Chapter Forty-Four: The Grand Online Gala of the Rampaging Insect Architect

To everyone's astonishment, someone had actually managed to complete their design proposal in such a short span of time. This served as a wake-up call to all the remaining contenders eyeing the prize. Within the community of designers, some had already used Wu You’s twenty sketches to verify their own mountain tree models. They, too, were awestruck by the majesty of the tree.

Perhaps those who had never seen it might think, “Isn’t it just a tree?” But the feeling was entirely different. The growth of a tree is not as simple as scaling it up proportionally. Even the largest ancient trees on Earth—like the 150-meter-tall General Sherman—can take your breath away whether viewed from afar or up close. The more colossal the tree, the more extraordinary its presence. The exposed main roots, gnarled and intertwined like sinewy veins, the trunk that bridges earth and sky, its bark textured and intricate as a Van Gogh canvas, all evoke a sense of wonder to those who gaze deeply. Each branch, as massive as a whole ancient tree on the ground, bears a canopy that blots out the sun. Imagine it standing through storms, the shifting of days and seasons, like a primordial giant eternally rooted. The wind rustling through becomes a sea of leaves. Such a sense of timeworn grandeur seemed to radiate straight from the model itself.

One designer, who had been working with a friend to refine the giant tree model over the past couple of days, found himself utterly captivated during the modeling process. He completely forgot about the design competition, intent only on bringing Wu You’s vision to life. Not long after Hu Lei uploaded his design proposal, this designer, too, finished his model of the great tree. Before moving on to the subsequent architectural components, he captured several rendered images of the completed tree model and posted them on the forum. At first, it was just a means for him to share his work and perhaps show off a bit. Unexpectedly, these images struck all who saw them—whether they were bystanders or skeptics—with awe at the grandeur and splendor of the towering tree.

Even seasoned professionals who hadn’t planned on entering the competition were compelled to join. In less than half an hour, the forum was flooded with declarations of intent from various teams:

“Beautiful Architecture Studio hereby enters the competition.”

“Exxon Design Company is competing—please wait for our final design before awarding the prize.”

“Sparks Studio joins the contest.”

These were all powerful and well-known design teams, usually handling big projects with fees calculated by the square meter. To them, a two-million-yuan prize might not have seemed like much, and under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t have bothered to enter at all.

But the rendered images of the giant tree had ignited the creative passion of designers and architects alike. Anyone who considered themselves a true designer rushed to join the creative competition. The designer who posted the images now regretted it deeply, but it was too late. Countless individuals and groups, including seasoned experts and enthusiastic novices, joined the fray. Honestly, once all these people finished and uploaded their designs, it would take Wu You an unimaginable amount of time to review them all.

The onlookers only added to the chaos. The forum was full of lurkers and casual commenters, either starting new threads or spamming replies under the declarations of intent. Some even shared the images of the giant tree model on other forums and discussion boards to show off or rack up experience points, causing the images to go viral across the internet. A massive influx of people, many with no connection to architecture, flocked in. The number of new user registrations on the designers’ forum reached an all-time high. With that came a more terrifying consequence: the forum crashed.

The official maintenance crew felt as if they were experiencing the pandemonium of the first days of online high-speed train ticket sales. The sheer volume of network traffic made it seem as if the forum was under relentless siege by elite hackers around the clock. Desperate, the forum administrators imposed posting restrictions: except for users with accounts older than five years, all others were limited to five posts per day.

Outrage erupted. Many had grown accustomed to commenting and chatting on the forum. Since many design studios saw this as a prime opportunity to gain fame, they would periodically post beautiful renderings of their progress in their own declaration threads. The combinations of trees and buildings created countless versions of floating gardens, each more enchanting than the last. The rigor of architectural design lent these magical scenes an astonishing realism, worlds apart from the stylized sketches and comics usually found online. Designers and netizens alike were entranced, heaping praise without end.

Waiting under the hundreds of new declaration threads each day for the latest screenshots to be posted and shared had become a pastime in itself. But in order to allow widespread participation in discussions without crashing the main forum, major discussion boards and forums began collaborating with the designers’ community.

They launched live updates on the progress of the creative design competition, allowing netizens to discuss and comment on various platforms. The prize pool was even voluntarily increased by major websites and forums to ten million yuan. It was no exaggeration to say that, thanks to the efforts—intentional or not—of many parties, this event was rapidly becoming a grand spectacle across the entire internet. The solution Wu You ultimately chose would not only determine the winner of the prize, but also decide who would rise to fame. The original instigator, the sponsor of the challenge—the one known by the username “Master of the Mountain of Beasts”—was now shrouded in mystery.

Although not every netizen was versed in architecture, the design experts on the forum all agreed that the sponsor’s sketches were astonishingly meticulous. Any single drawing might not seem out of the ordinary, but when combined, the overall effect was truly breathtaking. The sponsor had to be a master of both architecture and art. Some even speculated about the meaning of “Mountain of Beasts,” wondering if the sponsor’s envisioned aerial estate was literally the fabled Mountain of Beasts. But this was met with skepticism—after all, how could such a tree exist in the real world?

Meanwhile, in the Li residence in the capital, Li Hongguang’s recovery was remarkably swift—far beyond anyone’s expectations. Though not yet fully healed, he was already able to flex and stretch his legs. It seemed only a matter of time before the old general would stand once more. For Li Shengyao, Li Youbo, and the other family members, this was a source of joy, but for medical experts like Chen Gang and Hua Quanzhong, it was nothing short of astounding. Such a recovery defied medical convention. If Li’s illness had been any less severe, he would already be walking and jumping. Had it not been for Lu Zhiyou and Hou Li relaying Wu You’s instructions to keep the ointment a secret, the entire medical community would surely have been in an uproar by now.

The Li family had originally planned to visit Wu You in Qiantang immediately, but Li Hongguang insisted on thanking him in person. The old general could sense that he would be fully recovered in less than two weeks, and was determined to meet the creator of that miraculous ointment himself. If such a remedy could be used for the nation, how many lives could be saved on the battlefield? Still, Li Hongguang understood that this rare and precious medicine was already a blessing to have received, even in the smallest bottle. If the Wu family wished to exchange it for resources or money, so be it. If not, the Li family would never shamelessly ask for more—otherwise, how would they differ from mere beasts?