At this moment, Simon, who was sitting next to James in the internet cafe, returned from the restroom.
Shaking his hands dry, he was just about to sit down and continue gaming when he saw James grinning lewdly at his phone.
Curious, Simon leaned over for a peek and noticed James was showering gifts on a livestreamer.
Simon scoffed internally.
What kind of money could someone sitting in an internet cafe possibly have to throw at livestreamers?
At most, maybe he'd send a virtual flower or a heart.
But then, when Simon focused on the gifts James was sending, he was utterly shocked.
He saw someone continuously gifting Carnivalsâand not just one or two.
The number had already climbed to 178, 179, 180... and was still increasing!
This... this... this can't be real.
Simon couldn't wrap his head around it and couldn't help but glance at James again.
There he was, smiling as brightly as a blooming flower, carefree as he kept sending gift after gift.
Simon suddenly thought he understood.
It has to be fake TikTok!
It must be one of those shady livestream platforms that mimics TikTok's interface.
The Carnivals on that app probably only cost a few cents.
Otherwise, how could this guy be so nonchalant about throwing money?
Pleased with his own deduction, Simon tapped James on the arm and asked, "Hey man, where'd you download this livestream app? Share the link with me, will you?"
James took off his headphones and turned to look at him.
The guy seemed about the same age, but his appearance was a bit sleazy, with protruding front teeth and a grin that resembled a weasel.
"Bro, you've never heard of TikTok?" James asked back.
"Of course, I know TikTok, but a Carnival there costs $3,000. You're gifting them like it's free," Simon said, pointing at James's phone. "You've almost sent 200 of them. If those were real Carnivals, do you have any idea how much money that would be?"
Sure, he's holding a Porsche phone, but no way could he be gifting that much.
Simon reasoned to himself.
He had never seen anyone rich enough to sit in an internet cafe, throwing hundreds of thousands at livestreamers.
It's gotta be fake.
"Not much, just pocket change," James replied casually with a smile.
Simon, realizing James wasn't going to share and was instead brushing him off, let it go.
He chuckled along, then returned to his seat.
He figured the app must be some exclusive, underground platform, likely member-only and only accessible via referral.
As for the streamers, they were probably foot spa girls, more... open-minded, willing to do all sorts of wild things.
Rumor had it some of these girls could even open beer bottles with their teeth.
But that kind of crowd was only accessible to those who frequented massage parlors.
Simon shook his head, trying to rid himself of the envy.
I'm a proper guy. I wouldn't go to places like that.
Better to focus on work, he thought as he reopened his game to continue grinding.
Still, images of James's phone lingered in his mind.
The livestream looked incredibly real, down to the streamer's username.
Something like "Lucky Bunny."
And the girlâso innocent, so pretty.
...
In the "Lucky Bunny" livestream, the Carnival gifts continued to roll in.
The counter had climbed to 201, 202, 203... with no signs of stopping.
Viewers began recording the stream, determined to capture the moment and upload it online with some flashy title.
They wanted to show every aspiring streamer what a real boss looked like.
"Enemy brother, stop! Please stop! It's already more than enough!" Shirley Taylor called out in a panic as she watched James surpass 200 Carnivals without slowing down.
She was incredibly nervous.
In monetary terms, this person had just sent 300 Carnivals in mere minutes.
That was a total of $90,000.
Who wouldn't be terrified?
In her village, that amount of money was enough to marry five wives.
If this kept going, would she really have to bear his children?
The thought of two people, with no emotional connection, being together solely because of money, made Shirley Taylor feel lost and confused.
James, however, was someone who listened to reason.
If she said stop, he'd stop.
If she said don't, he wouldn't.
If she said don't stop... well, he'd consider it.
But for now, he was feeling a bit worn out. His fingers ached, and his back felt sore. He realized that, while he had the heart to fight, his stamina wasn't cooperating.
At 210 Carnivals, James finally paused his finger.
He was now a level-50 warrior.
His username badge had turned a rich purple-red, and the insignia was more extravagant than ever, resembling a multi-faceted gem.
Having gifted so many, his inbox was flooded with red-dot notifications.
Curious, James opened his messages.
As expected, most profile pictures were of beautiful women with flirtatious usernames.
They sent him their WhatsApp numbers and phone numbers.
Some even included their own stream channel links, inviting him to drop by.
Bolder ones were more explicit:
"Available nationwide for $1,000 a night."
"Rich daddy, please keep me."
"Just one Carnival, and I'll send you some special seafood to replenish your strength."
"Boss, interested in a bubble bath together?"
James was momentarily tempted but quickly composed himself.
Online flings came with risks. What if a middle-aged auntie showed up?
He didn't want to hear, "So, should I leave?"
Besides, with a real goddess right in front of him, why waste time on unknowns?
He adjusted his privacy settings to block messages from non-followers.
Then, he sent Shirley Taylor a private message.
After that, he wrote in the public chat: "Streamer, check your private messages."
Shirley Taylor opened the message and saw that James had asked for her contact information.
She guessed he might want to meet her offline.
After a moment's hesitation, she ultimately sent her number.
She had heard about streamers meeting their big spenders in person, often at hotels.
She'd always thought it was something that happened to others, far removed from her world.
She hadn't expected it to happen so suddenly.
She had no idea what the man on the other end was likeâfat or thin, tall or short, young or old.
What if he turned out to be a bald, greasy middle-aged man?
Shirley Taylor shuddered at the thought and didn't dare imagine further.
Using a cautious tone, she tentatively asked,
"Brother, I was joking earlier... you... you're not really expecting me to have your baby, are you?"
Regenerate