The real young master thought he was hated by everyone

Xie Duzhi happened to glance at the message.

He had just finished a remote meeting with an out-of-town branch of the company, and he still had several important documents to go through. The only reason he picked up his phone at this time was because he hadn’t yet received a response regarding the donation to the No. 1 High School for a new teaching building.

He was an excellent businessman. For him, staying calm and composed in the face of rapidly changing situations was a basic skill.

The fact that fewer than seven hours remained before the calendar turned from the 23rd to the 24th—and that he hadn’t yet completed what he promised—instinctively made him uncomfortable.

Though he hadn’t voiced it, his habit—or rather, his instinct—was to do anything he committed to as perfectly as possible.

Having shared a class with Xie Sizhi for a brief time, he was well aware of the reputation his younger brother had in the classroom.

He could even say, without exaggeration, that Xie Sizhi’s ability to give headaches to teachers was directly proportional to his consistently stable academic performance.

So, there was no need for him to verify with their old teachers whether the request for notes was true.

Putting aside the possibility of chasing after a high school junior, there was only one reason he might suddenly need the notes.

What Xie Duzhi couldn’t understand, however, was why Li Heng hadn’t come directly to him for the notes. Why go through Xie Sizhi?

His refusal to give the notes to Xie Sizhi wasn’t because he harbored any resentment or lingering grudge toward Li Heng’s actions.

He genuinely didn’t have any notes.

Having compressed his own three-year high school experience into just one year, armed with previous experience and a focus purely on passing exams, he hadn’t bothered to take detailed notes.

There were a few scattered scribbles in his textbooks, but they weren’t particularly useful.

Frowning in thought for a few moments, he sent a message to his assistant.

By the time Li Heng got home, it was nearly 9 PM.

The lights were on in the living room, but there was no one else around—it was eerily quiet.

“Maybe they went out for something urgent,” Xie Sizhi said vaguely. “Or they might be dealing with work.”

His painting wasn’t finished yet, so he wasn’t about to stick around and help with the decorating and cleaning—the more physically demanding tasks.

Li Heng hesitated for a moment but followed him upstairs.

He couldn’t remember what time he fell asleep the night before, and his desk was still a mess.

He watched as Xie Sizhi stopped at Xie Duzhi’s door, knocked, and then waited. Li Heng paused as well, unsure of what was going on.

“It’s nothing. I just suddenly felt like bonding with him,” Xie Sizhi said pleasantly. “You should rest early.”

It didn’t seem like a conversation Li Heng should be involved in.

Moving slowly, he said goodnight in advance and made his way back to his room.

After tidying up his books and study materials, he remembered he hadn’t even turned on his computer today.

Xie Duzhi had told him that all he needed to focus on was live streaming, and not to worry about anything else. But his energy was limited. He could only fully concentrate on one task at a time, and right now, he had chosen to focus on studying. Which meant he likely wouldn’t touch his computer again until after exams.

At least, not until after the entrance exams.

As for after the exams… honestly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Mrs. Xie had told him that she didn’t care if he was exceptional or not, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that he wanted to improve.

The desire to become better and the desire to be liked were similar feelings, but he had come to understand that the two weren’t always connected. There could be many reasons for being liked, and being exceptional was only a small part of it.

Still, becoming better would definitely make the people who liked him even happier, wouldn’t it?

If he didn’t hit the required score for the special admissions cutoff—

Imagining the possibility, his expression turned grim.

If that happened, he wouldn’t be able to focus on live streaming at all. He’d need to start preparing for a second attempt.

So, it was probably better to pin a message at the top of his social media and open a stream to explain the situation. That would be more sincere.

He’d deal with the streaming matters tonight, set a study schedule, and start working hard tomorrow.

But as soon as he logged into his account, he was hit with a flood of 999+ notifications—probably because the weekend was approaching.

He right-clicked to turn off further notifications, opened the streaming software, and prepared to share his livestream link in the notification group, like he always did. He figured he could handle the messages while people slowly trickled into the stream.

However, after several rounds of buffering, he was met with something unexpected—not the familiar login screen.

A large yellow warning sign with a loud alert sound popped up instead, followed by a line of bold red text:

[This account has been temporarily suspended due to violations related to harmful content, improper operations, and other reasons. If you have objections, please submit an appeal to the administrator within seven days.]

His account had been banned.

… No wonder his notifications had exploded to 999+. With the stream suspended, of course many people had been messaging to ask about it.

As for why the account had been suspended…

He couldn’t think of a reason.

The newly released game had a strict detection system, and there was no way he could have been streaming online while using cheats.

As for harmful content? That seemed even more unlikely.

Unless it was because he was a minor?

But his identification information hadn’t been updated yet. According to the contract, he was legally an adult.

Unable to think of a reason, he opened the moderator’s chat.

They were offline.

The last message from the admin had been sent several hours ago.

[Muhua: … Just take this as a quiet loss. Once the storm blows over, I’ll find an excuse to lift the ban, saying it was a mistake in the platform’s data.]

[Muhua: Don’t post anything in the meantime.]

Scrolling further up.

[Muhua: Do you have some kind of issue with Lulu???]

[Muhua: … I’ll check. Someone is definitely targeting you.]

The first message from earlier that day was a screenshot of the report the moderator had received, citing him for data falsification, unfair competition, and disrupting event fairness.

There was even a snide comment attached: “There’s no way you could’ve bought your way to the top rankings unless you sold yourself.”

That wasn’t exactly accurate. His account balance had plenty of zeroes now. He had the financial means to boost his own rankings.

And he hadn’t sold himself.

He had simply been lucky enough to be reunited with his family.

He thought about it quietly, then continued reading the admin’s messages, starting to understand what had happened.

Lulu was another streamer in the gaming section. Her account, *The Deer Who Wants to Jump Into Your Heart,* was a flagship streamer for the gaming section of Orange Live, known for her cute voice, adorable looks, and sharp gaming skills, creating a stark contrast that she used as her unique selling point.

To put it simply, there were no other streamers who both played the game better than him and also looked as good as he did. And those who were better at gaming didn’t look as good as him.

If he remembered correctly, Lulu had several hundred thousand followers.

Meanwhile, his own account, *Pythagorean Theorem*, barely had just over ten thousand followers.

Sighing inwardly, he skillfully typed in a URL and navigated to a live-streaming data website.

The number one earner in the gaming section on Orange Platform yesterday was none other than *Pythagorean Theorem*. Lulu had been firmly knocked down to second place.

Based on the stream titles, both of them had been playing the same game. The difference was, it had been Lulu’s birthday yesterday, and she had prepared a special, extravagant paid event.

The top streamer in the gaming section would automatically get two hours of front-page promotion.

It was clear that she was hoping to cash in big and then use the homepage exposure to attract new fans.

But out of nowhere came a “spoiler”—someone took first place in popularity, and during their two hours on the homepage, they merely played the game in silence, barely saying a word.

If he were in Lulu’s shoes, he would definitely feel upset too.

But that didn’t justify her falsely accusing him of manipulating rankings.

After thinking for a moment, he decided to reply to the moderator’s message.

*Pythagorean Theorem*: “I didn’t manipulate rankings or fake my popularity. Why can’t I appeal this?”

The moderator, who he had assumed was offline, replied almost instantly.

*Muhua*: “If I could fix it, I would’ve done it by now. [frustrated emoji]”

*Muhua*: “Do you seriously not know about Lulu’s connections?”

Li Heng was genuinely taken aback.

Before he could respond, another message flashed in the chat window, only to be quickly retracted.

*Muhua*: “Her cousin is the head of the entire streaming department.”

*Message retracted.*

*Muhua*: “Trust me, just let it go. I’ll make sure you don’t lose out on your earnings, okay? I’ll do my best to take care of you.”

Li Heng deleted the half-typed message in his chatbox.

*Pythagorean Theorem*: “…Has this happened to other streamers before?”

The moderator sent a string of ellipses.

A few seconds later, Li Heng received a new friend request—*Muhua*.

After accepting, he was added to a new group chat.

The group’s name was: *Did Lulu Crash and Burn Yet Today?*

That was pretty vicious.

Group members were automatically set to anonymous, and the message history was filled with a flood of comments like, “Let’s welcome the new victim to speak up.” There were dozens of them in a row, which was oddly amusing.

Suppressing a smile, Li Heng typed a simple “Hello, everyone.”

Maybe because of the new “victim,” the chat picked up speed.

In the group, there were people who had lost their homepage recommendations because they didn’t support Lulu. Others had their streams quietly throttled because she didn’t like how much her viewers were tipping them instead. And on and on—too many stories to count.

Initially, Li Heng had felt nothing but anger. But after reading all the playful complaints, he also felt a bit sad.

However, emotions wouldn’t solve anything. Action was needed—he had to find someone who could fix the problem.

It was like back in middle school, when a new principal was appointed, and they replaced the previously elected group of students receiving financial aid. He had marched straight to the principal’s office with everyone’s financial aid applications and supporting documents in hand.

Others might have had various concerns or limitations preventing them from doing anything about Lulu. They might feel suffocated by the weight of her powerful connections.

But he wasn’t scared of her at all.

The current owner of Orange Live was Xie Duzhi, and he called him “brother.”

Still… precisely because of that connection, he felt awkward about asking for help.

He stared at the newly opened chat window, zoned out for a while, and eventually closed it.

What he didn’t know was that, after finishing his paperwork and going through the thick stack of teacher resumes his assistant had compiled, Xie Duzhi had noticed the lack of a live stream notification and clicked into Li Heng’s channel.

He saw the bold suspension notice prominently displayed at the top of the stream.

Li Heng hesitated for a moment, then quickly shook off his thoughts, went over the vocabulary and grammar he needed to review for tomorrow, and climbed into bed.

Tomorrow—he’d definitely talk to Xie Duzhi and ask for a different birthday present.

At 6 AM sharp, the alarm went off.

During the short time it took him to wash up, Li Heng glanced at his vocabulary list, planning to head downstairs for some bread before returning to continue his studies.

But as he turned the doorknob, still thinking about a particularly long word, the sound of something rolling on the floor startled him.

At the doorway, a pile of gifts was stacked like a small mountain.

Not only that, the hallway on the third floor had been completely redecorated.