1. **Responsibility Fixed:** The punished soul will be forever immersed in the scene of collecting the naturally shed hair of His Highness Zero (the hair will fall at a constant rate of one hair per second, and the falling path will be completely random).**
2. **Perception Enhancement:** Your fingertip tactile and dynamic vision are elevated to the limit, allowing you to forever feel the gentle touch of fetal hair brushing against your fingertips and the despair of chasing random tracks.**
3. **Time loop:** Every time you are about to touch the fetal hair, it will be reset immediately (the fetal hair is at a new random point).**
4. **Title Binding:** The punished person will receive the title of "Eternal Sorrow" (soul-bound, visible in reincarnation, and has a static adsorption aura).**
**[Effective immediately! Covering all heavens! Tracing cause and effect! Enforced!]**
**[Appendix: The first candidate for 'Eternal Hair Volume Worry': Xiling Deputy Envoy Qian Wuyong (the person who attempted to illegally take a photo but failed).]**
"Eternal... picking up the baby's hair?"
"One per second?"
"Randomly falling?"
"Never catch up?"
"Static attraction aura?"
"Hair volume worries?"
Imagine the eternal, futile, desperate chase through countless floating hairs. Anyone who's ever considered "seeking certification" feels a tingling sensation on their scalp, as if their hair is falling out at an accelerated rate! This punishment... is a pinpoint sniper attack on all those who attempt to capitalize on the Chaos Certification hype! The mental torture is so intense that even wiping your saliva seems hopeful!
The tribute envoys from the four nations looked at the pile of sacred artifacts in the warehouse that had instantly lost all their "spirituality" and become completely expensive scrap metal. They then thought about the terrifying prospect of "eternal hair loss worries" and finally looked at the tribute list at the door of the general's warehouse, which was stuck with a small tuft of fetal hair...
"Retreat! Retreat quickly!"
"Pull the stuff away! Quick!"
"Taxes... We don't want taxes anymore! We don't want Skittles either!"
"Please show some mercy, General! We're leaving now! Immediately!"
Like stray dogs, the tribute envoys from the four nations commanded their subordinates, and under the golden warning of "late payment fees and garbage removal fees required" on the Chenbao Abacus, they trudged away with their costly tribute artifacts intact (and even more dusty). At the gates of the General's Mansion, another costly and ridiculous retreat of "tribute" was staged.
The General's Mansion's warehouse was empty once again. Only the faint sweet scent of rainbow candy lingered in the air, and... the tribute list in Luo's hand, stained with a tuft of Lingbao's fetal hair.
Lingbao was completely oblivious to her own "authentication" of hair-pulling. Her little head rested on her mother's shoulder, her chubby hands unconsciously rubbing the spot where a small tuft of hair had been plucked. The spot was now smooth, and the touch was a bit strange. She smacked her lips, as if feeling a little hungry, and pointed with her little finger in the direction where Luo had placed her bottle: "Neinei..."
Xiao Jue stepped forward and took the list from A'Luo. On the list, a small tuft of soft, light brown, naturally curly hair emanated a gentle glow of life under the sunlight filtering through the warehouse window. It quietly clung to the ornate yet empty tribute patterns, like the tiniest yet most powerful seal.
His broad fingers didn't touch the tuft of fetal hair, but simply felt through the paper the inviolable chaotic essence contained in that tiny imprint of life. The cold sheath of the Guihong ruler seemed to be touched by the softness of this life.
He raised his head, his gaze seemingly piercing the roof of the warehouse, casting a glance upon the vast expanse of land where "certification," "standards," and "orthodoxy" had been fought bloodily. Then, he lowered his head, looking at his daughter, who was contentedly sucking on her bottle in his arms. The spot on Lingbao's forehead where a small tuft of hair had been plucked out looked like a small medal.
A deep voice, with a calmness that sees through illusions and a touch of gentleness, rang out softly amid the gurgling sounds of Lingbao sucking milk:
"Even jade seals and golden seals cannot imprint the mark of life's first cry."
"The ancestral temple code cannot bear the weight of the true nature of chaos."
"This is worshipped by all nations, a thousand standards..."
He lowered his head slightly, his eyes falling on the tiny tuft of fetal hair on the list, and there was a barely perceptible trace of cherishment in his voice.
"...I can't compare to this... a piece of fine wool that was casually left by my son's pillow."
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