Chapter 4: Audience Preferences

The food at Willow Studio was as delicious as ever, but as he ate, Bai Renzong decided it was time to plan his future in greater detail. After all, if he was going to start going on blind dates, he needed a thorough plan; only then would a girl feel secure. But even if the dates didn’t work out, it didn’t matter—he’d just be completing an achievement in the Connoisseur App.

If he wanted to pursue a career as a content creator, these “achievements” were essential. In particular, the “Divine Tongue” reward would be an immense help to his reviewing career. But these achievements weren’t so easily obtained. The culinary achievements required him to taste one hundred specified ingredients, some of which were exorbitantly expensive, while others were simply bizarre.

The gaming-related achievement was to “obtain all achievements in a hundred different games”; upon completion, he’d be rewarded with the title “Genius Game Designer.” As for film and television, the requirement was to “read one hundred popular online novels,” which would grant “Platinum Author’s Inspiration.” Earning these rewards would certainly refine his critiques.

From another perspective, these achievements all demanded time and accumulation. Until he earned them, he needed to secure the highest possible ratings. Some achievements, like “Breaking the Defense,” were matters of luck, not certainty. The reliable sources of popularity were limited to daily sign-ins, daily uploads, and ratings—so the higher the rating, the better.

The App only provided about two hundred thousand in popularity; after that, he’d have to earn it based on his video quality. Only with high-quality videos could he maintain his momentum.

So, he couldn’t rely solely on the App. He needed to learn and research what types of videos people enjoyed. While he was just getting started, he could use the App’s basic traffic and feedback to explore the right style for himself. After all, success as a creator was a matter of patience and trial and error.

With this in mind, Bai Renzong immediately began preparing his second video.

The first had been a game review, so naturally, the second would be a film commentary. He’d already prepared for this: he selected a domestic film called “Angel’s Memory” and began his critique.

This time, Bai Renzong lavished praise on the film, calling it “a beacon of domestic cinema.”

“But there’s one small flaw,” he added in his post-production narration. “The second female lead, Han Xuerou, is exceptionally beautiful and talented—honestly, she overshadows the main actress. That’s the only weakness of the movie: the second lead’s presence is so overwhelming that, by the end, I couldn’t even recall what the protagonist did. All I could remember was the stunning second lead…”

After editing, he scheduled the upload for the next day, ready to benefit from the daily popularity boost. When everything was done, Bai Renzong glanced at the clock—it was already past ten at night.

“Ah, another day gone,” he sighed, rubbing his temples.

Knock, knock, knock! Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Bai Renzong was curious—who could it be at this hour?

His parents would never come by so late, and he didn’t have many friends from his previous job…

“Hello, property management,” came a voice from outside. Only then did Bai Renzong go to open the door.

“Good evening,” the property manager said bluntly. “We received a complaint that you’re speaking too loudly at home. It’s late—could you please keep it down? The neighbors above, below, and next door all need to rest.”

“I wasn’t shouting, just talking normally,” Bai Renzong replied, frowning.

“But it’s still disturbing others. Could you please be a bit quieter? We’re just here to discuss it,” the manager said politely. Bai Renzong couldn’t argue, so he brushed it off, saying, “Alright, I get it.”

In fact, Bai Renzong had a good idea who the “complainants” were—most likely the couple in their thirties next door. They were the self-centered type; once, they’d secretly used his Wi-Fi, and when he changed the password, they even came to question him, saying their child couldn’t attend online classes anymore—as if he was responsible for their kid.

The apartment’s soundproofing was terrible. Sometimes, when Bai Renzong got up at night to use the bathroom, he’d hear the couple’s athletic endeavors through the wall. No doubt, they’d heard him talking tonight and rushed to complain.

“Petty people,” Bai Renzong muttered to himself, but he wasn’t bothered—he’d already decided to move.

First, to improve his quality of life; second, to make recording videos easier. If anything, he was more afraid of being disturbed himself, especially since he planned on filming food videos, which would require a clean, spacious setting for taste tests and better visuals. Conveniently, his lease was nearly up, so he planned to start looking for a new place. Ideally, a penthouse duplex, to minimize disturbances.

He’d saved about a hundred thousand over the past few years of work—enough to tide him over until his new career took off.

After seeing the property manager out, Bai Renzong browsed apartments online before going to bed, full of anticipation for the next day.

The next morning, he woke abruptly at just past eight. He grabbed his phone immediately, heart skipping a beat as he saw: “Final rating: B. Popularity reward: 50,000. Experience: 2,000.”

Experience, it seemed, only raised his “Connoisseur” level and didn’t directly affect popularity. Ratings, however, were crucial: a B was two grades below an S, costing him fifty thousand in popularity.

“Why did this happen?” Bai Renzong frowned, puzzled. He reflected on the difference between this video and his previous one and finally arrived at a conclusion.

The first video was critical; the second was complimentary.

Though he felt his assessments were fair—pointing out both strengths and weaknesses—the game review ended with “Not recommended,” while the movie review ended with “Recommended.”

“So…” Bai Renzong mused, frowning, “people really do prefer critical reviews?”

To confirm this, he decided to experiment with his third video.

But as he checked his notifications, he noticed that besides rewards for “sign-in” and “posting a review,” there was also a reward for “Production Crew Broken Defense.”

As a result, the “Broken Defense” reward of half a million in popularity would still bring plenty of views—at least the video would earn something.

But…

“Why did they get upset? I was praising them. I really don’t get it…” Bai Renzong muttered in confusion.