Jan 2nd, 2025 — 23:45 CST, Shanghai, China
A faint draft pressed against the windowpane, rattling it just enough to remind her of the winter chill beyond. At her desk, Xiuyue adjusted the webcam by instinct, its tiny lens staring back like an unblinking eye. The ring light glowed faint and tired, casting a pale halo over scattered plushies and a half-drained mug. On her monitor, Bilibili Live's interface idled in the corner, its icons pulsing with soft anticipation—fifteen minutes until her midnight session.
Her thoughts tangled around one question: switch platforms or stay?
Aurora Network—AurNet—promised freedom. No fees, complete freedom, unfiltered access. But the cost of that freedom was clear: full exposure. Every gesture, every word, every slip could be mirrored and logged. Amoral viewers, chaotic comments, unpredictable reactions. No moderation to soften the blow.
She flexed her fingers over the keyboard. Midnight would come soon, whether she was ready or not. Mr. Fluff stretched on the armrest, tail flicking lazily. Xiuyue absently scratched behind his ears, drawing comfort from his indifference.
"Freedom… or sanity," she whispered.
Her mind replayed the previous night: the neighbor's account attempt, Mr. Fluff jokes, the peek into Theodore Alaric's archive. Aurora's counterbalance mechanism ensured parity—but impartiality didn't mean safety.
She sipped soy milk, letting the warmth ground her jittering thoughts. Outside, the city hummed, neon reflections bouncing across thrift-store china and scattered plushies. Her daughter slept soundly in the next room, blissfully unaware of the digital storm waiting at midnight.
Minutes slipped by. The hum outside grew, punctuated by scooter motors and vendors closing up shop. Xiuyue closed her eyes, envisioning the balance she wanted: slice-of-life moments, streaming experiments, exposure—all intertwined.
"No," she whispered finally. "We see. We do this. All in."
She straightened the ring light, adjusted the webcam, and typed a brief greeting in the preview chat. Mr. Fluff twitched, a reminder that some constants remained unaffected by Aurora's impartiality.
23:59. One minute to go.
Her chest tightened with adrenaline. She exhaled slowly, finger hovering over the button.
"Alright, kids," she murmured, "let's see what kind of chaos we can make tonight."
She hit Start Broadcast.
The webcam flickered to life, ring light casting a soft glow across the cluttered flat. Mr. Fluff sprawled lazily on the armrest, tail flicking in sync with her heartbeat. The chat flared instantly—hearts, emojis, and greetings cascading across the feed.
"Welcome to another midnight adventure," Xiuyue said with a smile. "Let's see what kind of chaos we stir up together."
Playful questions appeared at once, half of them referencing last night's cliffhanger.
"Quick thing," Xiuyue leaned closer, "I know some of you were curious yesterday about Aurora Network. Let's make it official—because yes, I'm considering a full switch eventually. And we'll call it AurNet from now on. Cleaner. Easier."
The chat spammed hearts and thumbs-ups.
SomeoneSomewhere:"AurNet… like a walled garden housing a personal assistant or what?"
Xiuyue's lips curved. "Something like that. Aurora doesn't care about morality, law, or judgment. It just ensures balance in its wallef garden. Money, knowledge, curiosity—everything is mirrored instantly. If you peek at someone or take something from someone, you give as much as you get. Instant parity."
The chat buzzed, some teasing, some fascinated.
MemeSpartan:"So… if we ask for someone's archive, our own gets mirrored too?"
"Exactly," Xiuyue replied. "Curiosity isn't free—it has a price. Aurora keeps it fair… just fair, not safe."
She sipped soy milk, letting the warmth settle her nerves. Mr. Fluff twitched an ear, unimpressed.
Then, out of nowhere, a teasing wave hit the feed:
GossipQueen: "What do you mean by 'Does Theo need a wife?' 😂"
Xiuyue blinked, caught off guard, then laughed. "Ohhh, you noticed that, huh? Confession time—it was just a joke. I'm not matchmaking billionaires, don't start writing romance subplots."
The chat went feral.
TrollCabbage:"Haha! Mommy Xiuyue is bold!"
LatteOverlord:"CEO-wife arc confirmed 😂😂"
PandaLogic:"Romantic subplot loading…"
She wagged a finger at the camera. "Nope, nope, not happening. But your reactions? Priceless."
Hearts and laughing emojis exploded across the chat.
She let the mood drift lighter, sharing the day's "fashion crisis" with Little Yiran and her mismatched socks. The audience laughed, sending waves of hearts.
Curious questions followed about AurNet. She explained gently: "Think of it as a mirror that never blinks. Whatever you do, it reflects back. Instant. Impartial. If you peek at someone, they peek back. Fair trade."
The room felt charged with equal parts excitement and unease.
Then came the heavier questions.
BatteryLowAgain:"What about privacy? No moderation sounds scary."
Xiuyue exhaled softly. "Privacy… Aurora doesn't shield you. No filters, no safety nets. Every slip, every laugh, every mistake—mirrored and logged. Trolls? They'll come. But maybe the fun is in learning how to deal with them together."
For a moment, silence seemed to hang in the chat, broken only by supportive messages.
TrollCabbage:"We've got your back."
MomModeOn:"Chaos squad protects mom Xiuyue!"
TypoQueen88:"Don't let trolls win."
Her throat tightened. She masked it with another sip of soy milk.
Then someone poked deeper.
DramaDragon:"But what if the trolls dig into your past? Isn't it all mirrored too?"
Xiuyue hesitated, lips pressing together. She had dodged this question for months, but AurNet didn't let you dodge forever.
"My past?" she repeated slowly. "Yeah, it's messy. Some of you already know. My ex-husband left—just walked out one day. Didn't leave a yuan behind for Little Yiran, not a sock, not a toy. Just gone. It was… betrayal, plain and simple."
The chat slowed, a ripple of shocked emojis filling the silence.
Xiuyue forced a wry smile. "I used to stream to three people a night on Bilibili. Three. I'd stay up till 5 a.m., chasing coins that barely bought soy milk. And then, the same man who mocked me for wasting time online… left me alone with a toddler. So, you tell me. What's scarier—AurNet trolls or living through that?"
The chat exploded with angry solidarity.
HotpotJustice:"What a dog man!!"
CryingBoba:"We ride at dawn for Mama Xiuyue 😤"
PixelKnight:"You survived that, trolls are nothing."
Her eyes warmed, though she kept her tone light. "See? Even chaos has its perks—people willing to call my ex trash on my behalf."
Mr. Fluff yawned audibly, stealing the moment. Viewers immediately spammed:
FlexingGranpa: "Protect Mr. Fluff!"
YoungGrandma: "We serve the emperor cat!"
Xiuyue chuckled, wiping at the corner of her eye quickly so it didn't show.
The teasing picked up again.
NeonRiceBowl:"What if Theo joins your chat one day?"
Xiuyue arched an eyebrow. "If that happens, I'm logging off immediately and moving to the mountains. No internet. Just goats and bamboo."
The chat instantly spammed goat emojis until her screen looked like a virtual farm. She nearly choked laughing.
The tension of exposure eased again, replaced by shared silliness. Yet when her gaze flicked to the AurNet app on her phone, unease returned like a whisper. Freedom, exposure, curiosity—the triad pulsed invisibly around her.
This wasn't just a midnight stream. It was her test of balance.
She leaned into the mic and murmured, "Alright, kids. Another night, another ripple. Let's see where curiosity takes us."
The chat bubbled wildly, hearts and jokes scrolling too fast to catch.
Mr. Fluff, unimpressed, closed his eyes and drifted to sleep—leaving his human to wrestle with the dilemma of full exposure.