Chapter 829: Chapter 346: Call an Ambulance Quick!_3

The streamer backend is quite an intriguing system.

When a player sends a gift, it immediately reflects in the streamer’s backend, converting into withdrawable Star Coins according to different commission rates.

That string of numbers represents the streamer’s income.

To withdraw Star Coins from the backend requires a transfer processing time, which is certainly not feasible during a PK match.

However, if the backend-to-frontend transfer permission is enabled, the backend Star Coins can be directly moved to the frontend account–the number displayed at the top of the player interface–and then the frontend Star Coins can be used to send gifts, including gifting yourself.

Golden Jade’s commission rate is 60%.

In other words: 10 million becomes 6 million in the backend, gifting oneself once reduces it to 3.6 million, then 2.16 million for the third round, and 1.3 million for the fourth…

Thus, it’s common for some streamers to exhaust their backend earnings during competitions.

Winning is ideal, but losing spells a financial disaster.

Some platforms always keep the permissions open for inter-account transfers, fearing that streamers might not spend, hence the coined saying: “YY earns money, YY spends it all, not a cent goes home.”

Dog Star is the same crap–its transfer permissions are never closed, except today, when Xingyu’s permissions were temporarily shut off.

Su Huai’s prior precautions suddenly proved meaningful at this moment.

Meanwhile, Jin Yucheng was gearing up for his victory celebration.

They had prepared 100 million cash to push their livestream guild with their sights set on Su Huai’s Xingyu.

In the early stages, they spent millions on venue setups, talent recruiting, renovations, and platform-wide gift storms to buy fame–expending over 20 million.

Just now, another 20 million’s worth of red packets were sent out but only recouped 1 million.

Only 55 million remained to fight this PK, and he was entirely unshaken–thanks to being able to spend from the backend.

“Brothers, the time has come to slay the gods! Get pumped up for me!”

Fu Daiheng hollered, personally operating an account, his face flushed as he sent massive gifts.

“Damn it! I don’t care how much I lose! Today, I must crush this worthless loser!”

The PK blood bar began its second frenzied surge. This time, neither side held back–it quickly escalated to 8,000 versus 11,000 (in tens of thousands).

Golden Jade executed its first backend-to-frontend transfer, cleaning it out.

“Keep going!”

At this point, even the usually composed Jin Yucheng lost his cool; no one could remain indifferent in such a situation.

Fu Daiheng fiercely tore off his sweater, his whole body emanating heat.

“Hell yeah!”

With 2 minutes left, all the guild accounts belonging to Golden Jade Guild were entirely drained.

Only Golden Jade Stage’s streamer account remained on-site, still racking up points at a rate of 3 million each hit.

On the other side…

“Shit! What’s going on with the other side?!”

Jin Yucheng suddenly turned livid, leaning over the screen and staring fixedly at Yuji’s livestream room.

“How is it that all this time not a single guild account topped the charts???”

The operations manager poached from Xingyu hesitated with great difficulty: “Uh…”

“I asked you a question! Answer me!”

The manager grimaced and replied, “Our company has a rule–guild official accounts will not spend a single penny on Yu unless absolutely necessary…”

“Absolutely necessary?!”

Jin Yucheng’s eyes widened, his usual aloof demeanor completely crumbling.

“You call this unnecessary?! Are you joking?!”

“Uh… if guild accounts haven’t entered the field, then…”

Fu Daiheng burst out in frustration: “Fuck! If none of the guild accounts participated, then how did they rack up 1.1–nearly 1.2 million?!”

The correct answer is… conserving their pace.

If Su Huai hadn’t deliberately slowed down, wouldn’t it be far beyond 1.2 by now?

This sly bastard had long figured out Jin Yucheng’s tactics, deliberately maintaining a 30 million lead to toy with him.

As soon as Golden Jade’s score stagnated at 8,500, Su Huai immediately stopped.

You pause, I pause.

Otherwise, scaring Jinjin into retreat would mean all those backend coins could be clawed back–what a shame that’d be?

When Su Huai’s side halted, Jin Yucheng immediately felt relieved.

“Keep going, push to the limit; that mongrel can’t hold out much longer!”

Backend-to-frontend transfers only took 5 seconds, and sending a package worth 1.8 million only took 1 second. Dog Star Platform had no gift cooldown, the emphasis being on “big-stage dreams”–all fair game for sneak attacks.

Jin Yucheng gritted his teeth and carried on stoically–30 million dwindled to 18 million, then to 10 million, down further to 6 million…

In a minute’s time, another 35 million was spent.

But the PK bar…

12,000 vs. 15,500.

The gap remained around 35 million–the same as several minutes earlier, unchanged now with only 30 seconds left.

“Mr. Jin, we’re about to run out!”

The monitoring voice choked with sobs, echoing through the hall; apart from that, the room was eerily silent.

No one dared to speak; not a soul even dared to move.

Every employee kept their heads hung low, staring either blankly at the screen or down at their keyboards, their breathing restrained to the brink of suffocation.

On-screen, even Zhen Ji no longer carried her energetic facade–she gazed hopelessly at the screen, eyes reddened, tears brimming.

Jin Yucheng’s eyes burned crimson, veins bulging on his neck, throbbing incessantly. Suddenly, he hurled his phone at the screen before him.

Bang!

The phone spun vertically, lodging itself dead center of the screen. A wisp of smoke spiraled upward, leaving a dark blotch in the middle while the surrounding PK footage continued playing.

The feed from Pei Shuyu’s side was entirely obliterated; ironically, the countdown timer on the split livestream screen flickered on the verge of visibility, jumping toward the final moments.

As the countdown entered the last 10 seconds, the blood bar surged once more.

In just an instant, Yuji’s score skyrocketed by another 22.7 million, flipping the PK bar to 18,250 vs. 12,500.

Jin Yucheng roared like an enraged lion, spinning around violently: “What the fuck is this now?!”

“It’s… it’s… it’s a group of scattered ticket players…”

“???”

Jin Yucheng stared blankly, eyes wide, seemingly hearing the most incredulous news on earth.

Even Fu Daiheng bounced up as though electrified: “Scattered tickets? How’s it possible to have scattered ticket players at this moment?! And generating so much?!?”

“Maybe… maybe… uh…”

“Speak! What the hell are you stammering about?!”

The monitor braced himself, eyes shut tight, shouting boldly: “They’re probably the ones who snatched red packets from our battle earlier! All damn Yu Family Army members!”

Bang!

Suddenly, Jin Yucheng felt his sight go dark, only for a dazzling gold light to explode in his mind as he toppled sideways into his chair, emitting a muffled thud.

Losses of a billion weren’t terrifying–though it was quite a sum, enough to strain one’s entire operations, crush a hopeful guild to the ground, it was ultimately just money.

But the truly terrifying part was…

Being played like a fool the whole way, never having even the slimmest hope of winning.

That bastard, that mongrel, that devil with a vile mind, had been calmly seated across the field the entire time–mocking smirk tugging at his lips, watching silently as he performed like a clown.

And as the mental image of a clown emerged, Jin Yucheng suddenly envisioned himself transformed–

Donning a ludicrous wig, a tomato-red nose, skewed lips, and squinted eyes, pulling faces before a mirror.

Fuck!

Su Huai, you absolute beast!

Swearing that final curse, Jin Yucheng finally couldn’t endure anymore.

Just before fully losing consciousness, faint calling echoes reached his ears–muffled and indistinct, like the whispers of a dream.

“Mr. Jin! Mr. Jin? Hurry! Someone call an ambulance!”