Chapter 987: The Leak

The rise of Huan Yu Xinghuo didn’t surprise Luo Quan—given her looks and strength, it would’ve been strange if she hadn’t gone viral.

But how to manage her fame after it happened was a question worth studying.

The rules of Huan Yu’s entertainment industry differed greatly from Earth’s; the most common example was the enormous gap in status among stars.

Those with low status were utterly humble; every action and word required extreme caution, for one mistake or one wrong sentence could end their entire career.

Meanwhile, high-status stars were truly above others—minor local officials couldn’t even dare to provoke such top-tier celebrities, whose social influence was absurdly immense.

Most people became stars precisely for this kind of treatment, but very few ever achieved it.

Luo Quan was now striving toward this goal, though it still seemed far off.

To netizens, she was merely one of countless newcomers in the entertainment circle, someone who appeared to have a bit of potential.

Dozens like her emerged every month, each uniquely distinctive, yet most fell silent within half a year.

So she had only just completed her debut performance—she hadn’t even secured her footing yet; the real climax was the upcoming Ji Nian Conference.

Before that, she needed to continuously build her popularity.

But the change in environment left her unsure how to market herself.

On Earth, she could go viral just by starting a livestream—anything she did or said generated high popularity.

Precisely because everything came too easily, she had zero experience in how to properly promote herself from scratch.

Her popularity had always been a windfall, but when the wind suddenly stopped, she didn’t know how to generate popularity again—especially now that she was in a new environment.

So when Luo Quan opened her livestream as usual, she fell into a brief daze.

The livestream’s viewership was still quite strong; she had just hit the trending list, and netizens were curious, eager to learn about her.

Though she didn’t know what Huan Yu’s netizens preferred to watch, Luo Quan wasn’t a true novice—since she didn’t know what to perform, she’d do what she was best at: chatting.

Language-based content always had the broadest audience; fans loved just listening to their favorite streamers talk.

Since Luo Quan was new here and didn’t know what to discuss with fans, she simply talked about the customs and folkways of her hometown.

Especially why she, despite looking exactly like a citizen of the Divine Protection Federation, felt closer to the Holy Tang Heavenly Dynasty.

Though lacking substance, the audience listened with great interest—they especially loved hearing her recount her rise to fame, and were curious how a native of a Level Two civilization could be so gifted.

While Luo Quan was speaking, a striking new term appeared on Huan Yu’s trending list:

“Could Luo Quan Have Deep Ties to the Dawn Church?”

Typically, stars didn’t follow religions.

Because the Dawn Church had many strict rules: meat was allowed, but certain animals designated as sacred beasts were forbidden.

And those forbidden animals were precisely the most common and diverse ones.

Failing to satisfy one’s appetite was a major problem.

Moreover, premarital sex was forbidden, and even after marriage, no intimacy was allowed for the first three years—absolute purity was required.

This covered both food and sex, the two core desires—and entertainment was inherently a place of indulgence; how many could endure such restrictions?

Thus, stars rarely followed religions; even if they claimed to, it was merely for image—they almost never genuinely followed the rules.

Yet despite its many rigid doctrines, the Dawn Church still had an enormous number of devout followers who strictly observed its precepts.

One such rule was unconditional reverence for the Holy Mother, Holy Son, and Holy Daughter.

Now, suddenly, someone claimed an alien entertainment star might be the revered Holy Mother—this rumor’s impact was as shocking as a monkey becoming a cardinal.

This claim originated from a streamer known for fabricating nonsense.

This streamer specialized in conspiracy theories built on flimsy details, aiming to shock and provoke.

In simple terms, he was a personified UC Shock Department or a living embodiment of clickbait.

Through this reckless, irresponsible style, he amassed a large fanbase—all fellow thrill-seekers like himself.

Recently, this streamer had set his sights on Luo Quan, who was highly controversial.

He analyzed her hair color and facial features, speculating she must have deep ties to the Dawn Church, possibly even being the legendary Holy Mother.

After all, her appearance matched many traits the Dawn Church had long promoted for the Holy Mother.

But countless others matched these traits too—Luo Quan wasn’t unique.

Yet she was the hottest right now, so attention naturally followed.

And when people jumped on the bandwagon without care, irresponsible “rumors” emerged.

It was called a rumor because even his own fans thought the claim was far-fetched.

The only remotely convincing point was her hair color; everything else was unverifiable—who knew if a twenty-something was still a virgin? How could she be a Holy Mother?

So everyone initially dismissed it as nonsense—until the streamer’s analysis video on Luo Quan was deleted at lightning speed.

Remember, this streamer had produced over two hundred similar conspiracy videos before, some involving people and events even more explosive than the Dawn Church’s Holy Mother.

None had ever been deleted—only occasionally downranked.

Now, his latest video was gone, unfindable by any means, as if it had never existed—only those who had watched it still remembered clearly.

Originally, no one believed it—but now, wasn’t this exactly like hiding silver while shouting “I didn’t bury it”?

So after the video’s deletion, the incident didn’t cool down—it ignited like a powder keg.

“What force is preventing the truth from coming out?”

Soon, the streamer himself posted another video, claiming he knew nothing about the deletion, wasn’t colluding with the platform, and that a hidden force was controlling the platform to suppress the truth.

He also insisted his speculations and analyses were absolutely correct—that Luo Quan truly might be the Dawn Church’s Holy Mother!

Then, the second video was also deleted.

This time, fans were wiser—they downloaded the video onto their devices as concrete evidence and began spreading it widely.

One person’s words could be deleted, but when they multiplied into hundreds of thousands or millions, such crude suppression became unrealistic.

As for the Dawn Church’s followers, they remained skeptical and unwilling to believe easily.

But netizens had no such restraint—they had nearly accepted Luo Quan’s identity as fact; some even pretended to be her friends, claiming she had always been kind-hearted and helpful since childhood, clearly embodying a Holy Mother’s heart.

Their tone was so convincing, it sounded as if they had grown up with her.

The key was, all these rumors praised her—so she couldn’t easily refute them without sounding like she was denying she was good-natured.

Of course, none of this was the most urgent matter. To understand what was happening, she used the contact method left by Te Waso’er in her storage ring to reach the only Dawn Church leader she knew.

The lightphone vibrated twice and was answered; Luo Quan spoke first: “Is this Mr. Te Waso’er?”

“Miss Luo Quan, I knew you’d call.” Te Waso’er’s tone sounded slightly irritated.

Luo Quan got straight to the point: “Mr. Te Waso’er, have you followed the rumors online? Was my identity deliberately leaked by you, or did that netizen stumble upon it by accident?”

“I swear by the Holy Light—we had no intention of revealing your identity.”

Te Waso’er sighed: “This incident was purely an accident. No one anticipated someone would guess the truth through wild speculation.”

“Such a coincidence happens once in decades!”

“That may be true, but your handling of this was terrible!”

Though Luo Quan disliked interfering in others’ methods, she couldn’t help complaining now: “This was baseless nonsense to begin with—let the netizen rant if he wants. Why bother responding?

If ignored, it would die down in hours.

But your people deleting the video? That’s just giving him free promotion! This was a stupid move—the main reason the public outcry spiraled out of control.”

Te Waso’er nodded quickly, his tone sincere: “You’re absolutely right—the person responsible bears full blame. We deeply apologize for this situation.”

“I’m not calling to blame you.” Luo Quan’s expression turned serious as she waved her hand. “I want to know: what’s your next move? Are you going to give up, or what?”

Te Waso’er replied: “Normally, announcing such a major matter requires extensive preparation—but given the exceptional circumstances, we can skip many formalities.”

“Believers will be overjoyed to learn of your existence—they’ll love you as they love their own mother!”

“Stop!” Luo Quan raised her hand urgently. “You’ve already accepted me as the Holy Mother? We haven’t even confirmed anything yet—shouldn’t the priority be debunking this?”

“It’s inevitable.” Te Waso’er chuckled. “But if you’re unwilling to accept this identity now, we can cooperate with you—the choice is yours.”

“Then stop these ‘hiding silver while shouting I didn’t bury it’ moves. Just issue a simple denial statement. After that, ignore all netizen chatter.”

Luo Quan proposed the simplest cold-response method—the most common and effective tactic for stars facing public backlash.

Often, the more you speak, the more you mess up; the less you speak, the fewer mistakes you make; saying nothing means no mistakes at all.

Playing dead is wisdom. Many think their eloquence can fight raging public opinion—but in the end, they’re always like a mantis trying to stop a cart.

The Dawn Church might have the power to silence this—but for her career, it would be a terrible choice.

So she chose the best solution for herself: let the Dawn Church play dead.

After all, netizens’ fury was focused on the Dawn Church; her own situation wasn’t yet critical.

With this cold response, luck permitting, the issue would resolve within a week.

The challenge lay in whether the Dawn Church would accept this humiliating arrangement.

Good news: they seemed to truly value her—after hearing a clearly disadvantageous proposal, Te Waso’er paused briefly, then agreed, willing to take the loss for her sake.

“Since the Holy Mother has decided, we will execute it immediately—we’ll reduce public sentiment to the lowest possible level in the shortest time.”

Te Waso’er’s response exceeded Luo Quan’s expectations—he sounded too accommodating:

“Then that’s settled. I’ll hang up. Contact me if anything new comes up.”

With that, she ended the call.

Through this conversation, her doubts hadn’t lessened.

Though Te Waso’er claimed the Dawn Church hadn’t leaked her identity and the public escalation was purely accidental, Luo Quan felt it wasn’t that simple.

Everything seemed too convenient—how could the number one church of Huan Yu be so incompetent?

But if it was intentional, it made sense.

Perhaps they deliberately exposed her identity to pressure her into accepting the Holy Mother role.

Fortunately, she had kept her mouth shut—she hadn’t rushed to confirm anything when the rumors broke, leaving room to maneuver.

So far, netizens were merely watching the spectacle—they still had no reliable information.

The so-called video deletion can also be explained as the system automatically removing content involving religious material.

As long as the Dawn Church pretends to be dead from now on and doesn’t try to join any online game debates, it’ll be fine.

In this fast-paced era, all kinds of news happen every moment, and other eye-catching hot topics will soon arise.

If nothing unexpected happens, this matter will quickly be downplayed and fade away.

But according to Murphy’s Law, the more you fear something, the more likely it is to happen.

Luo Quan feared most of all the unexpected—and the unexpected truly arrived.