The final muffled thud faded away.
The white rat's four limbs were now pinned to the wooden coffee table by four steel needles in a rigid "star" shape.
Zhu Yulu felt her soul being torn apart and then forcibly stitched back together; the pain had become a stiff, eternal agony due to the metal piercing through her spinal nerves.
At that moment, a sharp click came from the bedroom doorknob on the little girl's screen. She whipped her head around in alarm.
As the door pushed open, the woman's face was blurred by the backlight, but it didn't stop the viewers from recognizing her.
—[Wait... is that Mrs. Zhu? Is it her, or are my eyes playing tricks on me?]
—[I've already done a screenshot comparison. AI identification confirms it's 99.99% Mrs. Zhu, even if she looks a bit younger there.]
The chat erupted into two warring factions again.
One side argued that Mrs. Zhu's presence proved the girl was the influencer "Lolo"; the other insisted this was all an elaborate illusion designed to deceive them.
On the screen, the younger Mrs. Zhu wore a mask of exhaustion—perhaps from a "widowed" marriage, or perhaps she had just escaped an endless argument or a long day at work. But in this moment, her face twisted into a look of pure horror, her voice pitching upward.
"Lolo?"
The first thought that emerged from the depths of the little girl's soul wasn't terror or guilt toward her mother. It was a cold, hard sense of annoyance that chilled every viewer to the bone:
"Damn it... I forgot to lock the door."
At that moment, billions of viewers across the Blue Planet felt a soul-piercing coldness. The girl didn't even realize she was doing something evil; she simply felt her "secret game" had been interrupted.
Watching the screen, the real Mrs. Zhu felt her pupils contract violently. Memories hit her like a tide.
Back then, more than the mangled mess of flesh on the coffee table, what had terrified her most were her daughter's eyes—eyes as calm and rippleless as a dead pond.
It wasn't the panic of being caught; it was a deeper, more non-human indifference.
From that moment on, she knew: That is no longer my "Lolo".
While the audience was still frozen in shock, the professional technical post by the "Rodent Enthusiast"—which had been relentlessly cyberbullied by millions of fans—finally received its ultimate official verdict.
The National Acoustic Monitoring Center forwarded and pinned the post:
[Official Notice: Following precision physical analysis of the samples provided, it is confirmed that this audio contains embedded high-intensity, crippling ultra-high-frequency noise (above 45,000Hz). This frequency range induces extreme PTSD and neurological damage in animals such as dogs and cats.]
Immediately after, the National Health and Medical Commission issued an emergency warning:
[Emergency Alert: If your pet has been frequently exposed to this audio, observe them immediately! Symptoms such as neurological urinary frequency, unexplained tremors, abnormal pupil dilation, or foaming at the mouth indicate the animal's brain has entered a "dissociative breakdown" phase. Seek emergency medical attention immediately, or it will result in permanent blindness, paralysis, or brain death!]
These two posts spread like wildfire.
The owners who had previously flaunted how "well-behaved" and "obedient" their pets became after hearing the audio were now in a state of total panic.
Their pupils shook with horror as they scrambled to check on their animals.
The comment section transformed instantly from "stubborn denial" to a "hub for emergency pleas".
—[Help! The officials confirmed it! My Husky just lost control of its bowels and is twitching... I thought it was just sick... SOS!]
—[Me too! I played that audio for thirty seconds and my cat jumped off the balcony! It's foaming at the mouth right now! Save it!]
—[The streets are all blocked! No pet hospitals are open! What do I do? I don't want it to die!]
—[(Wailing) Ah... my Stephen died... I thought it was distemper, but I killed him with my own hands!!!]
—[I killed my own child...]
Countless signals of regret, guilt, and pleas for help were swallowed up by the relentless tide of the livestream.
—[I was wrong, I truly know I was wrong! Someone save my dog, I don't want him to die, he's only one year old!!!]
Amidst this deluge of regret and guilt, a few weak but steady rays of sunlight fought against the current. Identical comments were copied and pasted rapidly, forcing their way into the public's sight:
—[Location: North District Sports Center! The Red Cross Veterinary Alliance has set up an emergency station. If you're nearby, go now!]
—[East Lake Community Center! We have several retired vets here, professional equipment is ready, free consultations! Bring them, we'll take over!]
Help provided in the midst of despair is always soul-saving. For those who had stubbornly defended "Lolo", the hope born after such a crushing tragedy was even more potent.
—[Thank you (Crying). I shouldn't have cursed you guys like that (Crying).]
—[Thank you for helping me. I swear I'll change, I'll never defend her—that Lolo—ever again. Thank you, truly...]
These rescue messages acted like ice water poured into boiling lava. The "ex-fans" on the brink of collapse gathered their twitching pets and rushed toward coordinates that had never appeared on a GPS before, yet were very real.
Miraculously, the screens that had been locked to their vision seemed to sense the urgency; they moved away automatically and lowered their volume. None of the frantic pet owners noticed.
—[It's too far... it'll take three hours to get there, he can't hold on! God, please open your eyes!]
—[You're in the Fugui District, right? We've sent someone to Jiancheng. If you hurry, you can make it in 15 minutes!]
At this moment, the Goddess's "Judgment" and humanity's "Self-Rescue" were occurring simultaneously. No one knew that those extending a hand were actually Guardians hidden among the crowd, completing their tasks with hive-like precision.
On the screen, the body of the white rat was being enveloped in a strange, golden glimmer. It was the self-healing power of the Beast God.
The blood vessels pierced by steel staples were forcibly sutured under the miracle; shattered bones were being reshaped.
For Zhu Yulu, this healing was the ultimate curse. The pain did not diminish in the slightest.
Those watching the broadcast understood clearly: the wounds were being forcibly erased only so "it" could remain conscious for the next, more intense round of torment.
Several viewers could no longer bear to watch. Those capable of closing the stream did so, but in the face of billions of viewers, the number didn't even flicker.
On the left screen, the eleven-year-old girl stared at her trembling mother. Then, as if blown away by a desert wind, the scene shifted.
Long Nation Supreme Command Center.
In the deathly silence, only the trembling breath of an old general remained.
"Listen to her tone," a general rasped, his knuckles white from gripping his chair. "No panic, no pleasure... only a horrifying sense of 'order'. She isn't torturing; she is cleaning an 'unruly' object."
"It's not just Lolo, but those fans who only admitted fault at the last second." He looked at the repentant faces on the screen. "The Goddess is using the most brutal method to force humanity to reclaim their long-lost sense of 'shame'."
The head of the Ministry of Education closed his eyes bitterly. "But the cost is too high. The skeleton of civilization we built is as fragile as paper before this livestream."
He took a deep breath, composed himself, and wrote a final directive. "This is no longer the execution of an influencer. This is a blind spot in our civilization. We taught them how to compete, but we forgot to teach them how to revere life. Some evils grow crooked in the very first sprout."
Within minutes, a top-level command was issued across the nation:
[Immediately initiate a national psychological health screening for minors, focusing on 'lack of empathy' and 'violent tendencies'.]
The screen showing Mrs. Zhu's horrified face dissolved like sand. A new image emerged: a private examination room smelling of disinfectant. It looked slightly different from before.
In the frame, the girl's arms and fingers were longer, and the porcelain-white scar on her wrist had grown as well.
She sat on a high stool, legs swinging, holding a dripping ice pack with a steady hand. At her feet was a stray cat, shivering from the cold.
On the other side, the white rat's newly grown pink flesh had not yet developed a protective layer; it was so sensitive that it seemed to "hear" the sound of its own blood flowing.
At that exact moment, the white rat was tossed into the transparent enclosure below, right beneath a dripping ice pack.
"Drip... Drip..."
Every splash of cold water landed with pinpoint precision, matching the rhythm of "its" shattering heartbeat.
Each wisp of frigid air felt like a microscopic steel saw, carrying a deep, biting frost that tore frantically at the newly healed, fragile nerve endings.
In another dimension, Maomao watched, its heart a void of stillness. It cast a final glance at the soul huddling in the cold, its golden silhouette gradually thinning into the void.
It was no longer a victim; it had become a fundamental law of this judicial domain.
Maomao moved toward its next reincarnation, leaving Zhu Yulu behind—nailed forever into this frozen fragment of time.
The execution had entered a higher dimension: a psychological war of attrition.