The internet is not beyond the reach of the law, but its speed far outpaces any legal response.
Videos of the Lingdong Monster started popping up online like bamboo shoots after a spring rain, one after another. Fueled by traffic and comments, the topic took the internet by storm, competing with the Jingdu Giant Serpent for the top trending spot. In the end, it directly crashed the servers, leaving users so frustrated they flooded the app’s review section, arguing and causing chaos.
[Stating the Facts]: “Placing my bet here—once this broken app gets fixed, most of those videos and photos will be debunked.”
[Forest Witch]: “Counter-bet: one bottle of Happy Soda. The Jingdu Giant Serpent was trending for a whole week without issue. The Lingdong Monster won’t just disappear for no reason. The higher-ups know how to prioritize.”
[Fruit Wholesaler, Add Me on WeChat]: “I’ll join in and bet a crate of oranges. I’ve saved the videos and photos. For the news to stir up such a frenzy overnight, it’s unlikely to be suppressed. Besides, with everything happening these past few days, even the authorities are probably scrambling.”
The Jingdu Giant Serpent and the Lingdong Monster—either of them alone would be century-defining news. Yet here they were, not only in the same century, or even the same year, but blowing up the headlines in the same week! The impact was so massive that not only could ordinary folks not handle it, even the officials were struggling.
And indeed, that was the case. With the Jingdu Giant Serpent setting a precedent, the Lingdong authorities had no intention of suppressing the news.
Let’s be real. The entire city had just gone through a near-death experience. Their lives had been on the edge, metaphorical chains of the underworld wrapping around their necks. Who would care about whether releasing the news might cause social unrest, security issues, or public panic?
Instead, they decided to pull a Jingdu Port—boldly announcing to the world, “Something huge has happened. Keep out unless you’re essential, and send support immediately.” In this world, the squeaky wheel gets the grease. With dozens of children under Zhongzhou Mother’s care, you won’t get attention unless you shout!
Sure enough, once the news went online, those clamoring to be let into the city fell silent. Elite troops and tech teams rushed to the disaster zone. Across the nation, apart from the high-speed rail, metro, and bus systems still running, all aviation and maritime operations were temporarily halted.
When the broken app finally got its servers back online, the flood of netizens swarmed in to check the trending topics. To their shock, the Lingdong Monster headline was gone—but there was no official debunking either.
Topping the hotlist instead was a post titled “Lingdong Frontline.” Curious, everyone clicked in, and their jaws practically dropped.
Under the official account [Lingdong Bureau] was a weary statement:
“Since you’re going to post videos and photos anyway, we’ll just release them ourselves. The Lingdong Monster is real. The government has now opened the @National Abnormal Events Liaison Office. Please refrain from spreading rumors. If there’s a legitimate issue, report it. Anyone caught fabricating will be detained.”
Attached was a grid of nine images, each one deeply shocking.
The monster’s form. The wreckage of a crashed plane. Rain of blood frozen on glass. The terrified eyes of women and children. An elder with clasped hands praying. A youth’s face contorted in despair. Every frozen moment told of an apocalyptic scene filled with sorrow and desolation.
Following that was a three-minute video compiled from various onboard cameras, black boxes, and large-scale surveillance footage, nearly perfectly presenting every stage of the monster’s appearance and disappearance.
Four key moments stood out in the video: a rift tearing open in the sky, another monster barely emerging behind it, the miraculous moment of a plane being saved, and finally, the monster exploding mid-dive.
Tech-savvy enthusiasts meticulously analyzed these frames, uncovering details that most people overlooked!
For instance, a renowned online techie [No Ifs or Buts] published his findings after extensively processing the video and images:
“It’s almost certain that during the fourth phase—‘Monster’s Dive’ to ‘Monster’s Destruction’—a third unknown entity intervened.”
“I extracted this portion of the video and applied multiple layers of exposure. When the exposure reached its maximum and the screen turned so bright you could barely make out anything… see this circled spot? A faint human silhouette appeared.”
“Now, by overlaying the outlines of the monster, skyscrapers, and plane from the original video onto the overexposed frame, we achieve a perfect match.”
“See it? That silhouette was standing on the rooftop of the building, invisible to the naked eye.”
“This explains why the monster aimed the plane at the skyscraper. It wasn’t about destruction; it sensed a threat. When the plane was caught mid-air, it perceived its authority being challenged. That’s why it dived and attacked, only to be obliterated in one blow.”
“Believe it or not, I’m convinced. I believe Zhongzhou is under the protection of a higher being. Someone who will appear when we need them most.”
[No Ifs or Buts]’s hardcore breakdown went viral. Apart from endless exclamations of “Whoa!” netizens showered him with likes, propelling him to the top of the trending list.
The idea of Zhongzhou being protected by a higher being quickly gained traction. After the Lingdong Monster and the Jingdu Giant Serpent, the next hottest topic became the Search for the Higher Being.
Little did they know, the higher being they were searching for, Ji Si, was sitting comfortably on a hotel lobby couch, locked in an epic struggle with a phone’s lock screen.
Si Nuocheng, wary of Yu Mingyang replacing the caregiver he’d specially hired, snatched away his phone right in front of his friend, declaring smugly, “I’ll contact your parents. You just focus on resting.”
Knowing Yu Mingyang didn’t carry cash, Si Nuocheng figured taking his phone would render him helpless, forcing him to comply.
After tossing the phone onto the table, Si Nuocheng prepared to shower, muttering, “I need to wash up. If you’re bored, you can play with my phone; it’s on the table.”
He headed into the bathroom, water splashing noisily.
Unfortunately, Si Nuocheng had mixed up their identical phones. Unaware, Ji Si grabbed Yu Mingyang’s phone and entered Si Nuocheng’s usual password. The screen flashed red: Incorrect password.
Ji Si: …Did he change it?
Hearing the sound of running water, Ji Si decided to try his luck. Based on a CEO’s personality, if it’s not six 1s or six 8s, then it’s probably six 6s. Let’s see.
Nope. Incorrect again. Three attempts left.
Ji Si frowned. CEOs are all about growth and profit. What about six 3s?
Wrong again. Two attempts left.
He smirked. Nine is the ultimate number in both Eastern and Western mysticism. CEOs love prestige. It must be six 9s.
Wrong. One attempt left.
Looking toward the bathroom, Ji Si felt like he was being trolled. He wasn’t about to give up, though. Grinning slightly, he placed his palm on the screen, sensing the residual “imprint” on the keys. Soon, he identified the password.
Quietly, Ji Si murmured, “46D44B… huh? This intense imprint says ‘Boss Si is an idiot’?”
Ji Si: …
For a moment, silence engulfed the High Priest holding the phone.
When Si Nuocheng emerged, towel draped over his athletic frame, he saw Ji Si gazing out the window.
“What are you looking at, Mr. Seer?” he asked.
“The stars,” Ji Si replied solemnly. “The constellations are… in disarray.”
“What?” Si Nuocheng asked as he put on his pajamas and grabbed the phone, entering what he thought was his password. The keyboard shook, displaying “Incorrect Password.”
What’s going on?
…Oh, it’s Yu Mingyang’s phone.
Seeing this, Ji Si smirked mischievously. “Want to know his password? I can tell you—it’s ‘46D44B.’ The meaning is up to your interpretation.”
Si Nuocheng stayed silent, repeating the password a few times in his mind. Moments later, his expression grew darker and darker.
Great! Noted for later!
At this point, Si Nuocheng couldn’t care less about invading someone’s privacy. What he really wanted to know was if Yu Mingyang’s phone contained any embarrassing stories about him in the notes app, or even worse, incriminating blackmail photos in the gallery.
But just as he proceeded, another layer of security popped up—fingerprint input.
Si Nuocheng: …
Adding this to the grudge list!
Author’s Note:
PS: Ji Si (our big villain) and Si Nuocheng (the chosen child of fortune) exchanged sinister smiles: “Hehehe, hehehe.”
Yu Mingyang (the ultimate background character who’ll survive to the end): “What’s wrong with you guys? Why are you hiccupping non-stop?”
At that moment, the world achieved perfect balance.
