International Human Progress Association, Conference Center.

The three-day, three-night, mid-year closed-door meeting finally concluded at 6 a.m.

Due to the strict rules imposed by President Song Lingyuan, all phones had to be locked away before each closed meeting.

As a result, the moment the meeting ended, everyone instinctively sprang from their seats and rushed to the lockers to retrieve their phones as quickly as possible.

“Every time a closed meeting ends, my wife gets into a fight with me! I can’t really blame her, though—disappearing for three days at a time, what wife would put up with that?”

“So you’re saying that the President doesn’t have a wife, which is why he makes these rules, huh?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that! Don’t gossip about the President behind his back.”

“…Oh, come on, everyone knows that’s what you meant!”

“I didn’t! I just thought, maybe we should set the President up with someone so he’ll stop making us suffer.”

“Don’t drag someone else into this! With the President’s workaholic tendencies, who would want to marry him?”

In the storage room, as people who had finally finished the meeting murmured their complaints, they picked up their phones and left.

Passing through the conference hall, they saw President Song Lingyuan still seated at his place. They bowed respectfully and said, “See you tomorrow, President,” before quickly slipping away.

Many came to bid Song Lingyuan goodbye, but he simply nodded slightly without responding.

Soon, he grew impatient, dropping his deep blue eyes that were as calm as lake water, and returned to reading his documents.

Once everyone had left, he finally stood up, walked to the storage lockers, and opened his own locker.

Song Lingyuan pulled a wet wipe from his pocket, and with his slender fingers, meticulously cleaned the dust from his phone’s screen and case.

After discarding the wet wipe, he took a dry one from his other pocket and carefully wiped away any remaining moisture.

Only when the cleaning was done did he put the phone in his pocket and leave.

From the conference center, it took about half an hour to drive back to the Union’s headquarters.

In the back seat of the car provided for him, Song Lingyuan sat straight, his tall figure and immaculate suit showing no signs of wear despite the three-day meeting.

Assistant Li Rui climbed into the front passenger seat, and as soon as the car started, he turned around and quickly began reporting the work that had piled up over the past three days.

“Oh, and one more thing, President.” Li Rui slapped his forehead. “This just came in—a red alert incident occurred today: A streamer with a million followers has sparked a nostalgia trend for sleeping, and the global refusal-to-take or missed doses rate has visibly increased.”

“This morning, large groups of his followers even took their own mats and blankets into the local parks, seemingly to protest against the Union!”

Song Lingyuan frowned slightly.

Li Rui’s voice grew even faster:

“President, according to the analysis from the media monitoring team, this streamer built a fanbase using his looks, went viral by skirting boundaries, and recently broke into mainstream attention with a nostalgia theme. He’s rapidly gained a million followers and has been lowering the barriers to participation, encouraging people to sleep outdoors. His methods are highly calculated—there must be a mastermind behind him!”

“They suspect it’s a well-planned operation aimed at undermining anti-sleep medications!”

“So why hasn’t his account been banned yet? What are we waiting for?”

Song Lingyuan glanced at the report in Li Rui’s hand, his voice full of irritation:

“Waiting for everyone to start following him, taking us back thirty years in history?”

“No, no, I’ll contact the platform to ban his account right away…”

Li Rui stammered, almost biting his tongue, and hurriedly explained:

“President, because it’s a red alert case, I and the media team wanted to inform you first before taking any action…”

“Enough,” Song Lingyuan raised a finger in irritation. “Just handle it.”

Li Rui immediately began making calls.

A few minutes later, Song Lingyuan finished reviewing all the pending decisions.

He handed the paper documents to Li Rui, who neatly organized them in his briefcase according to Song Lingyuan’s usual preferences.

Song Lingyuan took out his phone, ready to go through his unread messages. But when he unlocked the screen, he paused.

The screen was still on the chat with that college streamer, Luo Yu, from three days ago.

“Hey, I’m going live tonight!”

“Tonight’s stream should be fun.”

“Stream link – Stream ended.”

He wondered how that young streamer’s broadcasts had gone over the past few days.

Song Lingyuan pursed his lips, scrolling down slowly.

There were two new messages from two days ago.

“Hey, why didn’t you show up?”

“[Crying emoji.jpg]”

No new messages had come in last night.

Why had he suddenly stopped sending them?

Did someone else send him more gifts?

Feeling a touch of annoyance, Song Lingyuan double-tapped the last message Luo Yu had sent—the crying emoji.

It was an image of a sad, tearful little character with blue tears streaming down his face. The face was unmistakably Luo Yu’s.

Song Lingyuan stared at the image for a while, then recalled the incident at University A, where the young streamer had rushed out of the student activity hall and bumped straight into his chest.

He had looked up with reddened eyes, pretending to glare at him fiercely, like a small, wounded animal.

Before he realized it, a message, “Been busy lately,” had already been sent.

Song Lingyuan frowned.

He didn’t need to explain his schedule to the other party.

He tried to retract the message, but a new one had already arrived:

“Hey, you finally replied! I’ve been waiting for you! You can replay the streams you missed; here’s the link.”

Without replying, Song Lingyuan turned to look out the window.

A few minutes passed.

Then, as if no one were watching, he picked up his phone again.

He put on his earphones and clicked on the replay of the stream he’d missed three days earlier.

The video started, showing the young streamer leaning back in a bathtub filled with water.

Under the bright bathroom lighting, Luo Yu’s eyelashes, lips, and neck were all wet, and although his transparent shirt was buttoned up, it seemed as if he was wearing nothing at all.

Song Lingyuan’s breath momentarily quickened as he instinctively tilted his phone closer to himself.

Was this kind of content really allowed on these streaming platforms?

He glanced at the viewer count; even with all this, the young streamer’s audience only numbered a few thousand. When Luo Yu announced he was going to “perform sleeping,” the view count even dropped to double digits.

Song Lingyuan thought, perhaps there was no need to monitor this streamer’s broadcasts any longer. He was far from being a major influencer with a million followers, incapable of stirring up any real trouble.

He was about to exit the stream when he suddenly saw Luo Yu turn and head toward a double bed draped with black lace!

The sight of that bed made Song Lingyuan’s brow twitch sharply!

With his long-standing familiarity with sleep research, he recognized that this bed would easily cost tens of thousands on the market. Where did this young streamer get so much money?

Sleeping was one thing, but did he really need a specialized bed just for realism?

Didn’t the streamer realize how much attention this would attract from certain types of viewers?

Swipe—

Before Luo Yu could even get on the bed, the live stream abruptly went gray.

A message appeared on the screen:

“We apologize. This streamer’s channel has been permanently banned due to a violation of platform regulations.”

Song Lingyuan: ?

He quickly returned to their chat screen.

The account that had just messaged him moments ago was now grayed out.

Every single playback link had instantly become invalid.

“President!”

From the front seat, Assistant Li Rui suddenly called out loudly.

Startled, Song Lingyuan’s finger slipped, and he accidentally saved the last crying emoji to his phone gallery.

Not bothering to delete it, he quickly slapped the phone face-down onto his lap, looking up with displeasure at Li Rui’s beaming smile.

“As I reported just now, the million-follower streamer who incited fans to sleep has had his entire channel shut down!”

Oblivious to anything unusual, Li Rui’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm after his successful task:

“The streamer Luo Yu’s content has been wiped from the internet!”

Song Lingyuan: .

Song Lingyuan: ……

Slowly, Song Lingyuan powered off his screen, tossed his phone onto the seat beside him, and said with a hint of chill:

“Your timing on this is impeccable now.”

Li Rui, grinning brightly, responded, “Thank you, President, for the praise! I’ll keep working hard.”

“…”

Calmly, Song Lingyuan mentally replayed his reasons for hiring Li Rui in the first place.

He ultimately concluded it was because he’d been fooled by the assistant’s impressive credentials.

Li Rui, riding the wave of his success, asked, “President, would you like me to investigate further into which forces might be backing this streamer?”

Song Lingyuan considered it for a moment, pressing his fingers to his temples.

“Most likely, he’s just an ordinary college student who made a careless mistake.”

“However, given the current situations, it’s possible various parties could try to use him to fuel the fire.”

Song Lingyuan’s gaze lifted slightly. “Bring him to the Union.”

“Understood…” Li Rui hesitated, sensing something odd. “Bring him?”

The President wasn’t usually this polite; anyone he wanted to meet would be “taken” or, at most, “brought in.”

Seeing that the President had already turned his attention elsewhere, Li Rui had no choice but to respond, “Roger that!”