The netizens silently shouted the same sentence in unison: your luck in this match today was truly unbelievably good!
As the leading figure of modern manual-operated mechs, Ji Ban held absolute authority within the field. Unlike sensor-operated mechs, manual operations were such a niche specialization that he effectively had no true professional rivals. Even though age and physical limitations had long caused him to miss the golden years of mech piloting and retire from the frontline expeditionary forces, his image in the hearts of manual-operations students remained towering and almost mythic.
The revival of manual-operated mech research and its widespread promotion across the Alliance was, to a large extent, also thanks to his efforts. Even San Yao’s parameter systems and code libraries for manual-operated mechs had been modeled after his personal mech, Silent Revelation.
For many students who chose the manual-operations track, Ji Ban might not necessarily have been the strongest pilot, but he was the idol who first guided them into the field. Someone uniquely special.
The netizens immediately spread the news everywhere. Students from the manual-operations department, along with crowds of curious onlookers, flooded into the livestream at astonishing speed, quickly pushing it onto the trending list.
A group of students squatted eagerly in the comments section, watching Cheng Feng’s match with envious eyes while carefully considering the proper wording to greet him respectfully.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Sir, I’m your fan. Do you still keep up with the latest operating systems for manual-operated mechs?”
“Sir, you haven’t been in the San Yao livestream section for a long time. Did you just drop by casually today?”
Ji Ban muted all the barrage comments, leaving only Cheng Feng’s voice audible.
Before long, he posted a comment himself, believing he was being very low-key about it.
[Ji Ban: Chase her down. I like this kind of thing the most.]
He liked all kinds of running battles, and pursuit-style combat counted among them. So he really couldn’t understand Cheng Feng’s resistance toward this kind of playstyle.
She runs, you chase – she can’t escape even if she grows wings. How wonderful.
Inside the dungeon, Cheng Feng unsurprisingly caught up to her opponent. The two mechs only crossed paths briefly, but all the fury that had built up over half the match exploded through her frenzied, utterly unrestrained attacks.
Ji Ban followed the crowd and casually posted two more comments.
[Ji Ban: So impressive. Her effective hand speed is already close to the limit.]
[Ji Ban: Her attack speed is extremely fast, and her judgment is very precise. Is it because she studies data analysis? You command-track infantry students are all so sharp.]
After seeing his latter comment, the netizens immediately realized that Ji Ban had specifically come for Cheng Feng, not because he’d suddenly felt inspired to drop into San Yao’s livestream section and casually evaluate some student’s manual-operation skills.
The moment they realized this, the students who had already been vaguely bitter with regret became even more sour.
Why? Had Cheng Feng’s reputation really grown to this level already? They worked hard too!
When the match ended, Ji Ban didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he continued lurking in the livestream room.
The netizens stayed as well. Afraid that Cheng Feng might read out some inappropriate barrage comments and damage their own image in the process, everyone behaved with extraordinary restraint.
After finishing the match, Cheng Feng had more than half an hour of break time before the next round. She didn’t want to move anymore – the previous match had thoroughly drained her enthusiasm. So she simply stayed in the waiting lobby, dug out one of her favorite mini-games from San Yao’s database, and started openly slacking off in front of all the viewers.
Cheng Feng clicked update, then login, already waiting for the opinionated viewers in the stream to start criticizing her. During the loading screen, she had even prepared a whole list of excuses in advance.
But by the time she reached the gacha screen, the barrage area floating in midair was cleaner and quieter than ever before, as if nobody minded her goofing off at all.
Cheng Feng was stunned.
Had her livestream really become that dead?
Cheng Feng quietly pulled up her backend statistics and was horrified to discover that her live viewer count had exploded to five times its previous number. Not only that, a whole crowd of people had chosen to send anonymous donations, leaving behind a perfectly neat wall of gift notifications. They were so absurdly rich that Cheng Feng almost wanted to defect on the spot.
She suspected San Yao’s network was malfunctioning. Looking left and right, she tried to find the same confusion on the faces of the other players waiting nearby.
[Ji Ban: I used to play this game too. It had just come out when I was in uni, and I liked it a lot back then. Later I recommended it to Lian Sheng, and after that I stopped wanting to play. Didn’t expect it to still be updating after all these years. Though the whole interface has changed now.]
The sudden golden-highlighted comment flashing before her eyes startled Cheng Feng, and only then did she notice him. She lifted her head, reread the comment, and asked, “Why?”
Ji Ban replied unhappily, “She cheats with physics.”
Thinking about those outrageously lucky people in gacha games, Cheng Feng also felt that such a thing was completely unreasonable – an existence that seriously violated the laws of probability. She immediately joined in indignation.
“That’s too much!”
After saying that, she lowered her head and pulled a ten-roll.
But no matter how hard she tapped the screen to bless herself with luck, after the blue light faded, the final result was still ten Rs.
[Ji Ban: Sigh.]
Cheng Feng didn’t spend much time on this game. The main reason she played it was that it had a “code speedrun in exchange for gacha pulls” mechanic, which made her feel the developers were relatively fair.
In the end, though, it still ended up breaking her heart.
Feeling it was no longer interesting, she closed the game and asked, “Sir, don’t you work? Aren’t you busy?”
[Ji Ban: I’m on holiday today, I have a bit of free time.]
Cheng Feng looked at the various “?” floating across the screen and simply replied with a short “oh.”
After she fell silent, even more question marks began to appear on the screen.
Cheng Feng: “…” What exactly do you people mean? Why are you all so hard to deal with?
The viewers couldn’t stand it anymore and jumped in to give advice:
“Start a conversation, Cheng Feng!”
“Anything works – just chat casually! Don’t just sit there silently!”
“Ask if he’s eaten! Ancient wisdom! Then ask what he ate and if it was good!”
“You can ask for guidance too! Ji Ban has been working on manual mech promotion and system improvements these past few years. Some of the technical upgrades this time might even involve him!”
Cheng Feng felt slightly dazzled by the flood of messages and casually asked, “You… why did you come to watch my livestream?”
[Ji Ban: Someone from San Yao’s publicity department contacted me. They said there’s a student this year who’s been getting a lot of attention.]
Cheng Feng said a little shyly, “That’s not really the case.”
She felt that compared to when Ji Ban had once stormed into San Yao with a manual-operated mech, her own level of fame was still a bit lacking – she’d probably need to wait until next year to be properly compared.
[Ji Ban: They said that if you can really break this winning streak record, they’d like me to do a simple commentary. They would select a suitable match video for me to review. I saw that your profile listed your birthday as today, so I just dropped by to take a look.]
[Ji Ban sent a rocket launcher gift.]
[Ji Ban: You’re very young. The future is promising. Just keep developing in your own style.]
The comment section instantly erupted. Netizens no longer cared about image or restraint, and all began posting in a chaotic outburst.
“Are they just assuming Cheng Feng can break the record now? The San Yao admin really went all out with that claim!”
“Ji Ban said she can break it, so she can break it.”
“No, it wasn’t Ji Ban – it was San Yao. And they clearly said ‘if’.”
“I support Cheng Feng. The manual-operated mech field has been weak for too long anyway. At least give it something to promote.”
“Bringing Ji Ban in for publicity during the qualifiers – what’s the reasoning? Do they think Cheng Feng would be dangerous against sensor-operated mechs too, so they’re pushing her into the spotlight early?”
“The analysis group suddenly feels really awkward now.”
“Cheng Feng still has an analysis group? I thought it died ages ago. There’s been no activity at all.”
Cheng Feng’s eyes slowly moved across all the comments, scanning each line. Her expression turned cold and sharp, with a hint of stubbornness in her tightly furrowed brow. She asked, “Do you think my win rate against sensor-operated mechs is high? I mean, against the very best of them.”
Ji Ban’s typing speed was still extremely fast.
[Ji Ban: Manual-operated mechs are very suitable for data analysis. Sensor-operated mechs are more easily misled by their own sensory input, and they rely heavily on the pilot’s individual combat strength. But manual-operated mechs are, in essence, a more flexible and independent form of control. Sophisticated data analysis can bring out their greatest advantages – it’s just that a truly effective style of play hasn’t been fully developed yet.]
[Ji Ban: I haven’t watched your other matches, but I think you have enough capability. Manual-operated mechs are not necessarily inferior to sensor-operated ones. At the very least, in terms of mech performance, manual-operated mechs are decades ahead in technological development.]
[Ji Ban: head pat.jpg]
The comment section fell silent again following his words.
Cheng Feng pulled up an “Owl nodding” emoji and sent it.
Ji Ban had other matters to attend to afterward, so he left her a birthday blessing before logging off.
Cheng Feng lowered her head, staring intently at the control panel in front of her with a thoughtful expression. After a moment, her voice suddenly brightened as she said, “I’m very happy.”
The viewers below all expressed deep agreement by spamming: “We understand!”
Cheng Feng took a breath and continued in an even more upbeat tone, “Since Ji Ban came, my donation amount has increased more than tenfold! Wow – so rich!!”
The emotionally betrayed netizens: “…”
Cheng Feng quickly opened an online shopping site, searched for the dessert shop she usually bought from most often, skillfully sorted the items by price, and clicked to purchase.
“Buy the cheap ones – I can get two today!” she planned very thoroughly. “Afternoon tea and a late-night snack, and I can even add a piece of chocolate truffle.”
The netizens, who had been about to mock her again, were once more stunned by her miserly energy.
“What do you mean? Are you looking down on me?”
“Buy the expensive one, please. I’ll pay.”
“Where did your money go? After San Yao’s cut from this stream, you should still have hundreds of thousands, right? And you’re still being stingy over two small cakes?”
“@San Yao, your trending star is about to starve.”
“You hopeless little thing, you win. Take the money. I earned it myself – just use it for yourself.”
“I need to upgrade my little owl’s parts. Maintaining robots is expensive. Besides, eating too many sweets makes you fat.”
Cheng Feng gave a brief explanation, then looked at her steadily growing account balance in the backend. After some hesitation, she still clicked the “add to cart” button in sin.
It was her birthday – she could be forgiven.
