474: Ordinary Road

"Hehe (❁´ω`❁), then this Subordinate will go keep an eye on the internet cafe!"

Chen Yu raised her hand and waved, turning to hop and skip away. Her shock of white hair bounced behind her with every movement, and in the blink of an eye, she disappeared around the corner of the corridor, leaving only a blurred afterimage.

The wind under the eaves of Jiaotai Palace carried a hint of chill, gently fluttering her sleeves.

Shang Wan Ning stood where she was, smoothing her cuffs and watching the wrinkles in the fabric slowly flatten out.

She whispered the words "little brat" in a flat tone that betrayed no emotion, then turned and walked toward the inner hall.

The sound of her boots clicking against the stone slabs was crisp and decisive, one step after another, echoing clearly in the empty corridor.

In her mind, she began calculating Star's progress.

Thousands of accounts should have already sent out private messages. Like fine sand scattered into the rivers and seas, they were slowly sinking into Candle Shadow Shaking Red's inbox.

This matter could not be rushed; it was never meant to be a head-on confrontation, but rather a slow-grinding process that required meticulous patience.

Everything had to look like the ordinary movements of an ordinary day, without showing the slightest hint of deliberation.

Stepping into the inner hall, Ling Qi was not there. The jade slips on the desk were stacked neatly, and the vermilion brush rested quietly on its rack, making the room feel somewhat lonely.

Shang Wan Ning did not touch the official documents, walking straight to the window.

She thought of Torch Dragon's appearance in that crimson dress.

That old thing had lived far too long; what kind of scene had He not witnessed? Sending a few dozen minor Ghost Messengers to send private messages probably looked like child's play in His eyes.

Yet, it was precisely this kind of "play" that was the hardest to guard against.

Because it was too ordinary—so ordinary that not a trace of spiritual power could be found. It was nothing more than the chatter of mortals, the affection of mortals, and the small thoughts of mortals.

Even if Torch Dragon noticed more private messages than usual, He would only assume it was because her recent livestream popularity had risen and her fans were becoming more active.

Shang Wan Ning tapped twice on the window lattice, a hint of certainty flashing in her eyes: what she wanted was precisely this "ordinariness."

At the same time, in the large Private Box No. 3 of Wangchuan Internet Cafe, the sound of keyboard typing rang out sporadically.

It wasn't a frantic clattering, but rather evenly spaced sounds, like raindrops hitting tiles in the middle of the night—steady and rhythmic.

Star stood before the projection, which clearly displayed the sending schedule for all accounts.

The timeline spanned a full seven days, clearly marked with different colors to show how many messages each account would send per day, what the content would be, and at what time they would be sent.

They were distributed in a way that never exceeded the interaction frequency of a normal fan.

The Old Woman Zhao Yun wore her reading glasses, deliberating over her words in front of the screen. She was only sending one message today, scheduled for the Hour of the Monkey. The content still revolved around her grandson, but she had switched to a more casual tone: "Little girl, do you think the youngsters these days just don't like eating home-cooked meals anymore?"

"My grandson used to love the soup I stewed, but now he always orders takeout. Sigh, the times are different now." Between the lines was the soft, warm complaining unique to the elderly.

After clicking send, the status soon changed to "read." Zhao Yun pushed up her glasses, her expression normal as she picked up the warm goji berry tea beside her and took a shallow sip.

Liu Shuo was much more restrained.

According to instructions, he only picked a flaw once every three days. His tone had to sound like a "passerby casually grumbling" and couldn't look like a hater specifically looking for trouble.

He scratched his hair in front of the screen and typed a line: "Is the lighting not adjusted well today? Sister's face looks a bit dark." Then he felt it was too mild, muttering that it wasn't "nitpicky" enough.

Star walked over, glanced at it, and said, "It's fine. Just having a hint of pickiness is enough, but don't let it carry too much hostility. Set the sending time for half an hour after her stream ends. The true fans will still be active then, so this kind of small complaint will be easily buried."

Liu Shuo gave an affirmative grunt, set the time, minimized the page, and turned to help Zhou Wenyuan organize the question database.

Zhou Wenyuan was responsible for the "technical discussion" category of private messages, sending only two a week.

The questions had to be a natural extension of Candle Shadow Shaking Red's previous content—neither too advanced nor too superficial.

He was sorting through them one by one: "In the March 15th stream, the reflection on the second ice pillar on the left side of the background was a bit strange. It might be an equipment angle issue; I can ask about this."

"For the dress on April 2nd, the way the sash was tied is a bit like the one in the ancient painting 'Xuanji Tu.' I want to ask what the specific style is called."

Every question was detailed and practical, like details that only a truly attentive viewer would notice.

Star took a lap around the private box.

The atmosphere was plain, even carrying a hint of leisure. There wasn't a trace of sword-drawn tension, only a step-by-step composure.

Several young Ghost Messengers stared at their screens while whispering about which stall in the Underworld Market had the most authentic incense offerings snacks, occasionally passing each other pieces of Osmanthus Cake unique to the Netherworld.

This was exactly the effect he wanted.

To completely dissolve the probing into daily life, melting it into a massive volume of real information noise.

On the inconspicuous statistical chart next to the light screen, the ratio curve of Candle Shadow Shaking Red's recent private message types showed only a few smooth fluctuations, falling entirely within the normal range of data fluctuations for gaining fans.

Everything was as usual, so ordinary it was as if nothing had ever happened... Northern Source Realm, Profound Ice Palace.

The Torch Dragon clone had just finished a two-hour livestream.

The smoky purple dress had been taken off, and she was now wearing only a plain white undergarment. Her long hair was unbound, scattered casually over her shoulders.

He sat before the Mysterious Ice Mirror, her fingertips sliding across the jade panel as she browsed the private messages in the backend.

The number was indeed higher than a while ago, but it wasn't much. As popularity rose, messages increased; it was only natural.

He casually clicked on a few: there were short essays written by excited fans, requests for outfit links, questions about when the next stream would be, and people sharing small joys from their lives... all similar to usual.

He clicked on a few more that were slightly special.

An account named "All Living Beings" always talked about domestic trivia, worrying about her grandson in a kind tone, like an ordinary Old Woman.

Torch Dragon remembered this ID; it seemed to have sent similar content a few days ago.

His fingertips paused for a moment; He neither replied nor blocked it, simply swiping past.

Another called "Unquenchable Wildfire" would occasionally pick small flaws, mentioning poor lighting or a clashing dress color, but the wording wasn't harsh, sounding more like casual grumbling.

Torch Dragon scanned over it and similarly ignored it.

There was also "Literary Mind Carving Dragons," who would ask technical questions about lighting and garment patterns, posing them quite seriously.

Torch Dragon had once casually replied "the equipment model is XX," and the other party had thanked him repeatedly. Afterward, when asking questions again, the tone became increasingly polite.

Everything appeared normal.

So normal that this wisp of mind separated by Torch Dragon couldn't be bothered to think more on it.