Chapter 679: Self-Vindication
At this moment, Haimi’s fan group was also in an uproar.
Some people thought it was an official conspiracy, while others were questioning Haimi about what was really going on. Many found it unbelievable—Haimi’s skills were clearly excellent, so why would he need to use some micro-aimbot?
Over the past few days, several streamers who had been placed in the "God Server" were also plagued by the commotion. Their livestream rooms were flooded with hordes of onlookers, all gloating and reveling in their misfortune.
Many spectators said nothing at all, just spammed strings of "mourning, mourning, mourning, mourning, mourning, mourning, mourning," along with things like "daily grave-sweeping and incense-burning," "when is the streamer planning to refund gifts and quit the livestream circle?" "Is Moyu condoning cheating streamers? Why isn’t the room permanently banned?" and so on.
Anyone facing this situation would probably find it impossible to stream properly, let alone these major streamers who were usually treated like stars surrounded by the moon. How could they endure the shock of such a steep fall from grace?
At 7:30 PM.
The stream was set to start at 8 PM, and Haimi still hadn’t figured out how to give his audience a proper answer. Although the livestream room was still blacked out, many viewers had already gathered, spamming "mourning, mourning, mourning, mourning, mourning" while waiting to see his performance.
Trying to muddle through was impossible—the audience wasn’t stupid. If he kept being ambiguous, even his core fans would turn against him.
The only good news was that Moyu Livestream Platform hadn’t immediately banned Haimi’s room. Instead, they arranged for staff to communicate with him, urging him to find a way to reverse public opinion as quickly as possible during this period.
The implication was clear. Haimi was an old streamer and a cash cow for Moyu, so the platform’s higher-ups were giving him some time.
If he could show hope of turning the tide in the short term, he could continue streaming, and everyone would be happy. If he was helpless and the public opinion worsened, the platform would have no choice but to cut ties with him.
How to reverse public opinion?
Bribe Chen Mo? Don’t be ridiculous—he genuinely didn’t care about the money a streamer earned.
After much thought, Haimi could only think of one solution: self-vindication.
He would ask the officials to provide a VR game cabin for streaming, ensuring absolutely no auxiliary programs were present, and then perform at his usual streaming level.
The reason Haimi had this idea was because of the official announcement’s wording—it wasn’t that harsh in its condemnation. Moreover, the officials’ lenient attitude toward micro-aimbots was quite intriguing.
If micro-aimbots were treated the same as other cheats, wouldn’t they just issue a permanent ban and be done with it? Why bother creating a "God Server"? Wasn’t that an unnecessary step?
Furthermore, even after exposing the God Server, the officials showed no intention of banning accounts. They simply "locked" all these micro-aimbot accounts in the God Server and left it at that.
So, Haimi speculated that the criteria for judging "micro-aimbots" and other cheats were likely different.
The developers in the cheat groups had also revealed that no matter how many updates or disguises were made, "PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds" could always detect micro-aimbot users. This suggested that its detection program probably didn’t rely solely on technical means.
In other words, PUBG’s detection system might not be "seeing the player use a micro-aimbot" but rather "analyzing that the player is using a micro-aimbot." This detection was likely based on data analysis.
Thinking this over, Haimi suddenly felt there was a turning point!
If the officials had found the relevant code for cheating on his account, there would be nothing more to say—ironclad evidence. But the problem was, the officials most likely didn’t have that!
The more likely scenario was that the officials had analyzed from data that he was using a micro-aimbot.
For other streamers, this would be fatal, because the data difference before and after using a micro-aimbot was too significant. And that made sense—only noobs used micro-aimbots.
But Haimi was a special case. His aim was already excellent; he used the micro-aimbot only for better entertainment value.
If he could get a third-party platform to verify him, using their VR game cabin to replicate his streaming performance, couldn’t he clear his name? Then he could simply explain that he was mistakenly flagged by the system and sent to the God Server, not because he was using a micro-aimbot.
PUBG clearly had a detection system; otherwise, it couldn’t ban cheaters instantly with such efficiency. But since it was a detection system, it was bound to make mistakes. Even manual bans could be wrong, let alone a system.
If he could successfully vindicate himself, public opinion would surely reverse. Without technical evidence from the officials, they would have to admit he wasn’t cheating, right?
In other words, successful self-vindication would flip the narrative and bring him massive popularity. Failure would just accelerate his downfall—but what difference was there between a slow death and a fast one?
Haimi didn’t want to muddle through, but the problem was, he really couldn’t!
After thinking it over, Haimi believed this was the only way to turn things around.
At 8 PM, he started streaming on time.
As soon as the stream began, the chat exploded. There were fans supporting Haimi, onlookers bashing him, people just joining in for fun, and likely water armies hired by other streamers. The screen was flooded with comments, impossible to keep up with.
Haimi took a deep breath, calmed himself, and then spoke.
"First of all, thank you all for your concern. Regarding the accusations that I use a micro-aimbot, I’ll give a unified response here. Starting tomorrow, I’ll stop streaming for a while. But don’t misunderstand—it’s not to lay low; I have something more important to do."
"I’m going to vindicate myself!"
"Yes, I’m going to prove my innocence. The specifics of how I’ll do it haven’t been arranged yet, but I’ll definitely find some fair third-party organizations in the country to set this up. The method is simple: the third-party organization will provide a game cabin, and I’ll have several club leaders, professional players, and even PUBG officials verify that the cabin has no auxiliary programs. Then I’ll stream using the cabin they provide."
"I’ll continue performing the same operations I usually do in my streams to prove my skill. Once everything is arranged, I’ll still stream in my own room, and anyone is welcome to watch and judge."
"As for whether I succeed, the standard is simple. With so many club leaders, professional players, and viewers watching, everyone can see whether my level is higher or lower than usual. Justice will prevail."
"Alright, enough rambling. Let’s continue today’s stream."
After Haimi finished speaking, he glanced at the chat, which was already flooded with "66666." Although some people were still sneering, it was clear that the "self-vindication" statement had had a good effect.
Regardless, the onlookers loved reversals and drama. Haimi knew he had made the right move.