Chapter 195: Are You Guys Livestreaming

Chapter 195 Do You Stream Live?

"Amazing!"

The director of this Double Eleven Gala was a renowned maestro from the United States. Having witnessed countless performances and spectacles, he had remained unmoved by the preceding acts, offering nothing more than a polite nod of approval. Yet, as the final notes of "Elf" faded, he clenched his fist in a surge of genuine excitement.

Of course, that gesture was entirely for the sand art. Su Qingcen’s vocal performance had been stellar—a display of live prowess that exceeded even her usual high standards—but for Director David, it had only merited a nod.

David had seen many sand art performances, even collaborating with the world’s elite, but Meng Fan’s work was unlike anything he had ever encountered.

Beyond the exquisite technique, there was a boundless, ethereal imagination; the combination of the two created a visual impact that defied belief.

David was certain that even as a standalone act, Meng Fan was more than qualified to headline a grand show in Las Vegas.

When the rehearsal for Su Qingcen’s group concluded, David extended an invitation to Meng Fan, only to be rebuffed by the tall, cheerful man for a reason that was utterly bizarre.

Do you stream the show live?

Is the viewership high?

These two questions left David completely bewildered. Had anyone ever heard of live-streaming a Las Vegas residency?

David knew that artists could be temperamental, but he had never encountered such a peculiar quirk.

"Chen, your pacing is impeccable."

David shook his head, dismissing the absurdity, and praised the broadcast director over the intercom.

David had brought his own team, but when his lead director fell ill, he had been forced to rely on a local director he had worked with once before.

In a live broadcast, the director is the heartbeat of the show. No matter how skilled David was, without a competent director, the result would suffer.

Yet, this Chinese director named Chen had impressed David from the very start. His command of the stage and execution were superior to their previous collaboration, and the handling of the performance by Su Qingcen and Meng Fan had left David eager for a long-term partnership.

Meng Fan’s act was a director’s nightmare, requiring constant camera rotations and the integration of aerial footage. Any flaw in the switching would have shattered the flow, rendering the performance disjointed.

The visual feast the audience enjoyed was a symphony of effort: the production team and lighting contributed ten percent, the director’s craft twenty, the technology twenty, and Meng Fan’s inherent charisma the remaining fifty.

At the very least, the live audience had not seen anything as breathtaking as those watching the stream.

A great performance is never the work of one person; it requires the harmony of every moving part.

Backstage, Meng Fan let out a long breath. He hadn't seen the broadcast, but he knew he had succeeded. His wildest visions had been realized through the cooperation of the organizers, and the feeling was, quite frankly, magnificent.

He felt elated.

But Meng Fan suppressed the urge to laugh.

He was terrified. The spotlights were on him, and the cameras were undoubtedly fixed on his face; he feared that a single laugh would shatter the delicate, ethereal mood the song had cultivated.

Mood—that was something even with his newfound artistic skills, he knew was rare and precious.

Though he knew a laugh would surely make others smile and perhaps earn him more "Concert Killer" experience, he held back.

He didn't know when he would have the chance for such a spectacular performance again.

After all, live stages weren't always available, and such perfect production support was a rarity.

Endure it!

As long as he could rack up enough views today, it would be enough.

Of course, while a boisterous laugh was out, a smile was still necessary.

Bathed in the spotlight, Meng Fan smiled and waved at the lens, stepping away only when the light finally shifted.

The stage lights flared, the host stepped out, and Su Qingcen was whisked away for interviews and audience engagement.

As for Meng Fan, despite the brilliance of his sand art, he lacked the fame to be invited for an interview. At most, he received a passing "Thank you to sand artist Mr. Meng Fan for that wonderful performance," which, fortunately, caught him on camera one last time.

Sand artist?

Meng Fan found the title quite pleasant, though it was a pity it came from the host. If the system had bestowed such a title, it would surely have come with a generous boost to his sand art attributes.

"Ding!"

A notification chimed in his mind.

The system granting a title directly?

That was impossible.

The chime was the system calculating the "damage" he had dealt to the concert.

Even without laughing, even without any "non-positive guidance," his influence was undeniable, and the number was surprisingly high.

248!

It was even greater than the damage he had caused at Bai Zhi’s concert.

It was clear that his influence was tied to the number of viewers. Otherwise, his performance—which had been perfectly professional and hadn't derailed the gala—wouldn't have reached such a high, more than double his previous score. It was almost two hundred and fifty!

Added to his existing 188, his total damage was now 366, still a distance from the required 1,000.

Of course, Meng Fan had originally thought this task would take a dozen or more concerts, but it seemed it wouldn't take that long after all.

He checked the views added to his "Live Streaming Expert" tally.

His total views had been around 18 million, but now they had leaped to over 52.25 million!

An increase of over 34 million!

In the span of just one song, that many people had been watching the Double Eleven Gala.

Honestly, it was less than he had imagined, but upon reflection, he realized he had been overthinking it.

While a gala might reach hundreds of millions of views over its entire duration, gaining 34 million in less than four minutes was an extraordinary feat.

And Meng Fan’s overwhelming presence had clearly played a role.

The data proved it: after the gala, statistics showed that "Elf" was the second most-watched performance of the entire night.

The first, of course, was the finale by a global superstar whom the organizers had been promoting for half a year.

"Mr... Meng?!"

As Meng Fan returned to the backstage area, he was intercepted by several stars before he could even reach his dressing room.

They seemed unsure of how to address him; they wanted to call him "Master," but he was simply too young.

"Mr. Meng, I would like to invite you to be a guest performer at my concert. Are you available?"

"Mr. Meng, we are currently producing a program... would you be interested?"

These stars, having finished their sets and retired to the lounge to remove their makeup, had watched his performance on the stream. They were moved, and they had come to wait for him the moment he stepped off stage.

They were all famous, and Meng Fan recognized them, but he asked with earnest curiosity:

"Um, your concerts and programs... do you stream them live?"

Please give me a monthly ticket!