A live stream of someone hand-making a giant white robot attracted the attention of the government,

The first rays of sunlight pierced through the clouds like a golden scalpel, precisely cutting through the thin mist that shrouded the "Zero Boundary Center".

The venue, transformed overnight, is now completely different. The suffocating smell of disinfectant typical of hospitals is gone, replaced by an extreme coldness and cleanliness. The dome has been painted a deep, starry black, and the pure silver-white streamlined walls reflect a cold light, making one feel as if they are inside the heart of a spaceship about to launch.

At the center of the main stage, ten cylindrical, transparent medical pods, each three meters tall, were arranged in a semi-circle. The bases emitted a faint, pulsating blue light, which reflected on the smooth floor like ripples spreading outwards.

They don't resemble medical devices; they're more like ten giant eggs waiting to hatch—quiet, mysterious, yet radiating a chilling technological pressure.

Outside the venue, the security cordon was already in a precarious state.

More than a thousand media outlets from around the world swarmed together like sharks smelling blood, forming an impenetrable wall of cameras and microphones. CNN, BBC, CCTV... the logos of top media outlets that are usually only seen at international summits were now densely packed together.

"Back up! Everyone back up the fuck! Who's going to take responsibility if we trample?!"

Wang Tao roared until his voice cracked, his tie long gone, and he was sweating profusely as he directed the security guards to form a human wall.

Yesterday, he broke down in tears in the lounge, feeling like he'd been tricked. But today, seeing this spectacle worthy of being recorded in history, the "Zero Realm Mascot's" adrenaline surged, and he managed to put on an excited expression as if he'd seen it all before. Even though his legs were still trembling.

Just then, the crowd suddenly parted to both sides like the sea being split open.

A convoy of black Maybachs ignored the surrounding noise, forcefully making its way through the media area and stopping at the VIP entrance. The doors popped open, and a group of white men in suits stepped out.

The elderly man leading the group had silver-white hair, sharp eyes like an eagle, and a gold badge pinned to his chest.

Bruce Wilson, Nobel laureate in Physiology or Medicine, chief scientific advisor to Pfizer, is hailed as the "godfather of modern immunology".

Behind him followed twelve arrogant medical experts, each carrying a precision testing kit labeled "Biohazard." The group exuded such an aura that the surrounding cacophony of camera shutters momentarily froze.

This isn't a ceremony to observe; it's clearly a forensic examination conducted on a corpse.

"Professor Bruce! What are your thoughts on today's press conference?" A reporter eagerly shoved the microphone at him.

Bruce stopped, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, and a mocking smirk played on his lips. "Science is rigorous experimentation, not some Eastern magic show. If you ask me what I'm here for today..."

Facing the camera, his voice, though not loud, carried an undeniable arrogance: "I'm here to uphold the dignity of medicine. To prevent certain clowns from using pseudoscience to fool desperate souls."

These words, broadcast live, instantly went viral across the global internet.

On the second-floor corridor bridge, Su Wanqing's hand gripping the railing tightened suddenly, her knuckles turning white from the force.

"Is this what they call academic authority?" She looked coldly at the arrogant group of white people below, her eyes flashing with a chilling light. "Judging people before they've even started—is this their 'rigor'?"

Li Jianguo stood in the shadows behind her, wearing a military overcoat, his tone as calm as a stone: "This is war, girl. They're scared, that's why they're making such a racket."

Su Wanqing took a deep breath, and when she raised her head again, the cold mask that belonged to the goddess of the University of Science and Technology of China was already on her face.

She walked briskly down to meet him, her high heels swaying in the breeze.

"Professor Bruce, it's an honor to meet you." Su Wanqing walked up to the group of people, politely but distantly extending her hand, but without waiting for a response, she withdrew it and made a "please" gesture. "Zero Boundary Technology has prepared VIP seats for you and your team."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised that this young Chinese woman wasn't intimidated by his aura.

Su Wanqing led them to the very front of the stage—less than five meters from the ten enormous medical pods.

This is the real "splash zone." If the treatment fails, the patient's horrific condition will be the first thing they see; but if it succeeds, these so-called authorities must kneel at the feet of a miracle and look up at it all.

"This is the best view." Su Wanqing smiled, but her eyes were like two knives. "Since we're going to do the verification, please open your eyes wide and see clearly the changes in every cell."

Bruce snorted and led his team to their seats. He then opened the sophisticated testing boxes, assuming a posture that suggested he was ready to expose the charade at any moment.

Suddenly, a piercing alarm cut off all the noise.

The side door of the venue suddenly burst open, and ten fully enclosed negative pressure ambulances drove in like a funeral procession, bringing a suffocating sense of oppression.

There was no background music, no emotional introduction from the host. Only the sickening sound of the life support equipment running—"beep, beep, beep—".

Medical staff slowly pushed ten mobile hospital beds into the room.

As the high-definition camera panned across the hospital beds, thousands of people in the room gasped in unison. The media area, which had been whispering amongst themselves, fell into a deathly silence.

That can no longer be called a "human".

Those were skeletons that were still struggling to rise and fall.

The camera gave the first hospital bed a close-up without reservation.

That's Zhao Tiezui, the infamous leader of online trolls.

At this moment, where was the arrogance he displayed during his live streams? He was emaciated, his skin had an eerie sallow color, his cheekbones were high, and his eye sockets were sunken like two black holes.

The most horrifying thing was his abdomen, bulging high like an inflated balloon, a cruel shape shaped by massive ascites and a huge tumor. With each breath, a bellowing sound came from his throat, the sound of life slipping away.

"My God..."

In the Pfizer observation team, a young expert couldn't help but cover his mouth, and his pen fell to the ground.

As top-tier doctors, they could tell at a glance that it was real.

This deathly pallor, this gruesome sight of being utterly consumed by cancer cells, cannot be replicated by any special effects makeup. It's as if Death has already placed its scythe against one's neck, just a moment away from making its final move.

The online comments clamoring for "hiring actors" and "script murder mystery games" suddenly fell silent, like a duck being choked.

Instead, there is an instinctive fear of death.

"Prepare to enter the cabin."

A mechanical, electronically synthesized sound rang out.

Several flexible robotic arms descended from the sky, gently and precisely lifting those fragile bodies and slowly sending them into the transparent vertical medical pods.

"laugh--"

The airlocks closed, and the hatch shut.

A soft white mist rose from inside the cabin, and countless hair-thin sensor lines automatically searched for the patient's veins and nerve nodes, like a precise biological surgery.

Zhang Li, who had been groaning in pain, struggled to open his eyes through the thick glass. He looked at the deep, artificial starry sky above him, his cloudy pupils reflecting a ghostly blue light.

It didn't feel like I was in a hospital; it felt more like I was lying in a hibernation pod leading to the future.

Even the well-informed Professor Bruce couldn't help but sit up straight, staring intently at the structure of the medical pods, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes. This level of automation was something even Pfizer's top laboratories couldn't achieve!

Just when the atmosphere in the entire venue reached its most oppressive point, all the spotlights went out without warning.

Only the ten medical pods remained, emitting a faint blue light, like lighthouses in the deep sea.

"Da, da, da."

The crisp sound of footsteps came from the darkness, unhurried and gentle, each step seeming to tread on everyone's heartbeat.

A dazzling spotlight suddenly shone on the center of the stage.

They weren't wearing white coats or formal attire.

Bai Che was wearing a well-tailored dark gray casual suit with a simple white T-shirt underneath. He had his hands in his pockets and looked as relaxed as if he had just finished class and was about to go to the cafeteria for lunch.

He ignored Professor Bruce's scrutinizing gaze from below the stage, ignored the more than a thousand dark cameras, and didn't even glance at the spotlights that seemed to be swallowing him whole.

He casually walked to the very front of the stage and stood before the ten patients whose fates were unknown.

At this moment, he was neither a shut-in forced to work by the system, nor a tech godfather.

His very presence here is an answer.

Bai Che turned his head slightly and glanced at the huge screen behind him. The numbers on it were jumping wildly, finally settling on an astronomical figure that made one's scalp crawl.

**Global Live Viewers: 3,500,000,000+**

Three and a half billion people.

Half the world's population is watching him right now.

At this moment, the Guinness World Records became meaningless.

Bai Che withdrew his gaze, a faint smile curving his lips. It wasn't arrogance, but rather a detached indifference born from a profound understanding of life and death, and an absolute confidence in possessing the truth.

He didn't pick up the microphone, nor did he prepare any opening remarks.

Under the breathless gaze of the world, Bai Che simply raised his right hand and snapped his fingers crisply under the spotlight.

"Smack."

The sound, transmitted through top-of-the-line audio equipment, instantly reached every corner of the venue and every terminal around the world.

"No prayer is needed."

Bai Che's voice was deep and magnetic, echoing in the empty venue with a captivating magic.

"No miracles are needed."

He turned around, his back to the audience, facing the ten medical pods emitting a faint glow, and opened his arms as if embracing a new era.

"Here, technology... is god."

boom--!

As he finished speaking, the silver fluid inside the ten medical pods suddenly boiled.

A campaign to eliminate Death has officially begun.