The comment section went completely insane. The live broadcast room’s viewer count skyrocketed visibly, and the platform’s servers gave several warnings about lag.
#ZhouMumuSevenSecondKillWildBoar#,#HuntingZoneInjectedWildBoar#,#ProductionTeamNegligenceSuspected#
These hashtags rocketed onto trending searches at nuclear speed, overshadowing every other entertainment headline.
In the live comment feed, complete sentences could hardly be seen—just repeated astonishment:
“I’m speechless! Is this really the fragile vase from before?!”
“That dodge, that spear thrust, that calmness… Is she a Special Forces soldier?!”
“Terrifying when you think about it! Someone deliberately set wild boars on her!!”
“The production team is pretending nothing happened? Come out and explain!!”
“What is going on? Who tried to harm her?”
“Help! That line ‘Little wild boar, no problem’ just became legendary!”
On screen, Zhou Chaochao casually tore a corner of her shirt to wipe the blood off her wooden spear. Her movements were natural and relaxed, as if the three-hundred-pound rampaging wild boar she had just killed was nothing more than a trivial obstacle.
She lifted her eyes, scanning the camera calmly. She did not put on a show, nor did she strike a pose—she simply spoke evenly:
“This area is unsafe and unsuitable for filming.”
“If the production team still wants to continue shooting, you can send people over to clear it.”
“If you don’t want the program to be stopped…”
Her lips curved slightly, her tone cold and distant:
“Immediately investigate the cause of the accident.”
After speaking, she turned, using a paracord to fashion a simple dragging device, and dragged the temporarily incapacitated wild boar toward the campsite.
Her shadow stretched long in the setting sun.
She looked like a triumphant warrior, dragging her trophy.
She also looked like… an avenger walking toward the execution platform with a knife.
A few words had given the production team a way to save face, but also made her position clear—she would not quit the game, nor be slaughtered by anyone.
Meanwhile, the director’s team backstage descended into chaos.
The Chief Director stared at the massive, bloodied boar on the split-screen monitor, his face dark and hands trembling:
“Who arranged this?! Who allowed a large beast to be released?! The record only mentions wild chickens and wild rabbits!!”
The Assistant Director’s face was pale: “C-Can’t track it… All Hunting Zone perimeter cameras just went black, like someone deliberately tampered with them…”
“Idiot!!” The Chief Director slammed the walkie-talkie down, “Immediately! Send people into the mountain!! At all costs, get her out!! If she dies in there, the entire production team will go down with her!!”
Staff members panicked, rescue teams assembled urgently, yet no one dared to be the first to enter the eerie valley—if a rampaging wild boar had been killed in seven seconds, who knew what else lurked inside?
Meanwhile, in the live split-screen showing Lin Weiwei’s group, the atmosphere had become extremely tense.
She stood rigidly, her fingertips clutching her shirt, knuckles white, face completely drained of color. Even her forced sweet smile was failing, and her lips twitched involuntarily.
A fellow guest noticed something was wrong and carefully asked, “Weiwei, you look terrible. Are you worried about Zhou Mumu?”
Lin Weiwei snapped back to herself, forcing a panicked smile: “N-No… I’m just a little scared. That boar was huge…”
Despite her words, her eyes involuntarily flicked toward the mountains. Her heart raced uncontrollably, and her mind had only one insane thought:
Impossible… absolutely impossible…
She had personally orchestrated everything through Wang Qiang—
From manipulating the draw, assigning a dangerous zone, transporting an adult male boar, sharpening its tusks, injecting double stimulants, placing it in an iron cage, to cutting local surveillance… every step calculated with precision, for one purpose only:
To have Zhou Mumu gored by a wild boar, injured, bleeding, rendered immobile, forced to quit, ideally disappearing from the public eye forever.
She wanted an “accident,” a way to completely eliminate a thorn in her side.
But now…
Zhou Mumu was not only unharmed, she had killed the rampaging boar in seven seconds with near-crushing dominance, moving with the calmness of someone emerging from a battlefield of corpses.
The dodges, the steps, the spear grip, the precise lethal strike…
None of it was something an ordinary person could have trained for.
It was instinct honed over years on the edge of life and death.
Lin Weiwei shivered, a chill shooting up her spine.
This Zhou Mumu before her, no longer the timid, fearful, bullied girl who hid behind others, was a completely different person.
Her aura, her gaze, her skill, her presence, even her tone of voice… everything had changed.
It was as if a new soul had been placed in an empty shell.
“What… who is she…” she murmured unconsciously, a whisper only she could hear.
The assistant noticed her state and quietly cautioned, “Weiwei, the cameras are still on, don’t—”
Lin Weiwei snapped back, forcing down her panic and adjusting her expression. Yet the terror in her eyes was clearly captured on camera for countless viewers.
The live comments immediately zeroed in:
“Lin Weiwei’s expression is off!”
“She’s panicking! She’s definitely panicking!!”
“I bet fifty cents, she’s involved in this!”
“Earlier she manipulated the draw, now the boar appears and she’s terrified… horrifying when you think about it!”
Lin Weiwei bit her lower lip, her fingers digging into her palm.
No…
She couldn’t let this go.
If one plan failed, she had a backup.
This suddenly unfamiliar and terrifying Zhou Mumu must disappear.
No matter the cost.
Deep in the forest, Zhou Chaochao had already stowed away excess emotions and returned to a state of vigilance.
She looked up through the dense canopy at the sliver of sky, her gaze cold and clear.
The first probe had ended.
The other party had acted ruthlessly, leaving no margin—they clearly intended to kill her.
In that case—
She lightly twirled the wooden spear in her hand, its edge reflecting a cold gleam.
“You want to play.”
She whispered, her voice light but carrying undeniable authority:
“Then I’ll play with you to the end.”
This time, she would no longer be passively struck.
The schemers hid in the shadows, thinking no one knew.
But Zhou Chaochao’s specialty was hunting out every rat hiding in the shadows, one by one, in the face of absolute peril.