185: Chapter 185 New Official Takes Office, Three Ironclad Rules

Three minutes after Lin Chen took the seat of Chairman of the platform, he forcibly activated the platform-wide alarm system.

It wasn't an emergency.

It was a mandatory meeting notice.

[Chairman's Order: All shareholders holding more than 0.1% of shares must immediately connect to the shareholders' General Meeting.]

[Absentees: Mandatory equity dilution of 50%.]

[Countdown: 60 seconds.]

59 seconds later.

In front of Lin Chen's black throne, over 9,700 portals exploded in the void. The shareholders—some still in light-woven humanoid forms, some mechanical bodies, and some simply a collection of concepts—tumbled into the meeting space in a sorry state.

"Lin Chen! Have you gone mad?!" an old shareholder covered in crystals roared. "I was in the middle of a critical experiment to break through to a Level 8 civilization, and you forcibly interrupted it—"

"Experiment suspended." Lin Chen sat on the throne, with three lines of golden text floating behind him—the core clauses of the New Platform Basic Law he had just drafted.

He scanned the room.

His gaze lingered on several familiar figures: the remnants of the Golden Throne Conglomerate, survivors of the Order Defender Alliance, and those old-guard shareholders who had once secretly tripped him up.

"Today's meeting is only about three things," Lin Chen spoke, his voice amplified by his authority, vibrating directly within the consciousness cores of all shareholders.

"The first iron rule: Prohibit Plot Kills."

He pulled up the backend database and opened the [Forced Plot Intervention Records].

The list unfurled, densely packed:

[World H-882: To increase 'love-hate entanglement' appeal, the protagonist's Dao companion was forced to betray them at the wedding, resulting in a 210% increase in emotional output for that world.]

[World S-441: To create a 'desperate reversal,' an apocalyptic natural disaster was unleashed just as the civilization was about to break through dimensions, resulting in record-breaking audience tips.]

[World K-742 (this world): Original script 'Lin Chen is beheaded and refined into a Fortune-attracting Puppet'... ]

Behind each record, the name of the Screenwriting Team, the approving shareholder, and the resulting profit share were marked.

"From today onwards," Lin Chen clicked [Permanently Delete], "all forced plot intervention functions are disabled. The Screenwriting Team may no longer tamper with the fate of any world for any reason."

"You are destroying the very foundation of the platform!" a shareholder who came from a screenwriting background shrieked. "Without plot conflict, where will the audience appeal come from?!"

"Then let conflict happen naturally." Lin Chen looked at him. "You're called 'Tragedy Pen,' right? In your four hundred years of practice, you've personally written 1,300 clan exterminations, 700 instances of master-disciple betrayal, and 400 betrayals of beloved ones."

He pulled up this shareholder's backend operation records.

"In the past three hundred years, your cumulative profit share from forced plot interventions has reached eighty trillion dimension points. Meanwhile, the world characters you've destroyed—according to incomplete statistics, at least seventy million consciousnesses have suffered permanent emotional exhaustion due to 'excessive tragic stimulation.'"

Lin Chen clicked open the punishment interface.

"Now, according to Articles 1-3 of the new regulations: Those who intentionally manufacture unnatural tragedies for profit shall be fined ten times their earnings and forced to experience all the tragic plots they have written."

[Punishment Executed]

[Deducting from 'Tragedy Pen' account: 800 trillion dimension points]

[Insufficient account balance, initiating mandatory equity mortgage]

[Diluting shares from 0.7% to 0.07%...]

"No!!!" Tragedy Pen's phantom began to distort.

But the more terrifying part was yet to come.

Lin Chen activated the [Karma Backlash Power], throwing this shareholder into the 1,300th clan extermination script he had written—and set it to a loop.

Shrill screams echoed in the meeting space for three seconds and were then muted.

"Next." Lin Chen looked at the other shareholders. "Who else has an objection?"

Dead silence.

"Very well." He unfurled the second line of golden text.

"The second iron rule: Return of World Autonomy."

At this moment, the same prompt popped up in the management backends of all live-streamed worlds across the platform:

[Your world has been released from 'Platform Mandatory Management Status']

[You may choose:]

[1. Continue collaborating with the platform, decide live-stream content autonomously, and enjoy a 90% share]

[2. Completely disconnect and become an independent world (will lose dimension channels)]

[Please decide within 72 hours]

"Lin Chen!" A shareholder controlling seventeen resource worlds stood up. "Those low-dimensional worlds don't understand how to manage themselves at all! They'll ruin their own worlds!"

"Then let them ruin them." Lin Chen said calmly. "That is their freedom."

"But the resource output of those worlds—"

"It's no longer yours." Lin Chen pulled up a resource flow chart. "In the past three hundred years, the total resource output of the seventeen worlds you controlled was approximately ninety quadrillion dimension points. 82% of that was taken by you, 18% was left for the worlds themselves—and the beings within those worlds received less than 0.3%."

He clicked [Resource Tracing].

"According to Articles 2-5 of the new regulations: All illegally extracted resources must be returned within thirty days at 300% of the current market price. For those who fail to return on time, their equity will be forcibly auctioned."

On the shareholder list, red warnings instantly lit up for over four hundred names—their account balances were nowhere near enough to pay the 300% restitution.

"You... you're asking for our lives!" a shareholder said tremblingly.

"No." Lin Chen shook his head. "I'm just making you spit out what you've eaten."

He looked at the consciousnesses of the over nine thousand connected live-streamed worlds—some were incarnations of the Heavenly Dao, some were collective civilizational consciousnesses, and some were elected representatives.

"Now," he said to those worlds, "the choice is in your hands."

"Stay and collaborate with me; you take 90%, and the platform only takes a 10% service fee."

"Or leave and be completely free, but sail in solitude from now on."

Thirty seconds later.

The first world made its choice: [A-001 Cultivation Great World: Chose to continue collaboration]

Then the second, the third...

Within 72 hours, 97.3% of the worlds chose to stay.

They were fed up with being manipulated, but they also knew the risks of complete isolation. And a 90% share ratio—this meant their world's output could finally be truly used for their own development.

"The third iron rule," Lin Chen unfurled the last line of golden text, "is also the most important."

"For tipping income, creators will receive a 90% share."

When these words were spoken, the audience portal exploded.

All individuals from high-level civilizations currently watching live streams simultaneously received a system prompt:

[The platform economic system has been restructured]

[90% of the dimension points you tip will go directly to the creator, with 10% as a platform service fee]

[Historical tipping data is being recalculated; the difference will be paid out within 30 days]

The next second.

Creator accounts in countless worlds began to receive frantic deposits.

A destitute swordsman in a certain martial arts world looked at the eighty million dimension points that suddenly appeared in his account—that was for all the tips from his bloody battles over the past thirty years; the platform used to give him only 10%, and now the 80% difference had been reimbursed.

He knelt on the ground and wailed.

The scientist team in a certain sci-fi world received tens of billions collectively in their accounts—they had just completed a cross-dimensional breakthrough, and audience tips rained down; now they could finally get their deserved share.

A red-clothed wraith in a certain supernatural world (not Little Red Clothes) looked at the seven hundred million dimension points reimbursed to her account, remained silent for ten minutes, then disbanded her scare team and decided to use the money to open a "horror-themed amusement park."

Across the platform, countless creators who had once been exploited received their due rewards at this moment.

As for the audience—those individuals from high-level civilizations had no objection. They tipped to gain emotional stimulation in the first place; whether the money went to the platform or the creator made no difference to them.

But the shareholder end collapsed.

"90%?! Then what do we eat?!"

"Who will bear the platform's operating costs?!"

"This is a suicidal reform!"

Lin Chen waited for them to finish arguing.

Then he pulled up the breakdown of platform operating costs.

"According to the audit," he said calmly, "the platform's annual operating cost is about thirty billion dimension points. Last year, the total tipping amount across the entire platform was ninety-eight quadrillion dimension points."

"According to the old share ratio, the platform took 90%, which is eighty-eight quadrillion, two hundred trillion."

"After deducting the thirty billion in costs, the net profit was eighty-eight quadrillion, one hundred ninety-seven trillion."

"According to the new share ratio, the platform takes 10%, which is nine quadrillion, eight hundred trillion."

"After deducting the thirty billion in costs, the net profit is nine quadrillion, seven hundred ninety-seven trillion."

He looked at those shareholders.

"Profits have dropped by 90%, right?"

"But have you ever considered—that 90% profit was never supposed to be yours in the first place."

"That is blood and sweat money exchanged by countless creators with their lives, their emotions, and their struggles."

"You are just middlemen taking a cut."

"And now," Lin Chen smiled, "I don't need so many middlemen anymore."

He clicked on the equity restructuring interface.

"According to the new regulations, 50% of the platform's net profit will be used for the World Development Fund, 30% for technical upgrades, and 20% for shareholder dividends."

"This means your annual dividend income will go from the original astronomical price to..."

The calculation results were displayed.

The average dividend for each shareholder had shrunk by 98.7%.

"Of course," Lin Chen added, "shareholders who are unwilling to accept this can exit now."

"I will acquire all your equity at 110% of the current market price."

Silence.

Then, the first shareholder raised their hand.

It was the remnants of the Golden Throne Conglomerate—they had already been severely weakened in the previous financial war and now only sought to cash out and leave.

"I... I'll sell."

"I'll sell too."

"Me too..."

Equity transfer agreements flew in like snowflakes.

Lin Chen's account began to spend frantically—but he didn't use his own money at all.

He used those historical tipping differences just reimbursed to the creators.

After receiving the reimbursement payments, a significant portion of those creators chose to "invest in Lin Chen's equity acquisition plan"—because they knew that only if Lin Chen was in power could their 90% share continue.

The funds were in a cycle.

Lin Chen used the creators' money to acquire the shareholders' equity.

The acquired equity gave him stronger control over the platform.

Stronger control ensured that the 90% share policy remained unchanged.

With the policy unchanged, creators were more willing to invest in him...

A perfect closed loop.

One hour later.

Lin Chen's shareholding ratio skyrocketed from 33.6% to 58.2%.

Exceeding 51%.

Absolute controlling interest achieved.

"Alright." He closed the equity trading interface and looked at the remaining shareholders—those who chose to stay were either wealthy audience members who had supported him early on or smart people who saw the situation clearly.

"Now, meeting adjourned."

"In three days, the platform will launch a new system."

"At that time, you're welcome to experience..."

"A truly free market."

The portals closed.

The shareholders disappeared.

Lin Chen sat alone on his throne, watching the new data constantly ticking on the backend:

World Satisfaction Index: Soared from 17% to 89%

Creator Enthusiasm Index: Soared from 22% to 94%

Audience Emotional Acquisition Efficiency: Due to the increase in creator enthusiasm, it actually rose by 35%

Everything was getting better.

Except—

He clicked on the monitoring log at the lowest level of the platform.

There was a hidden record generated just thirty seconds ago:

[Epoch Administration Bureau · Protocol Triggered]

[When the platform economic system is restructured, the 'Civilization Screening Reboot Program' is automatically activated]

[Countdown: 90 days]

[Program Content: Unknown]

Lin Chen stared at that record and smiled.

"As expected, there's still a back hand."

He closed the log.

Then he connected to Su Qingyu's communication:

"Qingyu, how is the recruitment for the new Screenwriting Team going?"

"Three hundred people have already been screened, all of whom are former creators who have experienced forced plot persecution."

"Very good. Have them prepare to take over the first project."

"What project?"

Lin Chen pulled up that hidden record.

"The name is..."

"'How to Turn the Epoch Administration Bureau's Backdoor Program Into Our New Toy in One Month.'"

Outside the window, the sunlight of a new era was spilling over ten thousand worlds.

And deep in the shadows, an even older enemy had already begun to awaken.