National Fortune Bonus: After the new player awakens at the maximum level, he will kill like crazy

In a middle-class residential complex in Kyoto, Su Mohui rushed into a living room littered with broken porcelain pieces, holding a camera. Jiang Zhaozheng used his body to block the shivering victim, while Wu Mingwei half-knelt in the mess and softly comforted him.

At this moment, the calendar in the lower right corner of the computer screen shows the early spring of 2024. What they said when they clinked glasses at the barbecue stall, "changing the world", is actually coming true step by step.

A new message from the editor-in-chief suddenly popped up on the WeChat interface. Next to the greasy avatar was a familiar reprimand: "I advise you not to meddle in other people's business. Women should just live their lives honestly and make money. Don't think about so many unnecessary things."

Su Mohui stared at this sentence, and suddenly she heard the man with gold-rimmed glasses say in the same condescending tone when she was deep in the dark web transaction scene, "A high-quality uterus can be sold for three million. If you have a higher education..."

She slammed her computer shut, and as her black briefcase hit the corner of the table with a dull thud, she strode to Mr. Chen's office.

The aroma of bitter orange and cedar filled the general manager's office. Chen Suqiu flipped through documents written in blood, her delicately manicured nails pausing over a statement: "The abuser burned a heart shape on my back with a cigarette butt..."

Outside, raindrops streaked across the glass curtain wall. She removed the large watch chain from her wrist, revealing a prominent scar on her skin that had long since healed. It was the mark of her childhood when she had blocked a scissors thrust by her father for her mother. “Back when I climbed step by step to this position, some people said that a woman couldn’t hold it.”

She pushed the tablet across the table. On it was Su Mohui's plan labeled "Surrogacy Industry Chain". Yellowed newspaper clippings were posted at each key point - that was the news that the reporting of women's issues was banned twenty years ago.

When Su Mohui walked out of the office, carrying her computer, Chen Suqiu stood by the French window and lit a cigarette. Ashes fell onto the proposal for the "Women's Rights Special." The neon lights of the distant office buildings shimmered like blood in the rain.

She watched Su Mohui hurry down the stairs and suddenly remembered what her professor had said when she was a student at Cambridge: "The change of every era begins with those who dare to light a lamp in the dark."

At this moment, Chen Suqiu raised the corner of her mouth slightly, looked at the pedestrians passing by with umbrellas downstairs, and exhaled: "The sky is about to clear up..."

For the next year, Su Mohui's schedule was marked in glaring red.

At 2 a.m. on a dark web transaction site, she mingled among the buyers, wrapped in a black hoodie, the indicator light of a miniature camera faintly visible on the inside of her collar.

At six in the morning at the vegetable market, she squatted next to the seafood stall and pointed the camera at the woman being dragged by her husband in the corner.

At dusk in the old neighborhood, she ran after the police car, not even noticing that her high heels had been thrown into the green belt. Warm blood seeped from the wound on the sole of her foot into her canvas shoes.

On the eve of the Great Snow Festival, the north wind blew ice particles against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the live broadcast room, making a crackling sound.

Chen Suqiu leaned against the director's desk, the cold light of her phone screen illuminating her furrowed brow. Her WeChat chat interface was still lingering on the last message she had sent to her superiors: "Medical staff and security personnel are in place, awaiting instructions."

She gently placed the phone on the mottled director's desk. The metal shell made a slight sound when it collided with the desk, echoing in the silent backstage.

His fingertips unconsciously rubbed the depression on the edge of the director's desk, where a faint scratch still remained - on that rainy night three years ago, when Su Mohui rushed into the live broadcast room, the camera she was holding tightly in her arms hit it hard.

The crisp sound of the camera casing bursting and Su Mohui's rapid breathing seemed to still linger in my ears.

The scarred camera is now quietly displayed in a glass display case in the Media Museum. On the inside of the lens cover are the words "Dawn" written by Su Mohui with a marker.

Thoughts drawn back to memory, Chen Suqiu's gaze swept across the neatly arranged servers in the background. Twenty black devices flashed faint blue indicators, like seven stars poised for launch.

This was the defense line that Su Mohui and the technical staff personally set up half a month ago. Each server was hidden in a different physical location and connected by encrypted lines.

"Even if they cut off nineteen of the nodes, there is still one last spark." Su Mohui's words at the time were full of determination to burn his boats.

The snow outside the window was getting heavier. The snowflakes hit the glass and quickly melted into water marks.

Chen Suqiu walked over to the surveillance screen. On it, Su Mohui, dressed in a black jacket, was meeting with the SWAT team outside the surrogacy factory. Her miniature headset flickered a faint red light, like dancing sparks in the snowy night.

Looking at the determined figure on the screen, Chen Suqiu's lips curled up unconsciously - this girl who walked out of the rainstorm has now grown into a warrior who can carry the entire sky.

Taking a deep breath, Chen Suqiu's fingertips hovered over the device's power button. She knew that tonight wasn't just a news broadcast, but also a battle for women's safety.

The moment she pressed the start button, the evils lurking in the darkness would finally be illuminated by the light. And the traces left by the camera, carrying memories, would become their indelible medals in the battlefield of public opinion.

When a CCTV camera appeared on the dim ground, its live broadcast focused on the underground surrogacy factory, and the pregnant women huddled in iron cages, the price list on the wall, and the cold medical equipment were all displayed before the public's eyes, the entire network was boiling.

"When the uterus is clearly priced, each of us is an accomplice on the price list!" Su Mohui's somewhat hoarse voice was transmitted through the radio waves to thousands of households.

"Attention all units, please protect the server. Countdown is three minutes." Chen Suqiu looked at the picture on the electronic screen, pressed the call button, and looked at the snowflakes falling outside the window. Suddenly, she remembered the blood letter that Su Mohui brought on the day of the Spring Equinox. Those crooked handwritings contained the hope of the entire spring.

At the same time, when the live broadcast with Su Mohui's words rushed straight to the hot search, the server behind the live broadcast room suddenly vibrated violently, the alarm lights flashed wildly, and amid the harsh beeps, the metal shell on the surface of the cabinet became hot due to overload operation.

The hot search terms on major platforms are like boiling magma, rolling and refreshing at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Just as the topic "Real Scene of the Surrogacy Black Market" topped the list, it was instantly overshadowed by the topic "The Uterus is Not a Commodity". Millions of angry comments, filled with righteous indignation, turned into a digital torrent that swept across the entire Internet.

However, the darkness before dawn comes faster than imagined!

In less than two hours, all related videos began to appear mosaics, and the search page for the term popped up a cold prompt: "Not displayed according to relevant laws and regulations."

Su Mohui's office turned into a battlefield, with the phone ringing one after another, and the threats and insults coming from the receiver mixed with the noise of electricity.

When she finished handing over everything and returned home late at night, the blood-red spray paint with the words "Watch Your Mouth" on the wall of the corridor was still dripping down. The fishy-sweet smell of paint and rust intertwined, and was particularly pungent in the silent night.

However, the extinguished spark had already spread in darkness.