The final smear of crimson from the sunset was swallowed by darkness.
Having spent the entire day reciting names, Qinghong's throat was parched.
She looked into the camera, squeezing out a professional, influencer-style smile: "Family, that's all for today's 'Cash Giveaway' benefits."
The bullet comments instantly flooded in like a bursting dam:
—[Finished? Is that it? Does even a deity clock out on time?]
—[Please! Just one more name! Maybe the next one will be me!]
—[+1]
—[+10086, I'm thirty thousand short on my mortgage, Streamer save me!]
On the screen, comments saying "Thank the Goddess" and "Drop dead" coexisted in a bizarre fashion.
Qinghong rolled her eyes, cursing inwardly: This generation of fans is so hard to lead. Those who got money call me 'Mom', while those who didn't curse my name.
As a mouse who had witnessed all sorts of biological stress responses in the lab, she was long immune to the fickleness of humanity.
But suddenly, a blood-red comment exploded in the center of the screen, staying for three full seconds:
—[You murderer! Where did you take my daughter? Give her back!!]
Qinghong's heart skipped a beat.
She looked at the illustrated codex floating in the air, visible only to her.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her thumb rubbing nervously against her fingertips, before finally gritting her teeth and decisively pressing the 'Orange Fruit'.
Her lips curled with a trace of vengeful pleasure: "Since you all think I'm a murderer, I'll show you... what true 'Heavenly Punishment' looks like."
Heh, she thought privately, this will scare the life out of you!
At the same time, Zhizhi was sitting in the back of a Guardian's car on the way home.
He watched the livestream on his phone, then looked out the window. The world seemed to have its "Pause" button pressed. Whether driving, walking, or hiding in nuclear bunkers, everyone stared fixedly at their screens.
At that exact moment, a "Meteor Shower" silently tore through the firmament.
The first people to see the meteors let out blood-curdling screams.
These were not beautiful shooting stars; they were orange orbs of light carrying the crushing weight of doomsday, densely packed and covering every inch of the global sky.
A woman in high heels sprinted with unprecedented potential, screaming, "Which idiot left a bad review at a time like this?! If you want to die, don't take the whole world with you!"
"Those idiots who provoked the streamer—I'll never let you go, even as a ghost!" a man collapsed on the street, howling with spite.
Zhizhi looked at the orbs. Although his heart was in his throat, he clenched his fists: No, Qinghong isn't that kind of person. She's more of a coward than I am; she wouldn't dare kill anyone.
The orbs arrived in a flash, hovering exactly one meter above everyone's heads.
A clear, resonant cry echoed across the globe.
The sound possessed a magical quality, instantly washing away the parched despair in the air. At this moment, miracles began to spread silently.
The blind, who had spent half their lives in shadows and chaos, suddenly felt a coolness in their eyes. They looked up tremblingly, seeing for the first time the gentle orange light above them—seeing this colorful yet scarred world.
The deaf felt their eardrums vibrate; they heard the rustle of wind through branches, the frequency of birds' wings in the distance, even the crisp sound of seeds breaking through the soil.
The kind-hearted found the world becoming transparent and bright, their ears filled with the gentle whispers of all things.
But those with ghosts in their hearts saw only a piercing red glare and heard deafening peals of thunder.
Meanwhile, in a secret conference room thousands of meters underground, the global leaders preparing to sign the "Project Olympus" counterattack order were frozen in their seats.
An orange orb of light hovered eerily above the President's red-and-blue button, like a mocking eye. Their defense systems were as thin as wet paper before the deity.
In the livestream, Qinghong spoke. Her voice sounded calm and profound, but only she knew that her legs were shaking like sieves.
"Ahem, family... I think it's time for some further interaction..."
The world thought: Whose idea of 'interaction' is dropping nuke-level meteors on people's foreheads?
"Everyone received their orbs, right? Those are gifts—" Qinghong tried to make her voice sound soft and playful. As an influencer, acting cute was a life-saving skill.
She muttered to herself: My Great Beast God protect me, please let me not press the wrong button.
The Crowd: ...No, sister. You made this huge scene just to give out gifts?
Someone tentatively touched an orb; their hand passed right through. "This thing... is it just for lighting?"
"Heehee, do you all like it?" Qinghong tilted her head at the camera.
The Crowd: ...My mother tongue is 'Speechless'.
Outside the frame, the Blue Phoenix was clearly losing its patience. Divine power manifested as a row of giant characters in the air: [Hurry up, stop dawdling!]
Qinghong secretly gave an "OK" gesture, straightened her back, and cleared her throat.
"Family, I have a survey that I need your help with. Countdown—starts now!"
Two massive options instantly popped up on screens worldwide: [GOOD] and [NOT GOOD].
[300 — 299 — 298...]
At this moment, global adrenaline spiked once again. Some people remembered the criminals who had vanished into thin air after choosing wrong and literally wet themselves on the spot.
"I feel that for a livestreamer, the most important thing is to interact with the audience and strengthen our relationship," Qinghong continued with her "influencer quotes."
The World: Who the hell wants to strengthen a relationship with you! Just give it to us straight already!
As if hearing the global roar, Qinghong finally played her trump card:
"So—I am planning to open 'Call-in Mode.' Does everyone think that's 'Good' or 'Not Good'?"
The entire world fell silent for three seconds.
Then, the orbs of light—the ones hovering over the President's desk, over the heads of beggars, and at the entrances of every laboratory—began to pulse with an eerie glow.
"The countdown has already started. I hope everyone participates 'actively,' otherwise..."
Qinghong intentionally trailed off, her lips curling into a cunning smile like a little fox—or perhaps more like a little mouse that had just stolen some oil.
She didn't finish her sentence, but merely glanced meaningfully at the control panel.
That ambiguous silence instantly ignited global panic. On the other side of the screens, countless people broke into a cold sweat. Some gritted their teeth and poked the screen immediately; others held their fingers in mid-air, faces pale as they weighed the options over and over.
—Otherwise WHAT?!" The heartstrings of billions were stretched to the breaking point by that unfinished sentence.
But weirdly, the expected mass hysteria didn't happen.
The orange light seemed to carry a divine soothing power. Patients with racing hearts, high blood pressure, or impending asthma attacks suddenly felt an unprecedented coolness and peace in their chests.
This "absolute physiological calm" intertwined with "extreme psychological anxiety" made everyone realize: not only was their life in Her hands, but even their right to "break down" had been stripped away.
Qinghong tilted her head, revealing an incredibly innocent smile. "Oh, don't be afraid, everyone. Nothing bad will happen if you choose wrong. My Great Beast God is very merciful..."
Before the world could let out the breath caught in its throat, she blinked and delivered the killing blow:
"It's just that in the future, you might find your accounts no longer receive 'Causality Transfers' from my Great Beast God, and that shiny healing orb will vanish as if it never existed."
As the countdown hit "250", some people clicked without a second thought. Every wasted second was a sign of disrespect toward money.
In that one second, the global vote count surged by hundreds of millions. Humans might hold out when facing death, but when facing the "loss of a chance to get rich", their dignity dropped faster than a meteor.
Inside the luxurious bunker conference room, there was pin-drop silence.
The hands that held the economic lifelines of the world were now trembling in front of the light orbs.
That clear, resonant cry echoing through the universe acted like an invisible divine hand. It forcefully pinned down his fingers, which had nearly spiraled out of control, and pierced through the fog of anger and arrogance filling his heart.
It was a mandatory baptism of the soul, instantly cooling the violent rage boiling within his veins.
The President watched the seconds of "250" tick away, then looked at the unsigned, multi-billion dollar counterattack plan.
Staring fixedly at the word "GOOD", his clenched fist slowly relaxed. "We are a great nation. For the sake of civilization's continuity... perhaps we should first learn to 'politely' accept the gifts."
At that moment, the generals erupted into chaos.
"Mr. President, the 'Rods from God' are already in orbit! If we click 'GOOD', it is equivalent to surrendering to this Beast God! Our civilization and our pride will be wiped out!"
Instantly, everyone spoke at once, airing their opinions. Everyone was like a powder keg; as soon as one person finished, another exploded in rebuttal.
For a moment, the President felt trapped in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. Sitting at the head of the table, he was on pins and needles, his ears filled with two entirely different roars clashing like hurricanes in his mind.
On one side was the military's iron-blooded "resistance theory", urging him to sign the strike order to protect the final dignity and sovereignty of human civilization.
On the other side was the think tank's cold, almost cruel "submission theory", reminding him that divine miracles cannot be defied, and refusal might mean instant annihilation.
Looking at his subordinates, red-faced and screaming for their respective sides, he had never been so shaken.
He wanted to follow one group and gamble everything, but was chilled to the bone by the doomsday consequences described by the other.
The world leader, so accustomed to controlling the globe, now felt his brain throbbing from the sheer information overload.
The torture of being forced into a multiple-choice question between "certain death" and "the unknown" was slowly draining his final reserves of energy. For the first time in his life, the word "power" felt so heavy it made him want to retch.
Meanwhile, at the Long Nation underground command center.
The air here held no scent of gunpowder, only the faint aroma of tea and a solemn silence. A white-haired elder stared at the light orb on the table, then at the flickering "250" on the screen.
"Chief," a young officer stepped forward, his expression resolute. "This 'Call-in' mode could be a blessing or a curse. If this is some form of soul harvesting, let me be the one to click 'GOOD'. I'm an orphan; I have no ties. If the deity requires a soul as a contract, let It take mine."
"Xiao Lu, step back."
A female researcher wearing glasses shook her head next to him, speaking with a gentle yet firm voice.
"You are the nation's sword; you must protect the people in the days to come. I've spent my life studying life sciences. If the connection opens, I am the most suited to test the divine boundaries. I will press 'GOOD'."
The elder looked up and gave a gratified smile.
"There is no need to argue. Since this is a choice concerning the fate of our nation, how could I justify letting you stand in front of me?"
He slowly reached out his hand, his fingers appearing particularly vigorous against the glow of the light orb.
"If the gift the deity offers is honey, we must let the people taste it; if it is poison, this old man will test it first for everyone."
Without a moment's hesitation, his fingertip landed steadily on [GOOD].
"Chief—!" Everyone gasped in shock.
The global display of human nature reached its climax at this very second: mothers in slums clicked "GOOD" for the sake of their children's future; guilt-ridden researchers in labs clicked "GOOD" for redemption; while the careerists, still mired in their old powers and terrified of having their ugly souls seen through by the deity, trembled in the shadows, not daring to touch the option.
"Countdown—ZERO!"
Qinghong looked at the final color frozen on her screen—a vast, oceanic sea of deep green. She let out a long sigh of relief and gave a smile of sheer liberation to the camera.
"It seems everyone really wants to 'chat' with me."
She gave a playful wink. The orange fruit on the control panel instantly dissolved into countless tiny streaks of light, flying toward every corner of the globe.
"So, according to the principle of random selection by divine power, the first caller—has been locked in!"
Qinghong held her breath and tapped lightly.
"Ding—Connection successful!"