He’s flustered, he’s truly flustered now.

“Crazy! They’re all crazy!”
The next morning, the director of public relations at Radiant Bird Group hurled his coffee cup at the window in fury, cursing loudly.
Upon waking up, he discovered that the “Kunlun District Explosion Case” had soared to second place on the trending charts, only surpassed by the “Gusu Town Massacre.”
That morning, nearly a hundred official accounts from various Kunlun District sects simultaneously published an “Apology Letter,” revealing the tragic incident from ten years prior that had been ruthlessly suppressed by the conglomerates and sects together.
“Gusu Town”—a name thought to have vanished from the world—suddenly resurfaced and took center stage in public consciousness once more.
At the same time, the case exposed scandals involving nearly ten Night Axis City conglomerates, including Radiant Bird Company and the Xu Corporation.
Though the online climate of Night Axis City had always been tightly controlled by the conglomerates, when a hundred official accounts all admitted to the same event, any attempt by the conglomerates to delete comments or suppress the heat only added fuel to the fire.
Meanwhile, Chen Shang had Black Calista leak some “insider information” to a few media outlets, along with the clandestine photos and videos they’d taken while infiltrating the three great sects.
With independent media fanning the flames, the internet was soon awash with a greater storm of scandal:
“Radiant Bird Company Secretly Collaborated with the Confucian Sect on Human Biochemical Experiments! Photographic Evidence Included!”
“Inside the Flesh-and-Spirit Root Factory of the Daoist Sect…”
“The Abbot of the Buddhist Sect Appears for the First Time in Ten Years of Seclusion—is He a Saint or a Demon?”
“New Developments in the Midnight Headsman Case—Was It Family Vengeance All Along?”
Chen Shang glanced through these news reports, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Everyone knew the conglomerates of Night Axis City had no such thing as a “moral bottom line,” but until now, at least a thin veil had covered their deeds.
Now, Chen Shang had ripped that veil away. The public was thrown into panic and outrage, and the reputation of the implicated conglomerates began to waver.
Some netizens began openly boycotting those companies’ products, receiving widespread support and echoing responses.
Of course, Chen Shang knew these so-called “boycotts” were nothing but empty rhetoric. After all, the city’s resources were monopolized by these conglomerates—if you didn’t buy from them, you’d starve.
Still, what pleased Chen Shang most was that his Ruin Points were about to reach ten thousand.
…
While Chen Shang was basking in private satisfaction at home, the PR director of Radiant Bird was pounding his desk and berating his bloodshot employees:
“Quick! Issue a statement! Deny everything! Distance us from this mess!”
The employees worked as though each had been injected with military stimulants, their fingers dancing over keyboards with a pianist’s speed.
At last, one of them delivered the bad news: “Tweetster has refused to help us suppress the topic. They claim they want to ‘maintain engagement.’”
“Maintain engagement on your mother’s grave!” the director roared, kicking over a desk with his mechanical leg. “We’re all members of the Conglomerate Union—if we go down, they’re going with us!”
The staff shrank back, not daring to speak, and continued their mechanical cycle of deleting and reporting posts.
Elsewhere, the other companies involved in the scandal were shrouded in a deathly silence; their offices full of employees popping pills as they frantically posted and deleted content.
…
This storm only began to subside three days later.
There were always fresh scandals in Night Axis City; within a couple of days, netizens would be distracted by the next novelty, and the so-called justice warriors were only ever looking to blow off steam online.
Once Tweetster and the other social platforms had milked enough traffic, they naturally began to cooperate with the conglomerates in suppressing discussion and deleting comments. The most vocal troublemakers online were swiftly tracked and assassinated by the conglomerates, losing their voices forever.
The entire farce ultimately ended with the empty promise: “The police and the Conglomerate Union will dispatch commissioners to launch an investigation.” And that was that.
Chen Shang was reasonably satisfied with the outcome.
This city was still firmly in the clutches of the conglomerates; it was impossible to bring them down with such leverage alone. His real aim was only to plant a bomb in their midst—a bomb that, when their end came, would obliterate them utterly.
The Midnight Headsman, too, seemed pleased with Chen Shang’s plan. His character panel showed some changes:
[Unlocked Character: “The Lone Swordfiend” Chu Jianlai]
[Favorability: 41/100]
In theory, only female characters should have a favorability meter, capped at 100, representing their affection for the protagonist. In Chu Jianlai’s case, perhaps the meter represented “friendship” or something similar?
Surely it wasn’t fencing romance? Was it?
Chen Shang decided not to dwell on the question.
What mattered was that, after these few days, his Ruin Points had grown to twelve thousand—maximum returns, indeed.
He opened the Ruin Core’s shop interface, eyes lighting up at the dazzling array of goods.
His gaze landed on one particular skill, and immediately his eyes shone.
[Accelerated Healing] (Level 1):
By using military-grade healing agents and cellular boosters, increases the body’s self-repair speed by 500% for up to three minutes.
This skill consumes significant physical reserves; after use, it enters a 48-hour cooldown.
Cost: 500 Ruin Points.
…
This skill was crucial for him. Though he had [Crisis Sense] to save his life, it could only be used once a day.
Once [Crisis Sense] was on cooldown, he could only rely on teammates, lurking at the back with his light crossbow and trying not to die.
Such a playstyle was simply too stifling. If his story were written as a novel, readers who loved hot-blooded action would tear him apart for being so cowardly.
So, for him, having more life-saving skills was absolutely vital for flexibility in battle.
Moreover, unlike his first two skills, this one could be upgraded.
Chen Shang immediately spent five hundred points to purchase it; his chest core flared with a green light and emitted a soft engine hum.
…
The shop’s [Accelerated Healing] immediately became an upgraded skill:
[Absolute Healing] (Level 2):
Upon activation, heals all bodily injuries within five seconds, excepting fatal and instant-kill wounds.
Enters a 48-hour cooldown after each use.
Cost: 1,500 Ruin Points.
…
Without hesitation, Chen Shang upgraded again, and the skill reached its final form:
[Ultimate Healing] (Level MAX):
Upon activation, repairs all bodily damage within five seconds. If a fatal or instant-kill wound is sustained, the skill will trigger automatically.
Enters a 48-hour cooldown after each use.
Cost: 3,000 Ruin Points.
…
“Incredible,” Chen Shang sighed in awe.
Though the cost of skill upgrades rose exponentially, the descriptions became more and more outrageous.
Wasn’t this just a second chance at life?
“Level up!”
He made the purchase without hesitation. The core engine in his chest burst forth with a blinding emerald light, illuminating the entire room.
“Holy crap—this effect is insane!” Chen Shang hastily clutched his chest to keep the light from leaking out, lest the neighbors thought he was hiding radioactive material at home.
A single survival skill had consumed nearly half his points; Chen Shang immediately shifted into ascetic mode, his desire to spend vanishing.
He decided to save the remaining points for future use.
“Speaking of which… autumn break ends in two days.” As the light faded from his chest, Chen Shang lay on his bed, muttering to himself.
If the school made them write an essay on “A Memorable Autumn Break,” his story would probably blow the whole class away.
“Wait! I haven’t even started my summer homework!”
His heart thudded three times in panic.
“Sis! Sis, help me! Lend me your homework to copy!”