The Blue Phoenix spread its shimmering wings slightly, and a surge of pure cyan divine power condensed in the void, transforming into a simple, glowing codex—a detailed "Manual for Livestream Permissions and Operations."
Qinghong took a deep breath, like a student receiving an exam paper, and studied it word by word. Her slender fingertips traced the air to confirm each step before she decisively pressed the startup button, which was carved like a piece of emerald-green fruit.
In an instant, the studio—which had dimmed due to her earlier mistake—ignited like a rising star. Ten thousand rays of light pierced every dark corner, illuminating the sacred space as bright as day.
"Next up... is the giveaway I promised you all—"
She spoke while operating the codex before her. "Red... the red one is the right one, mhm, mhm." Qinghong muttered under her breath, her eyes darting between the manual and the console, finally landing on the glaring, blood-red "Disburse Funds" button.
As she pressed down firmly, the space in the center of the studio distorted violently, and streaks of light erupted. A group of wretched figures tumbled onto the floor. These were once the "top players" of the world, but now their hands and feet were bound by piercing crimson chains. Their faces were ashen; they didn't even dare to look at the camera.
"Look closely, family," Qinghong said to the lens, her voice crisp yet carrying an undeniable sense of judgment. "From this moment on, they are no longer the so-called social elite. They are the 'Ablators'—stripped of all their glamorous shells."
"Every 'Ablator' is very rich! So, as the Beast God instructed, Qinghong is going to send... money... to my family! Are you happy? Are you excited?"
Qinghong flipped open the heavy dossier already on her desk and began to recite the names on the list. Strangely, every name she spoke seemed infused with absolute Causality—except for the 'Ablator' themselves and the specific recipient of the transfer, the billions of viewers worldwide could only hear a sacred, muffled roar.
Simultaneously, the screen split in two without warning:
On the Left: Qinghong read the names one by one, though only the intended recipients could hear their own names.
On the Right: The formerly powerful tycoons stood like marionettes. Their fingers trembled as they performed real-time transfers on virtual terminals. Every click meant the wealth they had spent a lifetime accumulating vanished in a heartbeat. Behind them, a waterfall-like display refreshed with green prompts: "Transfer Successful."
Every record carried the memo: "Voluntary Gift." The specific identities of the recipients were shielded by a golden light, creating an impenetrable barrier of privacy.
At that moment, in every corner of the world, countless phones chimed simultaneously. It was the Reaper paying his debts; it was the Heavenly Dao handing out "sugar."
The parents of Xu Wanzhen heard their names. The next second, they checked their accounts and saw the funds. However, when they saw the massive sum in their daughter's account—with the memo "Voluntary Gift to Xu Wanzhen"—and realized the total was far greater than their own combined, the two elders collapsed to the floor, weeping in each other's arms. To them, those cold numbers were like rain after a long drought—a miracle that made them cry with joy.
Next, Brother Luo, Tian Shuangxin, and even Mother Tian—lying in the ICU kept alive only by machines—saw their accounts jump frantically. These assets, once stained with evil, plunder, and selfishness, were washed by divine power and transformed into legal, legitimate compensation.
Global financial monitoring centers were in total chaos. But faced with these "Voluntary Gifts" and perfectly legal global flows, even the state machinery remained silent. In the face of absolute Divine Authority, human law had become the most powerless footnote.
The comment section exploded, and human nature was stripped bare.
—[Why hasn't it reached me yet? I saved a stray cat back then too, God, look at me!] He failed to mention he had harmed the cat himself just to film the "rescue" for clout.
—[(Crying) I got it! It's from the drunk driver who killed my son, a full ten million... but I just want my son back!]
Millions more were frantically refreshing their bank balances. Those who received nothing howled in curses, wishing for their names to appear next; those who did receive funds fell into extreme conflict—some stayed silent, trying to hoard the windfall, while others foolishly posted screenshots, only to be instantly surrounded by a jealous mob.
Amidst the dense fog of greedy comments, a few sharp whispers flickered like cold blades:
"Where is my goddess... what have you done to her?"
"Give me back my daughter, you murderer!"
"Who are you, really?"
But these tiny flames of hatred were quickly swallowed by the surging ocean of flowing wealth. The entire Blue Planet entered an unprecedented fever pitch. Office workers who should have been grinding, and supervisors who should have been watching them, all had their eyes glued to their screens, incapable of caring about anything else.
At the airfield, a silver-gray private jet, looking like a metallic giant bird, sliced through the sky to land. Through the headset came the voice of an airport executive acting as a guardian. Usually, this was a staff member's job, but the ground crew had been so captivated by the livestream that they claimed they wouldn't stop watching even if it cost them their jobs. Forced into action, the executive had to take over.
The plane touched down smoothly on the runway, taxiing for a moment before coming to a halt. The ground crew responsible for guiding the craft stood frozen in place, motionless. Relying on years of experience, the pilot managed a harrowing parking maneuver.
Zhizhi unbuckled his seatbelt and took a deep breath; the air still held the thin, crisp scent of high altitude. Flanked by two silent, black-clad guardians, Zhizhi slowly stepped out of the cabin.
His footsteps felt unusually heavy as he stepped onto the jet bridge. The soft lighting reflected a face that was weary yet unable to hide a spark of excitement. Unlike the others, he had been able to hear every name and track exactly where the massive fortunes were going. He was shocked and moved; in his memory, Qinghong was still that "little white mouse" who needed his protection. He hadn't expected the world to change so drastically.
Walking through the green channel, he cleared customs with absolute ease. As he exited the arrivals hall and saw the next group of guardians waiting to pick him up, a strange sense of belonging welled up in his chest. He inhaled the air of this city, ready to begin his journey home.
This unprecedented "Riches Distribution Ceremony" lasted from dawn until dusk. Even with the Blue Phoenix's divine power constantly backing her, Qinghong, acting as the vessel of will, felt an unprecedented mental exhaustion.
Watching the Ablators collapse to the floor as their accounts were drained to zero, she let out a long, heavy breath. The setting sun pierced through the sea of clouds into the studio, casting a very long shadow behind her. She knew this was only the beginning. The money had returned to its rightful place, but as for the hearts of people... they likely had not.