Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

"This is the 'Assessment Report on Platform Content Ecosystem Risks' that I submitted to the company's management in March 2023. Pages 17 to 23 specifically discuss the 'necessity of seriously reviewing the extremist tendencies on gender antagonism issues.' The report clearly recommends: 1. Establishing higher-level review standards for 'extreme expressions'; 2. Establishing a cross-departmental joint handling mechanism for users who repeatedly post extreme remarks; 3. Permanently limiting or blocking the traffic of topics such as 'legal killing of Nan' and 'extreme fear of marriage.'"

He put down his phone, swiped a few more times, and picked up another document.

"This is from July 923. I once again requested in writing to remove posts containing extremist rhetoric. The list totaled 7 items. The email was copied to the content department, customer service department, and public affairs department. I also have screenshots of the replies from the relevant colleagues."

The third document.

"In September 2023, during an internal company discussion of the Q4 content security budget, I clearly stated that the staffing gap in the review team must be filled, and the timeframe for handling extreme statements must be reduced from 72 hours to within 24 hours. This is documented on page 8 of the meeting minutes."

After saying that, he put away his phone, stopped talking, rested his forehead on the bridge surface, hunched his back slightly, and began to wait.

The mother and wife looked at Zhang Qiliang.

Zhang Qiliang nodded: "He wasn't lying."

The mother nodded, her lips parted slightly, and she managed to squeeze out a hoarse voice: "Then you can go."

The man with the gold-rimmed glasses relaxed almost imperceptibly, but he did not stand up; he remained kneeling, his forehead pressed against the bridge surface.

"Should we send it?" Zhang Qiliang asked.

The man with the gold-rimmed glasses quickly shook his head, scrambled to his feet, took two steps back from the bridge in front of him, turned around, and strode towards the outside of the cordon.

Throughout the entire process, he did not look anyone in the eye.

His right hand was in his pocket, and he was pinching and twisting his thigh hard.

Stay calm! Stay calm!

He lowered his head and went through all the sad things he had experienced in his life in his mind—the goldfish he raised for three years in elementary school died, the senior he had a crush on in college graduated, and being scolded by a client for half an hour in his first year of work—he thought about each one to the point of exhaustion, until his eyes reddened and his throat tightened.

Stay calm, stay calm! The high risk is still there!

In this situation, I absolutely cannot show any inappropriate expressions!

Cyberspace:

"Who is this guy?"

"A white dove born from a cesspool? Are there really any creatures these days that remain untainted by the mud?"

The live stream generated an explosive level of buzz, and the speed at which they opened the box was no different from opening a bottle cap.

Before I could even make out the ID and profile picture, a string of bold Song typeface text was already pinned to the top of the comment section:

"Lu Jingming, born in 889, holds a Master of Laws degree from East China University of Political Science and Law. He has worked at King & Wood Mallesons, Ant Group's legal department, and ByteDance's compliance department. Since 921, he has served as the Director of the Legal Department of Xiaohongshu Technology Group."

"Grass!"

"Ministry of Justice!"

"No wonder Doflamingo was still so fierce even though he let him go!"

"Alright, alright, stop spamming! Don't interrupt my enjoyment of the grand swimming lesson!"

……

In the Mediterranean region and North China, let's not even talk about the financial line; the algorithm engineer simply can't swim!

He doesn't even struggle!

The moment it was thrown into the river, its body instinctively curled up into a ball, its limbs tucking together, like a frightened beetle.

Water rushed in from all directions, filling his ears, his nose, and his open mouth. He choked violently, his throat gurgling as if it were being squeezed.

My arms started to move instinctively.

That's definitely not swimming—it's wild slapping, left and right, palms hitting the water, splashing water before the next slap even falls.

The legs were also kicking, but not in the way of the breaststroke; it was the kind of kicking that comes from missing a step on a staircase—kicking downwards again and again, as if trying to break through the bottom of the water.

In just three seconds, he couldn't lift his head.

If you try to keep your face above water, your body will involuntarily sink.

The first time, his face had barely surfaced for half a second when a mouthful of water rushed in, choking him and causing his throat to spasm.

The second time, I tilted my head back as high as I could, but as soon as my mouth touched the air, water rushed in through my nose, the sour liquid hitting my head and making my vision blur.

The third time, she was a little smarter and turned her head to try to reach the air with her mouth from the side—but she was too weak, and her neck sank down halfway.

And then... I completely panicked...

My body is gradually becoming uncooperative...

The arms were still moving, but they were no longer patting; they had become unconscious swiping. The legs would occasionally kick, and then stop moving.

The feeling of drowning is quieter than I imagined.

First, it affected the ears. After the water poured in, the sounds from the shore became distant—the sound of camera shutters, voices, and sirens all turned into a muffled buzz, as if listening to the outside world through a thick wall.

Then came the nose and throat. With each attempt to breathe, all that came in was water. The water was cold, with the fishy smell of river mud, flowing down from the nasal cavity, into the trachea, into the lungs. The trachea began to spasm, and the body desperately tried to cough the water out, but the more it coughed, the more it inhaled, and the more it inhaled, the more it coughed, like a broken water pump drawing the whole river into the lungs.

My chest started to hurt. My entire chest cavity felt like it was burning, as if someone was sanding it from the inside out with sandpaper. My ribs were trying to open and close to breathe, but my lungs were filled with water, unable to open or close, stuck halfway, feeling both sore and bloated.

My vision began to blur. The light from the river shone down from above, a hazy yellow, growing brighter and farther away, like looking at the sun through frosted glass. The figures on the bank turned into dark silhouettes, swaying at the edges of the halo, like shadow puppets.

Then came the cold. The cold seeped from the very bones, starting with the spine, then the back of the head, and then the limbs. My fingers wouldn't obey me, my toes wouldn't obey me, and my body felt like a piece of bloated wood, slowly, slowly sinking into the water.

Finally, all the sensations mixed together—pain, cold, choking, stuffiness—all jumbled together, indistinguishable from one another.

My lungs were burning, my throat was constricting, my ears were ringing, and all I could see was white light.

Only consciousness remains.

I was acutely aware of every choking sensation, every moment of suffocation, every futile spasm. I was acutely aware that I was sinking, acutely aware that people were watching from the shore, acutely aware—

All the traffic generated by the algorithms, the profits nurtured by that traffic, and the year-end bonuses piled up by those profits—at this moment, they all turned into river water flowing into our lungs.

My consciousness gradually faded. The figures on the shore blended into one, the light on the river shrank into a bright spot, and the buzzing in my ears grew farther and farther away, as if someone was slowly turning down the volume.

My body no longer ached; all that remained was a strange lightness, as if I were about to float away.

Suddenly, a strong force came from above, grabbed his neck, and lifted him out of the water.

The air enveloped them again from all directions.

That was the best thing an algorithm engineer had ever experienced in his life.

There was no filtration, no humidification, just the most ordinary smell... Hmm, it also carried a bit of the fishy smell of the river, dust kicked up from the bridge, and the acrid smell of car exhaust in the distance.

But at this moment, it is more precious than anything else.

The moment the alveoli reopened, the algorithm engineer felt like a broken engine restarting.

My chest suddenly swelled, and the water in my trachea was choked up, making a hoarse sound from my throat, like a broken bellows leaking air.

Then he started panting, gasping for breath, each breath going in through his mouth and out through his nose. The air he inhaled was cool, and the air he exhaled was hot, condensing into a cloud of white mist in front of his face.

My fingers are shaking, my legs are shaking, my whole body is shaking, but it's okay.

He is breathing.

He is still alive.

Unfortunately, the grip on her neck disappeared after only three breaths.

Gravity took over his body again, and the algorithm engineer fell into the river once more.

Before he could even react, water was forced back into his mouth. His throat spasmed, his lungs began to burn again, and his limbs started flailing wildly—exactly the same as the first time, without any order or efficiency, splashing water everywhere, yet he remained in the same spot.

The drowning has started again.

Choking on water, suffocating, chest tightness, blurred vision, loss of consciousness...

Before he completely lost consciousness, Dali grabbed his neck again.

The third time, the algorithm engineer held on for 10 seconds.

On the fourth attempt, the algorithm engineer lasted 8 seconds.

On the fifth attempt, the algorithm engineer persisted for a full thirty seconds.

The sixth time...

Onlookers discovered: The algorithm engineer can actually swim!

120 Albatross

The form was awkward and very unorthodox, but it was definitely swimming. — It would paddle with its arms, kick with its legs, and then wobble forward a short distance in the water before coming to a stop, again.

Swimming skills learned so quickly are obviously not sustainable!

In just about twenty seconds, his arm strokes failed to keep up with his leg kicks, his body twisted in the water, and as he flipped over, a mouthful of water rushed into his mouth.

His throat suddenly constricted, and his hands and feet began to thrash wildly again, shattering the rhythm he had just grasped.

Drowning again, as was to be expected.

On the seventh attempt, the algorithm engineer swam for half a minute.

The eighth time, one minute.

The ninth time, ten seconds.

Swimming, especially for beginners, has always been an extremely energy-consuming activity.

After nearly five minutes of tinkering, the algorithm engineer had completely exhausted his energy.

Thus, a stable cycle of drowning, catching, drowning, and catching was finally established.

Algorithm engineers are not the first to enter the loop.

That's right, compared to him, many of his colleagues can swim.

But what good is being able to swim?

Normally, the operations director can swim ten laps in one go without getting out of breath in the pool, but after getting into the water, he found that the river and the pool are completely different things.

The water was murky, and the bottom was invisible. Under his feet, gusts of dark current churned up from the riverbed, making it difficult for him to stand steadily in the water.

He tried treading water, but as soon as his feet touched the surface, the current pulled his legs to the side, as if someone was dragging him underwater. He swam forward, but the current pushed him backward; he swam to the left, but the current pulled him to the right. He paddled desperately, but his body just spun in place, like a sock thrown into a washing machine.

The general manager of the South China region grew up on the banks of the Yangtze River. He could swim across the Han River when he was seven or eight years old. He was a key member of the school's swimming team in college and would go swimming in the sea for a few days every summer.

He could swim back and forth across such a small river several times with his eyes closed.

However, after entering the water, the general manager of the South China region discovered that the surrounding area was not a river at all!

There was no shore, no bridge, no crowd, and no police line.

All around were water, an endless expanse of gray-black seawater churning with white foam.

The sky was leaden gray, the clouds hung low, and the wind blew in from the sea, carrying a salty, fishy smell, and felt like knives on the face.

The waves were two stories high, crashing down one after another, sweeping him in, throwing him out, and then sweeping him in again.

He couldn't even tell which way to go. The sun was obscured by clouds, there were no landmarks, no reference points, nothing at all. He could only swim in one direction by feel. He swam for who knows how long, but the waves were still so big, the sky was still so gray, and the sea still stretched to the horizon.

He paddled desperately, gasped for air, struggled against the hurricane and giant waves, and desperately told himself he was heading in the right direction. But every time he looked up, he saw the same sea, the same waves, and the same gray sky...

No matter how good you are at swimming, can you really cross the Pacific Ocean? Do you think you're an albatross?

In just seven or eight minutes, all the high-ranking officials present at Xiao Hongshu's place—well, except for the one with the gold-rimmed glasses—entered a stable cycle of drowning and being pulled up.

The surface of the river undulated like gourds being pushed into the water in turn, rising and sinking, rising and sinking in a rhythmic and unique way.

Cyberspace:

"That feels so good..."

"This is truly gratifying!"

“They deserved it. How terrifying are those four words, ‘legal killing of Nan’? In countless late nights, people have been scrolling through these posts, rationalizing their dissatisfaction with life, their fear of marriage, and their hatred of the opposite sex, until it all turns into ‘he deserved to die.’”

"What did Ren Yingxiong do wrong? He did nothing wrong. He just received an emergency call, climbed over the railing, and caught someone who claimed to be suicidal. He didn't know that the so-called 'suicidal person' he caught was thinking about how to make the rescue more exciting, how to make the video more entertaining, and how to get more views."

"What's even more terrifying is that this isn't just one person's perversion; it's the entire system's indulgence. How long have those posts been up? How long have those groups been active? Every reply, every like, every share in the discussion forums is adding fuel to the fire!"

"The platform knows, the algorithm knows, the operations team knows, and the sales team knows. But they chose to optimize traffic instead of cutting off the source. The calculations are too easy: banning an account means one less daily active user; deleting a post means one less repost; limiting a topic means one less advertising fee."

"They've calculated everything, except the social cost. The fate of the tutors isn't part of their KPIs."

"Everyone who is struggling in the river now has their bonuses soaked in the blood of Ren Yingxiong. The profits from traffic conversion, in the literal sense, have actually gone into their pockets."

@London_RealTalk: "In the UK, inciting gender-based violence or encouraging suicide is punishable by up to five years in prison under the Public Order Act and the Malicious Communications Act. Ofcom has the right to impose a fine of up to 10% of its global annual turnover if the platform fails to remove such content in a timely manner."

"In 2019, a social media platform was fined nearly £200 million for failing to protect users from cyberbullying. More importantly, the families of victims in such cases can file civil lawsuits with no upper limit on the damages they can claim. There are precedents of platforms going bankrupt due to class-action lawsuits."