132: Chapter 131: Fifty Million People, watch online!

No one spoke in the data center.

The six main screens on the wall scrolled simultaneously.

The red curve surged past the original coordinate limit, and the statistical system began to automatically expand the range.

Forty million, forty-three million, forty-six million.

Every refresh was rewriting Tencent Video's own history.

Technician Zhou Cheng stared at the backend, his lips moving slightly.

"Operations Director Li, the real-time viewership is still rising."

"How much?"

"Forty-eight million seven hundred and twenty thousand."

Operations Director Li Hong glanced at the time.

Eleven forty-seven at night.

The live broadcast had ended three minutes ago.

Under normal circumstances, once the host left the stage, the online viewership would drop rapidly.

But tonight was completely the opposite.

Huang Zitao's clip admitting defeat was spreading across major social platforms, and a large number of users followed the links to flood into the already black-screened live broadcast room.

They couldn't see anything.

Yet they refused to leave.

Some people were waiting for the replay.

Some people were spamming bullet comments.

And some people just wanted to confirm with their own eyes that the duel just now had really happened.

Technician Zhou Cheng tapped on his keyboard.

"The load on overseas lines has reached ninety-three percent. The Southeast Asian nodes have already been expanded twice, and the North American nodes just sent a request to add another set of servers."

Operations Director Li Hong asked, "How much backup resources are left?"

"If we turn everything on, it'll last for twenty minutes."

"Turn them on."

"But tomorrow's other projects—"

"Tomorrow's projects will be handled tomorrow."

Operations Director Li Hong pointed at the still-rising curve.

"If this line breaks tonight, no matter how many projects we open in the future, we won't be able to make up for it."

Technician Zhou Cheng no longer hesitated.

The backup cluster was connected.

The page lagging disappeared.

The online numbers jumped again.

Forty-nine million two hundred thousand.

Forty-nine million five hundred thousand.

Forty-nine million eight hundred thousand.

Only the sound of keyboards remained in the entire technology center.

It was still two hundred thousand short of fifty million.

Everyone knew what this meant.

There were quite a few large-scale live broadcast events in the country.

New Year's Eve galas, top-tier sports events, and celebrity concerts had all generated astonishing traffic before.

But no platform had ever publicly produced data of fifty million truly concurrent users online.

Not cumulative clicks.

Not viewing counts.

Not promotional talking points that mixed replays and short video view counts together.

It was fifty million accounts connecting to the server.

In the bottom right corner of the screen, the numbers moved again.

Forty-nine million nine hundred and eighty thousand.

Forty-nine million nine hundred and ninety thousand.

The next second.

The statistical module froze briefly.

A brand new number appeared in the center of the main screen.

50000000.

The alarm sounded throughout the entire floor.

No one went to turn it off.

Technician Zhou Cheng abruptly stood up from his chair.

"It broke!"

The data center instantly erupted.

Someone slammed the table, someone took off their headphones, and someone else raised their phone to take pictures of the screen.

The duty supervisor ran to the main machine and repeatedly checked three independent statistical ports.

The results were consistent.

Fifty million.

This was not the end yet.

The peak finally stopped at fifty million three hundred and seventy thousand.

Since the establishment of Tencent Video, the highest record of all projects was nearly doubled on this single night.

And the person who created this number had no large-scale gala, no international sports events, and no hundreds of supporting celebrities.

Only a practice room.

Two microphones.

Two senior and junior labelmates who had debuted for many years and walked different paths.

Operations Director Li Hong looked at the screen and took out his phone.

"PR department, issue the victory report."

The other end of the line asked, "Should we use fifty million, or fifty million three hundred and seventy thousand?"

"Write the exact number."

"What about the poster title?"

Operations Director Li Hong paused for two seconds.

"Tonight, witnessed by fifty million people."

Ten minutes later, Tencent Video's official account published the victory report.

The accompanying picture had no complicated design.

In the center of the black base map, there was only a string of white numbers.

50,370,000.

Below was a line of small text.

"Su Chen and Huang Zitao's music exchange live stream refreshed the all-platform concurrent online historical record."

Weibo froze for three seconds first.

Afterwards, the trending search list began to refresh completely.

First, Su Chen live stream fifty million online.

Second, Huang Zitao admits defeat.

Third, Su Chen industry standard.

Fourth, complete replay of the century duel.

Fifth, technique can be trained, life cannot be copied.

Sixth, Tencent Video refreshes historical record.

Seventh, Su Chen overseas popularity.

Eighth, thirty-seven songs copyright case.

Ninth, Huang Zitao calls Brother Chen.

Tenth, who won tonight.

Top ten.

Not a single one left.

Screenshots of the list were wildly circulated by netizens.

[This is the first time I've seen the top ten trending searches monopolized by the same live stream.]

[When other people get on trending searches, they buy a seat; Su Chen just carried the whole table away.]

[What is the concept of fifty million concurrent online users? My family of three generations combined contributed three.]

[The live stream ended and the viewer count is still rising, and people are even watching a black screen, is this reasonable?]

[Tencent Video: Turns out my servers could handle this many people, I just found out too.]

[The most ridiculous thing is that this live stream had no promotion at all at the beginning, relying entirely on a temporary co-hosting connection.]

[Huang Zitao lost a match, but won back his public reputation; nobody lost out in this wave.]

[Don't rush to celebrate, the thirty-seven songs haven't been taken back yet.]

[Tonight is not the end, it is Su Chen's notice of re-entering the arena.]

At 12:00 AM, Su Chen's personal account followers surpassed twenty million.

At 12:27 AM, it surpassed twenty-five million.

At 1:09 AM, the number crossed thirty million.

The platform's follower growth chart was no longer tallied by the hour, and could only be refreshed by the minute.

Operations personnel flipped through all the content Su Chen had posted in the past.

No ads.

No heavily edited promotional photos.

Most of them were training records, arrangement snippets, and a few simple life updates.

The latest one was posted half a month ago.

Only four words.

"It's not over."

The number of comments on this update surged from over a hundred thousand to over three million.

[Now I know what you meant by 'it's not over'.]

[Brother, is this you being not over? This is you just starting.]

[Thirty-seven songs, not a single one can be missing.]

[They used to say you left the stage for five years; looking at it now, it was the stage that waited for you for five years.]

[Fifty million people today, how many people will there be on the day of the court trial?]

[New fan reporting in, I've already caught up on all the stages I could.]

[From overseas, where can I hear his complete album?]

The last comment was voted to the front row.

Because the person asking the question was not from the country.

The account's location showed: United Kingdom.

At the same time, on overseas social platforms, an English entry with Su Chen's name surged into the global trending list at number three.

Huang Zitao's video admitting defeat was added with subtitles in seventeen languages.

The most widely circulated one was not the two people's three rounds of confrontation, nor any high-difficulty performance.

But rather the sentence Su Chen said.

Technique can be trained.

Life cannot be copied.

In a short span of eight seconds, it was reposted over two million times.

An American music media outlet took the lead in publishing a report.

The title had only one sentence.

"A performer from Huaxia is redefining the all-around artist."

A veteran British entertainment newspaper followed up, meticulously dissecting Su Chen's control over beats, body, and stage space.

The French media called this live stream "a duel with no losers".

Japanese music forums spent the night organizing Su Chen's past Trainee experiences.

That old stage screenshot from five years ago appeared on the homepage once again.

The entertainment section of Korean portals was also forcefully squeezed open.

Originally ranking on the front page was a new album preview of a top-tier group.

At 1:30 AM, the headline was changed to Su Chen.

The editors did not use the promotional picture provided by Tencent Video.

They chose an old photo.

In the photo, a twenty-year-old Su Chen stood at the very edge of the stage.

The lights didn't shine on him, and his name tag was half-blocked by the members in the front row.

Yet the news headline read:

"The once-disappeared Huaxia Trainee returns to the center with fifty million viewers."

The comment section quickly got out of control.

[Didn't he leave back then because his strength was insufficient?]

[Who told you that? Did you watch tonight's live stream?]

[If this kind of strength is called insufficient, then what do the people who stayed count as?]

[Who the thirty-seven songs actually belong to should be thoroughly investigated.]

[What on earth did the company do five years ago?]

[Stop fooling people with old announcements, we want evidence.]

[Can a company really suppress someone who can make fifty million people watch simultaneously?]

Back in the country, Su Chen had just finished washing his face.

His phone lay on the table, vibrating continuously.

Brand invitations, variety show invitations, media interviews, overseas collaborations—messages popped up one after another.

Lin Yue sat in front of the computer, having already rejected the nineteenth phone call.

"A satellite TV station wants you to go straight on their show tomorrow night, offering an eight-figure price."

"Not going."

"An international sports brand wants to sign a three-year contract."

"Not signing."

"Tencent Video wants to buy the exclusive replay rights for tonight's live stream."

"We can talk; take a portion of the earnings for musician copyright assistance."

Lin Yue looked up.

"If you bring this up now, it will be hard for them to refuse."

"That's why I'm bringing it up now."

She stared at Su Chen for two seconds and noted this sentence down in her memo.

This person looked quiet, but where he dropped his blade became more and more precise each time.

The attention of fifty million people was not just fame.

It was also a bargaining chip.

In the past, the thirty-seven songs were just old scores between Su Chen and a company.

Now, the whole world started asking the same question.

Those songs, who on earth wrote them?

Su Chen picked up his phone.

Huang Zitao sent a screenshot over.

It was Tencent Video's record poster.

Followed by a sentence.

"Brother, fifty million, how does it feel?"

Su Chen replied.

"Did you submit your training records?"

The other side was quiet for half a minute.

"You must have lived your whole life with training records."

Su Chen put down his phone.

Lin Yue held back her smile and turned the computer toward him.

"Tencent Video sent the final report. Domestic peak is fifty million three hundred and seventy thousand, and overseas simultaneous viewing exceeded 4.6 million. Your account has gained over twenty-seven million new followers."

"Mhm."

"Just a mhm?"

"The numbers are what they left behind."

Su Chen looked at the world map on the screen.

Overseas nodes were still lighting up one by one.

"What I want to leave behind are works."