She’s a Passerby, But Can See the Protagonist’s Halo

Chu Bingbing's long wait finally came to an end. After holing up in her hotel room for three days—binge-reading novels, watching dramas, scrolling through short videos, livestreams, and gaming—time flew by, and the "Tycoon System" finally completed its settlement.

[Excess reward settlement complete. System upgrade complete.]

The words "upgrade complete" stunned Chu Bingbing.

Her system could *upgrade*?

The sense of caution she'd always harbored intensified.

*Damn*, before, failing a task would deduct lifespan based on time. Now, were the penalties even harsher?

Wary, Chu Bingbing spoke carefully, "System, what’s this upgrade about? Why wasn’t I notified?"

She had assumed it was just the excess reward for completing a limited-time task ahead of schedule. In the past, the faster she finished such tasks, the more the remaining time would convert into bonus rewards. So she hadn’t thought much of it—except this time, the reward took unusually long to process, leaving her restless.

"During the excess reward settlement, system analysis determined that the host’s cumulative spending met the upgrade threshold, triggering an automatic upgrade."

The system’s reply was as vague as ever. Chu Bingbing pressed further.

"What’s different after the upgrade?"

"Post-upgrade, the Tycoon System’s spending tasks will diversify and expand in scope."

*Diversify and expand.* Chu Bingbing mulled over the words, committing them to memory, when a sudden thought struck her.

"By 'expand in scope,' you don’t mean suddenly dropping a 24-hour task forcing me to spend millions overseas, do you?"

Global shopping sprees sounded fun, but she was still a student!

For a moment, she weighed the consequences of skipping class against losing lifespan.

*Life wins. Alive means I can still study.*

"The system cannot disclose further." The icy robotic tone made Chu Bingbing brace for the worst.

Just then, a new task flashed before her.

[Temporary Task: A True Tycoon Never Stops.]

[Task Description: A true tycoon doesn’t limit themselves to one domain. Detected: Host’s spending habits are overly concentrated. Expand your horizons and cultivate balanced expenditure.]

[Task Details: Spend 50 million in a new domain.]

[System Upgrade: Funds may now be used for physical/online purchases, tipping. Prohibited: Investments, transfers, donations, real estate.]

[Time Limit: One week.]

[Required Spending: 50 million.]

Chu Bingbing shot up from her bed. *One week?!* And right before the New Year? *Fifty million in a new domain—so no more luxury brands to inflate the numbers?*

This post-upgrade task was unlike any before. She didn’t miss the key detail: *online spending.*

The system had *truly* leveled up.

If future tasks allowed online purchases and tipping, completing them would be a breeze. No more frantic searches for high-end malls wherever she went.

Last year’s comic-con splurge of 500,000, though framed as "tipping," was technically for merchandise—recognized by the system as a physical transaction, not genuine "online tipping."

The bans on investments, donations, and real estate were unchanged. Not that Chu Bingbing would’ve considered them anyway.

Even if she dumped all 50 million into property, she wouldn’t make waves in Ning City or Bin City.

"Fifty million… fifty million," she muttered. *What domain could turn this into a killing spree?*

The task’s wording clearly disapproved of her luxury-brand reliance.

*This is insane. No donations, antiques are already done, and the timeline’s too tight.*

Fifty million wasn’t fifty thousand or five million. She’d need to spend *seven million daily*. Even half a million a day had nearly driven her mad.

*How to spend it? HOW?*

The most money-sucking ventures? Medical treatments, healthcare investments—but the system barred those.

No time to exploit loopholes now. Chu Bingbing gnawed her thumb. *Since online spending’s unlocked… does the system want me to blow 50 million online?*

She mentally tallied her past "domains." At the comic-con, she’d tipped creators over 500,000, earning minor fame in that circle.

If she funneled cash into celebrity fan clubs—like those retweet giveaways for Gu Jiasui—would that count as the "idol-chasing" domain?

And luxury shopping? She was already a VIC.

Then it hit her.

She grabbed her phone and proactively searched her Weibo handle, "CC123," across gossip apps.

The moment she typed "CC123," auto-suggestions flooded the screen:

"Who is CC123?"

"What does CC123’s family do?"

"CC123 vs. Madame Shangguan—who’s richer?"

"Is CC123 red nobility?"

"What’s CC123’s connection to Gu Jiasui?"

*Holy hell.* Chu Bingbing had no idea so many people were speculating about her.

She clicked into high-traffic posts, especially those mentioning "Madame Shangguan."

"Not sure who CC123 is, but she lives in Bin City’s Lakeside Heights, drives a top-tier Jidao supercar. My friend saw her at the auto show—super low-key, wearing luxury basics. Some guy mocked her for it and got humiliated on the spot."

"CC isn’t *that* loaded. Her Weibo giveaways were only in the hundreds of thousands. No property or car flexes. This is *Xiaohongshu*—plenty of richer ladies here. Where’s her Hermès Himalaya? Basic."

"Definitely well-connected. If not for the car leak, we’d never know she owned a 10-million-yuan ride. Super low-profile online, IP’s Bin City. Probably some ultra-wealthy heiress."

"CC’s crazy discreet. Never flaunts. Someone snapped her at the train station last year—looked barely adult. Elite upbringing for sure."

Chu Bingbing laughed until her stomach hurt. *Unreal. Absolutely unreal.*

If not for this random search, she’d never have guessed the internet’s wild theories.

*You people are* professionals *at speculation!*

Her CC123 account had *zero* posts flaunting her Bin City luxury hoard. With barely any Weibo activity, they’d still spun entire backstories.

After skimming the identity debates, she noticed plenty dismissing her as "not rich enough."

Especially when a well-meaning netizen compiled an online "Tycoon Ranking" list and included her, labeling her as the top-ranked "mysterious wealthy woman," it instantly sparked public outrage.

"CC isn’t even close! A house worth 100 million, cars worth tens of millions—that’s just entry-level for the wealthy. And who knows if it’s even hers? To be called a 'wealthy woman,' she’d at least need a walk-in closet full of H-brand bags, floor to ceiling."

"She’s never shown off haute couture, never posted about VIC banquets, never flaunted auction collectibles—and now she’s a wealthy woman? Are the rich women of Bin City that cheap these days?"

"Let’s be real, the benchmark for being a tycoon is casually splurging tens or hundreds of millions a year. The top ten spenders in our 'Great Blade' game drop at least 20 million annually on in-game purchases. By that logic, our gaming whales should make the list too."

"Last year, on platforms like Shark, Dolphin, and Deer Live, some big spenders tipped streamers up to 50 million in total. CC’s measly few hundred thousand in giveaways on Weibo? Please. Even her donations on novel sites don’t compare to what others drop in an hour. How dare her fans hype her up? Based on what, her pocket change? Do they really think spending a few hundred thousand in the entertainment industry makes someone a tycoon?"

Oh boy!

Chu Bingbing had no idea when she’d become public enemy number one. Was this person Gu Jiasui’s anti-fan?

Clutching her phone, Chu Bingbing wasn’t angry.

The internet was crawling with bizarre creatures who’d happily tear someone apart from afar. There was no point getting worked up over unknown entities—her time was too valuable.

Her gaze lingered on the mentions of "gaming tycoons" and "tipping tycoons."

Spending money like that… seemed doable.

But… Chu Bingbing usually played casual games like farming or management sims. She’d never really dabbled in war or strategy games.

This was entirely new territory for her.

As for tipping streamers on live platforms, she pondered for a moment before opening Douyin and clicking on the first recommended livestream.

The screen showed two streamers—one male, one female—facing off with a "VS" between them. Was this called a PK? Chu Bingbing wasn’t sure. She usually only watched livestreams for shopping sprees with big influencers.

But even as a newbie, the situation was clear.

The male streamer was raking in gifts, his popularity soaring. He wore a specially tailored white shirt, half-unbuttoned to reveal his chest, with a metallic chain necklace dangling just right.

His hair was meticulously styled, and with who-knows-how-many levels of filters and lighting, he looked even more handsome than some male celebrities on TV.

"Big Sister Chen is here! Welcome, welcome!"

"Thank you, Sister Fangfang, for the Aircraft Carrier! You’re too generous, thank you!"

The male streamer traced a circle over his chest with his finger, and Chu Bingbing froze—not from fascination, but from secondhand cringe.

In contrast, the female streamer was clearly a beginner. Her setup was simple: basic ring lights and a loose, pastel pink batwing sweater that hid her figure.

She was young and pretty in an innocent, unpolished way, with soft makeup and hands nervously clasped together as she awkwardly thanked viewers for free virtual flowers.

Her beauty was natural, her filters subtle, but compared to her opponent, the gap in popularity was staggering.

And since this PK was featured on the app’s homepage, more and more viewers kept flooding in.

As the disparity grew, Chu Bingbing’s frown deepened at the barrage of comments.

The female streamer’s name was Mengmeng—likely just a nickname she’d adopted.

[Do a little dance, and I’ll tip you. You’re gonna lose.]

[Mengmeng, stand up and show us. You don’t want to lose, do you?]

[Change your outfit, girl. How are we supposed to know you’re cute if you’re bundled up like that?]

[You gotta show skin, gotta move. Learn from your opponent—no one’s tipping unless you flash some cleavage.]

[Even ancient courtesans dressed more revealingly than you.]

Chu Bingbing’s frown tightened. She’d thought the trash in her Weibo comments was bad, but this livestream was worse.

Mengmeng had clearly seen the remarks. At first, there were only a few, but now they were flooding the screen.

The girl had no moderators, and her forced smile was crumbling into helpless confusion.

Chu Bingbing checked the leaderboard. Whatever. Might as well just throw money at the problem.

It was her first time tipping online—might as well test the system.

The male streamer had been overjoyed by the "Aircraft Carrier" gift earlier.

An Aircraft Carrier was worth 10,000 coins (about $1,000) and supposedly boosted popularity.

She glanced at his stats—he’d only gotten a dozen or so. Time to drown him out. Today, she’d stand up for an internet sister.

[CC123 gifted Mengmeng 100 Aircraft Carriers!]

The screen exploded with a dazzling display of 100 Aircraft Carrier animations, flashing for a long moment.

After sending the gifts, Chu Bingbing barely blinked at the $100,000 deduction from her account. With the countdown ending, she exited the stream, confident Mengmeng had won.

Her daily spending quota was $700,000. She still had $600,000 left to burn.

Once the system recorded the livestream tips, she felt satisfied.

Good. Might as well blow the rest today.

Chu Bingbing knew top streamers probably earned a lot, but she scrolled further, deliberately entering low-viewer streams.

One featured an elderly man demonstrating traditional handicrafts, with a sign labeling it as "Ning City Intangible Cultural Heritage." Another was a mother selling small goods to cover medical bills, her low-resolution phone showing a medical report taped to the wall behind her as she softly urged, "New friends, if you need anything, check out the plastic bags in my store. They’re very cheap. Thank you."

There was also an elderly teacher giving basic literacy lessons on a small blackboard…

Compared to the flashy PK streams, these new creators had view counts in the double digits and almost no comments.

Chu Bingbing blinked, then picked six more obscure, untrained streamers with no platform support.

Time to spend.

She couldn’t be bothered to split it up—just finish the daily quota and call it a day.

In each of the six streams, she dropped another 100 Aircraft Carriers. Once the $700,000 goal was met, she closed the app.

Mission accomplished. Time for breakfast!

At 10 a.m., Yan, as usual, finished breakfast at home and logged onto Weibo to check the latest about the Xie family.

But—huh? What?

Why was "#CC123’s Lavish Tips" trending?

Yan jolted awake in an instant. What was going on? Why was Bingbing trending?

She immediately clicked into the hashtag and saw screenshots posted by users.

Not screenshots from Weibo, but from Douyin instead.

"Douyin livestreams witness a sudden appearance of a tycoon—this morning, someone tipped 7 million yuan in just 20 minutes, gifting 100 'Aircraft Carriers' to each of seven different streams. Turns out it was Weibo's infamous rich lady, CC123!"

"CC’s move is beyond comprehension. One of the streamers was a newbie in a PK battle, while the others were, frankly, underdogs—crafters, lecturers… Why would anyone just throw money at them for no reason?"

"The world of the wealthy is unfathomable. @CC123, are you shifting your playground to Douyin now?"

Seven million?

Yan’s pupils constricted. Had Bingbing moved her lavish spending spree from offline to online?

When Yan checked CC123’s Weibo again, her follower count was skyrocketing, and the likes and comments under her latest post had surged once more.

"Bowing down to you, CC. Sis, can you spare some change for the rest of us?"

"Please, sis, I don’t need a hundred 'Aircraft Carriers'—just one would do."

"Seven million in twenty minutes? Sis, does your money grow on trees?"

"Those streamers were stunned. Some even tried returning the money. CC, show yourself! When will this kind of fortune rain on me?"

Yan silently scoffed at the comments. Seven million in twenty minutes? She had personally witnessed Chu Bingbing casually dropping over 300 million at an auction.

Hah. You people have no idea what real wealth looks like.

She took a screenshot of the trending topic and sent it to Chu Bingbing. Even if Bingbing already knew, it wouldn’t hurt to inform her.

Chu Bingbing had just finished her meal when she received Yan’s message.

Trending? Hmm. And some wanted to return the money? That was unexpected.

She logged into Weibo and posted:

**[CC123]**: ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​​‍That was me. Felt good this morning and had nothing better to do, so I splurged a little. What’s given is given—no need to return it. Consider it your lottery win~

After sending it, Chu Bingbing pondered the remaining 43 million in her account.

She could, of course, tip it all away, but even she found that a bit wasteful.

But if she split it among many people, how long would that take? Did she even want to wear out her fingers?

Yan had set Chu Bingbing’s account as a special follow, so she saw the post immediately.

"Felt good," "had nothing better to do," "splurged a little"...

Yan and Zhu Jue exchanged glances. "The rich truly fear nothing."

Back in the hotel, after posting, Chu Bingbing switched to her chat with Yan.

She thought about it—when it came to spending money, as someone who grew up in a small town, she had no clue how to burn through it quickly. Yan, with her background and experience, would definitely know better.

**[Chu Bingbing]**: Yan~ Share some wisdom~ Any places where I can spend a ton of money at once? The more extravagant, the better~

On the other end, Yan and Zhu Jue fell into silence at the message.

Yan glanced down at her and Zhu Jue’s matching 80-yuan Taobao cotton pajamas, their 9.9-yuan Pinduoduo slippers, and the 9.9-yuan-for-three shark clips in their hair. Their entire outfits combined barely cost a hundred yuan.

"Spend a ton of money," "the more extravagant, the better," and asking them for advice on where to splurge? Did they look like they were rolling in cash?

Yan let out a long sigh. Seriously, is this even human language?