Taoist Master, wishing for a sacrifice-based system

Chapter 83 Stubbornly Launching a Live Stream to Counterattack? Claiming it's Muscle Spasms? Tw

Chapter 83 Stubbornly Launching a Live Stream to Counterattack? Claiming it's Muscle Spasms? Two Resounding Slaps Followed.

Sitting in the driver's seat covered in red paint, Black Dog felt fear for the first time.

It wasn't the same kind of bewilderment I felt when I was slapped at Qingyun Temple.

It wasn't the kind of shock I felt when my fingers hurt in the studio.

It's a chilling, penetrating fear that seeps from the very marrow of your bones.

A person who has lived by lying for forty years is suddenly told: You can never lie again in your life.

This is worse than being killed.

Because lying isn't just a job.

Lying is a way of life.

Speaking human language to human beings and ghost language to ghosts—this isn't hypocrisy, it's social interaction.

"You look great today" is a lie.

"Let's have dinner together another day" is a lie.

"I'm fine" is a lie.

"Sorry, I'm in a meeting" is a lie.

If we can't say any of these things, how are we supposed to interact with people?

How am I supposed to answer the phone?

How can I reply to WeChat messages?

How can we live like this?

Black Dog Brother sat in the car, his body covered in red oil and vermicelli, his face sweating, his left cheek swollen like a pig's head, the scabs still on the corner of his mouth, and missing a canine tooth.

A forty-year-old man, living a life that has become a joke.

I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror.

This time, the mirror wasn't turned back immediately.

I stared at my disheveled face in the mirror for a long time.

Then the corner of his mouth twitched; he wanted to laugh, but didn't.

"I don't believe in superstition."

He squeezed out four words through his teeth.

"I refuse to believe that dilapidated Taoist temple can take care of me for the rest of my life."

He rolled down the car window and threw the half-sprayed hot pot into the roadside trash can.

Then I started the car and drove home.

I came to a red light at an intersection.

While I was waiting, my phone lit up.

It was a message from the agency urging them to finish their work.

"Black Dog Bro, is the article finished? It has to be online by tomorrow afternoon, or the penalty for breach of contract will be hefty."

I stared at this message for ten seconds.

Then he replied with two words.

"Writing."

The moment I finished replying with those two words, I felt a tightness in my chest.

It doesn't hurt much.

It felt like someone had gently pressed down on it with their palm.

Because saying "I'm writing" is a lie.

He wasn't writing anything at all.

I simply can't write it.

I can't even type the word "should".

However, the degree of "fakeness" in these two words is not high. It is not a rumor or a smear campaign, but just an everyday, insignificant little lie.

Therefore, the punishment was light.

I just felt a tightness in my chest.

But Black Dog Brother sensed it.

I felt it very clearly.

The rules governing this wish are more intricate than one might imagine.

The severity of the lie varies, and so does the degree of punishment.

The most egregious form of slander and defamation: smashing bones with a hammer.

Such blatant flattery is enough to make someone want to slap you in the face.

The fake message in the takeout order notes: stomach cramps.

A WeChat reply containing a lie: "I feel a slight tightness in my chest."

A tiered system.

An incredibly precise rating system.

Heaven's will is not about punishment.

The way of Heaven is to guide and discipline.

Like training a dog.

If you bite, I'll give you an electric shock.

If you yell randomly, I'll give you a shock.

You rummage through the trash can and give it a shock.

I'll electrocute you until you behave.

I'll shock you until you never dare to bite again.

I'll shock you until you can only wag your tail for the rest of your life.

The green light is on.

The car behind honked.

Black Dog came to his senses, stepped on the gas, and drove forward.

There was only one thought in my mind.

"I don't believe in superstition."

"I want to prove that the dilapidated Taoist temple is fake."

"I want to prove it to everyone."

The next day at 3 PM.

Black Dog Brother made a decision that no one expected.

Start a live stream.

Using his own account, the official account of "a certain gossip studio," a large account with 3.7 million followers.

Start a live stream.

The live stream had only one theme: to publicly prove that Qingyun Temple was a fraud.

This decision was made after tossing and turning in bed all night.

The logic is simple.

If Qingyun Temple is truly efficacious, then my life is over.

However, if it can be proven in public that those so-called "divine punishments" are just some kind of psychological suggestion or muscle spasm, then there is still hope.

Not only can they be saved, they can also turn the tables.

A live stream claiming "A real test of Qingyun Temple reveals it's all hype" garnered at least tens of millions of views.

While the hype surrounding "getting slapped for telling lies" is still going strong, let's capitalize on this wave of attention.

Not only will they be able to clear their name of yesterday's disgrace, but they will also be able to bring Qingyun Temple down from its pedestal.

Three birds with one stone.

perfect.

At least that's what Black Dog himself thinks.

The live stream started at 3:00 PM sharp.

Because the buzz surrounding yesterday's 27-second video was still going strong, coupled with the existing fan base of 3.7 million followers of "a certain gossip studio," 80,000 people flooded into the live stream within five minutes of it starting.

Black Dog Brother sat in front of the computer in the studio.

A skin-colored medical bandage was applied to the left side of my face, barely covering the slap mark from yesterday, but it was still noticeable that it was swollen.

The wound on the corner of my mouth has scabbed over.

A mouth missing a canine tooth makes it sound a bit comical when speaking in front of the camera, as it whistles through the air.

But his expression was very serious.

"Dear fans, I have something to tell you during today's live stream."

The comments section started flooded with messages.

[Here it comes! Black Dog Bro has responded!]

[The band-aid on your face can't cover it up, hahaha]

Are we going to talk about yesterday?

[Brothers, grab your stools!]

Black Dog cleared his throat.

"Everyone saw what happened yesterday. I went to Qingyun Temple, and in the live broadcast, everyone saw me slap myself."

There was a one-second pause.

"But today I want to tell you the truth."

The speed of the comments increased.

"That slap was not some divine punishment, not a backlash for making a wish, and certainly not a beating for telling a lie."

There was another pause of one second.

"That was just because I suddenly had a physical problem at the time, maybe low blood sugar, or maybe muscle cramps. I went up the mountain yesterday without eating lunch, so my physical condition wasn't good—"

Speaking of it.

The right hand moved again.

The exact same trajectory as yesterday.

Raise your arm high to the right rear, until it is level with your shoulder.

Black Dog's pupils dilated instantly.

"No, no, wait a minute, I don't have any!"

He hadn't finished speaking.

"Smack!!!"

A crisp sound rang out, even crisper than the slap from yesterday.

His right palm slammed solidly into his left cheek.

The band-aid was slapped away.

His head suddenly tilted to the right.