Qingyue's livestream room.
Qingyue and Duan Wenhui talked until their mouths were dry, but when they checked the backend, there were barely any orders placed.
He felt a surge of frustration; he'd been streaming "with injuries" for so long, yet these people showed no respect for his hard work.
This was bad enough, but a glance at the viewership numbers revealed a sharp nosedive—compared to just half an hour after the stream started, the traffic now was downright pathetic.
Duan Wenhui also noticed that the livestream was hanging by a thread, and her face gradually fell.
At first, she'd created the persona of a compassionate big sister, patiently addressing viewers' questions. But now, she couldn't even be bothered to make half-hearted responses.
All that was left was Qingyue tirelessly pushing the stream, while Duan Wenhui sat to the side, her shoulders slightly slouched and her composure far from the dignified look she had at the start.
