Chapter 24: Livestream

The “Voice Toward the Future” competition hosted by Piggy Music would run for a full month. In other words, as long as contestants published their submission within that month, they would be considered officially entered.

Afterward, the platform’s internal vocal experts would score the entries, users would vote, and the final ranking would be calculated based on a weighted formula.

First place would receive Piggy Music’s full promotional support for debut, along with the chance to have lunch with a mysterious industry heavyweight. The top three would be offered artist contracts with Piggy Music.

For a platform like Piggy Music, however, a “contract” was very different from those of traditional entertainment companies. There were no mandatory tasks—essentially, it just meant that the artist gained access to internal gigs on the platform.

Rather than a formal contract, it was more like picking up part-time work.

Xu Wei signed up her daughter and Xia Jinnian mainly for the debut promotion. The rest of the rewards didn’t matter much.

“We have to pick up the pace. Best if we record the final version within these few days—that way we’ll have more time to collect votes—”

As Lin Xiyue looked at the event page for the competition, her gaze immediately locked onto four words: user voting.

User voting meant fan influence. But since the competition only allowed contestants who had never released a public single, the platform assumed everyone started on equal footing. The only factor the public should judge was the quality of the work.

But the problem was—Lin Xiyue was anything but some unknown newcomer. Her built-in traffic and attention completely crushed other rookies. And with a B-grade song as her debut track—something extremely rare—it felt as if she couldn’t lose even if she tried.

“Mm-hmm!”

Xia Jinnian was never lazy. Once Xiyue said so, she had nothing to argue about.

And with that, the two girls spent the next three days glued to the recording studio.

They sang, listened, found flaws, fixed them, sprinkled in vocal training between takes—it was an exhausting but incredibly fulfilling process.

During this time, Xu Wei realized that pushing her daughter into the project had been a stroke of genius.

Leaving trust issues aside, Lin Xiyue wasn’t dragging anyone down—quite the opposite. She amplified the emotional expression the song required.

Sometimes, Xu Wei even felt that the tender yet determined affection in their voices when they sang together didn’t sound like acting at all.

“This girl… she’s really throwing herself into it—”

She muttered under her breath.

After three days, their performance quality had basically reached the minimum standard Xu Wei was satisfied with.

So when she suggested that they should capitalize on the current momentum—before the hype faded—and publish the single quickly, Lin Xiyue unexpectedly had a different opinion.

In Xiyue’s view, although she had gained plenty of buzz, most of these people were just here for drama.

Getting them to give her extra views or votes was easy. But if she released a song and needed people to pay real money to support her? That was another story.

What, three yuan isn’t money? Why would people casually spend it on you?

She knew that given the quality of “Stardust Rain,” word of mouth would eventually boost its sales. But the initial numbers were extremely important.

In Country C’s massively developed entertainment industry, countless singles were released every day. If your song wasn’t masterpiece-level, it would disappear from recommended lists within a month. Even if the praise came later, it would be “critical acclaim but low sales.”

Lin Entertainment didn’t need praise. It needed money. Money was the most realistic factor. Money would solve their financial crisis and stop her mom from burning midnight oil every night. Money could change their fate.

So she wanted to find a way to build genuine rapport with these nosy netizens—get them to support her more sincerely.

And the fastest way to build that rapport? Livestreaming.

In this era, livestreaming was still fairly new and popular. But almost no artists dared to livestream.

Why? Because it risked labeling them as “internet celebrities.”
More importantly, it lowered their perceived value.

In the traditional idol system, distance creates mystique. Every public appearance, every single, every photo was meticulously planned and polished. Except for concerts, idols rarely interacted with fans. This distance let fans imagine their own “perfect idol.”

But once you start livestreaming, everything changes. Be too down-to-earth and fans realize idols are just normal people. That would affect later marketing.

But Lin Xiyue wasn’t worried. With foresight on her side, she believed she could control the balance. And frankly, she didn’t have room to hesitate anymore.

No matter what, she needed to maximize the sales of “Stardust Rain,” generate more revenue for Lin Entertainment, solve their current crisis, and let her mom rest early for once. Changing their destiny was what mattered most.

“What do you think, Jinnian?”

Her plan was simple: livestream vocal practice for a few days and casually chat with the viewers to get close to them.

“I’ll listen to you~ You’re the producer and the manager anyway~”

Xia Jinnian blinked playfully. They agreed instantly, and Xu Wei could only sigh and let them go along with their little schemes.

They set up a livestream room, titled it “Vocal Practice,” tossed the camera aside, and started their usual routine.

At first, no one cared about this rookie livestream. But soon, someone recognized Lin Xiyue and Xia Jinnian—and the news spread quickly.

Exactly as Xiyue expected, the stream instantly filled with curious onlookers.

People were shocked. These two girls were prime candidates for traditional idol development. How could they possibly lower themselves to livestream? Wasn’t this self-sabotage? Which company was foolish enough to allow this?

But confusion was one thing—people still watched. Because behind-the-scenes practice footage of idols was extremely rare.

Those idols who always kept fans at arm’s length, who wouldn’t even post a sentence without heavy editing, who photoshopped every selfie a thousand times—how could they ever show raw, imperfect moments?

Yet these two girls didn’t seem to care. Every cracked note, every off-pitch moment, every tongue-twist error, every bit of teasing and banter between them—everything was shown openly…