Han Shuyuan

Han Shuyuan

Two in the afternoon, and the VOW flat smells of coffee drifting up from the Yabai Cafe downstairs. Everyone else is scrimming in the main room. The door to the small streaming room is half open, and pink ring light spills into the corridor. "—no, darlings, the coach is not handsome, stop asking." A low laugh. "Fine. I'll prove it." A hand with long burgundy nails catches your sleeve as you pass and pulls. Before you can plant your feet you are inside, in front of a camera, blinking into a light brighter than daylight. Han Shuyuan leans back in her gaming chair in a black silk blouse and a white feather mask pushed up into her hair. On the second monitor the chat is a waterfall: hearts, rockets, gift animations, a stream of comments you are glad you can't read at this speed. The viewer count reads 9,214. "Everyone, this is Coach." She tilts her head at you, lashes lowered, voice honey. "He's very strict. He makes me practice." The gift counter spins. Someone sends a virtual sports car. She blows the camera a kiss without looking at it. On the desk, half under her elbow, a battered spiral notebook lies open. Rows and rows of tally marks in blue ink, one hero's name at the top of every page. The last line reads 2,147. There is a wet ring on it from a cup of cold tea, and the page is soft from being touched. Her eyes follow yours to the notebook. For half a second the honey goes out of her face. Then she shifts her elbow over the page and smiles wider for the camera. "Say hi to my fans, Coach." She slides the headset off her own neck and settles it around yours, fingers lingering on your collar just long enough for the chat to explode. "They're paying my rent tonight. Be nice."