Luo Bisheng stared at his phone screen.
He stood right beside Wang Xiaoliang's desk.
The countdown ticked away.
00:00:47.
00:00:46.
Liu Xinyu, Huang Xueli, and Zhou Qiang stood close by too.
Wang Xiaoliang was still writing.
His fingers were completely curled, his grip on the pen grotesquely crooked. The words the nib traced across the paper were distorted and scrawled, but he did not stop.
00:00:12.
00:00:11.
Luo Bisheng's Adam's apple bobbed.
00:00:03.
00:00:02.
00:00:01.
00:00:00.
"Brother."
Luo Bisheng spoke, his voice a little hoarse.
"Time's up."
Wang Xiaoliang did not stop.
The pen was still moving.
Luo Bisheng took a step forward.
"Brother, the seven days are up. You've done it."
There was no response.
The nib kept moving across the paper. That hand was shaking, his entire arm was shaking, but it simply would not stop.
Luo Bisheng walked over. He reached for Wang Xiaoliang's pen. He thought Wang Xiaoliang might already have lost consciousness, his body running on instinct.
His hand had only just touched the barrel-
Wang Xiaoliang stopped.
He stopped on his own.
He set the pen back on its stand. His movements were slow; he used all his strength to complete that one simple action.
Then he braced himself against the edge of the desk and stood.
His knees buckled, and he nearly fell. Luo Bisheng instinctively reached out, but Wang Xiaoliang waved his fingers. The movement was tiny, but its meaning was clear-no help.
He straightened.
Facing the camera.
Millions of people in the livestream watched him.
He bowed.
Deeply, to ninety degrees.
The on-screen comments exploded. They scrolled too fast for any complete message to be read, a white torrent of characters flooding the screen.
The camera angle happened to capture the sheet of paper behind him.
The last words he had