For most of the past year, Cao Cheng had been busy with helmet development and the creation of a new game.
During this time, he also participated in numerous lotteries, acquiring many new technologies.
However, none of these were integrated into the core of the virtual world.
For instance, one of the technologies allowed people to play games in their dreams.
Simply put, it involved using a gaming pod where users could simulate sleep while their brains remained active in gaming or learning.
After playing all night, they would wake up the next morning feeling refreshed, as if they had slept, yet having spent the entire night learning.
It could even enable workers to labor tirelessly for 24 hours a day.
This technology would undoubtedly thrill capitalists.
But...
Such advanced technology was too groundbreaking to reveal.
How could something like this be made public?
Although...
Releasing it would make the gaming helmets even more impressive, drive up their price, and potentially make humanity utterly dependent on them.
But the consequences would be undeniable.
Fewer people would engage in real-life activities.
Businesses in the physical world would struggle more.
Those who worked or studied would no longer step outside after returning home—everything would happen in the game.
This would severely disrupt the functioning of society.
The problem would trigger a chain reaction.
It might even completely alter the fabric of society.
And it could lead to other unforeseen issues.
So,
Cao Cheng wouldn’t release this technology—at least not yet. The timing wasn’t right.
Such advancements were better suited for the era of space exploration.
Since Cao Cheng withheld this technology, gamers still experienced fatigue.
They needed breaks after playing for a while.
After all, reality remained the primary way of life; the virtual world couldn’t replace it.
......
Meanwhile,
Cao Cheng shipped nearly 100,000 units of equipment to the military every month.
Most were helmets.
Less than 1% were gaming pods.
The price difference was significant—a hundredfold gap.
Four months later,
A second factory was completed.
Production capacity multiplied.
Within the next two months, a multi-billion-dollar contract was fulfilled.
The remaining time was spent stockpiling inventory.
And right around this time,
International tensions arose, just as Old Taishan had predicted, but everything remained under control.
Cao Cheng didn’t need to worry about global affairs; his role was simply to supply the chips.
He had factories.
And technology.
He had prepared long ago.
Most of the technology wasn’t from system lotteries but acquired through the Eternal Life Club’s channels—such as lithography machines...
......
By the end of the year,
The game’s existence was exposed.
It couldn’t be kept secret any longer.
Of course,
Cao Cheng had mentally prepared for this.
After all, over half a million people had already used the gaming helmets.
Among them were his own security personnel—a group he could trust.
There were also many company employees, whose loyalty wasn’t in question.
But with so many people having families, occasional leaks were inevitable.
Then there were the soldiers.
Most were undoubtedly loyal.
But with such a large number of users, secrecy was hard to maintain.
Consider this: Even under these circumstances, the game had a daily active user count of nearly a million.
And the total number of helmets distributed or sold was just over a million.
Among the soldiers, initially, one helmet was often shared by two or three people.
Especially early on, when helmets were scarce, most soldiers had to wait in line, watching and hoping for their turn.
Later, as helmet and gaming pod production increased, most soldiers eventually had their own—standard issue.
Distribution followed a strict order: frontline troops first, then second-line units, then third-line, and so on.
So,
The user base grew increasingly diverse.
Even among soldiers, while many appeared loyal, who knew what some truly thought?
That the helmet’s existence remained hidden for six months was already beyond expectations.
Cao Cheng and Old Taishan had estimated leaks within two or three months.
Delaying it twice as long was a remarkable achievement.
It proved... that most of our people were truly dependable!
......
......
Once the news broke, Cao Cheng immediately traveled to the capital to meet with Old Taishan.
A few meetings followed—mostly formalities.
Then, in collaboration with various stakeholders, he co-founded two tech companies, contributing mainly through technology shares.
After that, Cao Cheng stepped back, leaving management to others while he waited for dividends.
Of course,
These two companies had nothing to do with the helmets—they focused on chip-related ventures.
Once everything was settled, Old Taishan privately summoned Cao Cheng to discuss the helmet situation.
"Intelligence intercepted just two days ago..."
Old Taishan handed Cao Cheng a file.
Without ceremony, Cao Cheng skimmed through it.
The document contained intel from operatives stationed abroad.
Information flowed freely overseas—their defenses were full of holes, like a sieve.
Aside from a few highly secure locations, operatives could usually obtain whatever they wanted with minimal effort.
So,
Once foreign forces got wind of the gaming helmets, rumors spread like wildfire. The operatives embedded there couldn’t miss it.
But these operatives were sharp.
Seeing no public discussions or online leaks about the helmets, they immediately recognized it as classified intel from their homeland.
That very night, the operative compiled a detailed report and sent it back.
After two more days of digging, the file was complete.
......
The report was clear:
Foreign entities, after months of investigation, had confirmed that soldiers in the Eastern District were all using gaming helmets.
From the intel they gathered, they knew quite a bit.
They knew the game used neural feedback for training.
That it enhanced real-world combat skills and physical capabilities.
Exactly how much it improved individual combat effectiveness remained unclear—no precise data yet.
But,
Based on intel from their moles, they were certain the gaming helmet was a revolutionary invention.
Its emergence could change everything.
Additionally,
Foreign forces had traced the technology back to the gaming division of Miracle Group.
In other words, the mastermind behind the gaming helmet was—Cao Cheng!
The target was identified.
Yet no one had made a move against him—whether through force or subtle recruitment, they held back for now.

and couldn't return to the real world. Finally, I gave up and decided to go with the flow, only to discover that writing a diary could make me stronger. Since no one could read it, Su Luo wrote freely, daring to pen anything and everything. Female Lead #1: "Not bad. This diary helped me steal all the protagonist's opportunities. I just want to get stronger." Female Lead #2: "I don’t care about reaching the peak of the cultivation world. Right now, I just want to enjoy the chaos." Female Lead #3: "What? Everyone around me is a spy? I’m the Joker Demon Lord?" ... It’s so strange. Why is the plot completely off track, yet the ending remains the same? Are you all just messing with me?!

reezy rom-com) Good news: Jiang Liu is quite the ladies' man. Bad news: He’s lost his memory. Lying in a hospital bed, Jiang Liu listens to a parade of goddesses spouting "absurd claims," feeling like the world is one giant game of Werewolf. "Jiang Liu, I’m your first love." "Jiang Liu, you’re my boyfriend—she’s your ex." "Jiang Liu, we’re close friends who’ve shared a bed, remember?" "Jiang Liu, I want to have your baby." The now-lucid Jiang Liu is convinced this must be some elaborate scam... until someone drops the bombshell: "The day before you lost your memory, you confessed your feelings—and got into a relationship." Jiang Liu is utterly baffled. So... who the hell is his actual girlfriend?! ... Before recovering his memories, Jiang Liu must navigate this minefield of lies and sincerity, fighting to protect himself from these women’s schemes. But things spiral even further out of control as more people show up at his doorstep—each with increasingly unhinged antics. On the bright side, the memories he lost due to overwhelming trauma seem to be resurfacing. Great news, right? So why are they all panicking now?

u Chenyuan transmigrated into a female-oriented novel about a real and fake heiress, becoming the CEO elder brother of both. Unfortunately, the entire Lu family—including himself, the CEO—were mere cannon fodder in the story. Determined to save himself, Lu Chenyuan took action. The spoiled, attention-seeking fake heiress? Thrown into the harsh realities of the working class to learn humility. The love-struck real heiress? Pushed toward academic excellence, so lofty goals would blind her to trivial romances. As for the betrayed, vengeful arranged marriage wife… the plot hadn’t even begun yet. There was still time—if he couldn’t handle her, he could at least avoid her. "CEO Lu, are you avoiding me?" Mo Qingli fixed her gaze on Lu Chenyuan. For the first time, the shrewd and calculating Lu Chenyuan felt a flicker of unease.

esick Sect? Well, at least it's considered a respectable orthodox sect. Wait a minute— What kind of vibe are you all giving off? Shouldn’t this be a love-struck, romance-obsessed sect? Why does everyone here sound more like demonic cultivators? "Master, today he’s getting married. This disciple wishes to descend the mountain and crash the wedding, then toy with him to death right in front of his wife..." "Elder, I only got into your sect through connections, so why won’t you teach me anything?" "Because I also became an elder through connections." Thankfully, Su Ji was just an outer sect labor disciple. Surely, nothing too crazy would— "Junior Brother, you’ve broken through to Qi Refining. Once you sever your useless spiritual root, you can officially become an outer sect disciple." "The Great Dao is merciless. Don’t let a worthless spiritual root waste your essence and spirit, hindering your cultivation." Is this really the Lovesick Sect? ... Three years later, Su Ji sat in the seat of the Lovesick Sect’s sect master, sighing with emotion. His rise to this position all started when his junior sister adamantly insisted on preserving his "spiritual root." "Mmm... Senior Brother, what’s our relationship now?" "Stop talking. Keep going." "By the way, that newly promoted top-tier sect—didn’t they come to buy our Love Beans?" "One top-grade spirit stone per Love Bean—is that really so expensive?" "I suspect they’ve eaten too many Love Beans." "Now they’re lovesick." Well, this really is the Lovesick Sect after all.