I stayed in the hospital for a week before being discharged.
The doctor was amazed—he said he'd never seen such remarkable recuperative powers.
But I was eager to leave because I had something important to do:
I had decided to expose the existence of "Death Trip" to the entire world!
I wanted everyone to know about Death Trip!
I wasn't ignorant of the kind of power I was up against. The resources at their disposal were beyond imagination.
If they wanted me silenced, it would be pathetically easy—crushing me like a bug wouldn't even require effort.
So I chose the internet, openly declaring war on them through a public platform. The internet was decentralized—not even their enormous power could control it entirely. I would post on every platform I could: forums, microblogs, discussion boards... and then use the paid supporters Jasper had bought to push these topics onto trending lists.
Once public opinion formed, I'd stand at the eye of the storm. They wouldn't dare touch me so easily.
This was a power play—and an open conspiracy. I would force the people behind the curtain to surface and reveal all their secrets!
That was my plan.
Everything proceeded exactly as I'd designed: my post on the Q&A platform received tens of thousands of upvotes on the first day; the hashtag I launched on microblogs quickly trended; the discussion board went ballistic, with threads hundreds of pages deep and endless comments...
This was partly thanks to the paid supporters, but the larger reason was that what I described was so outlandish, so beyond belief, it exceeded every netizen's imagination.
They couldn't fathom that the world they lived in was merely a surface—beneath it lurked a dark empire.
That alone was enough to ignite their curiosity and imagination.
Watching the climbing online metrics, I understood—the game had officially begun.
I'd even accepted an invitation from a television network to appear on an interview show and recount my harrowing experiences on camera.
Just when I thought everything was progressing as planned, Jasper called me one evening, his voice urgent: "Quick—check your computer!"
"What's wrong?"
"All your posts are gone!"
My heart lurched. I scrambled to my computer and found that every topic related to "Death Trip" had vanished. My Q&A post had been deleted; the trending topic on microblogs had disappeared—searching for it produced only: "This page is not displayed in accordance with relevant laws and regulations." And more incredibly, the entire discussion board where I'd posted about Death Trip had simply ceased to exist...
I slumped in my chair, cold sweat soaking my back in an instant. I'd underestimated their power.
In a single night, they'd scrubbed Death Trip from the internet completely. Discussion boards, forums, search engines, microblogs, every app... not a single trace remained, as if nothing had ever happened.
What kind of power was this?
While I sat there numb, my phone rang. It was the TV producer. When I answered, he sounded apologetic: "I'm sorry, Mr. Ryan, we just received notice from above—that interview program has been suspended, so for now..."
I hung up, sunk in despair, my mind a tangled mess.
Just then, a knock came at the door. A man's voice called out: "Anyone home? Delivery!"
Delivery? I hadn't ordered anything. But my brain was on autopilot, and I opened the door without thinking.
The moment the door opened, two figures rushed in and pinned me to the floor, wrenching my arms behind my back.
"What are you doing!" I yelled. "What are you doing!"
"Doing what?" A man pressed his knee into my lower back. "Tell me—were those online posts yours?"
"What posts? I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Still denying it! You think encrypting your IP address means we can't trace you? You think the cyber police are useless?"
They'd pinned me face-down in a mounted position, giving me zero room to defend myself or even explain. Fury blazed in my chest. I knew assaulting police was a serious offense, but I couldn't contain my strength anymore. Just then, a middle-aged man walked in and said in a deep voice: "Let him go. With your skills, you won't be able to hold him."
The two men grudgingly released me and stepped aside.
The newcomer was in his fifties, graying at the temples, wearing a gray woolen overcoat. His face was calm but carried an air of natural authority. He looked vaguely familiar. I studied him more carefully and felt a jolt of surprise: "You're... Zhao..."
He nodded.
Yes—I'd seen this face on television. One of the provincial leadership's core members—Director Vance.
"Director Vance, based on our intelligence, this man is dangerous." The two plainclothes officers reached out to stop him.
Vance waved them off. "It's fine. Wait for me in the car."
After the men left, Vance closed the door, sat naturally on the sofa, and poured himself a glass of water. "My subordinates were too rough. Sorry about that."
"It's fine..." I was nervous, unsure why such a high-ranking official had come in person.
"Sit." He gestured for me to join him. "The online posts about 'Death Trip'—were they yours?"
"Yes..."
"Those statements seriously disrupted public discourse and caused social panic. I happen to oversee cyberspace security, so it's within my jurisdiction. That's why I'm here to talk."
"They've all been deleted..."
"I ordered them deleted, and blocked keyword searches. Online public opinion work—no room for sloppiness."
"But everything I said was true."
Vance picked up his water glass and took a sip. "I know it's true."
My whole body jolted.
What did he mean?
He knew it wasn't something I'd fabricated?
"Ryan, I've actually crossed paths with you before." He set down the glass and looked at me. "That train ticket was a gift from me."
I shot to my feet, staring in disbelief at the man before me!
"The person who directed Slade to bury me in loan shark debt and force me onto that train—that was you?!"
"Yes." Vance nodded calmly.
"Why?" I lunged toward him. "Who are you?"
He didn't flinch. "It's not safe here. I can't guarantee there are no listening devices... Let's go somewhere else."
"Where?"
"You haven't eaten dinner yet." He stood and shook out his overcoat. "My treat."
At this point, I had no choice but to follow Director Vance.
He was my only lead.
I got into Vance's car. The driver took us to a busy district and stopped in front of a Japanese restaurant.
Vance told the others to wait outside and took me in alone. This was a very upscale establishment—retro decor, serene atmosphere. He seemed familiar with the place, leading me straight to a private room.
"It's secure here," he said, gesturing for me to sit. "The owner knows me well. I trust him."
I glanced at the menu and smirked. "A meal here can't be cheap."
"Ryan, I'm not the kind of person you think I am," Vance said, understanding my meaning. "Rest assured, I'm paying for this meal with my own salary—not a cent of public money. If you knew anything about me, you'd realize I'm not like those bloated bureaucrats you're used to seeing."
He was right—Director Vance wasn't a typical vulgar official who spent his days currying favor, seeking promotion, and playing office politics. In fact, he'd accomplished real things during his tenure. Back when he was at the municipal prosecutor's office, he'd taken on enormous pressure to dismantle several organized crime syndicates, even risking his career to expose their protectors and bring down several high-ranking officials. When local people brought it up, they always clapped in approval.
He ordered the food and poured me a cup of sake. "I imagine you have a lot of questions."
"Yes. But I'd like to hear you speak first."
Director Vance sighed. "Ryan, have you ever been disappointed in the world?"
"What do you mean?"