The Academic God Becomes an Internet Sensation After Joining a Dating Show - C30 - Livestream

Shen Xuzhi’s mind went completely blank.

Qing Lin, still gripping his tie, lifted his head, revealing the delicate line of his neck. His bright eyes and gently arched brows radiated pure, unguarded joy.

Shen Xuzhi’s nerves tightened, his thoughts slowing to a sluggish crawl as a flood of chaotic ideas surged and collided, only to be pushed back by the stubborn force of reason.

Qing Lin released him, giving a gentle push that sent Shen Xuzhi back slightly, then leaned comfortably onto the bed. His relaxed expression clearly said, “See? It’s no big deal.”

“Okay,” he added, “you can go now.”

Shen Xuzhi: “….”

Reverse psychology had been at play, but the outcome left him feeling oddly self-defeated. Still, standing there, he realized he hadn’t actually lost, he had already gained. Using Qing Lin’s competitive streak was exhilarating, even if it left a faint ache of emptiness behind.

He wanted to kiss him again, to lift that delicate chin, perhaps brush lips against that fair, inviting neck. But such a sudden move might overwhelm him.

Patience.

Restraint.

Gradual progress.

Shen Xuzhi let him rest, promising himself he would return later, especially with filming still ahead.

After Shen Xuzhi left, Qing Lin picked up his phone. News of his accidental drowning two days ago had indeed trended, though the production team had partially removed the posts.

His Weibo inbox was still flooded with private messages.

The program’s schedule couldn’t be delayed, and the other teams had to continue filming. Fortunately, Qing Lin had come through unharmed; otherwise, responsibility would have been unclear. He realized just how much trouble he had caused and made a mental note to apologize to Director Hong.

Meanwhile, Director Hong Shanyue shook his head repeatedly while reviewing the footage.

“Look at how Xu Zhi behaves,” Hong Shanyue said, tapping the screen with his fingertip as he spoke to Feng Jian. “It was as though he feared no one would notice.”

“Although dealing with the drowning incident took a lot of effort, thanks to the two of them, the show’s ratings are fantastic,” Feng Jian added, showing him a Weibo post. “Here, take a look. This is from Director Huang.”

Hong Shanyue leaned forward to take a closer look.

[@Watching the Tides – Huang Jingzhong: Thanks to @ShenXuzhi-Liam for the brilliant performance, and @QingLin for the sincere review on “Follow Heart.” Xu Shan is my most respected writer; it’s an honor to have the chance to collaborate. We sincerely invite you to create something wonderful together @XuShan]

“Director Huang successfully invited Mr. Xu Shan to join the writing team, thanks to Qing Lin’s review,” Feng Jian explained. “He’s thrilled and even offering sponsorship to our show.”

“Plus, Daniel, the YouTube tech influencer, shared our official account. I didn’t expect Qing Lin used to be a YouTube blogger. Now the show is even gaining some overseas traction,” Feng Jian added.

“This is practically striking gold,” Hong Shanyue exclaimed, eyes lighting up. “Shen Xuzhi really lucked out this time.”

Feng Jian added, “That little rascal Bai Wenle got sent back by Shen Laoshi. Honestly, it saved us a lot of trouble.”

The two of them nodded in quiet agreement, settling into the familiar rhythm of the director’s room.

Hong Shanyue leaned back in his chair, then glanced at Feng Jian. “Oh, by the way, have we finalized an artist for the new promotional poster yet?”

Feng Jian flipped through his tablet, his finger pausing over a few thumbnails. “The next episode’s set in Argentina. We’re looking for artists who can really play with bold, exaggerated colors. Here are a few candidates we’ve shortlisted.”

Hong Shanyue took the tablet and scrolled slowly, letting his eyes linger on each piece. He stopped abruptly at one painting. “This one…”

Feng Jian leaned in and said, “The artist goes by the username Orphic on Weibo—a niche creator.”

Hong Shanyue examined the image: a bird rendered in thick, swirling oil strokes, its feathers merging seamlessly into a riot of colors, each hue exaggerated, each blend visually striking.

“It’s definitely distinctive,” Hong Shanyue murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But the colors… they’re a bit too wild to appeal to everyone.” He paused, then added, “Can we reach out to them?”

Feng Jian shrugged, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the problem. Orphic posts only once every three to four months, no captions, and only has about fifty or sixty thousand followers. We tried a private message but there’s no response. Honestly, there’s no reliable way to contact them.”

Hong Shanyue tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Then… maybe we tag them on the official account. If it catches some attention, they might notice.”

Feng Jian’s eyes lit up. “Tag him, huh? Not a bad idea. I’ll get someone on it.”

______________________________________________________________________________

After the first part of Follow Heart wrapped, everyone drifted back to their own routines for a brief break.

Qing Lin returned first to Z University, where his project team was counting on him to help with the final touches on their work.

Although the campus was quiet for the summer, with few students lingering around, Qing Lin still caught glimpses of recognition on the streets. The show had been popular, and people remembered him.

Ever since receiving his graduate school recommendation, the weight of academic pressure had lifted considerably. Yet when his former advisor extended a warm, hard-to-refuse invitation, Qing Lin agreed to join a project team. Spending the summer assisting a professor was nothing unusual, after all.

What lingered in his mind, however, was a different matter entirely. Ever since that fleeting kiss on Shen Xuzhi’s cheek, Qing Lin felt a subtle shift: Shen Xuzhi had grown… clingy, in a way.

During Qing Lin’s hours of academic work, Shen Xuzhi would reach out almost daily, sending trivial messages—updates on his schedule, progress at work, or even snippets of new song demos.

Qing Lin found the attention a little too proactive; they weren’t on the show right now, so constant contact felt unnecessary.

Shen Xuzhi, of course, had a far more elegant way to describe it: cultivating tacit understanding.

It was only then that Qing Lin remembered Shen Xuzhi’s true gift—he was a remarkably talented composer. Sometimes, the brilliance of other things can overshadow the pure clarity of an original light. Though he seemed cold and distant, the songs he created were astonishingly gentle and lyrical.

Qing Lin realized he genuinely loved Shen Xuzhi’s music. Not just the hit songs that everyone knew, but even the demos. They carried a familiarity, a subtle nostalgia that could transport him back to a distant, unspoken past.

Once, after finishing a project meeting, Qing Lin accidentally nudged the speaker. His phone buzzed repeatedly, each alert a new message from Shen Xuzhi.

Opening it, he found they were all from Shen Xuzhi.

A senior in his group, already a fan of the travel-romance show, caught sight of Qing Lin typing furiously and grinned. “Yo, replying to your Shen Laoshi, huh?”

For the first time, Qing Lin felt a flush of real embarrassment over shipping a CP in real life. He didn’t want to lie, so he merely nodded. The senior’s smirk widened as Qing Lin’s ears burned bright red.

But one day, Shen Xuzhi didn’t reach out at all. Then another day passed—still nothing.

Qing Lin, who normally paid little attention to entertainment news, finally checked Weibo and discovered that Shen Xuzhi had been invited out of town for a shoot and was far too busy to even glance at his phone.

Feeling a sudden urge, Qing Lin decided to take the initiative.

[Qing Lin: You’re not in the country?]

By chance, Shen Xuzhi was free and happened to see the message. His chest softened at the sight of it.

[X: How did you know?]

The reply came almost immediately.

[Qing Lin: Weibo IP address]

Shen Xuzhi: “…”

Seeing the reply, Shen Xuzhi couldn’t help but chuckle.

Good—he’s making the first move.

The makeup artist next door was stunned. In all her time working with Shen Laoshi, she had never seen him smile like this.

Oh my gosh… could this actually happen? ShenLin is the GOAT, she thought in awe.

Going out, however, wasn’t convenient for Qing Lin. Even a simple trip to the supermarket risked recognition after Part 1 aired, so he mostly stayed on campus, burying himself in his studies.

Having finished his portion of the project, Qing Lin found himself wandering into the art studio one bright, sunlit morning.

The art club president, his classmate, had been persistently inviting him to join for months, but Qing Lin had always refused. Today, however, he borrowed the key.

In truth, he liked painting. He had just stopped for various reasons. Now, he only painted when inspiration struck, whether in moments of joy or quiet melancholy.

The studio was spacious, lined with easels, the back wall a gallery of student artworks. Morning sunlight streamed in slowly, casting a gentle, shifting play of light and shadow across the room, infusing it with a calm, leisurely warmth.

Qing Lin chose an easel near the front. Today, he thought, he wanted to paint a person.

Qing Lin unlocked his phone and began scrolling through Weibo, searching for reference images to copy and practice. His eyes landed on the official Follow Heart account, and on a whim, he tapped in.

The first post made him pause in surprise.

[@Follow Heart-travel romance: [Retweet] Ou’s paintings are absolutely stunning!! I love it so much 💐 🌞 @Orphic]

Huh? Orphic?

That name… it felt familiar.

Curious, Qing Lin opened the comments.

[NewbieFlower: Ahhhhhh!!!  Ou!]

[WanderingAlt: OMG my obscure waifu got noticed?! I love their art style so much!]

[WhitePeach: Ou! I’m so flattered! I thought it was someone with the same name, but it really is my treasure waifu!]

[ShanShan: Is waifu making a comeback?! They haven’t posted on Weibo in forever, sob sob sob]

Most comments still asked, “Who is this person?” Yet Qing Lin’s heart skipped a beat—he was certain.

This… this was his Weibo.

He quickly switched accounts, logging into the one he had long “pretended didn’t exist.” Sure enough, it was his. Followers, mentions, comments—all 999+.

He had created the account years ago without any particular purpose, occasionally sharing paintings.

What was happening? Could the production team have discovered this hidden account?

Before he could ponder further, Qing Lin opened his DMs. A message from the production team sat there, waiting.

[Follow Heart–travel romance: We sincerely invite you to collaborate. Would you like to join our promotional team and be responsible for painting the poster for the next episode?]

Ah, a poster painting.

They must have liked his art style.

Somehow, this long-dormant account had gained a small following, and over time, many people had even requested commissioned works, personal or commercial, though Qing Lin usually ignored them.

But this…

This was different.

If the production team realized the account was his, there was no way he could explain why he had lied to the directors about not having a Weibo.

Refusing outright seemed certain yet ignoring it entirely felt safer. Better to play dead.

Qing Lin quickly logged out. Just as he reached to switch accounts, a WeChat notification lit up his phone.

[Director Hong Shanyue: Hi Linlin~ Do you have some free time recently?]

Qing Lin shivered slightly at the unexpected ping.

[Qing Lin: Hmm, what’s up, director?]

[Director Hong Shanyue: Our next part is about to start recording soon and we’re going to Argentina! The passports will be processed together; I’ll list the materials you’ll need, and Xiao Liu will collect them from your school.]

[Director Hong Shanyue: Also, I noticed you haven’t been on BiliBili in a while. If you have time, could you do a livestream? 💖]

Qing Lin understood immediately. Part 2 was coming, and they wanted him to livestream for promotion. Luckily, it had nothing to do with Orphic. Once the contract was signed, he knew he couldn’t refuse a client’s request.

[Qing Lin: Okay, got it, director. I’ll do the livestream shortly.]

[Director Hong Shanyue: Great, looking forward to it.]

He turned off his phone and let his gaze fall on the blank sheet before him.

Quietly, he mixed colors on the palette, layering a soft base that spread faintly across the paper. Sunlight from the window split the sheet in two, casting sharp lines of light and shadow that danced across the surface.

It felt as though a gentle gust of wind brushed past him. Qing Lin picked up a warm brown, letting it soak into the paper.

______________________________________________________________________________

[Welcome to Lin’s livestream]

[Ahhh LinLin! Are you feeling better?]

[Lin God! Lin God, you’re online! Please solve problems on livestream!]

[I rushed over!]

[I heard Qing Lin showed his face on livestream?!]

The room was almost silent. Only the scratching of a pen against paper and the ticking of a mechanical clock filled the air, lending the space a quiet, studious atmosphere.

Qing Lin sat at his desk, the camera angled to capture his face this time.

Qing Lin sat at his desk, the camera angled to capture his face this time. Pale, calm skin, sharp, delicate features. One slender hand held the pen, the ulna subtly visible beneath the skin. When he looked up, it revealed a refined, handsome face.

He showed no expression; while solving problems, he was a different person entirely, precise, serious, working with effortless skill, his focus absolute.

[OMG he is showing his face! Now I finally understand why he’s popular on YouTube]

[I’m speechless! Too sexy! That hand! That posture! That side profile! Intelligence + looks, I’m losing it!]

[You know, Qing Lin, you look like my husband who hasn’t come home in years T.T]

[Motherly love corrupted]

Behind him, his dorm room remained quiet. Two roommates were buried in their own studies, while another, probably shy, had gone out.

Qing Lin didn’t lift his head once, brows slightly furrowed, pale skin catching the soft room light. He remained fully immersed in mathematical analysis.

[LinLin, check out the comments QAQ]

[Lin God is so focused on studying! Half an hour gone and he hasn’t glanced at the live comments]

Indeed, Qing Lin ignored the livestream comments entirely, absorbed in the problems before him. Watching him work was mesmerizing. But human nature is insistent—the more attention is denied, the stronger the desire for it grows.

“Tree by the roadside” sent three roses.

“Finals will pass” sent one conch.

[LinLin isn’t reading the comments? Is the problem really that interesting? I can’t even understand it, sob]

Still, Qing Lin remained completely focused, unshaken, the world reduced to pen, paper, and thought.

People kept scrolling through the comments as they watched, each secretly hoping Qing Lin might glance at it even just once.

At that moment, a new account appeared and immediately sent a lavish gift.

In livestreams, every gift comes with its own special effect—the pricier it is, the flashier the display. This one sent ten in a row, making it impossible to miss.

“Shen Xuzhi–Liam” had sent ten Super Rockets.

In an instant, the comments exploded.

[Shen Xuzhi! Is that really him??!]

[OMG! Shen Laoshi! Shen Laoshi is watching LinLin’s livestream! Could this really be happening?]

[Ahhh, it feels like New Year’s! Shen and Lin together. I’m losing it!]

Shen Xuzhi’s official BiliBili account had appeared without warning, openly coming to watch Qing Lin. The CP fans nearly lost their minds, the scrolling comments blazing across the screen.

[He loves him so much, he directly logged in with his main account!]

[Ten rockets! That’s definitely true love]

And yet, Qing Lin didn’t so much as lift his gaze toward livestream comments.

He seemed caught on a particularly tricky problem, his refined brows drawn tight, fingers slightly reddened from twisting the pen. He set it down only to tap it lightly against the desk before picking it up again.

Not a single glance.

The chat went wild in his place.

[Lin ahhh! Your husband is here to see you!]

[Quick, look at the chat! Look at the chat! Look at the chat!]

[Shen Laoshi is here! Lin-ah! Just look up—the question will seem so much better with your husband there!]

[Shen Xuzhi-Liam: Don’t disturb him]

Immediately, the comments burst into a unified frenzy of “kdlttl,” the stream vibrating with excitement.

[He just indirectly accepted being called husband! Oh my, full-on wifey devotion]

[Damn, this is so entertaining it’s killing me]

Shen Xuzhi understood that Qing Lin could lose himself in studying so completely that the outside world simply ceased to exist.

Once he finished, it would be fine.

Half an hour crawled by.

Qing Lin finally completed the last problem, his pen pausing before he exhaled a quiet breath of relief. The viewers stirred, sensing their chance—surely now LinLin would glance at the chat.

But in the livestream, he didn’t even blink toward the scrolling comments. He simply set his pen down, picked up another, and began working through an entirely new set of problems.

Shen Xuzhi: “……”

[He’s a demon, this speed]

[Ahhh, he’s amazing! Start teaching, I want to be instructed by him]

[His focus is truly admirable. If I could concentrate like this for ten minutes, maybe I could get into a top-tier university]

Shen Xuzhi’s gaze lingered on the chat before he finally typed a single comment.

[Shen Xuzhi-Liam: So focused]

Though Qing Lin didn’t see it.

For the rest of the session, Shen Xuzhi quietly occupied the top of the gift leaderboard, sending showers of virtual presents and the occasional message.

[Shen Xuzhi-Liam: Focused]

[Shen Xuzhi-Liam: Is the problem hard?]

[Shen Xuzhi-Liam: Envious of your concentration]

Notifications stacked one after another—

“Shen Xuzhi-Liam” sent 50 little heart bears.

“Shen Xuzhi-Liam” sent 100 beautiful bouquets.

The other viewers were delighted.

[Ah Zhi looks so aggrieved, like a neglected puppy]

[Haha every line he types screams “Qing Lin, why aren’t you looking at me”]

[HAHAHAHA this is too funny]

[What to do? He looks so pitiful.]

The chat surged like a tide, spamming a single mocking refrain.

[Look at Shen Xuzhi, all pitiful and neglected.]

[Look at Shen Xuzhi, all pitiful and neglected.]

__________________________________________________________________________

Qing Lin leaned back in his chair when he finished, tilting his head to stretch his neck. The line of his Adam’s apple caught the light, his slender shoulders shifted slightly, the sharp contours of his bones radiating a quiet, youthful energy.

Wow… that took a while.

At last, he looked at the comments scrolling across the livestream.

The messages repeated teasingly: “Look at Shen Xuzhi, all pitiful and neglected.” Qing Lin’s mind flickered with a question mark.

He spoke gently, “Shen Laoshi, what’s wrong?”

His voice was soft, tinged with a slight huskiness from the long silence, carrying a trailing note. In the quiet livestream, where only the sound of pen on paper filled the air, his sudden voice felt especially striking.

Comments flooded the livestream.

[LinLin! You finally looked!]

[Ahhh, the voice is so cute. I’m dying, the contrast is just unbearable]

[Qing Lin’s first line went to Shen Laoshi—who’s totally shipping this!!]

[Shen Laoshi has always been here, darling]

[Your husband is so aggrieved, you’re not even paying attention to him]

Qing Lin rubbed his eyes, exhausted after finishing the problems. The livestream comments were scrolling too fast to follow.

What’s with that…?

Before he could think further, his phone vibrated. A WeChat notification appeared.

It was from Shen Xuzhi.

Under the backdrop of the bright red rose he had painted that morning, the message seemed to bloom quietly, hidden in the center of the vibrant petals—a private blossom only the two of them could see, brilliant and dazzling amid the artwork.

[Shen Xuzhi: Shen Laoshi is watching you]