Dual-wielding! 100x proficiency, I'll grind my way to godhood!

Lin Yue stood in front of his phone, his face deathly pale.

The trending topic is still climbing higher.

Every time the comment section is refreshed, thousands more negative comments appear.

He clicked on a post.

Someone photoshopped Chen Mo's picture into a funeral portrait with a black and white background and captioned it "Get out of Douyin".

His finger trembled slightly as he swiped across the screen.

The next post was even more ruthless; someone dug up the hotels Chen Mo might have stayed at and said they wanted to find him in person to get to the bottom of it.

The hundreds of replies below were all praising it.

He threw his phone on the bed, stood up, walked around twice, and then picked it up again.

I opened the editing software, and the complete video lay quietly in the media library.

The voice of a short-haired woman bragging about her foreign boyfriend came through the phone.

"See that? My boyfriend, he's British, a high-ranking executive in the City of London. That's what a real man is—a gentleman, well-mannered, and romantic..."

He pressed the pause button and stared at the screen.

Chen Mo's face in the video was calm and restrained; he didn't say a single offensive word from beginning to end.

He sent Chen Mo a message: "Brother Mo, something's happened. Turn on your phone and contact me immediately."

There was still no response.

He took a deep breath and hovered his finger over the "Publish" button.

Chen Mo had told him not to send it, but he threw his phone back on the bed.

The trending topics have changed again.

#ChenMoGetOutOfDouyin# has reached number one, with over 500 million views.

He came across a new post saying that someone was organizing an offline check-in event, where they would put up banners in front of Chen Mo's company.

He stared at the line of text, gritted his teeth, and pressed the publish button.

The caption read only one line: "The truth may be late, but it will not be absent. Brother Mo doesn't allow this to be posted, but I can't watch him be wronged."

For the first ten minutes after the video was posted, there was little reaction.

Lin Yue stared at the number of views: one thousand, two thousand, five thousand.

The comment section was sparse, with only a few messages circulating.

Is this video real or fake?

"Wow, this short-haired woman is this arrogant?"

"Those two foreigners were definitely feeling guilty."

He refreshed the page, and the number of views jumped to 100,000.

Another update, 500,000.

The comments section is starting to loosen up.

Someone combined screenshots of the fabricated post with the words spoken by the short-haired woman in the video and posted it online.

"She herself hurls such nasty insults at Chinese men, and then turns around and accuses Chen Mo of slandering foreigners? Is she turning the tables?"

This comment was pushed to the top.

The number of views surged to three million.

The first influential blogger reposted it, with a caption of only two words: "Holy crap."

Then the second, and the third.

Ten minutes later, the trending search terms changed.

The #ChenMo incident has taken a turn# and has risen to fourth place on the trending topics list.

Some people have started comparing the details in the fabricated posts and videos frame by frame.

"The posting times, wording, and even the reflections in the photos from the three different accounts all point to the same person. The short-haired woman on the plane is the one spreading the rumors."

The truth is like water bursting its banks; it cannot be contained.

The short-haired woman lay on the bed, scrolling through Douyin with a smug look on her face.

A video was recommended on the homepage, and it turned out to be her own face.

She paused for a moment, then clicked on it.

That was the complete clip of her showing off her foreign boyfriend on the plane; the sound came through the phone, sharp and piercing.

"See that? My boyfriend, he's British..."

She sat up abruptly.

That's it!

The comments section exploded.

"So it turns out she's the one who's obsessed with foreign things."

"She was deceived by her foreign boyfriend, and then turned around and accused the person who exposed the truth?"

"The wicked accuse the guilty first; disgusting."

She slid down, her fingers starting to tremble.

Someone discovered her three alternate accounts, and the posting records matched one by one.

Someone took a screenshot of her insults against Chinese men, enlarged it, and highlighted each word in red.

The comments section has completely turned against her, with hundreds of thousands of abusive comments flooding her last video.

"Serves you right."

"He's been diagnosed with HIV and still dares to go out and about?"

"They were cheated out of their food and drink by foreign trash, and then they even licked his boots, bringing shame to the whole world."

She stared at the word "AIDS," her fingers frozen on the screen.

She never mentioned that she had been diagnosed, but the comments section was full of rumors about it.

Someone actually dug up photos of her going to the hospital, with the background showing the venereal disease department.

Some people analyzed the timeline of her sudden madness and concluded that:

"She tested positive for HIV, got dumped by her foreign boyfriend, and then blamed Chen Mo for exposing everything. That's the truth."

No one has confirmed it, but everyone thinks it makes sense.

Her breathing became heavy, and her chest heaved violently.

The words on the phone screen were like knives stabbing at me, each one more vicious and venomous than the last.

She grabbed her phone and smashed it against the wall; the screen shattered, and shards flew everywhere.

Su Yao brought the braised fish to the table, set out the bowls and chopsticks, and then went to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of soup.

Guo Hao, the new boyfriend, came out of the study and saw the table full of dishes. He smiled and said, "Why is it so lavish today?"

"Your mom said she wanted to drink this soup last time, so I learned how to make it."

Su Yao ladled out a bowl for him and handed it to him, her voice soft, "Try it, is it alright if it's bland?"

Lin Hao took a sip and nodded: "Not bad, better than my mom's."

He paused for a moment, then said, "She was talking about you the other day, saying she wanted you to come over for dinner this weekend."

Su Yao's heart tightened, but a smile bloomed on her face: "Great! I just finished knitting a scarf for her, it's almost done."

"She's so happy that you're so good to her."

Guo Hao picked up a piece of fish belly meat and put it in her bowl. "She has no objection to the engagement at the end of the year. We discussed the date with my dad yesterday."

Su Yao lowered her head and ate her rice, then hummed in response with a perfectly measured shyness in her voice.

She dressed herself up to be the kind of person Guo Hao wanted: gentle, considerate, well-educated, and of respectable background.

She must seize this opportunity to change her social class.

As the two were eating, Su Yao's phone vibrated on the coffee table.

Guo Hao looked up: "Your phone is ringing."

"It's nothing, it's probably just a work group chat."

She stood up to clear the table, but her hand slipped, the plate slid, and soup spilled onto the table.

"I'll do it."

Guo Hao took the plate and glanced at her.

"What's wrong with you today? You seem distracted."

"I'm a little tired."

Su Yao smiled, put her phone in her pocket, and turned to go into the kitchen.

The phone screen was still lit up on the stove.

She picked it up and glanced at it; there were hundreds of private messages on Douyin.

She clicked on the top one.

"You're that ex-girlfriend? You can't stand seeing Chen Mo better than you?"

Her finger trembled, and she swiped to the second line.

"You feel resentful because someone else became famous? Disgusting."

Article 3.

"Is this all the quality you have? Your first act after landing is to kill your sweetheart?"

Article 4, Article 5, Article 6... The criticisms grew louder and harsher.

She stared at the screen, her fingers growing cold.

She hurriedly opened her Douyin profile; the post was still there, but the comment section had been flooded with comments. She quickly pressed the delete button.

But the screenshots had already been circulated, and she didn't know how many people had seen them, whether anyone would tag her workplace, or whether Guo Hao would see them.

She leaned against the stove, took a deep breath, turned her phone over so the screen was facing down, and placed it face down on the table.

The tap was still running, and the water was gushing.

She stared at the water flowing over the oil stains on the plate, with only one thought in her mind.

We absolutely cannot let him know, and even more so, we cannot let his family know.

She's come this far with great difficulty; she can't let it all be ruined today.

She washed her face and looked at herself in the mirror.

Her eyes were a little red, so she patted her cheeks to make her complexion look normal.

She practiced smiling, practicing many times in front of the mirror.

The upward curve of the corners of the mouth, the degree to which the eyes crinkle, and the number of teeth revealed.

She smiled at herself in the mirror. It was alright; you couldn't tell.

She put her phone in her pocket, picked up the fruit platter, and walked out of the kitchen.

Guo Hao sat on the sofa with the TV on, showing the weather forecast.

She sat down next to them and placed the fruit plate on the coffee table.

Guo Hao put his arm around her shoulder and said he would take her to try out different styles of wedding photos this weekend.

She leaned on her shoulder and whispered "okay."

Lu Xingyao saw a trending topic on social media while browsing the flight attendants' dormitory, and her finger hovered over the screen.

Someone posted a screenshot of her comment in the comments section, and it became the top-rated comment.

"That flight attendant told the truth from the beginning and got thousands of negative comments. Who owes her an apology?"

The more than 10,000 replies below were all saying "I'm sorry".

She stared at those three words, her eyes reddening.

She saved the screenshot, didn't reply, put her phone to her chest, and closed her eyes.