475: Clues to data flow

It was nothing more than the trivial chatter of mortals.

She closed the private message list and stood up, walking toward the terrace at the edge of the palace. The cold wind, carrying ice shards, howled past, fluttering the thin corners of Her clothes. Below was the bottomless Black Ice Abyss, which had been silent for countless years.

Looking at those private messages, She felt nothing in particular. Having active fans was a good thing; the gathering of Power of Will had become more apparent.

As for whether individual accounts spoke much or little, picked faults or offered praise, it didn't even amount to a ripple in Her long years of existence.

Her attention was focused more on things like what to wear for the next livestream, how to liven up the atmosphere, and whether the efficiency of Power of Will absorption could be increased further.

Half a month had passed.

The atmosphere in Large Private Booth No. 3 of the Wangchuan Internet Cafe had long since transitioned from the initial tension to an almost numb routine.

The sound of keyboards clicking still echoed, sparse and scattered, much like the never-ending Yin energy of the Netherworld.

The difference was that the Ghost Messengers typing on the keyboards now each sported a pair of dark circles under their eyes, and their soul bodies were slightly fainter than when they first arrived.

Even a ghost couldn't hold up after seven consecutive days of high-intensity role-playing as "real-life fans."

Zhao Yun switched to a new account today. Her profile picture was a pink peony, and her nickname was "Quiet and Good Years." Wearing her reading glasses, she stared at the private message box on the screen, her withered fingers hovering over the keyboard, hesitating to press down.

"Miss Star." Her voice was a bit hoarse. "Are we still sending things about my grandson today? This Old Woman is almost out of new words to make up."

Star looked up from a pile of data spreadsheets, with dark circles under her eyes as well. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, her voice still steady: "Grandma Zhao, let's change the subject."

"How about talking about your time at the textile factory? For example, which kind of fabric was the hardest to sew in the workshop?"

Zhao Yun's eyes lit up.

"Oh, I have plenty to say about that." Her fingers dropped, and her typing speed actually quickened a bit. "Polyester blends are the most troublesome; the stitches go crooked if you're not careful..."

The words were simple, reflecting the earnestness of an older generation of craftspeople.

Click send.

The status quickly changed to "Read."

The Old Woman pushed up her reading glasses.

She just picked up her goji berry tea and took a few more sips; this was already the 108th cup she had drunk in the past half month.

Liu Shuo slumped in his chair, looking like a shadow puppet with its bones removed. Of the five provocative accounts he was responsible for, three had already been blacklisted by "Candle Shadow Shaking Red."

Although the remaining two were still active, every private message sent vanished like a stone dropped into the ocean, failing to even get a "Read" mark.

"Damn, this is boring!" he muttered, staring at the screen. "This old thing... bah, this sister, doesn't respond at all."

Star walked over and leaned down to look at the data records on his screen.

The blacklisting times were accurate to the second, with the content sent, account information, and related fan interactions all clearly marked.

"Good job." Star patted his shoulder. "Being blacklisted is also a result. At least we know what level of provocation will make her take action."

Liu Shuo chuckled twice and scratched his head, his slight sense of frustration dissipating.

Progress on Zhou Wenyuan's side was the "smoothest." Among his main accounts, four out of seven had received replies.

Although they were all just a brief sentence or two, like "The equipment is model XX" or "The pattern referenced the 'Fuji Diagram'," compared to other messages that went unanswered, this could already be considered "intense interaction."

At this moment, he was pondering over a new reply.

"Candle Shadow Shaking Red" had replied to him three minutes ago: "The ice pillar reflection was a deliberate design to create a sense of layering."

The tone was flat and businesslike.

Zhou Wenyuan pushed up his glasses and recorded in his notebook: "First time providing an explanation for scene design; there may be a potential need for 'professional recognition'."

After writing it, he felt it wasn't enough and added, "But the reply speed was 11 seconds slower than the average; perhaps she was busy with something else at the time."

Star stood behind him, looking at the line of words without speaking.

Half a month, fifteen days.

Thousands of accounts, tens of thousands of private messages.

The reply pattern of "Candle Shadow Shaking Red" finally began to emerge from the massive amount of noise.

She would reply to technical discussions, provided the questions were specific enough and did not touch upon core privacy.

She would read emotional venting but never reply.

She would blacklist persistent provocateurs, usually taking action after the third instance of similar content.

She completely ignored cooperation invitations, spam, and overly fanatical confessions.

Everything seemed very normal.

As normal as any female streamer who was somewhat famous, had a bit of an ego, and didn't want to completely alienate her fans.

But as Star stared at the summary graphs on the light screen, she felt something was off.

The fluctuations in reply frequency were too smooth.

So smooth it didn't seem like a human was operating it, but rather some kind of preset program. A fixed number of replies during specific times each day, with the interval between each reply differing by no more than five seconds, and a terrifyingly stable tone and phrasing.

Role-playing as a mortal always involves emotional ups and downs; one might be perfunctory when busy, chat more when free, or use more modal particles and emojis when in a good mood.

But "Candle Shadow Shaking Red" didn't.

Her replies were like they had been measured with a ruler—not a bit more, not a bit less.

"Star."

Chen Yu's voice came from the entrance of the booth.

The White-Haired Loli had changed into a red and black short outfit today. A string of clinking bone bells hung from her waist, and she stepped barefoot on the floor, a thin red string tied around her ankle.

She leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed, her red pupils scanning the group of "haggard" Ghost Messengers in the booth, her lips twitching.

"You guys look like you've had your Yang energy sucked dry by some succubus... no, it's Yin energy."

Star stood up and walked over.

Chen Yu whispered, "His Majesty sent me to ask if there are any leads yet."

Star side-stepped to let her see the data on the light screen.

Chen Yu stared at those eerily smooth curves, her brow slowly furrowing.

"Too disciplined," she muttered. "Disciplined to the point of not seeming like a living person."

"Like a pre-set puppet," Star added. "Or the external manifestation of some kind of Clone Technique."

Chen Yu's red pupils darted around.

"Miss Star means that the one replying to the private messages might not be the actual Torch Dragon, but perhaps a wisp of a split soul left on the account? The main body livestreams and cultivates as usual, while these trivial matters are handled automatically by the clone?"

"It's possible."

Star pointed to the reply time distribution chart. "Look, all replies are concentrated in three fixed periods: Noon, the Hour of the Rooster, and Midnight. The number of replies in each period is exactly the same, with an error of no more than single digits."

"This doesn't look like a human habit; it's more like the cycle of an array's operation."

Chen Yu stared at the chart for a long while, then suddenly grinned.

"Interesting." Her white hair swayed. "If it really is automatic processing by a clone, then what do our private messages count as in its eyes? Background noise?"

"Perhaps they don't even count as noise."

"Just as a person walking doesn't notice every grain of sand beneath their feet."