In the minutes following the sudden termination of the livestream, a small-scale "earthquake" hit the internet.

  Parents, enraged by the interruption of their "Divine Class," began a frenzied attack on the "Grant All Requests" account across social media platforms.

  [#UnethicalStreamerRefund]

  [#BoycottTheEducationalScammer]

  The heat of these hashtags climbed rapidly in the dead of night. John looked at the vicious curses flooding his backend DMs. He didn't feel the sadness he expected; instead, a strange calmness settled over him.

  "Boss, we're bleeding followers." Grace stared at the data panel, her small face written with heartbreak. "Ten thousand subs gone. That's all money."

  "Let them go," John said, sitting in the empty classroom. He took off his mask, revealing his exhausted face. "We weren't on the same path anyway."

  But just then, the flow of data in the backend suddenly underwent a bizarre reversal.

  Amidst the torrent of abuse, a long private message popped up.

  The sender was a user named [Opting Out of the Rat Race]:

  "Streamer, thank you.

  Just now, I was forcing my son, who's only in middle school, to watch your stream. I told him if he didn't listen carefully, he'd be worse off than a ghost in the future.

  My son cried. I was anxious, too. I was scared.

  But when you cut the feed and told that little ghost 'Class dismissed,' I felt like I'd been slapped in the face.

  I looked at my son. He's already asleep, tears still in the corners of his eyes. I suddenly remembered, he's only thirteen. He likes drawing, he likes stargazing. He isn't my asset, nor is he a tool for me to show off.

  Thank you for reminding me that he is a living, breathing human being.

  No need to refund the money. Consider it... a late payment for 'Parenting Tuition'."

  Following this message, more similar comments began to surface.

  [User 'Peter Pan': The streamer is right. Death is bad enough; don't turn living into another kind of death. Subscribed.]

  [User 'Stray Cat': Didn't see the math solution, but I saw humanity. Worth the ticket price.]

  Although he lost ten thousand followers, the remaining few thousand became die-hard loyalists.

  The Merit Points in the backend didn't reset due to refunds. Instead, thanks to these "sincere" thanks—and the system reward for successfully crossing over the little ghost—the counter stabilized at a number that, while small, was very clean: +2.500.

  "Look." John pointed at the message, smiling at Grace. "This is what we really earned."

  "Humanity."

  John thought of his mother.

  Margaret had never forced him to be number one. Even in their poorest times, she would always tell John when he failed an exam: "It's okay, as long as you tried your best. Mom doesn't need you to be rich and powerful; I just want you safe and sound."

  It was this lenient love that allowed John—despite being a "hemophobic waste" and a dropout—to retain a baseline of kindness and empathy.

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  He didn't turn into a resentful spirit like that kid, nor did he become a monster like Moriarty.

  He was just John. An ordinary guy who fainted at the sight of blood but would still draw a knife for justice.

  "Mom..." John murmured. "Thanks for not turning me into that kind of person."

  DING-DONG—!!!

  An urgent, violent notification sound shattered John's tender moment.

  The screen of the Yin-Yang iPad lit up blindingly. Daoist Singularity’s massive face was practically pressed against the camera lens. The background noise was louder than usual; John could even hear the popping of electrical sparks.

  "Disciple! Money?! Where's the money?!"

  Singularity was sweating buckets. His Tang suit was scorched black in places, and his sunglasses were crooked.

  "Hurry! Transfer those 2.500 Merit Points! Even a single point helps! The transformers over here are blowing up again!"

  John jumped, instinctively covering the screen. "Master? What happened? Did the Underworld get invaded? This is my hard-earned money..."

  "Worse than an invasion!" Singularity roared. "That brat Zhao Yun went back and bragged everywhere about fighting a 'satisfying battle' in the mortal realm! Now all those old fogeys who have been idle in Hell for thousands of years can't sit still! They're howling and charging the [Fengdu Heroic Spirit Re-employment Center]!"

  "Lu Bu, Xiang Yu, even King Arthur, Achilles, and that Viking berserker chief Beowulf—they're all queuing up to apply for 'Expense-Account Business Trips'! They said if someone can handle that much causality, they want to come down and stretch their legs too!"

  "The enthusiasm of these grandpas is too high! It caused an energy surge in the center! This broken server can't hold it! Send money! I need to buy coolant!"

  John didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

  So, not only had he become an internet celebrity, but he had also become the "Gold Medal Tour Guide" for every violent Heroic Spirit in history?

  "How... how much?" John asked weakly, looking at his pitiful balance, his heart bleeding.

  "All of it!" Singularity bellowed.

  "No way!" John panicked. "Master, I haven't even warmed it up yet! Leave me a little bit! I haven't bought Mom's medicine, and Bone's leg needs fixing..."

  "Cut the crap! I'm saving your life!" Singularity glared. "If the server blows, you'll never be able to summon anyone again! And the interest on your 500.000 debt is still rolling! This money is barely enough to pay a fraction of the interest!"

  "Then... can I keep ten percent?" John tried to haggle. "I need to eat!"

  "Ten percent?" Singularity thought for a moment, seemingly performing complex calculations, then nodded with a pained expression. "Fine, fine! Hurry up! I can't hold it much longer!"

  John could only operate the transfer with tears in his eyes.

  Ding!

  [Transfer Successful: 2.250 Merit Points.]

  [Current Balance: 250.]

  John looked at the instantly shrunken number, feeling like a piece of his heart had been gouged out.

  "Great. Worked for nothing again."

  On the screen, Singularity’s face finally relaxed a bit after receiving the funds. He seemed to use a spell to convert the Merit directly into a beam of blue cooling light, spraying it onto the smoking server racks behind him.

  "Phew... that was close."

  Singularity wiped his sweat and straightened his sunglasses.

  "It's a bit short, but at least I suppressed the core temperature. Disciple, good job. Although your stream was... hmm... a bit alternative, that 'cut the feed' maneuver showed real spirituality."

  Singularity looked at John, a flash of approval in his eyes.

  "You know, in the Underworld's evaluation system, 'Crossing Over' comes in two types."

  "One is like those clerics, using mantras and holy light to forcibly send the soul away. That's called 'Physical Formatting'."

  "The other is what you just did. Untying the knot in their heart so they want to leave on their own. That's called 'Data Repair'."

  "The former is technique. The latter is... the Dao."

  "You, kid, have some enlightenment."

  John scratched his head embarrassedly. "Master, don't praise me. I was just broke and didn't want to pay the breach of contract fee. Besides, that hit you just took was too harsh. Is that interest calculated by loan sharks?"

  "It's 'Knowledge Payment', understand?" Singularity said self-righteously. "You currently owe 'Technical Debt.' However..."

  Singularity suddenly revealed a sly smile characteristic of a profiteer.

  "Since your streaming results were so good, as your Master, I've decided... to give you a 1% discount on next month's interest."

  "Only 1%?!" John protested. "That two thousand I just sent isn't even enough to cover one day's interest!"

  "Be content! This is VIP treatment! Other agents couldn't get a discount from me if they begged!"

  Beep—

  Connection terminated.

  John put away the iPad and looked at the empty classroom.

  Although he was a pauper again, this time, his heart wasn't panicking.

  He walked out of the abandoned school.

  The night wind outside was cold, but John felt good.

  "Bone, let's go."

  "Where to?"

  "Home. Let's make Mom a bowl of noodles. Even with 250 bucks, we can afford some meat."

  John glanced back at the haunted building.

  There was no more crying, no more reading aloud.

  Only the whistle of wind through broken windows, sounding like a requiem.

  And in the corners of this city, there were countless souls like that little ghost, waiting for someone to say to them:

  "Class dismissed."

  [Message from Singularity]

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