Chapter 148: The Technical Stream Streamer

Bai Renzong did not rush but first checked out the other’s livestream. As he had suspected, this so-called "skill-based streamer" was truly mediocre in skill. Souls-like games differ from action games; although challenging, they rarely showcase flashy combos like action games do, so livestreams are far less captivating than edited videos.

Moreover, livestreaming and video-making are different. Livestreaming relies heavily on audience interaction, yet "Mr. Zuo" merely buried his head in the game, ignoring chat completely. With such an approach, it was no wonder his stream lacked popularity.

So, Bai Renzong sent a private message backstage, inviting "Mr. Zuo" to a little "interaction": a joint livestream playing the game "Bloodnight" from 8 p.m. to 11 p.m., competing to see who dies less. If deaths were equal, progress speed would be the tiebreaker.

Of course, this challenge was purely for entertainment; Bai Renzong had no wager involved.

Because there were few comments in his chatroom, the streamer "Mr. Zuo" noticed the message shortly and proclaimed to his audience with a laugh, "Oh? An entertainment streamer wants to do a comparison livestream with me—playing the same game at the same time to see who dies less."

Then, with exaggerated laughter, he teased, "Friends in the audience, this guy finds even a simple game like Bloodnight too difficult, yet he wants to compete with me to see who has better skills? Am I bullying him too much?"

Pointing at the camera with arrogance, he declared, "I know you’re watching, so I’ll reply to you live in front of everyone: I accept this bet! Loser will treat the winner to a deluxe cat café!"

Bai Renzong lowered his eyelids, annoyed. "I just said it’s for interaction, not a bet. And who loses to treat the other to a deluxe cat café... What a self-centered guy."

Han Jiayi frowned disdainfully. "Why can people like him even become streamers? He’s so annoying."

"Infamy is still fame..." Bai Renzong said, squinting at Mr. Zuo’s traits. The top three were: 42% self-centered, 21% unscrupulous, and 17% greedy.

Judging by these traits alone, he wasn’t necessarily a villain. Being self-centered means not listening to others; unscrupulous depends on context; and greed isn’t always bad if pursued righteously.

"Actually, he might not truly be like this. He just acts this way for clout. Does he know it’s low? Of course. But he’s desperate for fame, indifferent to it all," Bai Renzong smiled, opening his streaming app and patting his side. "Come here, Mumu, sit by me."

"Oh…" Han Jiayi sat beside him and suddenly pecked him on the cheek.

At that moment, Bai Renzong started his livestream, so the opening scene was her kiss on his cheek.

Comments flooded: "Opening thunder strike." "Single dogs, rest in peace." "Wow, forcing us to eat dog food right from the start?"

Han Jiayi covered her face, complaining, "Why did you start the stream so fast? I can’t bear to look at the chat."

"Good evening, everyone," Bai Renzong greeted, stroking her head gently. Then he explained the backstory, "Yesterday I played and reviewed 'Bloodnight,' saying its difficulty curve is uneven. Today, a fellow streamer criticized me, calling me trash..."

He launched the game. "This guy claims to be a 'skill-based streamer,' so I invited him for a synchronized livestream to see who dies less. His stream has 52,000 viewers—feel free to check it out."

In truth, Bai Renzong was repaying kindness with kindness. The other came to ride his popularity, and he even advertised for him.

But Bai Renzong wasn’t purely altruistic; this controversy helped him attract attention and build a favorable reputation, especially since he was the one being challenged—legitimate and justifiable.

Of course, this was only if he won tonight’s "bet."

Comments appeared: "Both streams opened side by side." "That guy’s blind; doesn’t even read chat."

"Alright, it’s almost 8. Let’s get started," Bai Renzong smiled.

He wasn’t worried. "Bloodnight" was only a few days old; everyone’s skill level was similar, just relying on basic Souls-like experience.

Bai Renzong had completed Dark Souls, Sekiro, and Nioh. While not obsessed, he was a Souls fan with lightning-fast reflexes—no reason to be worse than anyone else.

Both began streaming, and viewers bounced between streams, fanning the flames.

Bai Renzong explained as he played: "Remember, I said the difficulty curve is uneven, not that it’s too hard. For example, in Souls games, the first boss is usually a gatekeeper meant to introduce you to the game’s challenge without being impossible. But look at Bloodnight..."

He swiftly defeated the on-screen boss. "Here, the first boss is already very hard, but the second and third bosses are easier than the gatekeeper. That’s a very uneven curve. So, I don’t recommend this game for non-Souls fans. That’s why I suggest Dark Souls 3 as a starting point—it has a smoother difficulty curve."

Comments erupted: "Report! Mr. Zuo died!" "1-0!" "Died at the gatekeeper? So trash, yet calls himself skill-based!"

"See, livestreaming isn’t like making videos. In videos, you can edit out your deaths. Livestreaming, you have to chat and play at the same time..."

Suddenly, a monster charged at Bai Renzong offscreen.

He shuddered, activating his lightning reflexes, turning to block and counterattack, killing the monster.

Comments: "Wow! Such fast reflexes!" "LOL, scared him for a moment."

"Livestreaming is distracting—you have to engage with the chat. If I focused solely on playing, I’d be much smoother. It’s unavoidable," Bai Renzong said, still shaken.

Both streams continued, and more viewers tuned in. People loved stirring trouble, bouncing between streams to fan the flames, keeping both very active.

But deaths began to diverge sharply.

Bai Renzong played cautiously—healed when needed, retreated when necessary. Mr. Zuo, proud of his skill, avoided healing and aimed for flashy plays.

In Souls-like games, careless players can be one-shot by minor mobs. Such a style was asking for death...

Of course, Bai Renzong couldn’t guarantee zero deaths.

"Ouch, died again. This damn thing is so hard..." he frowned.

Comments reported: "Mr. Zuo: 11 deaths; Old Bai: 4." "Report! Mr. Zuo died again, 12 times!" "Such a big gap. Still calls himself skill-based?"

Eventually, reports came: "Mr. Zuo was killed three times in a row by a small monster, lost his temper, offline immediately!" "Final score: 17 to 6."

"What? Offline?" Bai Renzong was surprised. He checked Mr. Zuo’s stream—indeed offline, only a flood of comments remained: "Loser owes a deluxe cat café; why run?" "Calls himself skill-based? Just edited videos." "All editing."

Bai Renzong shook his head. If you want to ride clout, be prepared for criticism. Meltdown and quitting so fast? No chance to get famous.

Livestreaming isn’t like web novels: no matter if viewers like a streamer, as long as they watch, it generates heat. "Haters are also fans."

On the Cat House platform, some well-known League of Legends streamers have mediocre skills, no humor, boring content, and only climb ranks by luck. They resort to disgusting antics to provoke viewers’ anger, gain heat, and monetize ads—beneficiaries of online abuse.

Bai Renzong thought Mr. Zuo was mentally prepared for this, but he couldn’t even endure mild criticism and quit abruptly. How could he ever get popular?

Meanwhile, Bai Renzong’s chat praised him: "Taking the skill-based path to leave skill-based streamers no way out." "Looks good; maybe switch to guides." "Skill aside, reflexes are really fast."

Seeing this, Bai Renzong knew he had achieved his goal.

A true "skill-based" streamer’s skill isn’t just in-game but in "cheating the chat."

The biggest difference between livestreaming and making videos is direct interaction. Streamers like Mr. Zuo, who drown in self-indulgence and ignore chat, no matter how skilled, are ineffective.

Today’s stunt was because Bai Renzong’s popularity was unstable: he was truly popular only when streaming food content; his gaming streams relied on the "Critic App" for hype, with a fake inflated audience.

Most fans liked his restaurant visits and food broadcasts, fewer watched his gaming.

So he used this event to promote himself, proving he wasn’t just talk but genuinely skilled at games.

Next, he planned to solidify his gaming fanbase while the buzz was still hot.

It was time to show real skill.

"Since he’s offline, I’ll just play casually," Bai Renzong said, launching League of Legends. "It’s already 11 p.m.; I’ll climb a ranked game to maintain my rating."

The chat was surprised: "Whoa, Old Bai plays LoL?" "What rank? Which server? I’ll hunt you down!" "I’m Gold 3 on server 1, want to carry you?"

"I’m Diamond 3," Bai Renzong replied. "I don’t play often, maybe a few games every two or three days."

Comments: "No worries then." "Waiting to borrow accounts and hunt you!"

Though Bai Renzong didn’t play frequently, he had great game sense and map awareness. Now with quick reflexes and a recent patch favoring him, plus mastery of strong junglers, his rank rose rapidly.

To showcase real skill, he focused intently.

"Let’s gank mid. Our mid keeps getting soloed, and the enemy mid is invading my jungle. If I don’t help, jungle control’s lost," he murmured, speeding in as Hecarim.

Suddenly, a rock monster (Malphite) charged from the brush.

Bai Renzong jolted, activating lightning reflexes, instantly casting Hecarim’s unstoppable ultimate to knock away Malphite’s ultimate, fearing the enemy mid. Then, with his own mid’s help, they quickly killed the enemy mid.

"That scared me," Bai Renzong admitted. "I wondered why mid didn’t run, turns out he was baiting. Glad we killed him."

Chat cheered: "666!" "Fast reflexes!" "Nice, those moves remind me of my prime."

Enemy jungler arrived late, but Malphite was ultless. In the ensuing 2v2, Bai Renzong and his mid dispatched the enemy jungler, then finished off Malphite.

This saved their mid from critical health and crushed enemy lanes, dominating the entire game.

Viewers clamored for another round.

Though Diamond 3 is modest among streamers, for a food and console game streamer to perform like this in LoL was akin to a national table tennis player crushing the national football team—highly entertaining.

That night, Bai Renzong’s followers soared.

Yet he knew to leave them wanting more.

"Alright, it’s late. Let’s wrap up here," he smiled, bidding farewell. "See you tomorrow."

7,017,000 viewers.