I walked away from a multi-billion-dollar inheritance, publicly severing ties with the Thorne empire. My ex-girlfriend coughed up blood, my best friend had a meltdown, but I just smiled, moving my ‘home’ under a bridge. All because, in my past life, that ex-girlfriend and ‘best friend’ had colluded, using a ‘Life-Exchange System’ to siphon away my good fortune. The better I lived, the worse my body became. The healthier and longer they lived. I inherited billions. But I contracted an incurable illness, sought doctors everywhere to no avail, and died young at 35. My ex-girlfriend and friend, meanwhile, had it easy, not only securing my inheritance but living to a ripe old age. When I opened my eyes again, I was back – three days before I was set to inherit everything. The crystal ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts. My gaze was locked on the signature line at the end of the will. My pen hovered, and a drop of ink fell, blooming into a menacing, spider-like stain. I snapped my head up, gasping for air. A sharp pain lanced through my temple, and dying memories flashed before my eyes: The acrid smell of disinfectant. I was lying in an ICU bed, tubes snaking into every part of my body. My once muscular frame was now just pale skin stretched over bones. Tiffany leaned in, her freshly manicured acrylic nails tracing the hollow of my cheek. “The doctors say your liver is still good, you know.” Her sweet voice was like a viper’s hiss. “Sterling will put it to good use.” I tried to struggle, but I couldn’t even lift a finger. The heart monitor on the screen flatlined. Sterling stood in the shadows, the cold gleam of a scalpel in his hand. One second I was in that tube-ridden ICU, the next, I was back in the Thorne family study. The ominous flatline of the heart monitor still echoed in my ears. Was this… a do-over? A second chance? “Mr. Thorne?” The lawyer adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. “Mr. Richard Thorne said once you sign, you’ll have access to the trust fund.” The reflection in his lenses hid his quick glance at the surveillance camera. My body tensed. This was… the day I inherited everything, seven years ago? Suddenly, lines of translucent text flickered into existence before my eyes. [DON’T SIGN IT! That’s the contract that killed you last time, Alex!] [The male lead’s girlfriend and friend tied him to a ‘Life-Exchange System.’ The better the protagonist lived, the worse his body became, and the healthier and longer they lived. The more miserable the protagonist was, the better his body became, and the more agonizingly they suffered.] [He’s been reborn, but is the protagonist really going to repeat his mistakes?] I stared, transfixed, at the words, my fingers trembling uncontrollably. In the reflection of my pen’s metal cap, Tiffany was in the hallway, meticulously wrapping a red string, adorned with an old copper coin, around a small wooden doll. The heavy, cloying scent of her expensive perfume wafted faintly toward me. “No rush,” I said, sliding the pen back into the lawyer’s chest pocket. “Don’t I have three days?” The ink cartridge suddenly burst, staining his three-million-dollar custom suit black. In the hallway, Tiffany gasped. The red string snapped, and the copper coin slowly rolled to my feet. I picked it up. The coin felt cold in my palm, etched with a grotesque, gaping maw. I handed the will back to the lawyer. “Let me think about it.” A life exchange, huh? This time, I’ll make sure you exchange more than you bargained for!
Tiffany practically ran to help me to my bedroom, a faint jasmine scent clinging to her. She reached out to touch my forehead, her fingertips chillingly cold, not like a living person’s. “Alex, you look terrible.” Her worried frown was Oscar-worthy. “Do you want me to call Sterling to check on you?” I shook my head weakly, observing her reaction. In my past life, it was this seemingly caring suggestion that led to weekly health check-ups, secretly accelerating the system’s siphoning of my life. “I’ve prepared a potent health tonic for you.” She hurried back with a bone china bowl, expensive slices of wild ginseng floating on the surface. “Drink it while it’s warm, it’s good for you.” [This ‘healing’ brew had a double dose of something extra.] [The harder she tries to ‘care’ for the male lead, the faster he dies.] I pretended to take a sip, letting the liquid dribble down the corner of my mouth. Tiffany quickly wiped it with a handkerchief, a flicker of excitement in her eyes, barely discernible. “Let me feed you.” She scooped a spoonful, blowing on it gently. That gesture, which once charmed me, now only revealed her calculating nature. Every spoonful meant the system would steal more of my vitality and funnel it to them. Suddenly, Tiffany’s hand trembled, and the tonic splashed onto the silk sheets. As she frantically wiped it away, I noticed a tiny cut on her left ring finger. In my last life, her hands had been flawless. “What happened to your hand?” I asked, feigning concern. She quickly hid her hand behind her back. “Just a small cut while preparing the tonic… it’s nothing.” But her voice was noticeably weaker. [The system is starting to backfire!] [Every time the male lead refuses their ‘care,’ they weaken a little.] [Spilling the tonic means a failed feeding!] I coughed violently, this time not faking it. A metallic taste flooded my throat, but the blood on my handkerchief was at least half the amount it had been at this point in my previous life. My strategy was already working. “Sleep, I’ll watch over you.” She tucked me in, her movements impossibly gentle, like someone meticulously preserving a precious artifact about to go up for auction. Once she thought I was asleep, she left the room and immediately called Sterling. “Alex just coughed up blood! Yes, exactly as predicted… Good, I’ll bring him over first thing tomorrow.” In the moonlight, her profile glowed with a sickly flush – health stolen directly from me. The next day. Tiffany insisted on taking me to Sterling’s private clinic for a check-up. “You trust Sterling, don’t you? We’ve been friends since childhood.” Sterling’s private clinic stood in the city’s most exclusive medical district, its glass facade gleaming coldly in the sun. Inside, it was furnished like a high-end club, the air a mix of antiseptic and expensive essential oils. Sterling stood behind a marble reception desk, his white lab coat spotless, but the pen clipped to his pocket was now solid gold. “Alex!” He opened his arms to greet me, and I caught the scent of his freshly applied cologne. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Sterling led me into the consultation room. “How’s your sleep lately?” Sterling’s pen scratched softly on the patient chart. “Always nightmares,” I said, staring at the imitation starry sky lamp on the ceiling. Sterling claimed it helped patients relax. “I dream of lying in an ICU, someone sticking tubes all over me.” Sterling’s pen tip paused, accidentally tearing the paper. But he quickly pasted on a professional smile. “Too much stress. Want to try my newly imported sedative?” [Alex, be careful!]
I coughed violently, looking at the deliberately faked blood streaks on my handkerchief, and hoarsely said, “Tiffany makes me health tonics every day, why is it getting worse?” “She’s just too worried about you, actually…” He suddenly lowered his voice. “Some tonics shouldn’t be mixed, or they can do more harm than good.” “Really?” I feigned surprise. “Let’s get you checked out first.” “We just got a new German-imported full-body scanner.” The exam room was intentionally set to a low temperature. I lay on the cold examination table, my peripheral vision catching Tiffany in the corner, her fingers unconsciously stroking the copper coin bracelet on her wrist. Her complexion was better than yesterday, her skin exuding a healthy glow. “Blood pressure’s a bit high, heart rate’s unstable, quite a few issues,” Sterling said, frowning at the monitor, his voice filled with concern. “You’ll need regular nutrient injections to regulate.” “Alex, as your brother, I have to be honest. Your father is getting old, the corporation needs you, but your current health…” [He’s lying! The data is all fake!] [Alex, find a way to refuse!] “It might hurt a little.” Sterling smiled, holding up the syringe, its needle gleaming coldly. “Wait.” I suddenly clutched my chest, coughing violently. “I… I can’t breathe…” Sterling immediately rushed over, anxiously steadying me. “Alex! What’s wrong?” I seized the opportunity, gripping his wrist and squeezing hard. He winced in pain and let go, the syringe clattering to the floor, the liquid spilling everywhere. “Sorry, I’m just so nervous,” I panted, apologizing, but my eyes were fixed on Sterling’s reaction. His expression twisted for a moment before quickly resuming a facade of concern, but fine beads of sweat had already broken out on his forehead. “It’s okay, we can do it another day,” he forced a smile, but couldn’t help rubbing his own chest, where a sharp pain was flaring. [Hahaha, serves him right!] [Sterling is also suffering system backlash!] [Alex, you rock!] As we left the clinic, Tiffany’s face was noticeably paler. She was clutching the wall, her steps unsteady, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. And I, though still feigning weakness, was breathing much more easily than when we arrived. That evening, I went out alone for a walk to clear my head. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a voice message from Tiffany, the faint clinking of glass in the background. “Alex, I’ve brewed some… bird’s nest soup for you… *cough cough*… When are you coming back?” Her coughing was three times more frequent than yesterday. I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened my stock trading app. Thorne Pharmaceuticals’ stock chart today looked like a dying snake, struggling near its rock-bottom limit – exactly what I wanted. In my past life, on this very day, my father announced my entry into the board of directors, and the stock soared 7%. [Tiffany’s tonic is going to get cold.] [Alex is playing a big game.] The cross-river bridge, after a heavy downpour, reeked of damp rust. I loosened my tie, my expensive dress shoes sinking into the muddy riverbank. Underneath the bridge, a hunched figure was rummaging through a dumpster, his movements as practiced as if he were shopping at a supermarket. “Hey, buddy, got a light?” I crouched down, pulling a crumpled pack of imported cigarettes from my suit jacket. The homeless man recoiled abruptly, his eyes, under a tangle of dreadlocks, darting like a startled animal. His left hand clutched a half-eaten piece of moldy bread, his right gripped a rusty umbrella spoke. The cigarette pack arced through the air. He instinctively snatched it. “Premium cigarettes?” His voice rasped like sandpaper on rust. “You rich kids, even your charity has to be fancy.” But his trembling fingers were already tearing open the foil impatiently. I sat directly in the mud, my expensive suit pants instantly soaking up dark stains. “Teach me,” I said, the lit cigarette flickering in the dim light. “How do you live like a human being under a bridge?”
He burst out laughing, revealing a gap where a front tooth should have been. “Mr. Thorne the big shot wants to experience life?” So he recognized me. Of course, every ad screen downtown was constantly playing our family’s pharmaceutical commercials. “I’m on the run,” I whispered, like sharing a dark secret. “Someone wants my liver, my kidneys, and this heart that’s beating too fast.” Maybe it was the cigarette, or maybe I was just too convincing. The homeless man’s eyes changed. He tossed me half a bottle of cheap whiskey he’d found, still bearing a ‘Happy Birthday’ sticker. “I can teach you,” he said, flicking the bottle neck with his grimy fingernail. “Just talk with me, and I’ll tell you.” So I learned how he’d been swindled out of his military pension by unscrupulous partners after leaving the service. How he’d had three ribs broken while trying to collect unpaid wages. And how, outside the courthouse, he’d discovered the opposing lawyer was his own brother. Every wrinkle on his face hid the city’s dirtiest secrets. He blew a smoke ring that dissolved in the river breeze. “Damn!” The homeless man’s cigarette butt fell into a puddle, sizzling. His calloused hand suddenly clapped me on the shoulder. “Kid, you should see my spot. Even debt collectors can’t find that place.” I chuckled. “Mind if I get a roommate?” [Divine teammate online!] [This homeless guy is not simple.] [Male lead found a treasure!] The sight of us, arm in arm, heading deeper into the bridge’s archway, was captured by a jogger on their morning run. In their lens, my expensive dress shoes were gone, replaced by a pair of beat-up canvas sneakers Gus had scrounged up. Their toes curled upward, making them look almost… hopeful. The next morning, the headlines exploded: /SCION OF THORNE EMPIRE SPOTTED UNDER BRIDGE WITH MYSTERY MAN!/ /BILLIONAIRE HEIR’S UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP?/ /SHOCKING DISPLAY OF… HUMANITY?/ When Tiffany called for the twelfth time, I was learning from Gus how to start a fire with old newspapers. As my phone screen lit up, the fire in the bridge arch flickered, dancing in the river breeze. Tiffany’s face on screen was deathly pale, as if all the color had been drained from her. Strands of hair clung to her forehead, and her carefully sculpted eyebrows were twisted into a mask of rage. “Alex Thorne! Have you lost your mind?!” Her voice was sharp, piercing, and in the background, I heard the sound of porcelain shattering. “Why didn’t you sign?! Do you have any idea how furious your father was this morning when he found out you hadn’t signed? He practically demolished his study!” I adjusted the angle, letting the bonfire’s glow illuminate my face. After a night under the bridge, the stubble on my chin and the soot-stained collar of my shirt created a perfect, gritty composition with the crumbling bridge wall behind me. “Tiffany, why do you look so bad?” I leaned closer to the camera, feigning concern. “Didn’t sleep well last night?” She instinctively touched her thinning hairline, then burst into a violent cough, a stark crimson stain appearing on her handkerchief. When she looked up, I saw that the capillaries in her right eye had burst, the whites now a terrifying bloodshot red – the system’s backlash was faster than I’d anticipated.
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