Chapter 962: China

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Main text:

She slept through the night without dreams, waking before six-thirty, the sky still dark.

After using the restroom, Luo Quan propped a pillow behind her and started playing on her phone.

Since her physical condition improved, many things have become much more convenient.

In the past, during weather like this, she’d need to put on a coat just to use her phone, or her fingers would tremble from the cold.

Now, she only needed to wear a thermal undershirt and felt no chill at all.

Unfortunately, despite her greatly enhanced physique, her monthly period remained perfectly punctual—never late, never missed.

As the saying goes, the strongest fortress is always breached from within.

Luo Quan’s Pure Void Golden Body could withstand Bai Xingwei’s primordial sword qi head-on, yet when her period came, she still bled just the same.

She had specifically asked Bai Xingwei whether there was any medicine on the Yuanyu Star that could eliminate this monthly bleeding debuff.

It wasn’t a serious issue, but having to place something beneath her for several days every month was undeniably uncomfortable.

With the Yuanyu Star’s advanced technology, there must be some remedy for this.

But Bai Xingwei’s reply left her speechless:

“There’s definitely medicine for it, but I’d advise you not to use it.

Menstruation means you’re fertile; older women naturally stop once they reach menopause.

Unless you’re absolutely certain you’ll never have children, better keep this debuff intact.

I know many female cultivators in the past thought menstruation was a nuisance, so they severed their Red Dragon early.

But when they later found a partner and wanted children, things became extremely troublesome.

Once the Red Dragon is severed, it’s not impossible to restore it—but it consumes vast amounts of time and resources, and the failure rate is high; bad luck could mean years of torment.

None of those female elders who severed their Red Dragon ever stopped regretting it. I urge you to think carefully before bringing up this absurdity again.”

After hearing Bai Xingwei’s advice, Luo Quan never mentioned it again.

She didn’t know whether she’d want children in the future, but if it meant causing even semi-permanent damage to her bodily functions, she absolutely couldn’t accept it.

Originally, she thought that with the Yuanyu Star’s advanced technology, if they could easily cut it off, they could just as easily restore it—but it wasn’t that simple.

If that’s the case, then better to leave things as they are.

She’d lived with it for so many years already; she’d grown used to it. Sometimes, if it was delayed by a day or two, she’d actually feel uneasy.

She opened her phone’s trending list—the news about Qian Ge’s conviction was still trending, though the number of trending topics had dropped since last night.

She still felt a bit regretful about losing the top spot, since trending heat brought her heat points and attribute points; tonight could’ve been a big haul, but she only got a moderate one.

But what could she do? She’d run into Qian Ge.

Qian Ge’s case carried unique influence in the entertainment industry; few could match his impact. Luo Quan losing wasn’t unfair.

No one knows whether accident or tomorrow will come first—Qian Ge probably understands this better than anyone now.

He might have escaped legal punishment, but his doting mother personally sent her own son to prison—the truth behind it was truly laughable.

As for the female protagonist of this incident, many fans had asked her for an evaluation.

Luo Quan’s response was that she couldn’t evaluate it, because only the girl herself knew whether she’d truly consented.

But regardless, standing up to expose Qian Ge and ensuring he faced legal consequences was undoubtedly a great deed.

As for any possible stains on her past, there was no need to over-criticize—after all, she hadn’t committed a crime.

It was said the girl had now become an internet celebrity, earning substantial money daily through live-streamed product sales, with a fanbase cheering her as “Sister so fierce!” and “Sister so beautiful!”

Overall, she’d gained quite a few benefits.

And the other women who had been victimized had finally received their belated justice.

As for Qian Ge, he was undoubtedly the biggest loser—overnight, he went from top entertainment idol to top prison celebrity; his career was essentially destroyed, and besides serving thirteen years, he’d also be deported for ten.

By the time he returned to China, he’d be nearly fifty.

After his imprisonment, Qian Ge was quickly found to have tax evasion issues and owed over six hundred million yuan in back taxes.

Combined with the breach penalties from terminated brand contracts, his total losses were estimated at over one billion yuan.

And this single donation alone would rank him among the top fifteen donors on China’s charity leaderboard.

She knew this so well because she’d seen the seventh trending topic: Dongzi had become China’s foremost philanthropist by donating 14.9 billion RMB.

Unlike donations to personal charitable foundations, this went directly to official charitable institutions—real, verifiable donations.

For Dongzi to donate so much despite JD.com’s recent poor performance was truly remarkable.

Back when JD.com was booming, it had seemed poised to rival Taobao.

But due to a series of reasons, JD.com gradually declined, heading irreversibly downhill.

Of course, Taobao’s situation wasn’t great either—but this was an era of competing in mediocrity; you didn’t need to be excellent, just less terrible than your rivals.

Although the collective collapse of China’s internet companies wasn’t new, everything had its causes.

Bilibili began its decline after abandoning gaming and anime-related businesses; Taobao’s downfall started when its boss lost sight of its identity.

Dongzi’s case was slightly different—his story began with a romantic encounter in America.

At the time, JD.com was still doing well, Dongzi had a beautiful wife, and he was famous for the meme “doesn’t know his own wife’s beauty.”

After that night, his meme was replaced; people stopped calling him “Dong Ge” and started calling him “Dong Zi.”

Based on the court’s latest verdict, combined with media reports and rumors, the full picture was now quite clear.

It was the story of a vain woman who offered herself to him, and her sycophant, upon finding out, flew into a rage and called the police.

The woman lied about being raped to save face, but hotel footage and later testimonies proved it was entirely consensual—everything was the sycophant’s delusion.

As a billionaire, Dongzi committed a mistake many men would make; the only thing critics could fault him for was his terrible taste.

As a married man, his actions were a flagrant betrayal—utterly lacking in morality and responsibility.

At the time of the incident, his wife was pregnant with their second child, and she appeared in court still visibly pregnant.

From then on, JD.com began its downhill slide.

As for the couple’s relationship, outsiders couldn’t know for sure, but pretending nothing had happened and continuing as if everything were harmonious was impossible.

But regardless of Dongzi’s past moral flaws, donating such a vast sum deserved to be loudly celebrated.

If entrepreneurs at his level all donated as generously as Dongzi, more children in China would have enough to eat and access to healthcare.

Unfortunately, according to netizens’ charity rankings, only four people in all of China had donated over ten billion yuan.

First was Dongzi, then the boss of Meituan, followed by Lei Zong of Xiaomi, and finally the boss of Anta.

After that, donations dropped off a cliff—the fifth highest was only 3.9 billion yuan.

As netizens marveled that Dongzi, a man who came from the countryside, hadn’t forgotten to give back after becoming wealthy, it was truly rare,

they were then stunned to discover that the fifth-place donor—the one who gave 3.9 billion—was Luo Quan.

Fans knew Luo Quan had long been involved in charity, donating a portion of every album’s and every movie’s earnings.

No one else in the entertainment industry had maintained this practice.

Crucially, she never used donations to evade taxes—she paid exactly what she owed, never once cheating.

It sounded like a fairy tale, but it was real—the figures were right there: 3.9 billion RMB, pure and unadulterated.

Once this data was revealed, it finally displaced Qian Ge’s embarrassing top trending spot, and Luo Quan’s name rose back to number one.

Netizens, upon seeing how much Luo Quan had donated, were stunned and left comments:

“Oh my god, is Luo Quan’s donation amount real? A celebrity surpassing so many entrepreneurs and ranking fifth? Is she giving away her entire fortune to charity?”

“You’re underestimating her—Luo Bao now has countless income streams; her movies earn billions, her albums keep breaking records.

Plus, her games—World of Warcraft, Overwatch, Final Fantasy, Resident Evil—are among the most popular online and single-player titles worldwide!

So this 3.9 billion probably doesn’t even make up a large portion of her savings.”

“Actually, you’ve all overlooked one thing: she’s also the second-largest shareholder of Nikola Motors, holding 30%—and this second-largest American electric vehicle company now has a market cap exceeding $100 billion. Calculate her current net worth.”

“Holy shit, $30 billion. What a super-rich woman.”

“Even converting billions to millions would still be more than most people earn in ten lifetimes—Luo Quan’s wealth is truly insane.”

“Actually, how much wealth she has isn’t the point—what matters is that she’d already donated heavily before investing in Nikola Motors.”

“Exactly—we can’t ignore this: Luo Quan has been tirelessly donating since her debut.”

“Remember when she crowdfunded one hundred million for a swimsuit shoot? She donated every single dollar she raised!”

“Haha, I’d forgotten that—I only remember Luo Bao’s swimsuit was totally white.”

“Shouldn’t it be big?”

“Wrong—I think it was perky!”

“Is it possible all these are features of Luo Bao’s swimsuit?”

“What are you guys talking about? I don’t understand.”

………………

The charity discussion had been going well, but within a few messages, the topic had veered off again.

But there was no doubt: topping the trending list this time brought her entirely positive effects.

As China’s highest-donating celebrity, Luo Quan had set an excellent example.

If other celebrities had any conscience, they’d likely follow suit and donate something.

Even if it was just for the heat or showmanship, as long as they donated, it was still a good thing.

If she could truly inspire these entertainers, Luo Quan would be very pleased.

She only feared these celebrities had become numb—flush with more money than they could ever spend, they’d rather hoard it in banks or stocks than give even a penny away.

And Luo Quan’s radiant actions might become the one beam of light piercing a dark room, carrying the original sin of standing out from the crowd.

If that’s really the case, then the domestic entertainment industry is beyond saving.

But at present, there are no such signs yet, so it’s premature to draw a hasty conclusion.

As more netizens saw the trending topic, Luo Quan’s donation of 3.9 billion began appearing across major social platforms.

In fact, she donated far more than that—even abroad—but since this was China’s charity ranking, only donations to China were counted.

Even so, she still ranked fifth nationally; not just celebrities, but wealthy entrepreneurs should also reflect on this.

When they were the richest, everyone acted proud and treated money like it meant nothing, but once the charity list came out, barely anyone broke the 100-million mark—it was utterly unbelievable.

Of course, the netizens’ remarks carried hints of moral coercion, but when they vented and criticized, they didn’t care about morality—they just wanted to unleash their anger first.

With her reputation already strong, Luo Quan’s standing rose even higher.

Even in the most toxic forums, Luo Quan received goddess-level treatment: posting her photo would fill the comments with calls of “nao po,” and her ratings were hailed as “god among gods.”

Of course, no one knows what psychological motive drove someone to give her a score of 34—only Luo Quan’s longtime fans might understand.

In the past, Luo Quan would occasionally browse forums for amusement.

But now she visits much less, because she realized she had become the amusement herself—the forum users were even more imaginative than Bilibili fans, and their language was shockingly explicit; after reading for a while, she couldn’t take it anymore.

Though she knew they were just talking nonsense, the intensity of their nonsense was simply too much.

Compared to forums and Weibo—the male and female bathrooms of the internet—Bilibili, though criticized as childish, maintained a far better environment with a higher proportion of normal users.

So Luo Quan preferred Bilibili; returning there felt like coming home.

But before she could read too many comments on Bilibili, a system alert caught their attention.

“Detected a large influx of popularity points—please check your earnings!”

Luo Quan opened the panel and was stunned when she saw her earnings this time.