119: Chapter 119 Good heavens, Glorious Technology was sanctioned because of this.

The entire internet was dumbfounded by the corroboration from the second video.

With two videos as evidence.

Combined with the obvious living room features in the second video.

As long as they were fans of Guanghui Technology, they could basically recognize at a glance that this place was the first-floor living room of the Western-style house in Lu Li's hometown, where he had live-streamed once.

Even the brand of the TV and the color and size of the sofa were exactly the same.

It couldn't possibly be such a coincidence, right?

With this, the internet completely exploded.

“Could this Virtual Helmet belong to Guanghui Technology?”

“This is insane! So those people playing the game are also Lu Li's relatives?”

“I think this is a moment that will go down in history. After all, it's the first time humanity has truly entered a virtual world!!!”

“Holy crap, I'm seriously green with envy. If I had a relative like that, I'd willingly trade ten years of my life. I'd worship them on the spot!!”

“Wait, why are you guys so sure this video was posted by Guanghui Technology?”

“Yeah, the person upstairs is quite rational. That sofa color and the Xiaomi TV brand are very common around here too.”

Naturally, some people also believed that this video might not belong to Guanghui Technology.

After all, there were so many high-tech companies in China.

Guanghui Technology being so incredible always made other tech companies look like they were raising a bunch of useless bums.

The late-night internet remained sleepless because of this.

As the second video of 'lying down and playing games' went viral, the direction of public opinion began to shift in a bizarre way.

The grief-stricken netizens, who had been immersed in the 'darkest hour of domestic technology,' now had their souls completely captivated by this seemingly absurd video.

Zhihu.

The thread 'How to view Guanghui Technology facing a matter of life and death,' which had been sitting at the top of the hot list, was violently replaced by a new question within just ten minutes.

“How to evaluate the leaked 'second world' test video from Lu Yaoguang's WeChat Moments?”

There were no long-winded, tedious essays.

Pinned at the top of the answer section was a post by a hardcore blogger with the ID 'Looking at Silicon-Based Under a Microscope'.

He only posted three images.

The first image was a sharpened close-up of the family photo next to the TV cabinet at the 14-second mark of the video.

In the photo, Lu Li—the man who always looked half-asleep and was jokingly called 'the strongest kept man' by netizens, but was actually the behind-the-scenes boss of Guanghui Technology—was holding Su Qingxue by the waist.

The second image was a comparison of the scenery outside the window in the video using Google Maps.

Coordinates locked: Lu Li's hometown villa.

The third image was a GIF.

The blogger had slowed down the moment the zombie was shattered in the video by sixty times.

The caption had only one line of text:

“Thanks for the invite. Just landed in the US, hands shaking so much it's hard to type.”

“Did you see the third image clearly? The trajectory of the zombie's bodily fluids splashing perfectly conforms to the Navier-Stokes equations of fluid mechanics. With current civilian graphics cards, even with dual-way Titan SLI, just calculating the physical rendering of this single frame would take ten minutes of burning.”

“But in the video, it's in real-time.”

“Conclusion: This isn't some game CG at all.”

“This is computing power hegemony.”

“We thought Guanghui Technology was like a chick caught by an eagle, shivering in fear.”

“We were wrong.”

“Completely wrong.”

“What the United States is using its entire national strength to ban is not some ordinary phone company or Robot Company at all!!”

“They are afraid of a creator... that is about to wake up!!”

“With the R&D speed of Guanghui Technology's development team, I suspect we'll be celebrating the Lunar New Year on Mars in a few years!!”

After this answer was posted,

there was a complete silence in the comment section for a full three minutes.

No one spoke.

Everyone staring at their phone screens felt an electric current rush straight from their tailbone to the top of their skull, making their scalps tingle.

The previous grief, sympathy, and feeling of powerlessness were completely shattered at this moment.

In their place was an almost frenzied shudder of excitement.

“Holy crap...”

“So it's because they're too strong? Strong enough to terrify the biggest bully on the block?”

“That's terrifying to think about! In other words, Lu Li lying flat at home was actually him secretly prepping a nuke?”

“Be more confident, upstairs! This is way scarier than a nuke! This is a dimensional strike!”

Of course, there were voices of doubt.

An influencer in the VR field jumped out to make sarcastic remarks: “Stop daydreaming. Brain-Computer Interface? Current technology struggles even to control a prosthetic limb, and you're talking about a second world? This is just a gimmick to fool laymen.”

However,

this kind of seemingly rational and objective commentary didn't survive past eight in the morning.

At eight o'clock, the sky was bright.

Guanghui Technology's official account updated across all platforms right on the dot.

No playing the victim.

No protests.

Not even an explanation.

There was only a poster with silver lines on a black background.

In the vast starry sky, a silver-gray helmet full of industrial aesthetics floated quietly, with blue neural light paths pulsing on its surface like blood vessels.

The copy was extremely minimalist and incredibly arrogant:

[Virtual Reality, June 1st, 10,000-player real-machine open beta.]

[Not just a game, this is your... second life.]

Boom—!

This image was like a resounding slap, hitting all the doubters hard in the face.

It was also like a shot of adrenaline, injected straight into the long-stopped heart of China's tech circle.

It was an official announcement!

Not a CG! Not a concept art! It was a freaking real-machine open beta for everyone!

And it was just four months away!

The Weibo servers, without suspense, crashed this morning.

...

Yanjing, Dami Technology headquarters.

Lei Jun had just dozed off for a bit on the sofa in his office when he was startled awake by an urgent knock on the door.

“President Lei! Look at the news! Quickly look at the news!”

The assistant practically barged in, holding a tablet computer, his face flushed red—it was hard to tell if it was from excitement or from running too fast.

Lei Jun rubbed his sleepy eyes and took the tablet.

On the screen was precisely that dominating poster from Guanghui Technology.

“Virtual Reality helmet... open beta...”

Lei Jun muttered to himself, his fingers gently tracing the screen.

The sorrow of sharing a common fate from last night vanished into thin air at this moment.

Replacing it was a thrill that only a tech fanatic could feel.

“Old Yu, oh Old Yu...” Lei Jun suddenly burst into laughter, his eyes growing moist as he laughed. “It seems we were worrying about them for nothing last night.”

He thought of Lu Li, who was always smiling and looked completely harmless.

“This kid hid it way too deep.”

Lei Jun stood up, walked to the French window, looked at the rising sun outside, and took a deep breath. “Send down the notice to suspend all projects in Xiaomi's VR department. Also, help me contact President Su. I want to reserve a spot in the first batch of the open beta. No, I'll go to Mingzhu City in person!”

At the same time,

Shencheng, Huawei headquarters.

CEO Yu, who was famous for his 'big mouth,' was staring at his phone screen, his mouth open wide enough to fit an egg.

“What the...”

CEO Yu slapped his thigh and said 'good' three times in a row.

“I knew it! I knew this kid wasn't someone to be trifled with! No wonder he dared to go head-to-head with the United States, he had a trump card in his hand all along!”