Chapter 39: 0038 The Troubles of Happiness

Peng Jia is the CEO of Xinglin Garden Website, his office located on the 38th floor of a landmark building in Modu.

He sat in a spacious, bright room, staring blankly at the Huangpu Jiang slowly flowing downstairs.

Today I ran into a ghost!

Xinglin Garden Website follows a professional route, setting an extremely high threshold—even registration requires a practicing physician certificate number, and it refuses casual visitors to browse.

To be professional, one must push to the limit; this is Peng Jia's character.

With goals and execution, after five years of hard struggle, Xinglin Garden Website reached the national top spot, far ahead of second place.

At the very least, within five years, no one could shake Xinglin Yuan's position.

Just when things were going smoothly and he was about to expand his ambitions, early in the morning after just starting work, Peng Jia received a report from the forum department manager saying a post had caused the server to lose control and restart due to too many viewers.

Is this even considered a thing?

Peng Jia gave a few acknowledgments, not pondering as he used to years ago which post could crash the server. All his thoughts were on the capital market; how to go public was the most important matter for Xinglin Garden Website.

It's just a server restart, no problem, no problem.

But just as the department manager finished his report, Peng Jia received a phone call.

It was an old professor from Xiehe calling; the caller was his personal secretary, asking why the Surgery Livestream Room had suddenly crashed.

Doctors who can afford a personal secretary are few nationwide.

This big shot is one of Peng Jia's benefactors; now he dare not take it lightly. After a series of earnest replies and apologies, Peng Jia prepared to focus, wanting to see what kind of broadcast would interest the elderly.

But before the call ended, a beeping sound rang, and another call came in.

After glancing at the label, Peng Jia hurriedly apologized to the elderly, promising to fix it as soon as possible and to devote manpower and resources to maintenance.

He hung up on one elderly caller and picked up another elderly caller.

It was still an inquiry about the Surgery Livestream Room.

Peng Jia was stunned; he too was curious—what kind of surgery live broadcast could attract the attention of these big shots.

Fortunately there wasn't a third; otherwise Peng Jia would have thought it was a supernatural event.

You should know how high these elders' standing in the jianghu is, and how rare they are to see. Normally, to call them you must first get permission from their personal secretary. Even as the CEO of a top-tier domestic website, Peng Jia would have to act like a humble grandson, but today the elders had agreed on the same thing: they called to inquire.

The inquiry itself would have been fine, but the elders' words carried a hint of displeasure, which made Peng Jia very afraid.

He hung up the phone, quickly asked what had happened, and rushed to the technical room to personally join the debugging work.

Along the way he had many guesses, and his phone kept ringing—calls from doctors big and small across the regions who had his contact information, coming to inquire.

But when he arrived at the technical room and, in the backend, saw a moment of the surgery livestream recording, he understood.

This damn thing is a big shot coming to his own website to go live, showing off surgery.

What a great fortune!

Peng Jia immediately began contacting, purchasing new servers, raising the maximum capacity of the Surgery Livestream Room to 3,000 people.

For servers usually considered expensive, Peng Jia didn't even discuss price; he had just one demand: installation within an hour.

As long as the price is right, nothing is impossible.

The manufacturer, without a word, overcame all difficulties, and the server was installed in 56 minutes.

Debugging, operation—Peng Jia issued a death order: even if force majeure struck, he would shut down all posts on the entire website to ensure the Surgery Livestream Room runs normally.

After the Surgery Livestream Room was closed for three hours and fifteen minutes, it resumed.

Peng Jia felt he had done well today, decisive and swift, truly deserving of being the pioneer of the medical website.

He elegantly picked up his phone and began to reply to the two elders.

What he had done wasn't important; what mattered was fulfilling the elders' wishes.

When the server restarted and the Surgery Livestream Room opened, hundreds of people rushed in. Peng Jia felt relieved, glad he hadn't taken the cheap way out with a simple fix.

After buying the new server, Peng Jia didn't believe it could still crash.

His face wore a bright smile as he reported to the elders, when a technical engineer with a black line on his face came up to him, saying, "Manager Peng, that…"

"We'll talk later if there's something." Peng Jia covered the phone, saying impatiently.

"No…" the engineer hurriedly said: "The server is congested again."

"……" Profanity instantly surged in Peng Jia's heart.

He hurriedly greeted the elders, Peng Jia hung up the phone and went to the mainframe.

"Is it the livestream room again?"

The engineer's voice was a little hoarse, saying: "The livestream room can barely hold for now, but too many people are registering, consuming massive system resources."

Normally, if registrations surged, Peng Jia would surely be delighted.

But the system had already crashed once; if it crashed again in a short time… he could already see his bleak future.

"What are you standing there for! Turn on the backup server quickly!" Peng Jia roared.

"Already turned on." The engineer looked at the mainframe screen, cold sweat breaking out: "In the first ten seconds after the livestream room reopened, 366 people entered; at twenty seconds, 983; at one minute, 1,360."

"I don't need the data! I want…" Peng Jia shouted.

"Um… Manager Peng, all the newly registered people have flooded into the livestream room—shouldn't you see what to do?" The engineer pointed at the backend traffic monitor, his voice already hoarse.

The Surgery Livestream Room, after renovation, can handle a flow of up to 3,000 people.

Xinglin Yuan is after all not a professional livestream website; few people broadcast surgery videos, the vast majority are technical posts. So Peng Jia didn't equip the highest-end servers, which would be wasteful.

But today the problem arrived.

It was as if a popular female streamer had brought her fans to Xinglin Yuan; on this bright morning, Xinglin Yuan's traffic surged. It broke through one server, and it looked like the second wouldn't hold either.

The backup server was put into use, but it could barely support 4,000 people.

"Issue an announcement, temporarily halt registrations!" Peng Jia decided on the spot.

After rejecting new members and merging other servers, when the Surgery Livestream Room's user cap reached 4,600, the surge finally stopped.

But even the slow growth was unbearable for Peng Jia; he hurriedly picked up the phone to order a high-end commercial server.

Still no haggling; all that's needed is the installation time.

He didn't even dare look at the backend host anymore; Peng Jia felt that each time he saw the number of people in the Surgery Livestream Room rise again, his heart almost stopped beating.

Returning to the office, he gazed gloomily at the Huangpu Jiang.

This is a blissful worry, but if I can't get over this hurdle, then nothing else needs to be said.

Good grief, where did this big ox come from?

Zheng Ren didn't know that someone outside was worrying themselves sick for him; he happily opened the System Mall page, looking for the option to purchase Shou Bing training time.

When he opened the mall purchase interface, he was stunned—what the hell is this?!