to message him was Feng Liu Jie—she sent a full-body photo immediately.

A young woman with a graceful figure, fair skin, high beauty, and long hair cascading over her shoulders. Below the photo: “Master Qin, I’m Han Wei, founder of a Shanghai financial firm, a second-generation rich kid.”

Qin Yun’s face darkened. Are you trying to seduce me? I, Master Qin, don’t befriend people just because they’re rich—I choose friends by looks, not wealth.

“Hello, Han Wei. I’m Qin Yun. Thank you for supporting me during the livestream.”

“Master Qin, anytime you come to Shanghai, you must visit me.”

“Definitely!”

Soon after, several wealthy fans sent messages. Qin Yun replied to each calmly and respectfully.

“Master Qin, I’m Zeng Luo, owner of a small Shanghai company—not much compared to you, but when you come to Shanghai, let me treat you.”

Bo Lang Ge’s name sounded feminine, but his voice was unmistakably male.

Qin Yun treated all these patrons with equal courtesy—he didn’t favor anyone, not even the top Douyin streamers or celebrities.

He reached the town, took a bus to the city, bought the earliest flight, and waited in the terminal.

“Just five days of livestreaming, including DJI’s payout, brought in over 800,000—like picking up money off the street.”

Qin Yun sighed. Back in Beijing, he’d worked overtime relentlessly, barely scraping together 300,000 a year. The contrast in earning speed was staggering.

Not every livestream would bring such returns, but compared to a regular job, this money came too fast. No wonder more people were turning to livestreaming.

Most importantly, his livestreaming wasn’t replicable. On Douyin, many outdoor streamers existed, but none with his exact skill set.

Climbing LV1, Combat Skill LV1, Zoology LV1, Botany LV1, Archery Skill LV1—these skills let him navigate the wilderness livestream effortlessly. Without them, he couldn’t have done it so easily.

Encounter a wolf? Run away. Hit an impassable cliff? Take a long detour. Face a Northeastern tiger? Wait to die.

It was precisely these skills that set him apart from other streamers. This uniqueness guaranteed that, if he kept this path, he’d become a much bigger streamer.

It was a foreseeable future!

But as he’d said in his livestream, he was only a temporary wilderness survival streamer. No one knew he had a system—he’d likely follow his tasks for a long time.

If allowed, he would treat every check-in task as a livestream, provided the task was suitable for broadcasting.

Like his trip to Shouxian: the video he shot still sat rotting on his hard drive, never intended for release.

“Flight to Hangzhou Xiaoshan International Airport…”

As the boarding announcement sounded, Qin Yun stood up, shouldering his bag. Suddenly, his phone rang—a stranger’s call.

He hesitated, then answered. Probably spam, but still.

“Hello, who’s this?”

A male voice came through: “Mr. Qin, hello. I’m from Douyin’s official team—I’m Chen Mo.”

“Mr. Chen, hello. What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Qin, your wilderness survival livestream has been reviewed by the platform and shows tremendous potential. We’d like to sign you. Are you interested?”

Qin Yun’s interest sparked instantly. He had that much clout now? Why a direct call instead of a backend notification?

He had no interest in joining a guild or MCN—they were full of traps. But an official platform? Maybe worth considering.

“Mr. Chen, what benefits does the platform offer for signing?”

“Well,” Chen Mo perked up—he hadn’t expected this. Most streamers chose guilds or MCNs; they were more flexible and resource-rich than the platform, which had scattered support.

Even as an official channel, Douyin had no real edge over those companies—in fact, for small streamers, it was far worse.

“If you sign, we’ll offer an A-level streamer contract: annual salary of 800,000, 90% of gifts to you, 10% to us.”

Qin Yun leaned in eagerly: “What’s above A-level?”

“There’s S-level, SS-level, and SSS-level. Higher tiers come with greater support.”

His current split was 30-70—platform 30, him 70. Signing would give him another 20%—a massive jump. Plus salary, plus platform support.

But…

“What are the livestreaming requirements after signing?”

Qin Yun wasn’t blinded by the perks—he knew every benefit came with strings.

“If you sign, you must guarantee at least 100 hours of effective livestreaming per month. Otherwise, your salary will be docked based on missed hours. Additionally…”

Before Chen Mo finished, Qin Yun interrupted.

“Mr. Chen, you said 100 hours of effective livestreaming per month? How is ‘effective’ defined?”

If he were always in the wilderness, 100 hours would be easy—but he couldn’t livestream every day. That standard was impossible to meet.

“There’s a metric: you need at least half a percent of your total followers online during your livestream.”

Qin Yun fell silent. He’d just checked—his follower count had surpassed five million.

Half a percent meant 25,000 concurrent viewers. Unless every livestream was as thrilling as climbing or wilderness survival, he couldn’t guarantee it.

“Continue.”

Chen Mo: “The contract is three years. During that time, you cannot livestream on any other platform. That’s all—details will be formalized on paper.”

Hearing this, Qin Yun had already rejected it.

Not even considering the contract length—the requirement to cap his livestreaming time was a dealbreaker.

He couldn’t accept being bound like this.

“Thank you for explaining, Mr. Chen, but I’m not interested in signing right now.”

Chen Mo had been confident—he believed the A-level contract would dazzle Qin Yun. After all, only a few streamers got it.

When Qin Yun said “thank you,” Chen Mo didn’t even listen—he just laughed.

“That’s great…”

But the moment he said it, he realized something was wrong.

“Mr. Qin, what did you say?”

Qin Yun suppressed a smile: “Mr. Chen, I’m not considering signing right now. Sorry.”

“Mr. Qin, is the offer not enough?” Chen Mo pressed. “We can negotiate further.”

Brother, 800,000 a year—that’s more than I make! What more do you want?

“Mr. Chen, I won’t accept restrictions on my livestreaming hours.”

Chen Mo fell silent.

After ending the call, Qin Yun shook his head. A clause like “no livestreaming restrictions” would never be accepted—by any platform or agency.

MCN agencies were even less likely to agree.

Still, Chen Mo didn’t outright refuse—he said he’d report the situation to upper management.

Before boarding, Qin Yun received a message from Feng Liu Jie, Han Wei:

“Master Qin, I’ve created a fan group—only the [good] fans. Want me to add you?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Good” fans, Han Wei clearly meant wealthy ones. Qin Yun had no reason to refuse—maintaining wealthy fans was a streamer’s essential skill. He’d learned it instinctively—these were his future patrons.