pjbooks Chapter 40: [Our Own Generation Hosts]
Chapter 40: [Our Own Generation Hosts]
When Liu Zhuohao woke up in the morning, the number had already exceeded 10,000.
Many students at the stall also brought up this matter.
So when Huang Weixiong said "it broke 20,000", he just thought, "Oh? It can still rise."
But when I actually get home, I'm alone in front of the computer screen—
31261.
The number following the view count made Liu Zhuohao pause for several seconds while holding the mouse.
He scrolled through the page, and other data popped up like mushrooms after rain:
Likes: 2889.
Coin: 3005.
Number of favorites: 993.
Number of comments: 3181.
Number of bullet comments filled: 1124.
Liu Zhuohao remained silent in response to the data displayed on the page.
He moved his hand, which was tightly gripping the mouse, slightly as he looked at his number of followers.
- 4410.
Less than a day.
They gained over two thousand more followers.
Where did the previous two thousand come from?
Liu Zhuohao's breathing quickened involuntarily. For two whole months, he set up his stall before dawn every day, greeting each student with a smile and repeatedly saying, "If you use Bilibili, you can follow my account. I will update my work records there in real time to ensure everyone's food safety..."
It was accumulated little by little!
Back then, when Liu Zhuohao refreshed his account, the number of fans would often fluctuate between 1, 3, and 5, and the number of views would sometimes stagnate.
There was almost no streaming.
All of it is private traffic, that is, my own customers in real life.
And now, it has jumped up almost in the blink of an eye. In just a short while, Liu Zhuohao pressed F5 and refreshed the page, and dozens more fans appeared!
One day and one night is equivalent to the previous sixty days, a full two months!
The data is still rising.
In the few minutes that Liu Zhuohao was watching the number of followers, the number of views increased by several hundred.
He took a breath, suppressing the urge to jump up, and moved the mouse to the website's leaderboard.
He clicked into the entertainment category list and started searching from the bottom up—sure enough, he found his video at number 76.
If a site makes it onto the overall rankings, a pink "Top Ranked Sites" label will appear under its title.
He switched to the other end of the screen and took a look.
It reached number 164 on the overall site rankings.
This feeling is completely different from his previous life, when he painstakingly made videos but never received any recommendations.
The video streaming market was already saturated at that time, and Liu Zhuohao had data that he had bought, but received no feedback.
etc--
Liu Zhuohao's gaze suddenly froze.
He glanced at the stats of another of his videos: 11.3.
"what?"
He couldn't help but make a sound.
The mouse wheel scrolled rapidly upwards, returning to the very top of the entertainment section's leaderboard—the number one spot he had subconsciously ignored was none other than:
"A Taste of Fengcheng: Master Liu is Getting Ready to Set Up a Night Market".
This is his teaser video.
More accurately, it's a "GG" filmed like a documentary.
Will it be useful after it's published?
It's practically useless.
Liu Zhuohao remembers clearly that the comments section was full of comments like, "Wow, this is a big production!", "Senior, the style has changed drastically, this video looks like it could be shown on CCTV!", and "Did they hire a team to film this...?"
But the customers who actually came to the stall because of the video—
"You can count them on two hands..."
Liu Zhuohao murmured that only a few students brought their parents to support the breakfast stall that night, and there were no more customers after that.
Hand-pulled pancakes and night market steaks are both food, but they are very different.
The video was like a carefully polished stone thrown into a lake; it only created a few shallow ripples before sinking.
It did not serve its purpose.
But now—
Liu Zhuohao clicked on the video, and the moment the page redirected, the number of views visibly jumped another thousand: 11.4.
"The quality is amazing! Clicking in really feels like watching a documentary about gourmet food!"
"When the voice came out, I was stunned. Why wasn't it a dubbed voice? It was still Chinese!"
"Wow, that's a big production! How many people are on the uploader's team?"
"I thought I was browsing YouTube. Are there really bloggers in China making this kind of high-quality content? (·ω·)"
"The overall composition and framing are so pleasing to the eye. What equipment did you use?"
There are so many comments that I can't read them all.
Unlike the nitpicking comments under the newly released "street steak" video, this section is filled with pure praise.
Liu Zhuohao scrolled down for quite a while before finally finding a comment that could barely be considered "criticism":
"Your accent is a bit heavy, could you practice your Mandarin?"
Is this considered a bad review?
I'd say roughly.
"Are users these days so undemanding?"
Liu Zhuohao leaned back in his chair and unconsciously scratched his head.
His filming plan referenced the "documentary" style, a mature but still rare technique in the future. He also gritted his teeth and bought an action camera.
At a time when most creators are still using computer screen recording or casually shooting with their phones, his dedication shows that he has taken a "serious approach to making videos."
The problem is—the users of Bilibili are worldly-wise.
That quiz registration system filters out a group of people who are proactive in searching and good at finding resources. Many of them are skilled at "climbing ladders" and have already watched various well-produced content on YouTube.
Given such a user base, his videos would be considered "not bad" at best if posted on overseas platforms.
How could... they be so satisfied?
Liu Zhuohao couldn't understand it. This was completely unexpected.
Until his gaze returned to the scrolling comments on the screen:
"I'm bowing down to this big shot!"
"Bilibili (a Chinese video-sharing website) has this kind of quality now?"
"Here are all the coins, please keep this up!"
"Fire tongs to Liu Ming!"
"I'm moved to tears..."
Each comment on the screen was so vivid it was as if you could hear the voices.
Liu Zhuohao was stunned.
Suddenly I understood.
"They really consider this place home..."
Liu Zhuohao murmured to himself, "These people, those who were selected through answering questions, are of course discerning viewers."
But at the same time, they also have another identity: "home co-builders" who yearn to see good things here.
But this house is mostly filled with "imported goods," such as pirated anime series, pirated variety shows, and pirated videos from overseas bloggers...
Having seen all the wonders outside, when they looked back at their own yard, their eyes probably held not only fondness but also a subtle, almost imperceptible, expectation:
When will we have our own creators that we can be proud of?
What they want is—
Our own content creator!
"This doesn't seem quite the way I remember it..."
Liu Zhuohao was somewhat dazed.
He recalled that after Bilibili actually took off, people would often say things like "it's changed" or "it's not as pure as it used to be..."
It seems that people are becoming more and more picky and less and less satisfied with the content.
In reality, once the platform becomes commercialized, many content creators will have spent a lot of money and effort to shoot videos—the equipment will be more professional, the sets more elaborate, and the teams more mature.
As professional creators, they have invested far more than they do now.
Why didn't later creators receive as much pure and passionate praise as I do now?
No, perhaps.
only……
I just didn't notice it at the time.