A real killer playing a villain; the guy surnamed Zhen in Detective, run!

In the comments section, everyone uses the same language, the same sentence structure, and the same template for anger!

"Insider leaks," "Insider revelations," "Anonymous confirmation from crew members"—the sources of each piece of information are vague and pose no legal risk; each piece of emotional manipulation can cloud the judgment of passersby.

The core narrative has only one line: Lu Yuan, a well-connected and resourceful individual, violently assaults Zhao Xiujie on set, causing him to break his ribs and forcing him to pay 15 million yuan in breach of contract fees to leave the production.

Hundreds per second.

The official account's comment section has been overrun. The discussions below the trailer have absolutely nothing to do with the movie itself; they're all just a torrent of boycott slogans.

Su Qinghan pushed Zhou Ming's computer back.

"The source?"

"I checked. At least three marketing account matrices were launched simultaneously, with the bottom layer consisting entirely of bot accounts, topped by a layer of real accounts that had been nurtured for more than six months for intermediate dissemination." Zhou Ming wiped his sweat. "This strategy would cost no less than one million."

Su Qinghan remained silent.

One million. Three months of dormancy. Exploded during the half-hour window following the trailer's release.

She remembered the woman standing at the foot of the hospital bed, her phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, handling three things at the same time—Sister Li!

---

In an office building, agent Ms. Li put her legs off the desk and scratched her phone screen with her fingernail.

The data curve is quite impressive. The proportion of negative comments surged from zero to 87%, while positive discussions were reduced to negligible levels.

The second wave of marketing accounts has taken over, releasing pre-edited internal audio recordings, which are actually ambient sounds extracted from behind-the-scenes footage, accompanied by blurry, unverifiable, but suggestive text descriptions.

Sister Li picked up the thermos on the table and took a sip of herbal tea.

Zhao Xiujie sat on the leather sofa opposite him, his right arm instinctively protecting his chest. His ribs had long since healed, but that action had become a conditioned reflex.

"Did you see it?" Sister Li asked.

Zhao Xiujie stared at his phone, the trending search terms on the screen reflected in his pupils.

Sister Li put down her cup. "The first wave is to set the tone, the second wave is to use recordings to confirm it, and the third wave is to let passersby spread the word spontaneously. You don't need to show your face. Keep it clean."

Zhao Xiujie didn't reply, his thumb scrolling down the screen. He scrolled for a long time.

There was a very slight upturn at the corner of his mouth.

---

Zhou Ming's phone vibrated on the table for the fourth time.

"The theaters asked if we wanted to postpone the release date. Contacts from the three main distributors called, saying that the current public opinion environment—"

"No."

"Director Su, please let me finish," Zhou Ming said in a low voice. "This isn't just ordinary negative reviews; it's an organized attack. If we completely lose our casual viewers, the opening week box office will—"

"I said I won't push it." Su Qinghan stood up.

She walked to the cabinet by the window, pulled open the second drawer, and took out a portable hard drive.

"This contains the entire surveillance footage from the set. It includes the complete footage of Zhao Xiujie colliding with Lu Yuan at the edge of the mud pit, the original copy of his own statement of withdrawal from the production, stamped by his studio, and the timestamp of the hospital's diagnostic report."

She slammed the hard drive on the table. "Send them all out."

Zhou Ming's mouth opened slightly.

The legal representative from the marketing team sat up straight in the corner, his laptop slipping off his lap and nearly falling.

"Director Su, no way!" The legal representative spoke up before Zhou Ming could react. "The online sentiment has reached the point where they don't care about evidence. If you just release the surveillance footage, the online trolls can easily fabricate a video to whitewash the production team within three minutes."

Zhou Ming continued, "Moreover, once the authorities directly confront them, it's like giving them the bullseye. They're currently targeting Lu Yuan, and if you respond, both 'Black Gold' and you yourself will be dragged into the mire."

Su Qinghan placed her hand on the hard drive, her fingernail leaving a white mark on the metal casing.

She looked up and glanced at the negative data flashing on the secondary screen.

The curve is still going up.

---

The Criminal Investigation Division of the Municipal Public Security Bureau, third floor.

On Jiang Yan's desk lay a notebook and two open files. Her gaze was fixed on her phone, scrolling through Weibo's trending topics again and again.

She doesn't care about the mudslinging in the entertainment industry.

What she cared about was what Lu Yuan would do.

This man can save someone by kicking a nut with his toe, and he can also press on a person's ribs and rotate his thumb underwater. He can make someone who has been hospitalized have a heart rate of 140 so frightened by peeling an orange.

Now, someone is roasting him over a fire.

Jiang Yan leaned back in her chair, holding a pen between two fingers, the tip of which touched a blank page in the surveying book.

She is waiting.

Waiting for a phone call, a news report, or an emergency room report from a hospital, it becomes clear that a well-known agent or celebrity has suffered an inexplicable accident.

With Lu Yuan's abilities, this level of revenge could be a perfect crime.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes. An hour.

Nothing happened.

---

Lu Yuan was curled up on the sofa, his right leg resting on the armrest and his left foot on the coffee table leg. Lao Liu was lying on his stomach, his front paws tucked up, and the tip of his tail patting his ribs intermittently.

The phone lit up.

It's lit up again.

It's lit up again.

The message notification sounds lined up in a row, and he picked it up to take a look. His Weibo follower count had jumped from just over 20,000, accumulated during filming, to 360,000.

It's rising quite sharply.

He checked his private messages.

"Capitalist lackeys," "Get out of the entertainment industry," "You crazy madman who beat people, you'll die a horrible death"—the quality of these works varies, but their quantity is abundant.

Lu Yuan swiped his thumb across the screen for three seconds, then flipped the phone over and placed it face down on the coffee table.

He was doing the math: 360,000 followers, and still growing. Even if 99% of them were there to criticize him, that's still 360,000 impressions. And it's free!

In my past life, when I was working on a social engineering project in a syndicate, the maximum number of real followers I could achieve with a social media account was only about $500,000.

Someone has now spent one million RMB to push traffic directly to his doorstep.

Lu Yuan sat up, and Lao Liu rolled off his stomach onto the sofa cushions, rolling his eyes.

He opened the app store and typed three words in the search bar: "Shake".

Download. Install. Register.

Profile picture: I flipped through my photo album for two minutes and chose a blurry picture of Lao Liu yawning. His mouth was open like a hippo's, and his sharp canines were very photogenic.

Account name: Lu Yuan himself.

Live streaming permissions are required for new accounts; real-name authentication is necessary. I've taken photos of both sides of my ID card, passed facial recognition, and am now awaiting approval.

Seven minutes later, access was granted.

Lu Yuan clicked "Start Live Stream".