10. On the Fact That My Brother Is Both a Devoted Fan and an Overprotective Guardian

Fans everywhere were stirring up trouble, turning their idol into an enemy of the world… In his previous life, Chen Shang had seen more than a few celebrities destroyed by their own fanatics. What Chen Shang was doing now was essentially hoisting Jin Yuchuang’s roller coaster rapidly to the very top of the track.

“Hey! What’s up with these fans? Are you sure nothing will go wrong if we just let them run wild like this?” Jin Yuchuang’s brow furrowed, impatience threading his voice.

His manager paused for a moment before replying, “Mr. Jin, I actually think this situation is beneficial for you, at least for now.”

“What do you mean?” Jin Yuchuang asked, uncertainty lacing his words.

“According to our data,” the manager answered confidently, “your merchandise and album sales have risen by twelve percent in the past few days—a significant increase over last month.”

“And so?” Jin Yuchuang pressed.

“These new fans might be zealous, but their spending power is undeniable! If you try to rein them in now, you risk losing their goodwill, and they might stop spending on you altogether.”

“If you want to curb them, wait until their spending frenzy has passed—when they can no longer generate value for you. Besides, while their words may be extreme, they’re still creating buzz for you, keeping you in the spotlight. When the time comes, you simply step out and apologize, say that fan behavior shouldn’t be attributed to the star, and the matter is resolved.”

“All of this is based on the data from Hanchao Entertainment’s database and our AI think tank’s analysis,” the manager concluded, full of conviction.

In this world, technology had evolved to such an extent that many companies employed “AI think tanks” or “robotic advisory panels” for strategic planning. After all, machines were far more reliable than people—they didn’t care about humanity or ethics, and always started from the principle of “profit above all,” devising strategies for maximum company gain.

Indulging these new fans was precisely the optimal conclusion arrived at by Hanchao Entertainment’s AI advisory panel after analyzing recent sales data.

“Alright, seems I was worried for nothing,” Jin Yuchuang conceded. With his manager so adamant, he could only set his concerns aside and hang up.

…

Over the next few days, Chen Shang went to school as usual. But unlike before, he spent his commutes glued to his phone, scrolling through Weibo even when his little sister tried to chat with him—offering only the most perfunctory replies.

In truth, Chen Shang had always been rather perfunctory with his sister.

One afternoon after school, Nayo found she could no longer endure her brother’s pathological attachment to his phone. She leapt up and complained, “Brother, you really are a fan of Jin Yuchuang, aren’t you!”

Chen Shang was still refreshing the incendiary comments about Jin Yuchuang on Weibo, a silly, dazed smile on his face.

Thanks to the efforts of Black Carlis, the tide of public opinion about Jin Yuchuang had subtly shifted. Some netizens had turned from neutral to hostile, and fans from other circles—dragged into conflicts for no reason—had begun to attack him online.

At the same time, trolls, instigators, and “traffic grabbers” lurking online joined the fray, plunging the scene into utter chaos.

Glancing up, Chen Shang noticed his “Collapse Points” had risen to six—a sign that the world’s trajectory had already begun to shift subtly because of him.

—It seems I’m starting to understand the core mechanics of Collapse. I’ll check the shop later to see if I can exchange for something.

“Brother!” Nayo suddenly stomped on his foot with all her might, jolting him from his thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, what is it?” Chen Shang finally snapped back, looking bewildered.

Juggling both schoolwork and the Jin Yuchuang situation had left him haggard, faint shadows gathering beneath his eyes.

Seeing her brother’s weary face, Nayo’s expression softened with barely concealed distress, on the verge of tears.

“Brother, you’ve been so absent-minded lately. You don’t make friends at school, you just play on your phone all the time… You even skipped yesterday’s club fair…”

“Brother, do you really like Jin Yuchuang?” Nayo stared intently at him, seeking confirmation.

“Huh? Jin Yuchuang? Why would I like him?” Chen Shang replied, genuinely puzzled.

But to Nayo, his words sounded like a feeble attempt to hide the truth.

“Brother, just be honest with me. I won’t mind, and I won’t dislike you! After all… everyone’s interests are their own, right?”

Seeing his sister so serious, Chen Shang almost burst out laughing.

After a moment’s thought, he deliberately put on a silly face and giggled, “Teacher Achuang, the god atop the entertainment world! Hehehe~”

Nayo’s eyes went wide as saucers, as if she’d just caught her own father running wild in front of her with his underwear on his head.

She’d just gotten into the same high school as her brother, and he’d suddenly grown more handsome in recent days—two pieces of happiness that should have brought her nothing but joy. So why did her brother have to fall for such a sissy little pretty boy?

After a moment’s internal struggle, Nayo could only clench her tiny fists and mutter with a hint of resentment, “Well, if that’s the case, then I wish you happiness…”

“Wait, you believed me?” Chen Shang was stunned.

But before he could explain, his sister had already fled, wiping her eyes with her sleeve as she went.

“I was going to tell her I’d be home late for dinner today,” Chen Shang sighed, noticing that her affection for him had dropped slightly.

“Oh well, I’ll just text her.”

…

As usual, Chen Shang made his way to Master Guanren’s black market shop.

The mechanical monk wasn’t streaming today; when Chen Shang entered the hall, he found him meditating before the statue of Shakyamuni.

At the sound of the bell on the door, Master Guanren rotated his upper body a full 180 degrees, his face illuminated by a faint blue glow.

“Mr. Chen, are you here to discuss Buddhist philosophy with me today?”

“I never told you my name,” Chen Shang replied coolly.

“Your sister did.”

“Oh, that’s fine then.” Chen Shang’s tone softened. “I’ll be brief—I’m here to buy something.”

“What can I get for you, Mr. Chen?”

“I’d like some merchandise of ‘Did Ameng Chant Today?’ Preferably autographed,” Chen Shang said with a delighted grin.

“Oh? Are you interested in the virtual idol I manage?” A pink glow flickered across Master Guanren’s face. “If you like her, I’ll give you some for free. But autographs aren’t easy to give away—two hundred yuan per autographed Ameng poster if you want one.”

“You’re just scribbling a couple of words; why so expensive?” Chen Shang chuckled.

“You may not realize it, but Ameng’s signed holographic cards are already selling for over ten thousand on the ‘Sour Fish’ platform. I’m giving you the cost price.”

“Fine, I’ll take two.” Chen Shang reluctantly dug four hundred yuan out of his wallet.

The protagonist’s parents only gave their two children four thousand a month for allowance, out of which they had to cover food as well, so four hundred was no small sum in the early stages.

He could always go pick up a few Night Badges, but he wasn’t about to trade a treasure worth a hundred thousand for two posters.

After Master Guanren watched him leave, Chen Shang carried a bag stuffed with Ameng merchandise out of the temple, two freshly signed posters tucked inside.

Back home, he tossed the merchandise onto his bed and began taking inventory.

“Five cards, three commemorative notebooks, two printed mugs, and two autographed posters…”

He picked up one of the pink posters, excitedly kissed the face of the drawn anime girl, and declared, “Perfect! I finally have the last piece of the Jin Yuchuang puzzle!”

Just then, Nayo knocked and entered, looking lost and listless. “Brother, dinner’s ready…”

The next instant, she spotted her brother fervently kissing a virtual idol’s poster, the bed piled high with more related merchandise.

Shocked, Nayo turned and fled, slamming the door behind her without a word.

Back in her room, she hurriedly opened her phone and logged onto “Gudu Forum,” posting a question:

“My brother is both a stan of idol fandoms and a fan of virtual idols. What should I do as his sister?”

It wasn’t long before replies rolled in.

Nayo clicked on the top comment, reading it softly:

“There’s no saving him. Let him start over.”