Chapter 9: Behind Him Lies the Entire South Ho's Obsession!
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Jinling City Cyber Police Unit, Command Center.
Silence.
Only the low hum from the server cabinets filled the room, like the labored breath of a dying giant beast.
Deputy Captain Liu Jie’s knuckles tapped again and again against the cold tabletop.
His gaze was fixed unblinkingly on the large screen, where the string of crimson numbers pulsed like needles pricking his temples with each beat.
“Five million two hundred thousand…”
A technician’s voice cracked dryly, trembling with disbelief.
“It’s still rising…”
Liu Jie’s eyelids twitched uncontrollably.
The donation figures sped by not slowing with time, but accelerating at a pace that sent chills down the spine.
Out of control.
Completely and utterly out of control.
In his more than ten years on the job, handling countless thorny cyber cases—from multinational hacker attacks to financial platform collapses—he had never felt so powerless as he did now.
A young man with a spotless record, pale almost to the point of transparency.
A student who had taken the college entrance exam three times and had never even reached the undergraduate cutoff score.
These two labels formed an absurdly stark contrast with the image on the screen: a figure who had solved world-class mathematical problems and stirred billions of funds.
Behind this, if it wasn’t an intricately organized and immensely powerful force pulling the strings, Liu Jie would sooner believe the sun would rise from the west tomorrow.
“Captain Liu, what do we do now?”
A young member of the task force stood up, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, his voice fraught with barely contained anxiety.
“If we don’t control this soon, the damage will be immense!”
“How do we control it?”
Liu Jie retorted, his voice laced with icy fatigue.
“Shut down the live stream? Freeze the accounts? Or just issue a notice branding this as online fraud?”
Each word he spoke seemed to weigh down the air in the command center even further.
Everyone fell silent.
They all knew the best window for intervention had long passed.
He Yu—this name—was no longer merely an individual.
He embodied the hopes and obsessions accumulated for decades by millions of students in Nanhe Province and the countless families behind them.
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It was a yearning for educational fairness, a longing for a top-tier university of their own, a near-tragic collective emotion.
To act rashly now would be like throwing a lit bomb into a warehouse filled with highly flammable fuel.
The ensuing storm of public opinion would tear them to shreds.
Liu Jie closed his eyes and rubbed his throbbing brow.
No, they could not remain passive any longer.
They had to find the sharpest blade to cut open this festering sore, exposing all the filth and rot inside for everyone to see.
They had to find a true authority!
One with enough weight, whose very words could silence all doubts!
A name—a flash of lightning—that could cut through the chaos in his mind.
Zhang Chengyan.
A towering figure in the domestic mathematics community.
The steady anchor of Tsinghua University.
Yes! That was him!
Liu Jie suddenly stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor.
He turned, his gaze piercing as it swept across the anxious faces before him.
“Contact Tsinghua University immediately!”
His voice was hoarse but resolute, leaving no room for argument.
“Send Professor Zhang Chengyan the full high-definition recording of He Yu’s live problem-solving session!”
“Tell him we suspect this is a massive fraudulent scheme, using academic research as a cover for illegal fundraising!”
Liu Jie’s chest rose and fell with intensity, determination sparking in his eyes.
“I believe that before a true academic authority, any deception will be laid bare!”
…
At the same time.
In every corner of Nanhe Province, an unprecedented online frenzy was unfolding.
The people of Nanhe, ignited to hope by He Yu, had spontaneously become the most fervent promoters and evangelists of “Longhai University.”
Like Columbus discovering a new world, they used every means possible to spread the somewhat rudimentary official website link into every crevice of the internet.
In a senior high school graduating class chat group:
“[Link: Official Website of Longhai University] Guys, did you see this? Nanhe is finally getting its own Project 985 university!”
“No way! For real? The same guy who solved the Riemann Hypothesis live?”
“Absolutely! The official site is up! Donations can even lower the admission cutoff score. My dad just donated ten thousand!”
“Wow! Your dad’s awesome! I’m gonna talk to my mom too—this is for my future, no matter what!”
On a local lifestyle forum:
The pinned post title was bold and red—“Epic Good News! The Spring of Nanhe Education Has Arrived! The Local Project 985 ‘Longhai University’ Emerges!”
Within an hour, replies surpassed a thousand.
“OP, are you a scammer? Nowadays, anyone can make stuff up.”
“The guy above, go watch He Yu’s live recording before you talk! How could that be made up? Even I, a total dunce, was blown away!”
“I just donated five hundred. Whether it’s real or not, I’m contributing to Nanhe’s education. What if it’s true? This five hundred could change my son’s life!”
In a middle-aged man’s family group chat:
Below the shared link were hopeful voice messages.
“Old Li, have you seen this? Let’s donate for the kids. Nanhe’s children suffer so much; every college entrance exam feels like crossing a bridge with thousands of enemies.”
“Yeah, donations can help lower scores. What a great deal! Even if it doesn’t work out, at least it’s buying hope.”
“I just checked—the donation account is legitimate and registered. For the kids, this money is worth it!”
Fervor.
Expectation.
Skepticism.
Hesitation.
Countless complex emotions interwove and fermented across the skies of Nanhe Province.
Most people, in truth, did not believe in this matter rationally.
How difficult is it to build a university, especially a top-tier one? It requires vast funds, elite faculty, and government approvals… How could a young man in his early twenties just call out and make it happen?
Yet none of that stopped this from becoming the province-wide topic of conversation, a vent for pent-up emotions.
Like a person long parched in the desert, who, even knowing the distant mirage is false, cannot help but run toward it.
Because at least it was a direction.
A direction of hope.
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