Skyrocketing Prices

Every type of game has its loyal players.

Whether it's driving, flying planes, delivering goods, or sneaking around for thrills after nightfall...

With the release of the helmets, things were a bit chaotic at first—some were showing off online, others were reselling at inflated prices, and many were desperately trying to buy one.

But after a week, the noise died down as most of the hundreds of thousands of helmets found their owners.

Even the scalpers ran out of stock.

The highest price soared to 290,000 yuan.

And with no supply left, the bids kept climbing—290,000 one day, 350,000 the next, and then 400,000 the day after.

Especially with so many streamers subtly promoting it.

In just a few days, players were already experiencing feedback from the game—memories, even muscle memory.

Take that chubby guy who practiced swordsmanship.

He used to play shooter games, where the most he gained was better hearing, sharper eyes, and quicker reflexes.

But in real life? He was still just a... useless fat guy.

Now?

After playing Great Wuxia, he mastered a basic sword routine in three days—in real life, no less—and could perform it convincingly.

In-game, he was even stronger.

Within a week, he’d developed a hint of "sword essence."

Of course, that’s an exaggeration.

But during his streams, the guy’s movements became smoother and more fluid, leaving his fans green with envy.

With more streamers like this, the demand—and price—for the helmets skyrocketed.

Even though stock was nearly gone, the wealthy kept offering insane sums, hoping someone would part with theirs, even if it was second-hand.

Many realized that starting late could mean falling behind forever.

A week later,

most games could be streamed.

Initially, there were no compatible software or devices for helmet streaming, but once businesses saw the demand, it only took a week to develop the necessary tools.

Of course, they needed authorization from Miracle—otherwise, they’d get banned, and fans would blame the manufacturers.

Either way, Cao Cheng profited.

Also,

the emotional energy was off the charts.

For over half a month, it had been nonstop.

Since the launch event, online buzz never died down—excitement, joy, frustration, bitterness, agony—all kinds of emotions were pouring in.

The pre-order lottery alone, with its winners and losers, provided a feast of reactions.

Then there were the in-game experiences.

Though only 500,000 helmets were released, fewer than 400,000 were actually in use. The remaining 100,000? Either unactivated or... missing.

Yep.

Straight-up missing.

Cao Cheng could track them down, but why bother? Probably snatched up by researchers or something.

Lots of little spies around.

Some big-time scalpers also smuggled them overseas, reselling them at insane markups.

Whatever.

Even with just 400,000 players, the emotional energy generated daily was staggering—far beyond what PC or mobile games could muster.

Four hundred thousand daily active users here provided more emotional output than four million in a mobile game.

It was like comparing qi cultivation: one side had fewer but purer energy, while the other had more but messier.

The soldiers still logged in daily, contributing their share of emotions too.

But after playing for a while, their initial hype had faded. Compared to them, the 400,000 players were way more productive.

The fans were getting antsy.

Especially the fangirls—they bombarded Young Master Cao’s social media daily, flooding his videos with pleas for him to show up.

But Young Master Cao was radio silent.

It was like he’d vanished after the launch event.

Left with no choice,

they turned to others.

Like right now.

Yang Chaoyue, the chaotic gremlin, was live-streaming from home.

Her own place.

No fancy setup, just her phone—zero effort, maximum chaos.

But the gremlin had looks on her side; even a close-up couldn’t ruin her.

She was just... unhinged.

Especially when the comments set her off: "What the—I thought you were all my fans! But... I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!"

"Don’t ask me, I’ve got no clue."

"Zip. Nada."

"You wanna ask Cao Cheng? I don’t even have a helmet myself—how am I supposed to get you one?"

"Give one away in a livestream gift? Dream on! These things cost hundreds of thousands now. I don’t have that kind of pocket money."

"And you—Cao Cheng’s fangirls—no, wait, ‘sister-in-law fans’—cut it out! ‘Go flirt with him’? You think I can just do that? I’d get blacklisted!"

"Our CEO Cao is a righteous man. You believe everything online?"

"Bull."

"Since my debut, I’ve met him twice. First time, we didn’t even talk. Second time was at that post-event dinner in the pic."

"Nope. Not me. Go bother our captain. She’s met him way more—like how class reps see the teacher more than the rest of us. ‘Bootlicker’? Hey, I never said that! Our captain’s not one either."

Yang Chaoyue fired off rapid comebacks, roasting fans left and right.

Then—

A woman’s voice off-camera, older, speaking dialect.

Yang Chaoyue glanced sideways, startled.

Fans were lost—some couldn’t understand the dialect.

But those who did knew it was probably her mom or an aunt.

A delivery had arrived.

The knocking earlier? A package.

Then a massive box entered the frame.

Yang Chaoyue took it, frozen.

Silence.

The chat exploded.

"Holy—is that... a Miracle helmet?"

"Yep, that’s the box. Never owned one, but I’ve seen it a million times."

"Even the tape has the Miracle logo. Definitely a helmet."

"Jackpot."

"Yang Chaoyue, you liar! You said you didn’t have one—clearly, you won the lottery!"

"Streamer exposed in real time: deceiving 100K+ fans with a straight face."

"LMAO—"

"No no no!"

Comments flooded the screen, too fast to read.

But keywords like "liar" and "deception" stood out.

Some were joking.

Others were haters stirring the pot.

Clutching the box, Yang Chaoyue blurted, "No, no no, I didn’t win! This helmet—wait."

She grabbed another phone and called Ye Lan.

To prove her innocence, she put it on speaker.

Nothing to hide.

The girls were blunt but never crude.

"Hello?"

A refined voice answered.

"Captain, it’s me."