Jiang Zhou V: Watch the full video before speaking. To anyone forwarding rumors that reach over 500 reposts: I will be sending you a lawyer’s letter immediately. [Video]
The internet was Jiang Zhou’s home turf. Ten minutes after posting her clarification, she updated again with a series of screenshots documenting every post that had surpassed the 500-repost threshold, including the identities of the posters.
The moment this went live, aside from the paid marketing accounts, the casual “melon-eaters” (bystanders) scrambled to delete their posts, terrified of receiving a legal summons. People were here for the drama, not a lawsuit.
“To be honest, looking at the full video, Liu Tao was clearly making a scene for no reason. The world has been launched for ages; the work pressure must be way lower now.”
“The person above knows squat. Liu Tao was in the new project team, probably in R&D, which means overtime every day.”
“Shut up, you’re the one who knows squat. I’m an employee at Shangzhou Games. Aside from the initial rush during World’s development, it’s been standard 8-hour days. Plus, the boss just doubled our base salary for three months. Only an idiot would complain about pressure now!”
“Double salary? Maybe the ‘black-hearted’ boss knew she was oppressing people and is trying to compensate now!”
“Compensate your ass. Our boss got married and is showing off her love, don’t you get it? Oh wait, the person above probably doesn’t, considering he’s an orphan.”
“Married? Who married whom?”
“You don’t know? Hahaha! Our boss, President Jiang, married Xia Shang, the CEO of Huashan! We all got bonuses! Double base salary for three months!”
“Big deal, she’s just using company money to build her public persona.”
“I take back what I said earlier—the person above isn’t an orphan, he’s not even human. Don’t bother arguing with a different species; he won’t understand.”
“One more thing: the bonus money came directly from President Xia’s personal account. Stop talking nonsense if you don’t know the facts!!”
…
“This Jiang Zhou is truly a piece of work.” Seeing the tide turn, Lu Shen smashed yet another ashtray in a fit of rage. “Add more money. Use the entire five million to buy water armies (shills). I want Jiang Zhou’s ‘crimes’ set in stone!”
With five million injected, many unscrupulous marketing accounts began reposting again. They’d received lawyer’s letters before; usually, it just meant deleting the post and apologizing. It didn’t affect their bottom line much.
“Liu Tao attempted suicide because his mother couldn’t afford medical bills and the company refused him leave. He was trapped.”
“I know Liu Tao. His mom is in the First People’s Hospital ICU. It costs a fortune every day.”
“A man nearly died, yet you’re still defending the capitalists? Money really can buy any narrative.”
Wealth-envy is a common sentiment among netizens. When the narrative shifted to portraying Liu Tao as a “pitiful filial son” and Jiang Zhou as a “ruthless capitalist exploiter,” the pendulum began to swing back. People were too scared to repost, but they had no problem leaving nasty comments.
Jiang Zhou smiled. It seemed everyone felt brave behind a screen.
“Bad news is spreading again,” Xia Shang said, her expression grim as she looked at her phone. “Should we sue them?”
Jiang Zhou looked up from her computer. “Sue the marketing accounts?”
“Yes. Hire a legal team. With solid evidence, they can face fines or detention,” Xia Shang said seriously. Her legal team wasn’t for show; if she sued, she’d see it through to the end.
“No need to waste money on trash.” Jiang Zhou smiled at Xia Shang, her fingers beginning to fly across the keyboard. A cascade of code flooded the screen.
Based on the information she had captured, there were about a few dozen unrepentant marketing accounts. Instead of a long, expensive legal battle, Jiang Zhou had a more efficient method.
Xia Shang stood behind her. It was the first time she had seen Jiang Zhou code. The sheer speed was breathtaking—far beyond the capabilities of a normal developer.
“I’m tracking their locations based on the metadata they left on Weibo,” Jiang Zhou explained while typing. “I’ll trace their IPs back to their personal information and plant a virus through a simple pop-up window. Whether they click ‘Open’ or ‘Close,’ the virus will infect their systems.”
“What kind of virus?” Xia Shang asked.
Jiang Zhou smirked. “A destructive one. Once it’s in, it wipes every file and piece of information on the computer. No recovery possible.”
Why bother with a legal tug-of-war when she could just brick their hardware? She hoped they didn’t have a habit of backing up their data; that way, all their hard-earned “materials” would be incinerated.
“Beautifully done,” Xia Shang approved. For these accounts, no mercy was needed.
…
Soon after Jiang Zhou’s program went live, the loudest marketing accounts suddenly went silent. Behind the screens, the employees were panicking like ants on a hot pan.
“Boss, my computer caught a virus. It’s dead!”
“If it’s broken, call a repairman! I’m not an IT guy, what are you telling me for!” the boss shouted, his eyes narrowed with greed as he looked at the growing balance in his account.
As a professional marketing studio, they had maintenance staff. A technician arrived quickly.
“Boss, I can’t fix this. The files are completely destroyed,” the technician said after three minutes. “I suggest destroying the hardware. Otherwise, the virus might spread to the other computers through the network.”
“What? You can’t fix it? I pay you for a reason! All our company data is on there! Fix it or I’m docking your pay!”
“Boss, the hard drive is physically fried. No one can recover from this. It’s scrap metal.”
Similar scenes played out across multiple studios. One studio, which had taken the most money, lost all its accounts at once. It was like pouring cold water into boiling oil—everything exploded.
Before they could deal with the hardware failure, Lu Shen’s assistant called, accusing them of taking money without delivering results.
“Half the money is in your account. Why has the news stopped?”
“We… We have a small technical issue. We’ll handle it soon,” the boss promised desperately. This was a high-value client.
“Boss, the hard drive is useless. It’s unfixable,” the technician repeated.
“Shut up!” the boss barked.
But the assistant on the other end heard enough. Hard drive. Unfixable.
…
“Director Lu, the studios we hired are all having issues. Their computers were hit by a virus; all data has been destroyed,” the assistant reported.
“A virus?” Lu Shen’s brow twitched. He immediately remembered the humiliation he suffered at his previous company. His computer had been hit by a virus then, too, losing all the data and costing him the deal with Chuanbai!
“Can you find out who did it?” Lu Shen gripped his files. “Find the person behind this. Money is no object. Just find them and… break their hands.”
“Director Lu, it might be hard to find them in such a short time,” the assistant cautioned. To take down so many studios simultaneously suggested a high-level attacker.
“Is the money not enough? Is the person behind this the best hacker in the country?” Lu Shen snapped. “I’ll give you ten million. Find them.”
“Director Lu…” The assistant wanted to advise caution—someone this capable was better off as an ally or settled with peacefully.
“Do this well, and I’ll give you a two million bonus,” Lu Shen added.
The assistant went silent, then nodded slowly. “Don’t worry, Director Lu. I’ll handle it.”
Since the attacker was clearly protecting Shangzhou Games, the assistant decided to start his investigation there.
But just as he began his search, Jiang Zhou dropped another bombshell via her official account.
Jiang Zhou V: Forgot to mention, I recorded the conversation. Here is the full audio. Best enjoyed while watching the video. [Conversation.MP3]