Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

Chapter 241 He's still smiling!

I'm currently reading Chapter 241 of the novel "Cola Novel," and I'm completely engrossed in it.

In reality, Zhou Weiqing stood in front of the microphone, reached for a non-existent doorknob, and made a pushing motion. His voice came from the speakers, carrying a satisfied and lingering tone: "When I removed the overload protection, I was thinking—after tomorrow, no one will compare me to him anymore."

He called my name as the door closed. 'Weiqing.'

"He knew. At the very last moment, he knew it was me."

He paused, then a slow smile curved his lips. "So what? He knows, and he's dead. I'm alive. His research is mine, his position is mine, everything he has is mine."

I didn't look back.

The entire room fell silent.

Deputy Director Zhang stood by the sound control console, his legs went weak and he collapsed to the ground. Looking at Zhou Weiqing smiling on the stage, his lips trembled and he couldn't even utter a word.

Director Qian stood up and tried to run, but his legs gave way and he fell to the ground.

In the television premiere, Zhou Weiqing had a smile on his face, his gray hair was scattered on his forehead, his glasses were tilted on his nose, and the smile on his lips was so sharp it hurt the eyes.

The online comment section paused for a full three seconds, then exploded: "He's still laughing!" "He killed someone and he's still gloating!" "Shoot him! Shoot this bastard!" "Professor Song is so wronged, my God!"

In the shadows of the corner, Lin Shen raised his hand from his knees and slammed it hard on the armrest of the seat.

He stared at Zhou Weiqing, who was smiling smugly on the stage, and the silver-white seed deep in his consciousness suddenly surged. His mental power, like a flood bursting its banks, rushed wildly into Zhou Weiqing's mind along the neural pathways that had been established long ago.

The hallucination scene changed accordingly.

Zhou Weiqing stood in his office, his black walnut desk gleaming, with a sheet of paper spread out on it—a list he had written himself.

Song Yuanming's sister, nephew, and students all had neat red checkmarks drawn after their names, each one bold and powerful.

He leaned back in his chair, twirling his pen in his fingers, the nib tapping the last name repeatedly.

Song Yuanming is dead, and all the core data has been locked in his safe. Keeping it is a potential threat.

The older sister might be hiding her brother's old letters. Sooner or later, the nephew will bring up old grievances. As for those students, who knows if Song Yuanming mentioned the details of the research to them before he died?

The Five Mountains Alliance wanted to monopolize the results and was also afraid of leaks, so they decided to use them to clean things up, saving themselves the trouble of getting their hands dirty.

He picked up the landline on the table and dialed the dedicated line that the Five Mountains Association had left him: "The finishing touches on Song Yuanming's side, the students and their families, have all been taken care of. Yes, don't leave anything out."

After hanging up the phone, he folded the list in half and then in half again, then stuffed it into the shredder on the corner of the table.

The paper shredder hummed as it turned, and white scraps of paper fell into the wastebasket at the bottom, like snow scattered on the ground.

He stood up and walked to the window, tapping his fingertips on the cold glass. Looking down at the bare sycamore branches below, he felt a sense of peace.

Junior brother, don't blame me. You wouldn't give way, so this is the way.

Your family and students all died because of your stubbornness.

In real life, Zhou Weiqing stood in front of the microphone, his right hand loosely holding a pen, drawing checkmarks in the air one by one.

The voice resounded throughout the venue through the speakers, each word like an icicle piercing the ears: "Song Yuanming is dead, but his sister, his nephew, his students—do they have his manuscripts? Do they have his letters? If they live, Wuyue will not sleep peacefully, and neither will I."

"I called the Five Mountains Association. 'Make sure all the follow-up work on Song Yuanming's side, including the students and their families, is done completely. Don't leave anything out.'"

He raised his hand as if to stuff paper into the ground, paused for two seconds, then gently clapped his hands, as if brushing off scraps of paper from his fingertips. His tone carried a calm, almost detached, emotion, as if he had just finished a task: "Junior brother, don't blame me. You refused to give way, and that's the way. Your family and students died because of your stubbornness."

After saying that, the corners of his mouth curved slightly, his smile carrying a hint of self-satisfied satisfaction.

For the third time, the entire venue fell into dead silence.

The shock that had been stuck in my throat was now frozen solid by these few words.

The old scholar in the audience slammed his fist on the table, causing the teacup to jump up and spill hot water all over the table. He was completely unaware of it, his chest heaving violently as he stared at the sanctimonious face on the stage, trembling with anger.

The television broadcast paused for three seconds when Zhou Weiqing said, "It's all cleaned up," and then a white message popped up: "Premiere signal interrupted, please try again later."

Users frantically refreshed the page, and when they clicked back in, the premiere room already displayed "This premiere has been closed".

On social media platforms, the popularity of related topics surged to its peak the moment the premiere was cut off.

After a user types their comment and clicks send, the first post disappears when the page refreshes.

It reappears, then disappears again.

The comment section went from being flooded with comments to being blank, and then to a gray "No comments yet" screen.

Someone recorded the screen in advance, took screenshots of Zhou Weiqing's confession word by word, censored, compressed, and changed the suffixes, and then released it in various forms.

Each image is deleted within three minutes, but new images immediately appear, like weeds that can never be burned out.

One by one, the related terms on the trending search list turned gray, and clicking on them displayed "According to relevant laws and regulations, this topic will not be displayed."

Users create new topics using homophones, pinyin, or misspellings, and these topics are cleared out within seconds.

Anger, like a fire trapped under a lid, is burning the entire internet.

Lin Shen sat in the shadows of the corner, his anger bursting forth from his chest, barely contained.

The two graduate students on the list are his junior classmates from the same academic lineage.

One student was traumatized by the explosion and dropped out of school. On his way home, he was involved in an "accident" and fell into the water, where he died.

Another person was thrown over by the blast wave, spent two months in a rehabilitation hospital, and died three weeks ago from "organ failure".

Song Yuanming's sister, whom he had called "Shigu" (a term of respect for a female disciple) for five years, had a gas leak in her home six weeks ago, which even caused a neighbor to be hospitalized due to the fumes.

My nephew, a junior in college, was hit by a drunk truck while crossing the road before the Western Zhou Dynasty. The driver fled the scene and has not been caught to this day.

He had investigated each of these matters one by one, but the chain of evidence was missing the most crucial link, which Zhou Weiqing had now filled in for him in public.

The silvery-white seed deep within consciousness began to boil, its surface cracking with fine lines, seemingly struggling to emerge into a new shape, but ultimately failing and sinking back down.

Lin Shen shifted his gaze from Zhou Weiqing's face to the dazzling crystal chandelier on the ceiling. The light stung his eyes, but he didn't blink.

He was no longer satisfied with just having Zhou Weiqing confess piece by piece.

He wanted to bury this man alive for his crimes, to have his bones crushed to dust in front of everyone.

Five hallucinations were simultaneously injected into Zhou Weiqing's nervous system, no longer switching, and all superimposed together.