35: A 24-hour live-streamed race against time

Cheng Mo's finger lifted from the Enter key, the screen's light reflecting off the silver stud in his right ear for a fleeting moment. He didn't turn around or speak; he simply unplugged the USB drive and tucked it into his hoodie pocket. The three monitors at the main console remained lit, the neural signal curves of the pixel maze still fluctuating slowly, like a swarm of fireflies refusing to settle down.

He stood up and stretched, the worn hole at the knee of his cargo pants tearing another half-inch. Outside the window, the sky was gray; it was 4:17 AM. The city hadn't woken up yet, but the internet had already gone mad.

On the live stream platform's trending list, "Steel Coin Challenges 24-Hour pixel maze" sat at number one, with real-time viewers surpassing eight hundred thousand. The bullet comments were as dense as a rainstorm hitting glass—half the people were spamming "don't stop," while the other half were betting on when he would pee his pants.

Cheng Mo's lips twitched as he sat back down and opened the remote monitoring backend. Steel Coin's physiological data stream was refreshing at a rate of three entries per second: heart rate 132, blink frequency 8 times per minute (normal range is 15-20), bladder pressure index 6.7 (danger threshold is 7.0). This guy was nearing his limit, yet the donation amounts were still rising. The latest tip was fifty thousand, with a message saying: "If the streamer pees, I'll donate a hundred thousand."

He stared at the data for three minutes, his fingers tapping out a rhythm like Morse code on the edge of the keyboard. He debated whether to intervene—logically, he should force an interruption. After all, they had just gone through Lin Wanqing's cognitive collapse incident, and physical loss of control was no joke. But he knew even better that this was a once-in-a-lifetime live testing opportunity. The tug-of-war between a player's will and physiological limits was more real than any laboratory data.

He didn't move.

In the live stream, Steel Coin sported a Shamate hairstyle, his eyes bloodshot. His left hand gripped the custom controller tightly, while his right hand occasionally wiped sweat from the tip of his nose. On the screen, his character had just respawned for the seventh time, the terrain twisting into a Mobius strip where a slight tilt of the joystick would trigger a fall trap. He was muttering something, and only after the volume was turned up could it be heard: "I graduated from Tsinghua... I can't lose to a block game..."

The bullet comments went wild with laughter.

"I suggest renaming it 'Toilet Maze'."

"Quitting now could still save some dignity."

"Streamer, was your bladder modified?"

At exactly the 18th hour, Steel Coin suddenly froze. He didn't move the mouse or press a key; he was like a puppet with its strings cut. A second later, the camera shook slightly, the sound of fabric rubbing came from the background, followed by a wet noise.

The bullet comments went silent for a moment.

Then they exploded.

"He really peed!!!"

"Screenshot! Screenshot it now!!!"

"A historic moment: humanity's first autonomous excretion during an electronic game."

Video views began to skyrocket, breaking a hundred million within two hours. On social media, "Steel Coin pees his pants" hit the top three trending topics. Someone made a GIF with the caption: "When you think you're challenging the game, the game is actually challenging your sphincter."

Cheng Mo watched the entire time, a cup of untouched coffee sitting at the corner of the desk, now stone cold. He waited until the data stream had completely stabilized before finally taking action. He created a new folder, named it [PHYSIO-MONITOR_V1], and began writing code.

He wanted to add a module—not to save people, but to collect data.

He spent six hours overnight cramming three indicators—bladder pressure, dehydration index, and heart rate variability—into the client's underlying protocol. He set it so that once a threshold was exceeded, a prompt would automatically pop up—not a warning, but a forced intervention. For example, if dehydration was detected, the system would fill the screen with pink hearts and play a voice message: "Dear, it's time to drink water~" and lock all controls until fluid intake was confirmed.

At 9:40 AM, Steel Coin restarted the stream.

"Everyone, last night... that... was a technical pause." He sat in his gaming chair, his face still flushed, his tone forced into composure. "Today I continue the challenge of the full version of pixel maze. I'm going to prove—I'm not a man who lives by his kidneys!"

The audience spammed "Whatever you say is right."

Cheng Mo leaned back in his chair with a freshly bought hot coffee, waiting quietly.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Steel Coin's movements grew slower, his lips parched; he licked them three times without any moisture. Bullet comments started spamming "drink water," but he ignored them.

At the forty-third minute, the system triggered.

The screen suddenly turned pink as countless small hearts flooded in from all directions. A large line of text popped up in the center: "Severe dehydration detected. Initiating Emergency Life Support Protocol." Immediately after, a mechanical female voice sounded: "Calling the Smart Kettle for you. Please take three sips of water immediately, or access will be locked."

Steel Coin froze, staring at the screen, his face turning from red to purple.

"Fuck!!" He slammed his hand on the desk, making the trophy and controller rattle. "Who did this?! Whose prank is this?!"

The bullet comments laughed until they flipped over.

"Official Daddy has stepped in!"

"This wave of fatherly love is like a landslide."

"I suggest attaching a urinary catheter next time."

Steel Coin grit his teeth, grabbed the water bottle by the desk, and gulped down three large mouthfuls, coughing as he choked. Only after the system detected the swallowing motion did the pink interface slowly recede.

He panted, looking fiercely at the camera: "Cheng Mo! I know it's you! Are you raising me like a baby?!"

No one responded.

Cheng Mo closed the monitoring window, took off his headphones, and placed them gently on the corner of the desk. The coffee had gone cold again; he didn't refill it. Outside, sunlight crawled onto the arcade screen, illuminating the cursed sticky note that read "You'll go to hell sooner or later," its corners slightly curled.

He stood up and walked to the window, gazing at the distant cluster of office buildings. The city was awake, traffic was starting to congest, and life went on as usual. But he knew that some things were different now.

Last night's urination wasn't just a disgrace; it was a signal. It told everyone that this game could make people lose control to the point where they couldn't even maintain their physical instincts. It also told him that players were willing to pay for that loss of control.

He turned and walked back to the console, preparing to shut down all testing channels. Just then, his messaging software gave a "ding."

A new message popped up from an unknown number:

"Regarding the 'leap platform nightmare' trademark issue, please come to the Administration for Industry and Commerce tomorrow at 10:00 to explain the situation."