Reaching the age of thirty, my income randomly doubled-Chapter 821 - 626: Dancing the Social Shake

Er Ya was ordered to take care of Little Third. Speaking of her younger brother, how should one describe him?

His courage is pitifully small, and at such a young age, he already exhibits the traits of a bootlicker.

Imagine what would happen when he grows up.

Er Piya took him to her big, big, big company. Little Third, Chen Lu, was merely three years old.

Without giving him a high chair, he climbed and crawled his way up to the top on his own.

When it was time to eat, he liked to grab food with his chubby little hands, so Er Ya tapped them with her chopsticks.

Little Third wanted to cry but was too scared. After lunch, Er Piya took him out to play, though "play" in this case meant buying him a small gaming console to keep him occupied.

Little Third, Chen Lu, loved playing Super Mario and could spend hours on it.

With a brother like this, she could easily manage ten in a day.

Little Third was taken out to play by Er Piya, so there was nothing to worry about. After all, all the employees from three big companies knew the identity of Little Third.

None of them would dare let him suffer even the slightest loss, let alone anything else.

Meanwhile, Chen An’an, who stayed at home without going out, was hanging out with two classmates.

Early in the morning, she picked her own breakfast. The top chef from downstairs would push a cart and deliver it directly to her door—not just breakfast. She could also order fruits, tea drinks, and desserts on her tablet.

A dedicated server would bring everything to her.

In their building alone, there were more than two hundred service personnel of various calibers.

These included top Michelin-starred chefs, master chefs of various cuisines, and professional herbal medicine practitioners—everything one could possibly need.

Whatever she needed, she just had to order it on their proprietary household service system.

This was truly the epitome of life in a wealthy family.

A lifestyle like this—Xiao Wenwen and Hu Tao hadn’t even heard of it, let alone experienced it.

It wasn’t until they came to An’an’s house that their eyes were truly opened. They also understood that those minor influencers touting lavish lifestyles online were nothing compared to the real deal.

A life akin to the Heavenly Palace, as An’an’s father famously put it, "This is not something that should be shown to ordinary people."

Just like most people’s wealth shouldn’t be publicly disclosed, because if it were, regular people would start questioning their entire existence.

Chen An’an set up her streaming equipment. It was drizzling outside, the perfect weather for playing a little Small Erhu.

The atmosphere was absolutely spot-on.

The three of them set up a small wooden table, added some snacks, and wore oversized sunglasses for good measure.

Most of the time during the stream, Chen An’an quietly played Erhu. Occasionally, she’d connect randomly with other streamers.

To be honest, the quality of most streamers online was so shockingly low it was hard to fathom.

Chen An’an, in a good mood, initiated a random connection.

On the other end appeared a tattooed man, claiming some grandiose title, asking her:

"Little girl, do you even know who I am?"

Chen An’an responded directly: "Do I need to know who you are?"

"Ha, you all heard her—she actually doesn’t know who I am?"

On the other side, he arrogantly declared, "Little girl, if you don’t even know me, why are you playing around with short videos? Didn’t your dad teach you to broaden your horizons?"

"Speak properly if you’ve got something to say—why involve my dad?"

"I’m teaching you how to behave, don’t you understand!"

"You think you’re tough?"

"Average at best, world’s number three. In the short video scene, who doesn’t know the Sky General? Go ask around."

"I don’t know who you are, but I can certainly make sure you know who I am in no time."

Feeling particularly angry, Chen An’an remarked that she could tolerate most things, but if anyone dared to insult her dad, she would lose her temper immediately.

After disconnecting the stream, she took another phone from the table, opened her contacts, and found the number of her father’s assistant, Zhang Wanyi.

She dialed and explained the situation briefly. Zhang Wanyi was even angrier than her.

This so-called Sky General was a newly-rising major influencer who had built his fame through shaking dance moves.

Every day, he gathered a group of idle social youth to join him in shaking and hopping around.

And he routinely loved asking people, "Do you know who I am?"

This guy used to be your typical street hooligan. After gaining traction on short videos, he became insufferably arrogant.

When Chen An’an finished telling the story, the man even mocked her openly in front of his livestream audience of tens of thousands.

To be honest, after being Teng You Media’s CEO for so long, Zhang Wanyi still didn’t understand what kind of people followed influencers like him.

Saying they tarnish societal standards would be putting it lightly.

This so-called Sky General wasn’t part of their company—instead, he was the flagship influencer of a small rival firm.

Compared to Teng You Media, every other influencer management company was like small fry.

If her boss wanted to ban someone, it would only take a single word from him.

The person could be rendered voiceless on every platform across the internet.

For Zhang Wanyi, banning someone outside the company was naturally more challenging.

She lacked her boss’s immense top-tier connections.

She’d first have to find evidence or problematic remarks to file public or legislative complaints against the person.

This process would require time and effort.

Fortunately, those social-shaking hooligans who rose to fame tended to have plenty of flaws—every day they ganged up to brawl or provoke fights.

One report on their activities would soon prompt platform reactions.

Overall, the process took about ten minutes. But to ensure an account’s permanent ban, solid justification was necessary.

Instantly shutting down a livestream room, however, could be achieved simply by mobilizing dozens to hundreds of employees to report the same issue simultaneously.

For major influencers, one or two reports wouldn’t do much.

It typically took dozens or even hundreds of identical complaints to trigger an immediate shutdown.

Sky General returned to his company, cockily reclining with his legs crossed on the table, cursing and swearing arrogantly.

It wasn’t his first time being suspended from streaming—it usually lasted a day.

He figured he’d return to streaming in no time without exception.

People like him could become top influencers, amassing hundreds of thousands to even millions of followers.

Earning annual incomes in the million-dollar range—the true tragedy for society.

The mantra "studying is useless" had become their favorite catchphrase.

They used their actions to convince young students, middle schoolers, and rebellious troublemakers in schools:

"Good grades are worthless. When I grow up and become an influencer, I’ll outperform them all."

Chen Pingsheng learned about this matter later that night when he returned. He made a call to Zhang Wanyi to check on her handling of the situation.

The final result: Sky General would definitely be permanently banned. Chen Pingsheng then asked how many influencers in Teng You Media were involved in shaking dances or had tattoos.

She replied, "Quite a few."

Chen Pingsheng fell silent for a long time and made some decisions.

Young people with tattoos struggled to find decent factory jobs, yet on short video platforms, they could thrive remarkably well.

The idle youth performing shaking dances were a step beyond mere idleness—their spectacle of earning millions could outright discourage students from striving academically.

Such influencers fundamentally didn’t deserve multi-million dollar incomes.