Taoist Master, wishing for a sacrifice-based system

Chapter 84 The man who made a living with his mouth became mute! He couldn't tell lies, and he dared not speak the truth.

The number of viewers in the live stream soared to 200,000.

The comments section wasn't just discussing things; it was a collective frenzy.

[Aaaaaaah, he hit me again!!! He hit me twice!!!]

[Brothers, did you see that?! His hand moved on its own! He clearly didn't want to be hit!]

This isn't a muscle spasm! This is Tiandao Online Office!

[Black Dog Bro, stop struggling! You get slapped for every lie you tell! How many more lies are you going to say?]

Black Dog climbed back onto the chair.

My left cheek is completely swollen, even worse than yesterday, and my eye is squeezed shut.

Blood started seeping from the corner of his mouth again.

But perhaps because he had been beaten into a kind of obsessive state, he still kept talking.

"Let me tell you, that Qingyun Temple is a fraudulent, dilapidated Taoist temple! That Qin Du is a charlatan who pretends to be a god! All that talk about the Heavenly Way and making wishes is fake! It's all—"

He raised his right hand again.

This time it wasn't a slap.

This time, his right hand clenched into a fist.

"Thump!!!"

He slammed his fist on the table.

wrong.

It wasn't smashed on the table.

It was as if his fist bounced off the table, traveled back, and smashed into his forehead.

"Bang!!!"

His head snapped back.

The chair slid back half a meter.

The back of his head slammed against the wall behind him.

"Thump!"

Another muffled sound.

The picture frame on the wall was shaken and tilted.

Black Dog Bro slid to the ground.

The number of viewers in the live stream was 350,000.

The barrage of comments had stopped flowing, and the screen had turned into a white waterfall.

Everyone is sending the same message.

Please stop talking!!! Please stop talking!!!

Black Dog Brother lay on the ground.

A bump appeared on my forehead.

I also bumped the back of my head.

His left cheek was so swollen he looked unrecognizable.

Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth down his chin onto the floor.

pain.

It hurts everywhere.

My face hurts, my head hurts, the back of my head hurts, and my hands hurt.

But these aren't the most painful things.

The most painful thing is that suffocating feeling that wells up from the bottom of your heart, with nowhere to vent, as if you've been completely strangled.

I want to tell a lie.

No.

They want to spread rumors.

No.

They want to smear him.

No.

I want to say that "Qingyun Temple is fake".

No.

Because that's a lie.

The body knows it's a lie.

My body won't allow it.

He lay on the floor, panting for a while.

Then, for some reason, he got up from the ground and stumbled back to the computer.

The camera is still broadcasting live.

My left cheek was swollen like half a pig's head, I had a bump the size of an egg on my forehead, my nose was probably crooked from hitting it, and blood was still flowing from the corner of my mouth.

This face on camera is scarier than any horror movie.

The number of viewers in the live stream was 470,000.

It's still rising.

He opened his mouth and licked the blood off his lips.

I want to say something.

But I don't know what to say.

Because all that's left to say is the truth.

But what is the truth?

The truth is: Qingyun Temple is truly efficacious.

The truth is: that wish really came true.

The truth is: everything Black Dog Brother has done in his life is fake, dirty, and harmful.

These truths hurt more than a slap in the face.

He opened his mouth.

He didn't say it.

Then a chilling scene appeared on camera.

Black Dog Bro faced the camera, his mouth opening and closing as if he were speaking, but no sound came out.

Like a fish desperately trying to breathe on the shore.

The mouth is moving.

No sound.

Because every word you want to say is filtered through your brain before it reaches your lips.

Fake? I can't say.

Really? I dare not say.

I can't say what's fake, and I dare not say what's true.

Then you won't be able to say anything at all.

There was a three-second silence in the live stream.

Then a comment appeared on the screen.

He—could no longer speak.

Oh my god. He really can't speak.

Look at his mouth. He's trying to speak, but every word gets stuck.

He wanted to lie but couldn't. He wanted to tell the truth but dared not. He was blocked by his own desires.

470,000 people watched simultaneously as a man stood silently in front of the camera, his mouth agape, blood trickling from the corner of his lips, his face swollen beyond recognition.

This scene is a million times more terrifying than yesterday's 27-second slap video.

Because it hurt yesterday.

I am mute today.

A person who makes a living by speaking has been silenced by his own mouth.

Black Dog stared silently at the camera for about thirty seconds.

Then two lines of tears squeezed out from his swollen eyes.

It flowed down her purplish-black cheeks.

The scabs of blood that had trickled down the corner of his mouth.

It flowed down his chin.

It dripped onto the keyboard.

The number of viewers in the live stream was 510,000.

Another voice began to appear in the comments section.

The sound wasn't that of someone watching a spectacle.

It was a sound of fear.

I'm scared. I'm really scared.

Is this person insane?

He's not crazy. He's been subdued by the will of Heaven.

[Has anyone called the police? He's acting strangely.]

[I've already called 120, they'll be here soon.]

In the video, Black Dog suddenly reached out and closed the computer screen.

The live stream was interrupted.

The screen went black.

Before the 510,000 viewers, all that remained was a gray message: "Live stream has ended."

Everyone was stunned.

Then the last comment in the live chat stopped there.

Monks do not speak falsehoods.

Seventeen minutes after the live stream ended.

A white ambulance pulled up in front of the office building in the old town.

It was Xiao Zhou who called the police.

When the live stream started, Xiao Zhou, Lao Ma, and Xiao Li had already left work. However, Xiao Zhou watched his boss's live stream on his phone at home. When he saw the second slap, his hand started to shake. When he saw the fist hitting his forehead, he immediately dialed an ambulance.

The paramedics went up to the seventh floor and opened the door of "XX Culture Media Studio".

Black Dog Brother sat in front of the computer.

It didn't move.

The eyes are open, but unfocused.

The blood at the corner of his mouth had dried, his left cheek was swollen into a purplish-black ball, and the bump on his forehead was glowing bluish. He looked like a broken wax figure.

The paramedics called out "Sir" twice as they approached.

No response.

He waved his hand in front of his eyes.

The pupils are responding, but the person is not speaking.

It's not that I don't want to talk about it.

I dare not say it.

Because when speaking to emergency responders, any statement could be a lie.

"I'm fine" is a lie. Something's wrong, very wrong.

"I don't need to go to the hospital" is a lie. You need to go, you absolutely need to go.

"I'm just too tired" is a lie. It's not that I'm tired, it's that I've been destroyed by the will of Heaven.

Every polite, social, or comforting word a normal person would say turned into a landmine at that moment.

Dare not say.

They didn't dare utter a single word.

The emergency responders assessed the situation: severe facial swelling, forehead hematoma, abnormal mental state, suspected self-harm.

The stretcher was brought in.

Black Dog was laid flat on a stretcher, taken out of the studio, pushed into the elevator, and then into an ambulance.

He didn't say a single word the entire time.

There was no resistance.

There was no cooperation.

He just stared at the ceiling with his swollen eyes wide open.

The ambulance drove all the way to the Third Mental Health Center of the city.

It's not a regular hospital.

It's a psychiatric department.

The emergency physician who received the patient conducted a brief assessment in the ambulance: the patient had clear and recurrent self-harming behaviors (slapping himself, punching his forehead, and banging his head against the wall), accompanied by significant speech impairment (able to make sounds but refusing to speak), and the initial judgment was that a psychiatric consultation was necessary.