Chapter Nine: The "Carrot" Seed

The first stage of the Hundred Butterflies Rising competition would last a full fifty days.

All participating streamers were free to create an unlimited number of videos within their own categories. The top ten short videos from each person, ranked by their best performance, would be scored based on a weighted system: content value (40%), interaction data (35%), and streamer ability (25%).

Of course, there was always an element of chance. For example, Lin Ke’s previous video had emerged unexpectedly, earning her a substantial score.

But hardly anyone could have all ten entries hit trending topics perfectly. If such a streamer existed, they would truly be a master.

“Everyone, the competition rules have been shared with all streamers. Though it’s nominally free creation, the seed contestants present here don’t all start from the same footing.

I hope every streamer will carefully study the rules, form their own ideas, and the company will provide professional advice.”

Among the group of seed streamers, besides Monroe, were several with some renown.

“Wrench Liu,” Liu Feixia, a female mechanic at an automobile factory, sturdy and plain-faced, could effortlessly carry a 110-pound tire in one hand. She spoke with a hearty Northeastern accent, calling everyone “little brother.”

In the lower-tier market, Wrench Liu was well-known. She never strayed far from jokes in conversation. Once, she challenged a fitness male streamer to a duel and wore him out until he went offline, rising to fame overnight.

“Phantom Elf,” Lv Xiaotong, a traditional martial arts streamer, recreated classic fight scenes from wuxia and xianxia animations through makeup transformations. She went viral after a trending hashtag, “Look at this star, this is real fighting,” catapulted her popularity.

Afterward, she fearlessly faced waves of fan attacks, fully switching to imitating classic drama fight scenes, rising on the backs of small-time celebrity roles. Of course, these were all minor characters.

“Pro Account,” Wang Shihao, an esports commentator streamer, often played games while providing live commentary. Last year, during Golden Week, when his international server was raided, he rallied over a hundred streamer friends to sweep the Japanese streamers’ turf. His headhunting skills were even more intense than resource grabbing.

After the “Bloodline Awakening” trend emerged, his channel rose with an unstoppable momentum reminiscent of the old “X bar expedition, grass doesn’t grow” style.

Along with Monroe, these few streamers each had nearly a hundred thousand followers. Even their worst videos easily racked up five-figure views. They were truly competing here for million-yuan annual salaries.

The other streamers mostly had some foundation as well—genuinely new accounts likely wouldn’t have caught the company’s attention.

This group of ten streamers had no nepotism involved; everyone immediately began planning their content after the meeting, hoping to submit drafts for the content team’s review as soon as possible.

Although they shared the same streamer hall, Lin Ke did not reveal to others that her scripts were entirely company-designed.

---

Content value included three dimensions: thematic innovation, information increment, and emotional resonance. It mainly assessed whether the streamer’s short videos broke conventional boundaries within their category, possessed professional depth, and could evoke strong emotional responses.

Streamer ability encompassed personal traits, including consistency of video content and alignment with the streamer’s persona.

If Lin Ke followed the company’s script step by step, there would be no problem at all.

It was now a matter of how well she could perform in terms of interaction data, video completion rate, and follower growth to determine her ranking.

No matter what, this was Lin Ke’s first exam as a seed contestant since 2019. Knowing the questions in advance, the answers, and even having met the judges beforehand gave her an inexplicable sense of calm.

After all, it was just playing a role.

No big deal.

Lin Ke leaned against the wall in the corner of the lounge, running her hand over the locker door, still feeling a bit unreal.

Her photo was printed on her work card, her nameplate stuck on the locker door. The building she had previously only passed by for shooting videos was now truly her company.

Using a wet wipe, Lin Ke carefully cleaned every corner of her locker. Deep inside the bottom shoe compartment, she found a thin booklet.

It seemed to be a few pages torn from a notebook, stuck in a crevice inside the shoe locker. Whether it had gotten wet before or not, the paper was somewhat yellowed.

On it was neat, delicate handwriting—the kind that suggested the writer was a gentle girl.

“March 11: Today a fan messaged me not to feel down. I was really touched and grateful. With you all here, I fear nothing.”

“March 19: Ran five kilometers today. The morning sunlight was warm. I want to keep running toward the sunrise.”

“March 24: Stomachache. Luca bought me a cup of hot milk tea. She’s too kind to me. I can keep fighting now.”

“April 2: People must remember gratitude. For everything I have today, there are too many to thank. Smile and persist.”

“April 27: Face life with a smile. Don’t overthink or blame heaven and earth. Your path is yours alone to walk.”

---

The dense handwriting filled several pages, looking like a diary with little plot—just gratitude for the beautiful things around and self-encouragement.

For some reason, reading these relentlessly positive sentences gave Lin Ke an inexplicable sense of unease. Maybe it was because the pages had been torn out, or perhaps it was a girl’s intuition.

Especially the last torn page:

“June 1: The evening breeze blows on the bridge, insects chirp in the grass. Eating peaches, listening to music, watching the starry sky. I wish I could just die right now.”

It sent a chill down her spine.

Forget it. She would find out who owned this locker before and, if that person still wanted it, return it.

“Yo! Keke!”

A familiar voice suddenly interrupted Lin Ke’s thoughts.

Monroe, the streamer she had met briefly during the interview, approached her and draped an arm over her shoulder. “I knew you’d be here. I was looking for you all morning before the event.”

The other streamers, lacking the personal branding crafted by the CEO, had already begun familiarizing themselves with their spots. Monroe, who arrived a couple of hours early, warmly introduced Lin Ke around.

“This is our group’s office area. To the left is the streamer hall; to the right, the lounge. Everyone has a double-door locker.

Here is the refreshment room, with unlimited coffee, sofas, and booths—perfect for resting anytime.

Even in the streamer hall, everyone has their own little compartment. Though the content team is shared, we don’t have to schedule studio time. That’s a privilege other groups don’t have because we’re the seed group—you get it.”

Looking into Monroe’s eyes, Lin Ke felt a flicker of happiness. Indeed, they had signed seed contracts, different from the others.