Ji Zhi’s ears were filled with the excited voice of Top Fan #3.
“Bro, you look so good!”
“This one suits you too!”
If Ji Zhi hadn’t known that Top Fan #3 was talking about [Ji Zhi], he might have thought the guy was addressing him.
The live stream chat was packed with teasing comments:
— [Ji Zhi Full Support] buddy, are you going nuts with screenshots behind the screen?
— Feels like he’s already plotting to commission some fanart.
— He’s spamming superchat gifts again—probably dropping hundreds of thousands this time.
— I always figured this guy’s voice would be all creepy and sinister, but damn, it’s actually pretty nice.
— Yeah, kinda reminds me of Jiang Yaolin, the male lead from that recent drama.
— Similar, sure, but Jiang Yaolin’s got that steady gravitas. This voice feels way more… floaty.
— Good point. The dude on the other end sounds totally head over heels.
— [Ji Zhi]’s new look has me dizzy too—straight-up husband material.
— Same, but at least he’s not holding the streamer back. Keeping pace like a pro.
— Why’s he monitoring the chat so hardcore? Just sniped someone shipping [Ji Zhi] with the other town NPCs—eyes like a keyword radar.
…
Meanwhile, Ji Zhi and Top Fan #3 kept diligently tackling the game’s puzzles. This version had different plot branches, so the solutions weren’t the same, forcing them to rethink everything.
Ji Zhi had picked up on it during his own playthrough: Top Fan #3 thought fast, crushed puzzle-heavy games, and didn’t flinch at ghosts—not even the brutal jump scares.
Sure enough, even on their first run of this variant, they blazed through the story and puzzles without slowing down.
At this rate, they’d hit the new ending in no time.
What Ji Zhi hadn’t seen coming was Top Fan #3 hesitating before piping up: “Bro, mind if I pause and step out real quick? Work thing popped up—be back in a few minutes…”
Ji Zhi knew priorities when he heard them. “No worries, handle it. I’ll grab some water and chill in the meantime.”
Top Fan #3: “Be right back!”
The scrape of a chair followed his words—he’d clearly stood up and left.
Ji Zhi seized the break to sip some water and chat with the viewers, fielding questions about Tidal Echoes.
Then, out of nowhere, a game prompt box popped up on Top Fan #3’s side of the split screen—
[Your current progress differs from the account linked to [L]. Sync to [L] account progress?]
Looks like Top Fan #3 had two separate accounts for Tidal Echoes, and the game had flagged the mismatch.
Ji Zhi eyed the [L], a nagging familiarity tugging at him.
He mulled it over instinctively until it clicked—
[L] was the very first player to unlock every ending in Tidal Echoes. Ji Zhi had come in second.
Breaking that record had landed them both on the achievement leaderboard, so yeah, Ji Zhi knew the name.
But more than that, [L] had straight-up campaigned against adding the [Ji Zhi] NPC.
After Ji Zhi’s streams put Tidal Echoes on the map, the devs announced the NPC rollout. [L] went and made a whole Twitter account just to rally haters, vowing that even if they bought out the studio, no way would this random-ass NPC see daylight.
[L]’s posts dragged in clueless randos to trash Ji Zhi’s stream, turning the chat into a toxic dumpster fire for days.
Ji Zhi shrugged it off, though, spinning the drama into free hype.
Once the [Ji Zhi] NPC dropped to rave reviews, [L] nuked the account, the backlash fizzled, and any stragglers got insta-banned by Top Fan #3’s hawk-eyed patrols.
So… was [L] Top Fan #3’s old account?
Ji Zhi froze. A few longtime fans in chat clocked it instantly and started cluing in the newbies, sparking chaos:
— Wait, WHAT? So [L] ditched accounts just to cozy up to the streamer?
— Out here policing haters daily, and YOU were the king hater??
…
Right on cue, Top Fan #3 logged back in. “Bro, sorry for the delay by a couple minutes.”
“All sorted—we can dive back in…”
His voice died the second he clocked the screen.
Chat had been half-doubting before, but that silence? Ironclad confession.
After a beat, Top Fan #3 tried again, voice laced with panic: “Bro, let me explain…”