The internet was never silent—but today, it roared.
From early morning, Huaxia's major platforms were flooded with trending topics that refused to be suppressed, no matter how fast moderators worked.
#KunlunSnowAnomaly
#MountLuBellsAtDawn
#CoastalMagneticDisturbance
#RedEyedAnimalsAustralia
Videos, blurry photos, voice recordings—some genuine, some fabricated—spread like wildfire.
"I live near Mount Lu. The bells are REAL. I recorded it myself!"
"Stop spreading superstition. This is clearly atmospheric resonance."
"Then explain why my phone compass spun like crazy last night."
"My uncle works in transportation—three flights were grounded with no explanation."
Arguments erupted in comment sections.
Skeptics mocked believers. Believers accused skeptics of blindness. Conspiracy theorists stitched everything together into elaborate narratives involving ancient civilizations, hidden powers, and global manipulation.
One post gained particular traction.
Anonymous Thread:
"You think this started yesterday? You're wrong. The world's been changing slowly for years. Some people just woke up earlier than others."
The thread was deleted within minutes.
Screenshots survived.
In universities, students debated heatedly. In offices, employees pretended to work while refreshing feeds. Even elderly men in parks lowered their chess boards, muttering about "times changing too fast."
The Huaxia special bearue authority issued another public statement by noon.
"Recent unusual phenomena are within controllable parameters. Citizens are advised to remain calm and avoid spreading unverified information."
Netizens weren't convinced.
"If it's controllable, why are helicopters circling mountains?"
"Why are certain regions suddenly restricted?"
"Why do I feel dizzy at night now?"
Amid the noise, something subtler occurred.
A small but growing number of posts appeared—not loud, not viral—but oddly consistent.
"Anyone else feel… sharper lately?"
"I used to need coffee to stay awake. Now I don't."
"I touched a metal railing and felt a strange warmth."
These posts were often ignored.
But they were the most important.
....
In Beijing, Fang Ze scrolled through his phone once, then set it aside.
"Information spreads faster than Qi," he said quietly.
He sat by his desk, posture relaxed, breathing steady. The Spiritual Listening Gathering Technique flowed naturally, drawing in thin threads of ambient energy that had become noticeably denser than even a week ago.
Not explosively.
Steadily.
That was the most dangerous kind.
He knew this phase well.
In his past life, this was when countless people dismissed the signs—only to be swept away later when the waves turned violent.
Across the country, minor urban cultivators were awakening without guidance. Some followed instinct. Some relied on half-understood manuals dug out from ancestral storage. Others simply reacted emotionally—anger, fear, obsession—feeding unstable Qi back into the environment.
This was how disasters were born.
Fang Ze's eyes darkened slightly.
"Too many untrained awakenings," he murmured. "If no one guides them…"
He stopped himself.
No. That's not my role yet.
He was still in the early currents—still sharpening the blade before stepping onto the river openly.
Outside, his younger sister Fang Xiaoyu argued cheerfully with a neighbor. His elder sister Fang Yuhan returned home, complaining about overtime. Life went on.
That, too, was dangerous.
Because Heaven had already moved.
And the internet—loud, chaotic, skeptical—was unknowingly recording the birth cries of a new era.
Somewhere in Huaxia, a list was being drafted.
Not online.
Not public.
A list of names worth watching.
And though Fang Ze had done nothing overt—
His name had already been written once.