Chapter 10: Shaking the Internet Again
Back in his cramped apartment, Wu Yifan lit a cigarette, the flame flickering in the dim light. The Intelligent Enhancer still felt like a fever dream—muscle strength ×5 had turned him into a human tank. What if he cranked it to ×100? Could he survive a missile strike? He snickered at the thought. At that point, even… well, even parts of him would be less "weapon" and more "legendary artifact," capable of destruction with a brush. *Not that I'm planning to test that*, he thought, stubbing out the cigarette.
Regret pricked him—enhancement points were harder to earn than he'd thought. He glanced at his watch, the silver face glowing faintly, and mentally called out to the Enhancer's projection, Xue'er (a holographic interface designed to assist users).
"Xue'er, can I trigger tasks whenever I want?" he asked.
Xue'er's figure materialized, her form a shimmer of blue light against the wall. "No, Master. Once the random task program is activated, it's irreversible. New tasks only appear when enhancement points are depleted. With 1 point remaining, no new task will generate until you use it."
"Got it," Wu muttered, surprised. He'd assumed he controlled when tasks started, not the other way around. *Good to know—hoard those points.*
The next morning, Wu's walk to work took him past Liu's Wonton Shop, still a circus of activity. Crowds jostled for photos, some holding signs that read "RUNNING EMPEROR, WE LOVE YOU!" A few foreigners—tourists, by their cameras and maps—gaped at the alley where the chase had happened, pointing and murmuring in broken Chinese.
The "Running Emperor" storm hadn't just hit Beitian—it had gone global.
After grabbing lunch, Wu headed to Infinity KTV, his mind lingering on the chaos outside. He'd calmed down since yesterday's thrill, but curiosity gnawed at him. He settled into his security booth, fired up his clunky computer, and typed "Running Emperor" into the search bar.
The first hit was a major video platform, where his chase clip still dominated the top spot, its daily views now cresting 50 million. Below it, a war raged in the comments:
- *"Running Emperor > Ding Shihan! Who needs songs when we've got a real-life superhero?"*
- *"Ding's album broke records! This is just a fluke!"*
- *"Fight! Fight! My money's on the Emperor—he outran a motorcycle. Can Ding do that?"*
Ding Shihan, the pop prodigy hailed as "China's MJ," had ruled the charts for months. Now, a blurry clip of a street chase was nipping at her heels. Wu scrolled, amused. Fan wars were a new one for him.
Then, a new video popped up, catapulted to the front page by a tidal wave of shares. Its title: *"Do You Understand the Loneliness of the Running Emperor?"*
Wu clicked, his breath catching.
It was *last night's alley fight*.
The footage was grainy, the alley anonymized—no landmarks, no signs to trace the location—but there was no mistaking *him*. The silhouette, the way he stood still as pipes and machetes rained down, the flicker of a cigarette in his hand… and that final spark when the teenage girl's pipe hit his shoulder. It was like watching a scene from a superhero movie, but raw, unscripted, *real*.
Text overlays rolled across the screen, dramatic and breathless:
Faced with machetes, with steel pipes—
He lit a cigarette. Stared at the stars.
I swear I heard his silent sigh.
I read the loneliness in his back.
He smokes not tobacco, but the solitude of standing above all.
He's not ordinary. But here he is, among us.
No need to ask *where*—just *what*.
That背影 (bèiyǐng—back view)—familiar, isn't it?
No doubt: he's yesterday's Running Emperor.
But is "Running Emperor" enough? A thousandth of his greatness?
I'm no arrogant fool—I won't claim certainty. But I'd bet my life:
He's Chinese. A son of Yan and Huang.
Let us call him… the Yanhuang Miracle.
Wu snorted. *Silent sigh?* He'd been thinking about how to ditch the girl, not brooding. But the hype was undeniable. The comments section erupted:
- *"He's a god! Look at those sparks! That's not human!"*
- *"Yanhuang Miracle—perfect. Screw 'Running Emperor.'"*
- *"Korean netizens are saying he's theirs. LMFAO. We saw the video—he's in Beitian! Chinese!"*
The video's views skyrocketed, crashing through 10 million in hours. Major news sites picked it up, their headlines screaming:
"Running Emperor Strikes Again: Is He Human?"
"Yanhuang Miracle—China's Secret Superhero?"
"Fans Clash: Is the 'Miracle' Greater Than Pop Sensation Ding Shihan?"
"Global Debate: Who *Is* This Mystery Man?"
Forums burned with arguments. Chinese netizens flooded threads, defending his nationality with memes and screenshots of the alley's vague landmarks ("That drainpipe! Totally Beitian style!"). Korean users fired back, citing "cultural similarities" and "historical ties." Even Western media weighed in, with one outlet speculating, "Is this China's answer to Captain America?"
Wu scrolled, half-amused, half-irritated. The nationality debate grated—he was as Chinese as the dumplings at Liu's shop. Maybe he'd sneak into the "Yanhuang Miracle" forum later, drop a subtle clue. *"Born and raised in Beitian. Eat jianbing for breakfast. Definitely not Korean."*
But for now, he leaned back, watching the numbers climb. The Running Emperor, the Yanhuang Miracle—he was becoming a legend, and he hadn't even lifted a finger to promote it.
*Weird*, he thought. *But not bad.*
A notification pinged on his screen: the video had dethroned Ding Shihan's album as the week's most viewed. Wu grinned. Take that, pop stars.
He closed the browser, but the buzz lingered. The world was hunting for him, and he was just… sitting in a KTV security booth, smoking a cigarette.
*Pseudogod or not*, he thought, *this is getting interesting.*
Outside, the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of orange. Infinity KTV's neon sign flickered to life, casting a glow over the street. Wu checked his watch: 1 enhancement point left.
Enough, for now.
Whatever came next—more videos, more fans, more goons sent by the suit guy—he'd handle it.
After all, the Yanhuang Miracle had a reputation to uphold.
Sort of.
He lit another cigarette, smiling to himself. The internet was a wild place.
And he was just getting started.