"Oh, login's done. What now?" Shi Jiujin asked. Meanwhile, her sudden disappearance had already caused a huge uproar in the livestream room.
Jing Shu took the phone, quickly cutting the livestream footage into shorter clips, adding bullet comments and attaching clickbait titles.
"Shocking! The hero's return only to find their home stolen!"
"Unbelievable, the savior who rescued thousands with the shark submarine caught for occupying a house!"
"Awesome, a Wu City police officer declares 'I am the law!' Get him trending now!"
"Is this moral decay or human distortion? Shi Jiujin was brutally treated for exposing the truth. Is there really no law left in the apocalypse?"
An eye-catching title determined how many people would pay attention. Rage-inducing content decided how much resonance it would stir. And the first person to publicly take a stand would decide the direction the whole matter developed. None of these elements could be missing.
Jing Shu switched through a few alternate accounts, tagging all relevant departments, posting representative comments that others could reuse. For the silent likers, she provided ready-made slogans. Setting the right rhythm mattered, and the first person to speak out was crucial.
Shi Jiujin stared in shock at the familiar tricks and skilled maneuvers. His eyes toward Jing Shu changed. Could it be that she was the real boss here?
The earlier videos could be brushed off with a laugh, but these sharp titles and biting commentary tugged at both sympathy and anger. The heroine who saved lives now being arrested for seeking justice inflamed those she rescued and their families. Comments poured in demanding a thorough government investigation. Even if most couldn't do anything else, they could still vent with likes and angry messages.
As the saying went, when a billion Chinese all spit at once, someone could drown.
The edited clips spread instantly. Likes and comments skyrocketed by the thousands every minute. Within moments, they hit the trending recommendations, climbing from a local Wu City hot topic to a nationwide frenzy. Likes shot past hundreds of thousands before the government even had time to think about suppressing it. By then, it was far too late.
Wu City's local government accounts were tagged over a hundred thousand times. The sheer scale of attention forced them to take it seriously. If they didn't give people a proper explanation, they would be cursed by the entire nation.
Shi Jiujin gave a thumbs-up. "And then?"
"Then we wait," Jing Shu replied.
Reputation, once harvested, had to be put to use. Strike while the iron's hot. A few years later, who would still remember you?
Jing Shu had many ways to handle this problem. But after learning Li Yuetian himself was in trouble, she chose to rely on public opinion. Using minimal cost to gain maximum benefit. It was, in its own way, giving him another helping hand.
Li Yuetian, deputy leader of the Second Squad, now held the rank of senior colonel. At his age, that promotion speed was quite rare, and he had hope of advancing further.
From his outstanding performance during the Hongshan Ecological Park evacuation, he was clearly worth befriending. A strong ally in the post-apocalypse, with future prospects of promotion, would allow her to walk sideways through the Banana Community.
In China, apart from a few exceptions, most needed at least twenty years of service to reach such ranks. The sooner she invested in this ally, the better.
"Let's hope this also helps him get through his crisis."
Jing Shu flexed her cuffed wrists, but her narrowed eyes were already fixed on the warehouse goods. She whispered under her breath, "Second form."
The Cube Space unfolded flat, revealing a dazzling variety of supplies. She reorganized the crammed storage while scanning for what was worth transferring in.
Once the phone light faded, the warehouse returned to darkness. Shi Jiujin's emotions surged. Facing his savior, he finally had a chance to say thank you.
In the dark, Shi Jiujin kept tossing out questions, and Jing Shu lazily answered now and then.
Meanwhile, she tied a rope around a bee and guided it with a thread to touch items, pulling them into her Cube Space. The warehouse was piled high, though not yet organized. Most of it was useless to her: bedding, daily necessities, furniture.
Still, some items caught her eye. For example, the aramid helmets. Chinese-made aramid helmets outperformed American Kevlar, offering superb ballistic protection and high stability. They could protect the head in combat, serve as pots and bowls during marches, and even act as water collectors in deserts. In short, they were extremely versatile.
But what Jing Shu valued most was not just their bulletproofing. These helmets could shield against natural disasters too. Hailstorms were especially deadly, with conical chunks of ice falling from the sky like lethal missiles.
A free-falling body from high altitude carried unimaginable force. Who would dare go bald then? People would be desperate to grow more hair or even wear blankets outside. But plastic basins? They'd be smashed in minutes.
And then came the landslides and thunderous boulders triggered by future earthquakes and storms. In the Banana Community nestled at the mountain's base, hail was nothing. The real danger came from rocks struck loose by colossal lightning strikes during heavy rains.
Was it punishment from Lord Thunder and Lady Lightning? Or the wind goddess hammering mountains apart? The scientific explanation claimed Earth's orbit had shifted, throwing crustal movements into chaos. Whatever the reason, the result was the same.
Either way, having a highly protective helmet would be a blessing.
She didn't take many, just about ten—enough for her family. She planned to tweak them in her Cube Space, repainting them later.
There were also a few bulletproof vests. Since they were rare and cumbersome, she only grabbed three sets. China's military rarely issued them, though in wartime, factories could churn out hundreds of thousands.
"Professional gas masks too? Perfect!" Jing Shu's delight was genuine. Unlike the cheap hundreds-yuan paint fume masks on Taobao, these were clearly military grade. She didn't know the exact standard, but they would surely guard against the toxic air and foul gas clouds of the apocalypse.
Trust her, you wouldn't want to smell a whole year's worth of that stench. And it wasn't just one unchanging stink—it morphed depending on the weather, switching between variations of foulness like Earth itself had a stomachache.
She stuffed fifty gas masks into her Cube Space. If she didn't take them, they'd rot in storage anyway. Preserved in her space, they'd last for years and could later be rented or sold—for a price.