While the globe remained submerged in the shock of the "Gold and Money Rush", the comment section of Room E suddenly underwent a large-scale "liquidation".
The screens of accounts that had typed foul language, mocked Qinghong, or attempted to incite unrest instantly went black.
Directly following this, terrified faces froze in reality—these people found they could not exit, could not power off, and could could not even look away.
This group of foul-mouthed individuals was forcibly redirected by an invisible, grand power and thrown into the very front row of Room A.
Here, the playback speed—as if intentionally meant to force them to see every wrinkle of sin—quietly dropped from the previously frantic 2.5x speed back to a normal 1.25x.
That slow, methodical cruelty was more suffocating than any rapid execution.
On the screen, the perspective cut back to Zhu Yulu. It was a private recording from before she became famous. In the frame, her slender hands were receiving an exquisite wire cage. Inside, a snowy white, slightly pink-tinged white mouse huddled timidly.
"Quite white..." Zhu Yulu murmured softly, her fingernail stroking the wire mesh with a tooth-aching friction.
The scene shifted to her luxuriously decorated apartment in Green PheasantCountry. Zhu Yulu held the cage up to her eyes, facing those tiny ruby-like eyes with a captivating smile that was enough to make one feel as if they had fallen into an ice cellar. "I wonder how much more beautiful you'll be once you're dyed bright red?"
The camera moved to the bathroom. The faucet was turned to its maximum, the roar of the water echoing against the tiles like the background music of a funeral. As the water in the bathtub rose, Zhu Yulu opened the cage door.
She did not place the mouse down gently; instead, like dumping a bucket of loathsome trash, she slammed the cage mouth-down onto the surface of the water.
"Squeak—!" The white mouse let out a sharp, terrified cry. Its four limbs clawed desperately at the edges of the cage, its nails striking tiny sparks against the metal. It refused to let go, for it knew that the swaying waters below were an abyss of death.
However, Zhu Yulu had no patience. She began to shake the cage violently—swaying it left and right, tossing it up and down.
In that instant, on the right side of the screen, the Mirror Judgment opened simultaneously.
The white rat Zhu Yulu was currently experiencing a world-shaking oscillation. She was tossed into a proportionally scaled enclosure containing only a thin layer of water. That heavy fall felt as if her internal organs had been displaced; the intense pain left her consciousness momentarily blank.
"Water—there's water everywhere! How can it be water! How could you!" She snapped her tiny, blood-red eyes open, her vision filled entirely with transparent liquid rising above her head. That primal fear of drowning instantly shattered all her arrogance.
For a time, a duet of despair echoed in the livestream: on the left was the helpless "squeaking" wail of the white mouse in a past dimension; on the right was the shrill "help" cry from the depths of Zhu Yulu's soul in the real judgment.
Those foul-mouthed viewers forced to watch turned deathly pale, some even unable to stop themselves from vomiting. This process of empathetic abuse was more destructive than any lecture.
In the other broadcast, Room E.
Though Qinghong forced herself not to look at the screen on the left, those rising and falling screams and the sound of water still acted like poison needles, piercing her sealed memories.
Her fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were a sickly white from the exertion. Her slender frame trembled slightly, and sweat slid down from her brow.
How could the shadow between life and death be easily erased by time?
That was the source of the nightmares she had woken from countless times as an experimental subject.
How could she let go?
How could she forgive?
But in this moment, Qinghong bit her lower lip hard. She knew that if she retreated now, she would forever be that white mouse living in the shadows. If she did not try to take this step, how would she know if she had the strength to move forward?
"The giveaway... is over now." She raised her head, forcing a slightly strained but deeply moving smile onto her face. Within that smile was the resolve of a butterfly breaking from its cocoon.
The Blue Phoenix, who had been standing behind her observing, nodded slightly. A trace of relief flashed in Its cold phoenix eyes.
[You have not failed the expectations The Great One had for you; you have finally grown up.]
With the "trolls" forcibly cleared out, the comment section of Room E instantly became a haven of peace. This wave of pure, positive feedback allowed Qinghong's emotions to gradually stabilize. The chat was no longer filled with toxic vitriol, but with gratitude overflowing from the screen:
—[Thank you, the Beast God! My guide dog can finally see the road clearly again!]
—[Giving thanks on behalf of my children; this world finally has a glimmer of light!]
Qinghong relaxed slightly. Pointing toward the warm orange orbs of light floating in the void on the screen, she asked with a smile, "Do you see these orbs around you? Do you know what they do?"
The chat was instantly filled with bizarre yet true stories. A terminally ill patient, who had been told they wouldn't survive the year, left a message:
—[When that orb descended, I felt every cell in my body cheering. I went for a check-up this morning, and the doctor said my lesions have vanished! This is a literal miracle!]
Others shared their experiences:
—[My hand was severed in a factory accident. I thought I was disabled for life, but the moment the orb flashed, the wound healed instantly—not even a scar was left!]
Many more were about pets:
—[My old cat hadn't eaten for three days. The orb circled It once, and now It can finish two whole cans of food!]
Many who had remained skeptical felt a shiver down their spines as they read through these countless real-life cases.
They realized that these orange orbs were more than just healing; they were a "second life" bestowed by the Beast God upon the kind-hearted. In this era of impending upheaval, this was the most precious ticket to the future.
Watching these words of hope, Qinghong caught a glimpse of the Blue Phoenix inscribing characters in the void nearby. She thought to herself: Yes, not just me—everyone has to move forward together.
Qinghong fixed her gaze on the screen; the pulsating comment section acted like a mirror, reflecting the myriad faces of the masses. Leveraging the razor-sharp instincts of a top-tier influencer, she knew the timing was ripe.
"Actually..." she drawled, trailing off intentionally as a glint of mischief flashed in her eyes. "These orange light orbs serve another very, very important purpose."
The bullet chat was instantly flooded with a dense thicket of inquiries, nearly obscuring her face:
—[Please tell us, Host! Can they be used as bulletproof vests?]
—[Is it like those fantasy novels where they cleanse your marrow and transcend your physical limits?]
—[Or is it actually a portable spatial dimension?]
Qinghong stared at the screen, her lips curling into her signature devious smirk. The comments swirled like a blizzard, nearly drowning her out.
She knew the audience's emotions were stretched to the breaking point.
"Actually," she stretched her words again, letting the suspense ferment in the air, "these orange light orbs have one more very, very important function."
Qinghong let out a mischievous giggle, her tone returning to its usual playful cadence. "That function is—to send them as 'Gifts' to your Host! Surprised? Unexpected, right?"
The internet erupted in an uproar.
Countless viewers who were clutching their newly acquired gold ingots at home—not yet cooled from the thrill of their windfall—froze in place as if their pressure points had been struck. The once-peaceful atmosphere turned delicate; people felt stuck, unsure whether to stay or leave, their hearts sinking.
—[Don't tell me even a Goddess follows the rules of mortal livestream rooms? The gold we just got hasn't even warmed up in our hands yet, and we have to send it back?]
—[Is it mandatory? Lord Divine Messenger, I have three children to feed at home... this money is truly a lifesaver...]
Watching the rising trepidation and anxiety in the chat, Qinghong finally couldn't hold it back anymore. Like a child whose prank had succeeded perfectly, she burst into crisp, clear laughter, doubling over until she nearly ran out of breath.
"Alright, alright, I'm done teasing you!"
Qinghong finally finished her laughing fit and straightened up, waving her hand dismissively. "These? I don't care for that tacky 'gold and silver treasure'! Things like that—My Great Beast God, could conjure a mountain of it just by snapping Her fingers. What would I do with it, play marbles?"
In front of their screens, several viewers thought simultaneously: Well, can you give it to me then? I definitely care for it!
Off-camera, the Blue Phoenix watched the smug girl on the screen, unable to stop the "inner monologue mode" from activating again: This girl... she changes her face faster than flipping pages in a book. One moment she's sobbing over the past, and the next she's playing billions of people like fools. Are they really... that easy to mess with?
"Look closely, everyone!"
Qinghong stood up abruptly, and the livestream camera followed with a magnificent 180-degree sweep.
The audience let out a collective gasp.
They had expected to see an even more opulent palace; instead, what met their eyes was a soaring waterfall shimmering with translucent, crystalline light.
The water was no ordinary liquid; it looked like countless molten stars gathered together, every splashing droplet radiating a dense, concentrated Spiritual Energy.
Even through a screen, the viewers felt a sudden clarity wash over their minds, as if the exhaustion and grime accumulated over a lifetime had been instantly purified by this divine spring.
At that moment, standing off-camera, Qinghong firmly pressed a button shaped like a fruit that glowed with iridescent rainbow light.
Rumble—!
A thunderous roar, like the cracking open of a new world, shook the very heavens.
The deep pool beneath the waterfall erupted into a boil. Then, nine colossal, shimmering water tornadoes burst from the surface and surged toward the sky! They writhed and stretched violently in mid-air, surrounded by halos of sacred light, until they miraculously transformed into nine lifelike, gargantuan Luan birds.
Lì—! Qī—! Zhǐ—!
Nine ethereal, clear cries of the phoenix echoed through the universe—sounds so pure they felt detached from all mortal concerns.
The nine birds flapped wings that seemed to cover the sky, carrying ten thousand rays of rosy light as they charged directly toward the infinite stars above.
Wherever they flew, the pitch-black curtain of the night sky seemed to be wiped away by a giant, silent eraser.
As the darkness was dispelled, the outline of a grand, beautiful, and transcendent golden scroll began to emerge amidst the sea of stars.
At first, the audience could only see the outlines of three characters written in a wild, uninhibited calligraphic style, exuding an aura of arrogance that looked down upon all of history.
Before archeological experts could even lean in to study their screens, the final veil of darkness was completely stripped away.
In that instant, those three massive outlines seemed to exert an infinite gravitational pull.
Nearby stars veered off their orbits, hurtling toward the center. The stars converged, and the starlight exploded in brilliance!
Under the watchful eyes of the world, brilliant stardust filled the massive brushstrokes. As the astral glow swirled, the three words finally settled clearly across the firmament:
— THE GRATITUDE LIST —
In that moment, with stars as the ink and the sky as the parchment, every living being held their breath beneath this divine miracle.