The ancient return was exposed by his sister's live stream.

Li Na's heart raced.

Mr. Zhang continued, "Li Na, think about it. What kind of organization is the Special Intelligence Bureau? They handle matters that ordinary people can't access. The fact that they specifically came to make arrangements—what does that mean? It means they know Chen Hao is no ordinary person. It means they know this kind of thing will happen in the future. It means—"

He paused, lowering his voice even further, "This means that the higher-ups have already made their decision, and probably have a plan in place. They want to slowly reveal the existence of these special events. This live broadcast is an opportunity. We can't cut it off; on the contrary, we must do everything we can to protect it."

Li Na's hand holding the phone trembled slightly. She was terrified. The terms "Secret Service," "high-level orders," and "delayed disclosure of a special event"... each one was beyond her comprehension. This seemingly ordinary live broadcast had hidden such a huge secret behind it all!

"So, there's no need to cut the live stream." Mr. Zhang's voice returned to calm. "Not only do we not need to cut it, we also need to ensure the live stream is stable. With 33 million people watching, can the server handle it?"

Li Na immediately said, "I'll arrange for expansion right away."

"Go ahead." Mr. Zhang hung up the phone.

Li Na put down her phone, took a deep breath, and turned to Xiao Wang: "Don't cut the live stream. Go to the tech department and tell them to expand the server capacity. Expand as much as you can. Today's live stream can't lag, can't be interrupted, and can't have any problems."

Xiao Wang was taken aback for a moment, but quickly recovered: "Yes! I'll go right away!"

He turned and ran out.

Li Na leaned back in her chair, watching the screen. Chen Siyao held up her phone, the camera pointed at a patch of black mist above the stairs. The mist was churning and writhing, as if it were alive.

Looking at the fog, she recalled what General Manager Zhang had said—"The higher-ups have already expressed their intention to gradually make these matters public."

She suddenly felt a sense of relief. Relieved that she had signed Chen Siyao, relieved that she hadn't listened to Zhou Jianming's nonsense and shut down the livestream. Relieved that she had made the right choice at the most crucial moment.

She picked up her phone and sent a message to the technical department: "All backup servers are now online, prioritizing Chen Siyao's live stream. There can be no mistakes today."

The message was sent and received a reply in less than 30 seconds: "Received, capacity has been expanded. Current bandwidth is sufficient to support 50 million people online simultaneously."

Fifty million. Li Na's lips curled slightly. That's enough.

Building A, 28th floor stairwell.

The emergency lights buzzed overhead, their stark white light illuminating the black fog, only to be swallowed up without any reflection. The fog blocked the staircase leading to the twenty-ninth floor, like a wall, or perhaps a mouth.

Chen Siyao stood behind Chen Hao, holding up her phone. The camera was pointed at the layer of black mist; her hand was shaking, but the image was still relatively steady.

In the live stream, over 30 million people were staring at the swirling fog, yet the number of comments actually decreased. It wasn't that no one was speaking; it was that no one knew what to say.

Chen Hao turned and glanced at them: "Ready?"

Chen Siyao took a deep breath, exchanged a glance with Yang Wanqing, and nodded.

Chen Hao turned around and walked into the black mist.

His figure was swallowed by the mist, disappearing little by little. Yang Wanqing gritted her teeth, grabbed Chen Siyao, and followed him.

The black fog was cold, as if she had fallen into an ice cave. Chen Siyao shivered, feeling the fog seeping into her clothes and into her skin.

The sounds became clearer—crying, laughter, screams, whispers, all mixed together, like countless people talking in her ear, but she couldn't understand a single word.

She lowered her head, only looking at Chen Hao's back. His white T-shirt stood out conspicuously in the black fog, like a lamp.

"Brother," she whispered.

"Hmm." Chen Hao's voice came from the front, very steady.

She breathed a sigh of relief and continued walking.

In the live stream, the screen was completely black. You couldn't see anything, just a rolling expanse of black. But the sounds were still there—the cries, laughter, and screams, picked up by the phone's microphone and turned into a piercing, chilling noise.

The number of comments has increased again:

[Xiao Ke: Why is the screen black? I can't see anything!]

[Yaoyao's Little Red Riding Hood: Yaoyao, are you still there? Say something!]

[Dongmen Chuixue: Don't panic, the voice is still there, Yaoyao is still walking.]

[Life is not worth living: Those voices... Did you hear them? What were those voices?]

[Making a living through gaming: Stop talking, stop talking, I'm getting goosebumps.]

[Qin Jia Xiaoyu: Yao Yao, don't be afraid, follow the god.]

Chen Siyao didn't know how long she had walked. It could have been a minute, or it could have been ten. In the black mist, time seemed to slow down. She could only watch Chen Hao's back as she followed him step by step.

Then, the fog suddenly dissipated.

Chen Siyao blinked and found herself standing in the corridor on the 29th floor. The corridor was long and seemed to stretch on forever. All the lights were off, except for the green light emanating from the emergency exit sign.

Shoes, clothes, cell phones, and several suitcases were scattered on the ground, as if dropped by residents in their haste to escape. There was a sweet, rotten smell in the air, mixed with the stench of blood.

"Brother..." her voice was very soft.

"Follow me." Chen Hao continued walking forward.

Chen Siyao and Yang Wanqing followed. When they reached the middle of the corridor, she saw deep scratch marks on the wall next to her, as if something had carved them with fingernails.

There was blood on the floor, stretching from the end of the corridor all the way to the stairwell, leaving a long, dark red trail.

The two girls felt their stomachs churn and almost vomited.

"Don't look down," Chen Hao's voice rang out from ahead. "Look ahead."

She looked up, only seeing Chen Hao's back.

The 29th floor. The wallpaper in the corridor had all peeled off, revealing the cement underneath. On the cement were dark red words, crookedly written: "Let me out," "I don't want to die," "Help," densely packed, covering the entire wall. The air was as cold as an icebox, and exhaled breath turned into white mist.

Chen Siyao held her phone steady, pointing the camera at the words.

In the live stream, the video feed returned to normal. Over 30 million viewers saw the dark red text, and the chat exploded with comments:

[Bright Sun: What does it say? Let me out, help!]

[Yaoyao's Little Red Riding Hood: Is this... something written by the residents or just scribbles? What happened to them?]

[Dongmen Chuixue: Look at those words, they were carved. They weren't written with a pen, they were carved with fingernails.]

[Just leave: My God... what exactly did those people on the third floor go through?]

[Air Freight: Yao Yao, be careful! There seems to be something next to those words!]

Chen Siyao didn't see the comment. She was staring at the door at the end of the corridor. The door was open, leading to the rooftop. Sunlight streamed in, casting a golden glow down the corridor.

The light was warm and alive, completely different from the cold air conditioning in the corridor.

Chen Siyao lowered her voice, "Brother, is this even written by a human being?"