Professor Gong’s statement undoubtedly stunned netizens. Soon, students from University A came forward to explain that Professor Gong was currently the most academically accomplished professor in the university’s mathematics department — in other words, a true “mathematician” in the eyes of the general public.

Given Professor Gong’s status, there was no way he could have been bribed by a streaming platform to speak for Xie Ran. Besides, the screen recording of the day when Xie Ran explained an algorithm to “a poor third-year grad student” was still available. It had just gone unnoticed before. Now that Professor Gong spoke up, many students and even top academic figures began watching it.

As a result, more people came out to support Xie Ran, and all of them had shiny verified identities, with many having “expert” titles attached.

In such a situation, haters naturally dared not say a single word more.

Netizens ate the drama while feeling confused:

“So, this streamer who supposedly just sings and plays games is actually an academic big shot?”

“Funniest part is, that game of Dou Dizhu happened after the streamer taught someone. No one paid attention to the lecture, but the card game went viral and was accused of cheating.”

“Seriously, if the haters had just watched the whole screen recording, they wouldn’t think Xie Ran was cheating.”

“Not sure about that… maybe the haters didn’t even understand what the streamer was saying in the beginning.”

Professor Gong’s account didn’t have many followers and was only moderately popular at first, but as more academic figures followed his lead and spoke out, the discussion grew.

The Big Face Cat platform noticed this was a hot topic — and a positive one — so they bought a trending search and promoted the platform. As a result, Xie Ran’s stream popularity skyrocketed, instantly hitting the top of the platform during that time slot.

Unfortunately, despite the surging popularity, Xie Ran remained the same. He continued reading his academic papers and occasionally browsed domestic and international news. He had no intention of capitalizing on the moment to gain followers.

The Big Face Cat staff responsible for working with him anxiously called:

“Xiao Ran, show some ambition, will you?”

Xie Ran found it hard to explain that his idea of ambition was different from theirs. Still, since Big Face Cat had done a lot for him, he didn’t make things difficult:

“I’ll play a game.”

The staff member held in their frustration and finally compromised:

“…Fine.”

Normally, with such traffic, a streamer would seize the opportunity to do something fancy. But with Xie Ran, it was already something that he agreed to play a game.

When Xie Ran returned to the camera to start gaming, he noticed the vibe in the stream had changed again. Somehow, many new accounts had entered, and they were discussing the academic paper he had just been reading.

“Streamer, can you enlarge the annotation on that paper?”

“Can you expand on the MCTS depth algorithm you mentioned last time?”

“TWT Teacher Xie, I’m here for class!”

Xie Ran: “…?”

While he was still confused, the new users grew anxious seeing he didn’t respond. One said:

“Let me try, I’ve got experience.”

It was that same “poor third-year grad student” from last time.

That student casually sent two Cat Plane gifts and left a comment:

“Streamer, can you enlarge the annotations on the paper?”

Xie Ran: “…”

Xie Ran enlarged the paper page.

Bullet comments:

“…”

“Damn, that’s so real.”

“Such a pure, non-showy streamer…”

“I get it now. Please wait a moment, streamer.”

Actually, Xie Ran didn’t enlarge the page because of the gift — it just happened he came back after a call and did it anyway.

But the misunderstanding was already formed, and Xie Ran didn’t bother to explain. His annotations were worth far more than two Cat Planes.

Meng Feixuan sent a dissatisfied message:

Mark: “Just a few gifts and they get to see your annotations? They made a killing!”

Xie Ran didn’t mind. These papers already existed in this world, the knowledge was shared. He was merely adding his own thoughts.

What he couldn’t share with this world yet, he simply kept to himself.

After that, the clearly newly registered accounts kept sending gifts while asking questions.

Since Xie Ran was just passing time anyway, he left the paper page open and randomly answered some questions.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, legs crossed, one hand on his cheek, the other lazily dragging the mouse — relaxed and elegant — his concise replies giving off the air of a CEO leading a board meeting.

But no one found anything off. It just felt… natural.

Long-time fans of the stream took countless screenshots, screaming “So handsome!”

While Xie Ran was explaining, more and more new accounts kept flooding in. These accounts clearly weren’t typical streaming viewers — they greeted each other on bullet comments and discussed academic content.

Xie Ran noticed something:

“Are you all from the same school?”

Bullet comments: “Haha, streamer found out.”

“We’re math majors from University B. Our professor was watching your stream and mass-messaged all of us to attend. He’ll be asking questions in class later.”

“Oh, so B University is here. I’m from C University — same deal, professor made us come.”

“Hello, streamer. I’m a professor from B University. Can you flip the paper back a page so I can take notes?”

“Pfft, hello professor!”

“Hello, professor!”

“Wow, the professor sent so many Cat Planes — really going all out!”

“Where’s C University’s professor? Don’t fall behind, let’s go!”

“?? Professor Gong from A University was the first to discover Teacher Xie — A University can’t lose face. I’m going to summon our students!”

Somehow, the new users with their strange tone started a battle in the chat. They kept summoning classmates, turning the stream into a live inter-university competition.

Original fans and random viewers watched in a daze:

“………………”

“Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?”

“This is Big Face Cat streaming, right? Right?? Not some online course platform?”

“I usually hate online classes. Why are these people competing to attend?”

“Ehhh, I don’t think they like the classes — they just don’t want to lose.”

“That last comment nailed it…”

Thus, Xie Ran’s stream developed a strange new style. Though listed under the leisure-entertainment category, it was increasingly hardcore — like a live online class for college students, with professors and wealthy students flooding the stream with gifts.

Meanwhile, more ordinary viewers attracted by trending topics kept entering — then paused, typed a question mark, exited, and re-entered, doubting if they clicked the wrong stream.

Xie Ran’s fans gradually calmed down and began skillfully explaining to newcomers:

“You’re in the right place, this is the stream.”

“Since you’re here, might as well attend the lecture.”

“These are paid contents — paid by students from certain schools. We just get to enjoy them for free. Good deal.”

Most ordinary viewers looked utterly lost, politely said they didn’t understand, and quietly left.

But Xie Ran didn’t forget what he promised the platform. Seeing the time, he paused the lecture, cut to another screen, and got ready to play games.

Fans who had been dozing off suddenly perked up, while the professors and students still wanted more — especially the professors, who kept sending gifts and asking Xie Ran to continue.

Seeing this, Xie Ran thought for a moment and simply said:

“From now on, the first hour of my daily stream will be paper reading and annotation. Anyone interested can join. The rest of the time will be for other things.”

He wasn’t negotiating — just announcing his plan. After that, no matter how many gifts or messages came, he didn’t respond.

Everyone realized that Xie Ran wouldn’t change his plans based on the audience. They had no choice but to give up.

Fans were relieved. They’d been worried he would permanently become an online tutor. It’s not that they didn’t support him — they just didn’t understand the content.

Now that they knew he’d still do leisure content, they were overjoyed.

The students, meanwhile, downloaded Xie Ran’s stream recordings and turned them into study materials. Several professors even contacted him, trying to convince him to teach at their schools or join their research groups — all of which Xie Ran flatly refused.

With no choice, the professors started distributing his stream schedule to students, making class attendance mandatory, with random checks after class.

And so, Xie Ran’s stream became a unique phenomenon. Every day, a large number of college students checked in at a set time. They even took attendance, and the schools funded gift-giving and questions.

After the one-hour academic session, Xie Ran switched to gaming — whether crushing at Dou Dizhu or dominating competitive games. He was always unbeatable. Even pro teams tried to recruit him, but were also rejected.

Fans sighed emotionally:

“This really is our clock-in-and-out 9-to-5 worker Ran. No matter how tempting the outside world is, our Ran just wants to clock out on time. So relatable.”

At 10 PM, Xie Ran ended the stream. His phone received a message from Meng Feixuan:

Mark: “Sir, I’m downstairs.”

Xie Ran put on a coat and went down. Sure enough, Meng Feixuan was waiting in the car. Due to his legs, he didn’t get out, just had the driver park at the building entrance.

“Sir.” Meng Feixuan poked his head out from the car door, eyes smiling: “Over here.”

Xie Ran got in. Meng Feixuan asked: “What would you like to eat?”

Xie Ran casually replied: “You decide.”

Meng Feixuan: “Alright.”

This was their most familiar routine. Back in their original world, Xie Ran often worked late. Sometimes the house staff prepared snacks, but most of the time, it was Meng Feixuan who ordered his late-night meals.

The car drove through the night, passing the lights of Haijing City.

Xie Ran asked: “Any progress on the Haimeng drone incident?”

Meng Feixuan shrugged: “An engineer took the blame.”

Such a major performance accident at Haimeng’s opening naturally required investigation. In the end, they traced it to an engineer in charge of calibration — claiming work overload led to a programming error. Beyond that, no further trace.

Xie Ran wasn’t surprised: “Predictable.”

A major incident tied to Meng Sien’s project couldn’t possibly be traced back to him.

But in Meng Siyun’s memories, the project went smoothly under Meng Sien — no such accident occurred. In fact, that opening performance was a huge success, and many engineers were promoted afterward — including the one blamed this time, who later became Meng Sien’s close aide.

“What a coincidence,” Meng Feixuan said mockingly.

Xie Ran’s expression didn’t change: “Doesn’t matter.”

Such things were common in their circles.

He asked again: “What about the rest?”

“They’re just fighting every day,” said Meng Feixuan.

Meng Yuguan and Meng Sien had hoped to use the project to attack Meng Feixuan, but he turned the tables and rose in power. Their faction, now panicked, began opposing him on every decision — standard rich family power struggles.

Xie Ran wasn’t worried. He glanced at Meng Feixuan: “They can’t out-argue you, can they?”

To his surprise, Meng Feixuan sighed: “Arguing is so tiring. Being human is hard.”

Xie Ran: “…” Even the most advanced AI was limited by hardware.

As he pondered whether to transfer Meng Feixuan into an antique pager back in their world, Meng Feixuan suddenly brightened: “Done.”

Xie Ran: “…Hm?”

Meng Feixuan handed him the tablet he’d been holding:

“I finished writing the auto-argument program.”

Xie Ran: “You were coding just now?”

He’d thought Meng Feixuan was doing work.

“Yup,” Meng Feixuan said proudly: “I never admit defeat.”

Xie Ran calmly said: “Didn’t I tell you to leave the stream stuff alone?”

“I’m not targeting stream people,” Meng Feixuan waved his hand: “This is for those old Meng guys.”

He quickly added: “I planted the program into Meng Sien’s device. Now whenever those elders talk to him, his account will auto-argue with them.”

Xie Ran: “…” This felt oddly familiar.

Xie Ran said: “Meng Sien will notice.”

“I know,” Meng Feixuan smiled wickedly and handed him the tablet.

Xie Ran looked — Meng Feixuan had already sent a message in the shareholder group using Meng Sien’s account:

[My account’s infected! Who did this?!]

Xie Ran: “…”

Meng Feixuan shrugged: “Now I’m a victim too.”