Chapter 996

The anti-leak design is undoubtedly good, but using it here feels strange.

“You’re always thinking up absurd things—can you stop being so abstract?” Luo Quan gave her brother a reproachful look. “You’re a father now, still acting like a child.”

“Is my image not proper?” Leon countered his sister. “I’m publicly recognized online as the perfect husband and father—literally the embodiment of positive energy.”

“Besides, I’m barely twenty—what young person is as level-headed as me?”

The statement held no real flaw; in family life, Leon’s performance was flawless.

The only flaw was his habit of bantering—but even that had no real downside.

For most women, this “flaw” could easily be seen as a charming trait—humor.

Seeing she couldn’t win the argument, Luo Quan gave up and went upstairs.

Jin Hao was going live for her fans today, streaming simultaneously on Bilibili and Huanyu .

But before the stream, she needed to handle some Bilibili matters.

Several of the suspended executives had voluntarily submitted their resignations—and, to avoid being purged, returned nearly everything they’d taken.

A few diehards, relying on their status as founding members, believed their achievements and connections would make Luo Quan dare not touch them.

One had even boasted: “If you dare to purge us, just wait—every middle manager will quit. See how you run the company then!”

Luo Quan’s reply? “Deal. Double blessings.”

Bilibili wasn’t her Bilibili—it belonged to all users and employees.

But she had the right to fire any employee blocking Bilibili’s progress. If an employee would obey corrupt executives and resign, no matter how skilled, she wouldn’t want them.

Even if it caused temporary paralysis, it didn’t matter—Bilibili wouldn’t shut down because of dozens or hundreds of resignations.

Thus, in stunned silence, these diehards received Luo Quan’s termination emails and court summonses.

She’d already said it: whatever they’d taken, they’d all have to give back.

In her eyes, there was no such word as “compromise.”

When she suspended them, she’d already given them a chance.

Had they been wise enough, they could’ve parted amicably. But the world is full of self-righteous fools who insist on turning things into a bloody mess.

In just one morning, half the department heads in Bilibili’s Tech Development, Game Operations, Product Industry, HR, Live Management, Logistics, Finance, and other key departments resigned—or were fired—and many deputies fell with them.

When the news broke, Bilibili users were stunned:

“Holy shit—is this a money-grabbing escape plan?”

“Luo Zhanzhang is going all out—almost the entire upper management’s been replaced.”

“Even the Finance Department heads are gone—this company’s problems must’ve been severe.”

“Bold moves, but how will management function now?”

“Relax—it’s just a few executives. Bilibili runs on thousands of UPs. Even if the company shuts down for a few days, just have managers hold the fort.”

“Without department heads, I doubt those managers will last long.”

……………………

As netizens said, while not everyone was terrified, those previously corrupt employees now walked with heads down, afraid even making eye contact with superiors might get them fired.

But some walked with heads high—mostly diligent technicians and frontline staff.

These ambitious young people rarely mixed with middle or upper management, had no access to power, earned shrinking salaries, and counted the days until Bilibili went bankrupt.

But Luo Quan’s sudden takeover gave them hope.

Within just one week of her taking over, Bilibili’s metrics surged—and rumors spread of substantial salary increases, possibly returning to Bilibili’s peak-era levels.

So when they saw the upper management purged, the staff cheered.

Working in the same company, they knew exactly what these bloodsuckers had done.

Who’d embezzled massive travel funds in Finance? Who’d used absurd proposals to steal budgets in Planning? Who’d bought overpriced, useless office supplies in Logistics?

Once any of this happened, word spread instantly through employee groups.

Bilibili’s decline had many causes—not just one or two leaders’ faults.

But these corrupt managers were among the biggest culprits.

Longtime frontline employees, who loved Bilibili deeply, naturally wanted their workplace to improve.

And what Luo Quan was doing now was exactly what they’d always wished for.

Remove the termites. Clean up the culture. Raise salaries.

Only when the company improved could Bilibili’s operations improve—UPs would regain motivation to create quality content, and everything could enter a virtuous cycle.

So despite some agitators urging staff to protest and oppose Luo Quan’s “dictatorship” in group chats, almost no one responded.

Had the chat logs revealed names, employees would’ve reported them to the boss immediately.

In short, nearly all problematic executives had been purged.

The Water Company’s middle managers had been ready for months—they seamlessly stepped in.

Though many weren’t yet fully proficient, Bilibili had no expansion plans for now—internal cleanup came first.

After clearing the top, Luo Quan turned her gaze to the middle management.

Corruption here wasn’t as severe—less power meant less graft—but workplace bullying was everywhere.

Some managers had little skill but excelled at flattery, winning favor with superiors while bullying subordinates—severely poisoning the work environment.

Luo Quan had initially planned to let frontline staff vote anonymously to identify these toxic managers.

But after thought, she realized such reporting could easily spawn false accusations—so she instead gathered all middle managers for a video meeting.

The focus: discipline reform. From today, any report against a superior would trigger a focused investigation.

If proven true, everyone knew the consequences.

The principle: don’t punish a good manager, don’t let a bad one slip through.

So those still exploiting their positions for personal gain—or committing crimes—think carefully: your good days are numbered.

This time, no one dared treat Luo Quan’s words as a joke.

Last time, she’d said similar things to upper management.

But few took it seriously—they kept slacking off.

And look what happened to them.

Now she was repeating the same tactic. Everyone could guess what ruthless measures awaited them—so for now, better not provoke her.

After handling company affairs, Luo Quan opened her livestream.

But before Bilibili, she first opened the Huanyu livestream.

“I’m streaming for you and my hometown fans together—but they don’t know about Huanyu .”

“To comply with Huanyu ’s content rules, I won’t respond to your comments—only to my hometown’s chat.”

Luo Quan had warned them in advance to avoid misunderstandings.

They had no objections—after all, they hadn’t seen her stream for days; just seeing her face and hearing her voice made them happy.

Seeing a flood of “understood” comments, Luo Quan smiled and opened her Bilibili livestream.

“Our tyrant CEO finally went live.”

“Luo Bao’s brow is full of killing intent—clearly just finished a massacre.”

“Bilibili’s upper management got gutted—several taken down at once.”

“Old ones out, new ones in. The job market’s never short of people.”

“By the way, what’s your take on Bilibili’s recent content freeze?”

“Yeah, things seem to be improving, yet so many big UPs stopped posting—it’s baffling.”

……………

The content freeze mentioned in the comments was something Luo Quan had been handling.

Many million-follower UPs had announced pauses for “personal reasons”—but all timed to coincide, suggesting deeper causes.

After reviewing her subordinates’ reports, she identified two main reasons:

Reduced revenue. Overly strict review.

These were the two biggest factors killing creative motivation. Bilibili was still transitioning—revenue had risen, but not every UP benefited.

As for reviews, it was partly her fault—she hadn’t clearly explained the changes to the reviewers.

She’d secured approval to loosen restrictions, but the staff didn’t know.

They knew reviews could be slightly relaxed—but not how much—so the limits remained tight.

After the freeze began, Luo Quan told reviewers to be bolder—to fix the damage.

Now, with fans asking, she used the chance to explain the conflict.

“The previous review system had unreasonable aspects—I’ve already held meetings. You’ll see changes soon.”

“As for revenue, it’s all written in black and white—significantly higher than before. You can check your backend directly.”

Luo Quan spoke with firm confidence, describing Bilibili’s transformation.

“Changes are huge—there are way more goddesses on Bilibili now.”

“Holy shit—you noticed too?”

“Yeah, tons of body-show videos now—back then, they’d’ve been banned 100%.”

“Before, you’d open UC to see these videos—now you don’t even need UC.”

“The change is real—massive.”

“So that’s why reviewers got bold—Luo Bao must’ve given them the green light.”

“The videos Bilibili’s homepage recommends now—I get nervous watching. I thought I’d gone back ten years.”

The videos pushed on Bilibili’s homepage now make me nervous when I watch them; someone who doesn’t know might think Bilibili had gone back ten years.

"Haha, back then, Bilibili was a lawless place."

………………

It’s clear that Bilibili’s recent content moderation has won people’s hearts.

However, the mindset behind those several inactive UP creators resulted from long-term buildup and won’t suddenly reverse just because of a change.

Fortunately, this wave of inactivity didn’t affect too many people, and with Bilibili continuously bringing in major films and TV series, users’ attention has largely shifted to the film and drama sections, so the impact hasn’t been especially severe.

"I’ve got good news for you—all of Bilibili’s games are in for a treat."

Luo Quan unscrewed the lid and took a sip of brown sugar water: "Recently, Unreal Studio has three games in development. Besides the one everyone knows—Genshin Impact—there are two more."

"And both are genuine AAA titles: one is a high-difficulty fantasy epic, the other is a Rexue adventure where you play as a wizard casting spells—both are open-world games."

This sudden revelation sent the live chat into a frenzy:

"Holy shit, I knew Unreal Studio was holding back something big, but I didn’t expect them to hold back two at once!"

"Tell us more about that fantasy epic."

"Both are fantasy—won’t they be too similar?"

"Unreal Studio’s Chupin , always quality—even if the genre’s the same, I’m buying!"

"Is there a demo yet? I want to see the gameplay video right now!"

………………

Facing the impatient players, Luo Quan grinned: "The fantasy epic is still in development—no demo yet."

"But the wizard game has already entered testing, and its storyline will later be adapted into a film."

"Put more bluntly, this game will create an IP universe just like the Resident Evil series."

"Moreover, this universe shares the same world as the One Piece universe—their storylines nearly occur on the same timeline."

"!"

"!"

"!"

"Finally, new news about One Piece!"

"I’ve been waiting so long for the Luotian Da Jiao!"

"The second season’s trailer’s already out—it’s coming soon."

"I’ve waited nearly half a year, and now Luo Quan finally mentioned it—people who didn’t know might’ve thought it was abandoned."

"Haha, this was last year’s biggest hit, and the plot was just getting better—how could they not make a sequel?"

"In China, it’s martial arts and Daoist magic; in the West, it’s magic. This worldbuilding is insane."

"I think this could become an IP as popular as the Marvel Universe!"

"So, what’s the name of this wizard game and its film series?"

………………

Facing her fans’ questions, Luo Quan said slowly and clearly: "Its name is Harry Potter."