Xie Ran’s actions left the entire livestream audience dumbfounded.

In this day and age, with the internet so advanced and troll armies running rampant, it has become difficult to distinguish truth from falsehood.

The livestreaming industry was fiercely competitive. Streamers buying troll services to attack their rivals was a common practice. Everyone had long suffered at the hands of trolls but could do nothing about it. Even when they knew who was behind it, they often couldn’t gather concrete evidence and had to swallow the loss.

Faced with this, most streamers could only rely on moderators to mute users. But when faced with a large-scale troll attack, moderators often couldn’t keep up, which seriously impacted the viewer experience.

It was the first time anyone saw a streamer fighting trolls live on stream.

And even more unexpected—he directly blew up the troll headquarters.

Actually, thanks to marketing accounts stirring things up, many bystanders had come to watch the drama. Among them were some who had a bit of technical knowledge. At first, a few noticed Xie Ran’s operations seemed to involve data tracking, but he moved so fast that it dazzled the eyes. His methods were also highly unconventional, with many operations not part of standard procedures, even using languages that weren’t mainstream programming languages.

Even professional programmers couldn’t immediately figure out what he was doing.

Only when Xie Ran pulled up the entire list of troll accounts did everyone finally realize what had happened. His actions afterward were easier to follow.

Everyone was stunned.

Normally, invading another company’s system would, of course, be inappropriate and carried legal risks. Some people in the chat mentioned this concern.

But Xie Ran just glanced at the barrage and said lightly: “Just now, I was demonstrating how to trace data from a malicious attack against me. What you saw were all simulated accounts. If any damage was done by mistake, feel free to contact me with evidence for compensation.”

With that one sentence, both the audience and the troll companies fell silent.

Before taking action, Xie Ran had obviously looked into the laws of this world. Each world’s legal system varied slightly. In this one, malicious trolling that damaged someone’s reputation was illegal, and if proven, the perpetrators bore legal responsibility.

Infiltrating their system was indeed improper, but if it was a counterattack against trolls, it counted as self-defense

Now, under the guise of a “demonstration,” Xie Ran had turned all the troll accounts into “simulated accounts,” framing the entire attack as a “simulation exercise.” Everyone understood what had actually happened, but there was nothing more they could say.

Unless the troll company came out and publicly confronted him.

But troll companies made money through shady deals. The thing they feared most was being exposed. For Xie Ran to expose and retaliate against them so publicly, with concrete evidence—far from confronting him—they had to worry about receiving a lawyer’s letter from him.

What was worse—they took money to slander Xie Ran but were instead crushed by him in public. From now on, no one would dare work with their company again.

Meanwhile, Ting Shuangsheng stared blankly at Xie Ran’s stream. He watched as the troll company their team often worked with had its system crash in front of his eyes. Cold sweat broke out across his back, and his mind went blank. It wasn’t until his agent called again that he snapped back to reality.

Ting Shuangsheng quickly found another excuse to step off camera and answer the call.

His agent’s voice was full of fear: “Oh my god, thank goodness we apologized quickly. Otherwise, we’d be publicly executed right now.”

Ting Shuangsheng felt utterly drained, like he had narrowly escaped death: “Thank god… thank god…”

Agent: “Did you know Xie Ran was this fierce all along?”

“I didn’t,” Ting Shuangsheng’s head was still buzzing: “I just didn’t want to offend Meng Siyun…”

He originally thought Meng Siyun and the capital behind the Mengs were the most terrifying things. Now he realized how naive he had been.

Xie Ran didn’t need Meng Siyun’s support at all—he single-handedly leveled an entire troll company in less than half an hour.

In his mind, Ting Shuangsheng couldn’t help recalling Xie Ran’s demeanor before he invaded the troll company’s system.

Carefree and aloof.

His voice had no emotion, but his words were enough to make Ting Shuangsheng’s heart pound: “I’ll let it go this time—don’t do it again.”

“Good thing he showed us mercy,” the agent echoed his thoughts: “We almost didn’t make it out alive… Honestly, Xie Ran is scarier than Meng Siyun…”

Big capitalists were terrifying, yes—but at least they followed procedure, giving people time to respond.

But Xie Ran didn’t play by any rules—he didn’t even give people a chance to react.

Luckily, Ting Shuangsheng had a good sense of timing.

Though they had escaped disaster, their troubles weren’t over.

“The troll company suffered a huge loss and now wants us to compensate them,” the agent said bitterly: “Otherwise, they’ll spill everything…”

Their servers had crashed, their business would take a huge hit, and whether they could continue operating was now uncertain. The damage was catastrophic.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.

What really mattered was that although Xie Ran had destroyed their system live, the troll company couldn’t trace him at all—he had wiped all records.

As long as Xie Ran insisted it was a “simulation,” no matter how much the troll company lost, they couldn’t pin it on him.

They didn’t dare, and they couldn’t.

Naturally, they had to target Ting Shuangsheng’s team instead.

It was a messy business, with both sides arguing—but none of it concerned Xie Ran.

After flattening the troll company, Xie Ran showed no excitement and didn’t even change his expression. Calmly, he switched his computer interface back and continued his original task: logging hours.

There were no strict content requirements for streaming. Whether you kept your audience depended on your skills. Xie Ran didn’t care. With the camera still rolling, he started reading research papers again.

Comments:

[Here we go again.]

[Ah, a familiar scene…]

[Isn’t this just me secretly reading novels at work?]

[That’s not quite accurate—Streamer Ran is way more diligent. Looks like he’s secretly studying civil service exam questions at work instead.]

Some complained that Xie Ran was blatantly logging hours again, but most were still awestruck by how he had just destroyed a troll company all by himself. Many were posting clips and links on social media, calling more people to come watch. Xie Ran’s stream continued to climb in popularity.

Still, some netizens refused to let go of the cheating accusation.

[You’re so good at fighting trolls—why don’t you explain the cheating allegations then?]

[Taking down trolls doesn’t prove you didn’t cheat. It just proves someone tried to stir the pot.]

[…If the streamer is so skilled, doesn’t that make it even more likely he could cheat?]

[What if he wrote the cheats himself?!]

Many shared similar views, but having witnessed how violently Xie Ran cracked troll IPs and accounts earlier, even the harshest critics were now more careful with their words. After all, hiding behind a computer didn’t guarantee safety anymore—if Xie Ran wanted, he could find them easily.

Some still believed they were different from trolls—that they were “just rational doubters,” and Xie Ran had no right to come after them.

Xie Ran indeed did nothing. He crushed the trolls stirring the pot, and with Ting Shuangsheng’s team immediately surrendering, most fans and netizens realized they’d been manipulated. The topic died down naturally. Only habitual nitpickers and long-time haters kept barking, but Xie Ran didn’t care.

Seeing no reaction, those haters assumed he was guilty and became even louder.

Just as Xie Ran glanced at the chat and was about to do something, more flashy gift effects flooded the screen.

*Account “Mark” sent Cat Battleship 25

*Account “Mark” sent Cat Battleship 25

*Account “Mark” sent Cat Battleship 25

…

It was the same familiar account, same familiar scene. After the effects ended, everyone quickly clicked to check the top contributor. Mark had once again maxed out the platform’s daily gift limit—five million RMB. His total contribution now exceeded 100 million, i.e., over ten million RMB.

After sending the gifts, Mark used the most expensive effect font to post:

Mark: [Cheat cheat cheat—your IQ’s so low, everyone looks like a cheat to you!]

Mark: [You want an explanation? With that IQ, would you even understand it?!]

Mark: [Getting an explanation from me is like an online course. Did you pay? Did you send Cat Battleships?]

Mark: [Forget five million, forget fifty grand—just send fifty thousand and I’ll come explain it to your face, ok?]

…

Mark jumped straight into vicious taunts, using the flashiest font in the stream. It was impossible to ignore. Haters were stunned silent, and even other viewers felt momentarily dazed.

But the ones most shocked were Ting Shuangsheng and his team.

His agent shakily messaged him: [Are you sure this Mark is really Master Meng (Meng Siyun’s) account?]

Agent: [I think you’re lying to me!]

Based on media reports, Master Meng was elegant and refined. How could he be this petty and sarcastic?!

Ting Shuangsheng had personally witnessed the wheelchair warrior’s battle with Madam Ying, so he accepted it more easily.

Ting Shuangsheng: [It’s him.]

Ting Shuangsheng: [Trust me, that’s just how he is!]

After a while:

Agent: [Damn, Meng Corporation’s PR is way too good!]

Ting Shuangsheng: [Ain’t that the truth. Damn capitalist.jpg]

While the two of them cussed out Meng’s false advertising, the stunned haters finally snapped back and launched a furious counterattack.

Blinded by rage, they actually started spending money—using the priciest fonts to battle Mark on-screen. Some even sent gifts to Xie Ran with sarcastic notes:

[Here’s money, I can afford it. Now explain the cheat, bastard.]

[Cat Plane sent—math genius, teach us something.]

Other viewers: “…”

Ting Shuangsheng & Agent: “…”

Damn, was Master Meng Xie Ran’s plant?! He provoked the haters into spending money?

Meng Feixuan was also frustrated. The body he was using couldn’t multitask like before. His typing speed was no match for the swarm of haters.

The haters were finally suppressing Mark’s momentum and gleefully typed:

[What, no comeback?]

[Aren’t you rich?]

Mark: [Just wait! I’m writing an automatic argument bot!]

Haters:

[Oh no, we’re so scared!]

[The cheater writes cheats, his fans write bots too!]

Xie Ran: “…” The chat had devolved into elementary-school-level taunts.

He had to step away from the camera and call Meng Feixuan. As soon as the call connected, before Xie Ran could speak, Meng Feixuan angrily shouted: “Sir, please wait! I’m writing the argument program right now!”

Xie Ran: “…Not necessary.”

Meng Feixuan: “No! I never lose arguments!” It was the pride of an AI.

Xie Ran pressed his temples in silence.

Meng Feixuan grumbled: “Being human sucks—programming is so slow.”

Xie Ran diverted him: “What were you doing just now?”

“Oh, in a meeting,” Meng Feixuan quickly calmed and began reporting his schedule.

Since temporarily taking over Meng Siyun’s life, he had to fulfill all his duties. He had returned to the core of the Meng Corporation and was busy with meetings. But to him, these tasks were easy—he used to be Xie Ran’s most capable assistant.

His only concern was that work cut into his time with Xie Ran.

After the update, he said: “Sir, when your stream ends, let me take you out for a late-night snack.”

Xie Ran: “Okay.”

Since Xie Ran was still streaming, they couldn’t talk for long. As they were about to hang up, Meng Feixuan suddenly said: “Sir, writing the program is slow—it’ll take at least half an hour. But I’ve got another way! I’ll order all my subordinates to go into your stream and argue for me!”

Xie Ran: “…” How did he still remember that?

Meng Feixuan: “Don’t worry, I’ll pay them overtime!”

Xie Ran: “…” A capitalist with a conscience.

“No need,” Xie Ran said: “I can handle it.”

Meng Feixuan reluctantly said: “…Fine.”

Though he loved to argue, he never disobeyed Xie Ran. It was in his programming.

Xie Ran returned to the camera, ready to open a program to prove he hadn’t cheated. It wasn’t hard—it was just a matter of whether he wanted to.

He hadn’t cared before. Now, worried Meng Feixuan might really summon all of Meng Corporation’s employees to argue online, he decided to act.

But before he moved, he noticed that all the haters had vanished. In their place were apologies and fans offering congratulations.

Xie Ran checked—the game’s official account had just released a statement confirming that after internal investigation, Xie Ran had not used any cheats during his gameplay.

But even that wasn’t what truly silenced the haters. People determined to nitpick would still claim it was a backroom deal, that the platform was just protecting a profitable streamer.

What really shut them up came after the game’s announcement—when a university professor posted on his social media:

Professor Gong: “Recently, one of my students proposed a brand-new algorithm model in his paper, based on cross-section data of radiation and matter interactions, offering our research a whole new perspective. According to him, this model was provided by a livestreamer—Big Face Cat Live Xie Ran. I want to thank Mr. Xie Ran for his generous guidance. I just learned he streams and checked it out—why are people saying he cheats? With all due respect, given his ability, the calculation speed in Dou Dizhu is completely normal. No cheats needed.”

A University A professor—China’s top science and tech school—verified on the platform as a professor in the mathematics department.

Netizens: [?????]

[Holy crap—he really is a mathematician?!!]