Category: English

The scene of my older brother, James, bleeding profusely after being hit by a stray bullet in the library, stung my eyes. Yet, I, who was passing by, chose to ignore it, even quickening my pace to flee the scene. This was because, in my previous life, I had frantically rushed him to the hospital. James had suffered a severe head injury and cranial bleeding, urgently needing surgery. At that critical moment, I called our mother, Dr. Elena Hayes, the city’s top neurosurgeon, pleading with her to come to the hospital immediately. But she, believing I was merely jealous of her taking my adopted sister, Chloe, to the beach, accused me of fabricating the story of James’s injury. No matter how much I begged, she refused to return. By the time my father and other family members arrived at the hospital, James had already passed away, having missed the crucial window for rescue. Our entire family blamed me for James’s death, convinced that I had deliberately misled Mom and delayed his treatment. Mom, rushing back from out of town, completely broke down, pushing me down a flight of stairs, leaving me to bleed out and die. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day James was shot in the library. 1 The few seconds I lingered at the library entrance, the shocking crimson exploded in my vision, terrifyingly similar to the bloodstain that spread after my head hit the ground when Mom pushed me down the stairs in my previous life. Countless images flashed through my mind: the clamor of voices in the hospital corridor, Mom’s icy glare, Dad’s furious shouts, and the desperate sensation of freefall as I plunged. I spun around, sprinting in the opposite direction with all my might, hailing a taxi and diving inside. Even in the back seat, my body trembled uncontrollably. Chloe’s parents had died in an earthquake, saving my brother. Orphaned, she was taken in by Mom and Dad. From that day on, she became the family’s little princess, while I became an extra, a burden. Even James, who once doted on me, only showed tenderness to Chloe. No matter what I did or said, in their eyes, it was wildly wrong. In my previous life, I desperately tried to explain my true intention of saving James, explaining that Mom had misunderstood everything. But they not only refused to believe me; they even thought James being shot was a sinister plot I had orchestrated – such an absurd accusation, yet they swallowed it whole. In this life, I would never meddle again. After all, James knew Chloe was bullying me at school, yet he always stood by and did nothing. When I pushed open the front door, I heard Dad’s cheerful self-congratulation. “These shrimps are really big, Chloe will definitely love them.” He hummed happily. “I’ll stew some black chicken soup for her when she gets back. She’s looked a bit thin lately, needs some extra nourishment.” It wasn’t until I reached the dining room entrance that Dad looked up and saw me. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a stern expression. “Sophia Hayes, I told you to buy some crabs. What took you so long? What time is it?! Where were you wandering off to? What if the seafood isn’t fresh and she gets sick? Can’t you be more responsible?” I stood at the doorway, still clutching the bag of crabs, which felt impossibly heavy. I lowered my head and mumbled, “Traffic was a bit bad…” “Traffic? Are you the only person in this entire city who got stuck in traffic?” Dad’s voice grew increasingly impatient. “You’re so sensitive. Say two words to you and you get upset, like a clam. You’re nothing like Chloe, who’s so sensible and considerate.” Ever since Chloe came into this family, such comparisons had been constant. My every move, every expression, was always measured against hers, always concluding that I was inferior. Looking at the undisguised disappointment on my father’s face, I tightened my grip on the bag, my nails digging deep into my palms. Suddenly, the phone on the cutting board rang urgently. Dad picked it up, his voice easy and cheerful. “Hello? Oh, it’s Mr. Davis from the library. Hello, hello…” The next second, his voice abruptly changed pitch. “What? Shot? Library? James?!” He hung up, his face ashen. “Your brother got into trouble at the library. The teacher told us to go quickly.” I feigned ignorance, following him as he rushed out of the house. We sped towards City Central Hospital. 2 This hospital was horribly familiar to me—Mom was a celebrity doctor here, a leading authority in neurosurgery. The operating room doors were already surrounded by family: grandparents on both sides were present. Grandma Grace wiped tears from her eyes, pointing at me, her voice choked. “You have the nerve to show your face! James is in such a bad state, where were you?!” Grandpa Frank, though silent, looked at me with immense disappointment and condemnation. Grandpa Robert, supporting Grandma Rose, also cast a blaming glance. “Exactly! Why weren’t you with your brother at the library? How dangerous for him to be out alone!” Dad stood beside them, his eyes full of accusation. I felt like a target, pierced by countless gazes. In this life, I chose to stand by, to avoid involvement, yet I still became the scapegoat—it seemed no matter what I did, in their eyes, it was always wrong. I lowered my head, murmuring defensively, “I didn’t know James would get into trouble. I’ll go call Mom, she’s working overtime at the hospital anyway…” Hearing the words “call Mom,” Dad’s eyes instantly panicked. He grabbed me. “Your mom’s busy. Don’t disturb her.” Busy doing what? Probably with Chloe, pearl diving and making necklaces in Seaside City. In my previous life, it was at this point that I found out Mom had taken time off to vacation with Chloe. The entire family knew she wasn’t in town, but they’d hidden it from me. Grandma Rose looked at Dad disapprovingly. “No matter how busy she is, can it be more important than James’s surgery? Call Dr. Elena Hayes immediately! Tell her to come here at once!” “That’s right, that’s right,” Grandpa Frank chimed in. “Such a big thing. What could be more important than this? Call her now!” I pretended to frantically pull out my phone and dial. I called over a dozen times, but no one picked up. “What’s wrong with Elena?! James is like this, and she won’t even answer her phone!” Grandma Rose grew more frantic, her voice laced with dissatisfaction towards Mom. Dad quickly tried to smooth things over. “Mom, she might be in surgery. You know, once she’s in the operating room, she can’t pay attention to anything else.” However, just as he finished speaking, the call connected. “Didn’t I tell you? Don’t disturb me unless it’s important! Sophia Hayes, are you insane?! Don’t you know I’m busy here?!” I gripped my phone, my voice small and shaky. “Mom, James was shot. He’s at your hospital, outside the operating room. Please come quickly…” I hadn’t finished speaking when she cut me off with a scoff. “Ha, shot? Don’t curse James like that!” Her voice was sharp. “James is perfectly fine, studying for his exams at the library. How could he be shot?! If he doesn’t do well, it’s all because of your jinx!” She didn’t believe me. It was exactly the same as in my previous life. “Mom, it’s true! James really was shot! Right outside the operating room here! So much blood…” My voice cracked. “It’s true, Elena, please come!” My anxious grandmother, standing beside me, also shouted into the phone. Mom’s voice instantly turned cold, tinged with obvious displeasure. “Mom, Sophia Hayes is being childish and talking nonsense, and you’re joining in the commotion?” Her voice was dismissive. “Forget it, I don’t have time for this with you all. I’m busy with work. I’m hanging up.” The call was abruptly ended. “What could be more important than James’s life?! She’s completely insane!” Grandma Rose clutched her chest, her voice trembling. Dad tried to explain, “Mom, Elena really might have something extremely important…” Just then, a nurse rushed out of the operating room, her face anxious. “Are you Dr. Hayes’s family?” She cried urgently. “Quickly, call her back! The patient has severe cranial bleeding; the situation is critical! Only she can perform the surgery!” She wrung her hands. “But she’s off duty today and not at the hospital.” Dad instantly panicked, looking helplessly at Grandma Rose and Grandpa Frank. Grandpa Frank stomped his foot, yelling, “What are you standing there for?! Call your wife back at once!” His voice was filled with righteous indignation. “She even dared to lie about working!” This time, the call connected quickly. Noisy background sounds filtered through the phone. Chloe’s happy shouts were heard. “Mom, we only need 10 more pearls for a necklace! Keep diving!” Mom’s voice was filled with doting affection. “Okay, Mom will keep diving for you.” Dad frantically spoke into the phone. “Elena, please come back! James was shot! He has cranial bleeding and needs your surgery!” There were a few seconds of silence on the other end, then Mom’s displeased voice came through. “Are you messing around too? Is that ungrateful Sophia Hayes talking nonsense again? She can’t go a day without causing trouble!” She scoffed. “How many times have I told you, don’t believe a word she says!” I stood by, listening to their conversation, feeling a chilling coldness spread through me. It was Chloe who was habitually lying, always framing me, and I was always speechless. Dad’s voice was pleading. “Elena, I’m begging you, this time it’s real! James is really dying, please come back and see him!” Mom’s voice showed hesitation. “Robert, then I…” Just then, Chloe’s voice came through the phone again, tinged with a hint of a whine. “Oh, I just wanted a pearl necklace! Sis is bringing the whole family to mess things up.” Her voice turned dramatic. “Never mind, Mom, I don’t want it anymore. After all, I’m just an adopted daughter, not as important as my sister.” Mom’s attitude instantly hardened. “Alright, stop it. I’ll be back tonight. Stop trying to trick me using James!” She snapped. “He’s tough as nails, what could possibly happen to him!” Grandma Rose couldn’t take it anymore and roared into the phone. “Elena, do you have any conscience?! James is fighting for his life, and you’re still thinking about that adopted daughter!” She shrieked. “Are you saying all of us are lying to you?! Is James’s life less important than a string of pearls?!” Mom’s voice was now full of impatience. “Alright, Mom, Chloe is my darling, no less important than James. I’ll be back soon, don’t push me!” She added, viciously. “Sophia Hayes is selfish and a liar, don’t believe her!” She hung up again, leaving behind a group of anxiously waiting family members outside the operating room. This time, Grandma Rose and Grandpa Frank were clearly furious. They couldn’t believe Mom was so reckless. For an adopted daughter, she disregarded her own son’s life. And I stood by, watching their anxious and angry expressions, feeling surprisingly calm. In my previous life, I had done everything I could to save James’s life, only to be met with my family’s blame and Mom’s coldness. In this life, I chose to watch, wondering what they would do about Mom’s choice for Chloe. The nurse rushed out of the operating room again, her voice frantic. “Have you found Dr. Hayes?! The patient’s vital signs are dropping!” She cried. “If we don’t operate now, it will be too late!” Dad frantically tried to call Mom again, only to find he’d been blocked. Grandma Rose and Grandpa Frank also fumbled for their phones, shakily dialing. A moment later, both their faces turned ashen. “Can’t get through! She blocked me too!” Grandma Rose’s voice was filled with unbelievable pain. “Me too… that heartless woman! How could she do this?!” Grandpa Frank clutched his phone, tears and snot blurring his face. Despair instantly spread. Everyone knew that this time, James was truly gone. We could only stand helplessly outside the operating room, listening to the hurried sounds of resuscitation inside, watching James’s life slowly ebb away. The operating room door opened again. The doctor emerged, looking exhausted, and gently shook his head. “I’m sorry… we did our best.” Grandma Rose let out a desperate wail, collapsing onto James’s body, sobbing heartbrokenly. “My James! My grandson!” Grandpa Frank stumbled in, clutching James’s cold body, howling, “James! My grandson! How could this happen?!” Dad stood frozen, his body swaying, his face etched with extreme pain and regret. He looked at his lifeless son on the operating table and let out a raw, unrestrained roar. 3 Although Mom said she’d be back that night, she was still delayed by two days. James’s funeral had already taken place by the time she finally arrived, trailing Chloe behind her. Chloe’s neck was adorned with a shimmering pearl necklace, which gleamed ostentatiously in the dim light of the living room. Mom’s eyes immediately landed on me. Before I could even react, a loud slap landed on my face. A searing pain instantly spread, making my head ring. “You home-wrecker!” Mom screamed, her voice raw. “I only went to play with Chloe for a bit, and you started lying and stirring up trouble! How dare you joke about something as serious as James’s accident!” My face felt numb from the blow, my mind a blank slate. It took a while to find my voice again. “I didn’t…” Chloe caressed the necklace on her neck, looking at me with an innocent expression, her eyes glinting with hidden triumph. “Mom, don’t be angry, don’t be angry because of me. Sophia is your biological daughter, after all. Maybe she just missed you too much, that’s why…” Her words were supposedly conciliatory, yet each one poured gasoline on the fire. “I wish I never had a daughter like you!” Mom hissed through clenched teeth, as if I were a plague she couldn’t escape. Dad, who had been silent, stepped forward and shielded me. “If you don’t want this daughter, I do. You and Chloe can live your own lives.” Mom and I both froze. Dad usually doted on Chloe as much as Mom did, but now he was completely out of character. “Robert, what’s wrong with you?” Seeing this, Chloe quickly stepped forward, weakly tugging at Dad’s sleeve, her voice even more aggrieved. “Did Chloe make Dad angry? Chloe doesn’t want the pearl necklace anymore, Dad, please don’t be angry.” Her eyes flickered between me and Dad, a clear performance. She wanted to use her feigned hurt and sensibility to win back Dad’s favor. Dad shook off her hand, his face expressionless. “Don’t call me Dad.” He looked at her coldly. “We’re not related by blood.” Chloe’s face instantly went ashen, her body stiffened, and the tears in her eyes seemed to freeze. Grandma Rose finally couldn’t hold back. “I don’t know how you can call yourself a mother! Neglecting your own flesh and blood, but so attentive to an outsider!” I stood behind Dad, covering my burning cheek, watching Mom being reprimanded by the whole family. But this time, it wasn’t me who was being scolded. Mom was completely bewildered. She could only vent her anger on me. “Sophia Hayes! What did you tell them?! What lies have you been spreading again?!” She refused to believe James was truly dead, refused to believe her own actions had led to all this. She only believed I was up to my old tricks, slandering her behind her back, stirring up trouble. Just as Mom was about to lose her mind, Grandpa Frank delivered a sharp slap across Mom’s face. Before Mom could recover from the blow, Grandpa Frank slammed a piece of paper he had been clutching tightly onto Mom’s face. “You still have the nerve to blame others! Look! See for yourself!”

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1 My mother, Eleanor Stone, stood accused of sexual assault, a charge so heinous it had driven her accuser to a mental breakdown. In the packed courtroom, I watched in stunned horror as my own wife, Cici Bennett, sat on the plaintiff’s side. “My mother-in-law’s conduct was utterly reprehensible,” Cici declared, her voice ringing with conviction, her gaze piercing. “She repeatedly harassed the underprivileged student I sponsored, and then, while I was away, she committed this assault.” “As an attorney, even if my mother-in-law raised me, I am bound by justice. The law must deliver a fair verdict!” In a single night, Cici soared to notoriety, hailed as the city’s most uncompromising lawyer. Meanwhile, my mother became a public pariah, her once-thriving company—the very empire she had built—teetering on the brink of collapse. I confronted Cici, demanding the truth. Her response was chillingly detached: “Once Caleb inherits the company, I’ll naturally work to reduce her sentence. As long as she behaves herself in prison, I’ll continue to support her upon her release.” As I desperately searched for a defense attorney for my mother, hitting dead ends at every turn, a reputable legal firm unexpectedly contacted me. It was then I learned that our subsidiary branch was facing imminent bankruptcy due to mismanagement, but my mother had long ago secretly transferred the true parent company into my name. Leaving the courthouse, I cut Cici off, blocking her path. “Cici Bennett,” I seethed, my voice barely controlled. “You would frame my mother for an outsider? Do you understand? You’ve utterly destroyed her life!” The crowd gathered around, drawn by my outburst, their eyes brimming with scorn. The memory of her ruthless accusations in court ignited a fresh surge of fury within me. “That’s not what happened at all! You manipulated everything behind the scenes!” Cici’s lips curved into a triumphant, self-satisfied smile. “Alex Stone, I am an attorney upholding justice. Your mother committed a shameless act. Instead of disciplining her, you’re yelling at me?” My heart felt a vicious twist, a cold, crushing grip tightened around my chest. I stared into her eyes, my usually mild voice raw and hoarse. “From childhood, my mother treated you like her own daughter. When you were sick, she burned the midnight oil tending to you. When you wanted to become a lawyer, she took you across the country for specialized studies.” Cici raised a hand, cutting me off. “Your mother raised me for twenty years, wasn’t it just to force me to marry you? Your ‘generosity,’ Alex, it always had a price tag.” After her own family fell on hard times, Cici had been taken in by my mother. When Cici expressed her desire to become an attorney, my mother leveraged her connections, paving the way for her at a prestigious law firm. But now, it seemed, Cici viewed that path to success not as a gift, but as a burden, a sinister plot against her. A bitter wave washed over me. Cici, her face darkening, hurled a stack of documents at me. “Stop acting insane! I owe your family nothing! All you need to do is ensure your mother reflects properly in prison! Caleb, though from a poor background, is nothing like you, a spoiled, good-for-nothing rich kid. He’s ambitious, diligent, and resilient. The company will only truly thrive if he takes over. I’m doing this for your mother’s good!” I stared at her face, so familiar yet so alien. The initial shock faded, replaced by a hollow numbness. We had once been childhood sweethearts. When I was wronged, she would bravely stand before me, shielding me. When I fell ill, she would watch over me relentlessly, day and night. So when she proposed marriage, I had agreed without a moment’s hesitation. But now, she was a stranger. The innocent, kind Cici I had known was utterly gone. My hands clenched, my heart aching with an unbearable pain. My voice, though trembling, was firm. “My mother did nothing wrong. I will never let her admit to something she didn’t do. I will find the evidence.” Caleb, standing nearby, tugged at Cici’s sleeve, his voice a pathetic whimper. “Cici, just let it go. I’ll accept what Auntie did to me. Don’t fight with Alex because of me.” Seeing tears glistening in Caleb’s eyes, Cici’s expression softened with concern. She stroked his arm. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll make sure the culprit is brought to justice.” Then, her gaze turned cold, aimed squarely at me. “Alex Stone, don’t think about finding evidence to overturn the case. That will only make your mother’s time in prison worse.” I didn’t acknowledge them further. I turned and walked away. The immediate priority was to gather evidence, to pull my mother from this nightmare. I sought help from Mark, a friend and fellow attorney, but found his office door barred. I called him, my hands trembling, only to find my number blocked. A long while later, a text message from him arrived, a plea: “Your wife is a prominent lawyer, Alex, with powerful backing. Don’t make things difficult for us. Just apologize to her. Why make marital issues public?” My heart felt as if it were being repeatedly pierced by a sharp blade. I doubled over, gasping for breath, tears silently tracking paths down my face, landing on my phone screen. Just then, a call came through from my mother’s legal team. “Mr. Stone, the subsidiary branch is facing severe financial difficulties. It’s on the brink of bankruptcy. But Mrs. Stone had already transferred the main company into your name.” 2 The lawyer explained that my mother had secretly transferred the main company, Stone Industries, into my name. It was my pre-marital property, untouchable even by Cici, my wife. Stone Industries was my parents’ life’s work. If it fell into the wrong hands, I would never be able to face my mother again. The most urgent task now was to find evidence to clear her name. After leaving the law firm, I immediately went to visit my mother in prison. Her face, haggard and pale, her eyes vacant behind the cold bars, made my fists clench in helpless rage. “Alex, I didn’t do it… I truly didn’t do it!” My mother wept, tears streaming down her face. And I knew it. This was a naked frame-up—a meticulously orchestrated deception by my wife, designed to transfer the company to Caleb. I turned away, fighting back my own tears. “Mom, I believe you. I’ve found a lawyer. Don’t worry, you’ll be out in a few days.” My mother sat there, dazed, merely whispering. “I never imagined Cici would do this to me. From childhood, I treated her like my own daughter.” “That day, I drank the tea she offered without a second thought. I was even picking out a birthday gift for her.” … My mother choked back sobs, her eyes brimming with profound disappointment, a deep, weary defeat. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth, my gaze unwavering as I looked at her. “Mom, my lawyer friend says there’s still a chance. Once you’re out, I’ll take you abroad for a change of scenery.” As visiting hours ended, I bade my mother farewell and walked out, my heart heavy with a profound sense of loss. Despite my reassurances to her, I knew the situation was dire. No one wanted to take on this case, to go up against Cici and her powerful connections. “Caleb, make sure all the documents are ready. The company will be transferred to you shortly.” Not far away, Cici was carefully instructing Caleb on the transfer process. By the time I fully processed their conversation, I was already standing before them, my gaze sharp and unwavering, piercing through her. “Cici Bennett, are you truly going to transfer the company to him?” She frowned, her voice icy. “Why are you still fixated on this small matter? The company belongs to Caleb.” I hadn’t held out much hope, but hearing her words, my heart was viciously impaled all over again. I took a deep breath, asking, my voice raw with indignation, “For him, you would frame the woman who raised you since childhood?” Cici shielded Caleb, her voice laced with impatience. “Caleb is an underprivileged student I sponsored. This is a graduation gift for him. Stop being as unreasonable as your mother!” I stared at this woman, so familiar yet so alien. For a moment, I thought I had misheard. But her cold, mocking gaze rested squarely on me. “Your mother was too stingy. Caleb’s family is poor. What’s wrong with giving him the company? If she hadn’t refused, I wouldn’t have treated her this way.” So, my mother’s years of selfless devotion were worth less than a few empty words from an underprivileged student she sponsored. And for her own selfish desires, she had allowed my mother to be burdened with a false accusation. Caleb, hiding behind Cici, whimpered, his eyes brimming with false vulnerability. “If Alex doesn’t want me to take over the company, then I don’t want it.” He pulled his hand away and turned to leave. “I was foolish to dream. Cici, I won’t bother you two again.” Cici grabbed his arm, her breathing quick and shallow. “Caleb, what are you saying? The company is compensation for my mother-in-law assaulting you. No one can stop this.” My gaze was locked onto her arm, wrapped intimately around Caleb’s. It was only then that I fully grasped the brutal truth: years of nurturing, of selfless care, meant nothing compared to a poor student’s fabricated story. My heart churned with bitterness, tears, unbidden, welled and spilled. 3 Done with their charade, I turned away and headed straight to the company headquarters. As per my lawyer’s instructions, I signed the stock transfer agreement. Sitting in the boardroom, my voice was firm, resolute. “Effective immediately, cease all funding to the subsidiary branch.” The lawyer, holding the agreement, paused, a cold understanding settling over him. “Understood, Mr. Stone. I’ll arrange it at once!” Unexpectedly, after the lawyer left, I encountered Cici and Caleb. Seeing me, Cici’s smile vanished instantly. She strode purposefully towards me, her voice dripping with contempt. “Alex Stone, why are you like a persistent shadow? Still trying to complain to Aether Global? If you ruin Caleb’s good fortune, I won’t let you get away with it.” I looked at her, my expression cold, saying nothing. Caleb’s gaze fell upon me. He feigned distress, lowering his head. “Cici, is Alex refusing to give me the company? Why else would he be here? What if he spreads rumors, making Director Davies unwilling to invest in the company…” His words choked off mid-sentence, causing Cici’s face to harden. She glared at me, her eyes blazing with fury. “Alex Stone, why must you constantly oppose me? The company can only belong to Caleb. Don’t challenge my bottom line any further, or your mother’s life in prison will become even more miserable!” Caleb, standing beside her, looked smug, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. He assumed I was intimidated, a sneer playing on his lips. “Cici said the company is mine. As her husband, you should naturally support her decision wholeheartedly.” The commotion in the boardroom attracted many onlookers.

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1 The day my mom was cremated, I collected her ashes with my own hands. I buried the urn, I burned the paper offerings. She died, and for three straight years, I barely slept. But last night, she came back. She stood at the door, wearing the same nightgown from the fire, tapping softly. Her voice, gentle, called out, “Ethan, Mom’s home.” I didn’t dare open the door, didn’t even dare breathe. But she knew I was inside. She pressed herself against the wood. “I made your favorite chicken and wild rice soup. It’s still warm.” Her voice carried the faint, acrid scent of char. My name is Ethan Vance. I’m 28, and I live alone on the seventh floor of an old apartment building in the suburban sprawl. Three years ago, a fire devoured our home, and it took my mom with it. I remember that night, her body a shield, burning around me. That smell… I’ll never forget it. The police said she was unrecognizable, a brutal death. I identified her by the jade bracelet on her wrist. My mom was a good person, lived a life without a single regretful act. She shouldn’t have come back—not like this. I desperately tried to convince myself it was a hallucination. But the ‘her’ outside the door suddenly used my childhood pet name: “My little stink bug, come out. Mom saved a chicken leg for you.” My legs gave out, and I sank to the floor. Only she ever called me that. I’d never told anyone, not even my ex-girlfriend. I called the police. Two officers arrived. I steeled myself, opened the door, and she was gone. On the balcony, the chicken soup was still steaming, wisps of warmth rising into the cool air. The officers did a quick sweep, then suggested I might be having a mental health crisis, offering to arrange a hospital visit. I handed them my security footage. The result? All recordings from 2 AM to 4 AM were blank. They patted my shoulder. “Tough break, kid. Our condolences.” After they left, I found a fragment of a bloodied jade bracelet on the doorstep. It was my mom’s. The next day, she came again. This time, she didn’t knock. She used a key. I watched, horrified, as the lock clicked open, the deadbolt retracting with a soft clack. She walked in. She carried a grocery bag, a container of hot food, as if nothing unusual had ever happened. She headed straight for the kitchen to cook. I cowered in my bedroom, peeking through the crack in the door. A patch of burnt flesh on the back of her head was still faintly smoking. She was chopping vegetables, using the rusty cleaver I’d thrown away before she died. I swore I’d tossed that knife into the river after the fire. Yet, she chopped with practiced ease, humming a lullaby. “Dark skies, gonna rain…” She never sang. Not once in the twenty-five years I’d known her alive. I couldn’t take it anymore. I burst into the kitchen, slamming the knife from her hand. “Who are you?!” She paused, then slowly turned, a gentle smile still playing on her lips. “What’s wrong, Ethan? Didn’t you say last night you wanted pot roast?” A chill snaked down my spine. I hadn’t said that. But… I had, years ago, when I was a child. Fifteen years before she died. My voice trembled. “You’re not her… You’re not human.” Her smile vanished. She bent down, picking up the cleaver, and in a tone that sounded almost like a complaint, she said, “Little Ethan, why are you still upset?” On the third day, a neighbor dropped by. It was Old Man Johnson from downstairs. He glanced at ‘my mom,’ a cheerful grin spreading across his face. “Well, if it isn’t Eleanor! You look wonderful, dear. Did you go on a long trip these past three years?” My mind went blank. “She… you’ve seen her?” “Of course! Just yesterday, bumped into her at the complex entrance!” “But… she’s dead?!” Old Man Johnson’s smile faltered. “What are you talking about?” I roared, “She burned to death! You were at the funeral!” His expression froze for two seconds, then he suddenly slapped his thigh. “Oh, my memory these days. I’ve been having so many dreams lately, maybe I mixed them up.” As he turned to leave, I saw a burn on the back of his ear. A fresh burn, blistered and weeping yellow fluid. I started to believe it wasn’t just my mom who had changed. It was the whole world. A new contact suddenly appeared in my phone: “Mom.” Her profile picture was taken six months before she died, the caption: “My sweetest son.” I’d never set up WeChat for her; she could barely use a phone when she was alive. My hands trembled as I tapped on the chat. The first message: “Ethan, Mom bought your favorite sugar figures today, just like when you were little.” I typed: “Who are you?” A reply, instant: “I’ve always been your mom. Don’t you want to come home?” I yanked out the internet cable and smashed my phone. But the next day, my phone was back to normal, and there was a new voice message on WeChat. I put on my headphones— It was my five-year-old self, crying and calling for Mom. That audio clip only existed in my head; it had never been recorded. I rushed to the cemetery. Her tombstone was still there, the name unchanged. But the urn had been dug up, placed on the ground, and opened. It was empty. I frantically dug at the earth, desperate to confirm if it had been stolen. My hand hit something solid. I pulled it out, and my heart nearly stopped. It was the paper airplane I’d placed at her grave when I was a child, inscribed with, “Mom, I miss you.” I had clearly burned it. Burned it to ashes. Yet here it was, clean and undamaged, buried in the soil. My scalp prickled with raw terror. My mom truly had “returned.” But how could she bring back burned paper? Unless she retrieved it from hell itself. That night, I dreamt she sat by my bed, whispering, “Ethan, our family should be together now.” In her hand, she held that rusty cleaver, lightly tracing its edge along my neck. The blade was cold. The dream was real. I woke up with a red mark on my neck. And she was standing outside my window, watching me through the glass. Smiling. 2 My mom never liked fish. I remembered that clearly from childhood; she wouldn’t touch it even if it was boneless, claiming a fish bone had once lodged in her throat when she was little, nearly killing her. But now, she cooked fish every day. Steamed, braised, stewed in sauce – different ways, always fish. If I didn’t eat, she’d put it in my bowl, watching me swallow each bite. Once, I asked her, “Don’t you hate fish?” She paused for two seconds, her expression momentarily stuck, her lips moving before a suddenly benevolent smile spread across her face. “Yes… Mom’s getting old, I misremembered.” But her eyes were fixed on my throat. I swallowed a mouthful of rice, my throat stinging. A fish bone. I watched her lips slowly curve upward. It was a smile of pure satisfaction. More and more “memories” began to tumble from her lips. Some were about my childhood, unnervingly accurate, even down to which shoe I wore out in third grade. Others, however, simply weren’t mine. She said I used to love folding paper boats and floating them down the river. But I never learned to swim; I was scared of water. She claimed I had a high fever when I was three that summer, and she rushed me to the Downtown Medical Center emergency room. I’d only ever stayed at the local hospital, never the Downtown Medical Center. I asked her, “Mom, was I afraid of shots when I was little?” She said, “You always cried when you got shots, especially that time you were hospitalized for pneumonia—” I cut her off sharply. “I’ve never had pneumonia in my life.” Her expression went blank for two seconds. The next moment, she was smiling again. “You don’t remember.” It wasn’t that I didn’t remember. It was that it simply wasn’t me. She was carrying the memories of more than one son. She was “piecing” me together. Or maybe, she wanted me to believe that she was the real one. In the mornings, she started using a bowl I’d never seen, calling it my “favorite patterned bowl” from childhood. She pulled out a family photo. “Your dad doted on you when you were little,” she said. My dad died when I was five. The ‘dad’ in that photo was a stranger. I picked up the photo. The child in it wasn’t me either. It was a pale-skinned boy with big eyes and dimples. I’d been chunky, with single eyelids and prominent front teeth. She looked at the picture. “This was taken on your fourth birthday, when we went to Westside Park.” She was becoming more serious, more natural, as if truly believing that photo was me, that past was me, that life was me. She looked at me, her voice soft as a lullaby, like a hypnotic whisper. “Ethan, are you… forgetting yourself?” I was losing my mind. I rummaged through all my old family photo albums. They were all gone. Three days after my mom died, when I packed up her things, I’d carefully put those photos in a box and hidden them in my closet. The box was still there, but all the photos had been swapped. Not a single one of me. They were all of that “dimpled boy.” I looked at my own ID photo, confirming I hadn’t had plastic surgery, wasn’t delusional. Then, suddenly, she patted my shoulder from behind. “Ethan, Mom got you a new ID. You didn’t like that photo.” I picked up the new ID she handed me—it bore the little boy’s face. The name was still Ethan Vance, the birthday the same. My hands started to shake. I opened my laptop, checked my social security records—gone. My work files—blank. My bank account balance read “0,” and the account holder was listed as “Ethan Vance (Minor).” My entire life had been overwritten. She hadn’t just come back; she was replacing me with someone else. That night, she said she wanted to take me to see someone. She led me to a house in the old city outskirts. The door opened, and an old woman emerged, grinning widely at my mom. “Oh, Eleanor! It’s really you, dear! I heard you were back, but I didn’t believe it!” I stared at the old woman, feeling a vague sense of familiarity. My mom asked me, “Who is this, Ethan?” I was stunned. “…I don’t know.” The old woman chuckled. “You rascal, I took you to the zoo when you were three, and you don’t remember me?” She turned and pulled out a photo. It was that “dimpled boy” again. The old woman’s tone suddenly shifted. “If you don’t recognize me, you’re not my grandson anymore.” My body stiffened. I swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I do, I do.” Only then did she nod, satisfied. On the way home, my mom chuckled. “Remember that oak tree outside her house? You used to pee on its roots every day when you were little.” I looked down, saying nothing. I’d lived in a different complex when I was little. My home had a maple tree, not an oak. If I didn’t keep up the charade, they’d “cleanse” me. They weren’t trying to make me accept her return; they were trying to transform me into the ‘child’ she desired. Back home, I secretly took scissors and made a shallow cut on my wrist. The pain was excruciating, the blood real. She came in, saw it, but showed no anger or surprise. She merely sighed. “You’re still being stubborn.” She walked over, took my wrist, and wiped away the blood. She spoke, word by word: “Ethan, don’t mess with this body. You haven’t adjusted to it yet.” I completely panicked. I rushed into the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and saw my reflection suddenly wink its left eye—but I hadn’t winked. In the mirror, I made an expression I hadn’t made, a strange, unfamiliar smile. I stared at the mirror. The me in the mirror whispered, “Mommy’s waiting for you to wake up.” When I went to sleep, I locked my door. I woke up at 3 AM to sounds from the kitchen. She was cooking soup again. This time, it wasn’t chicken soup. It was pork brain soup. As she cooked, she murmured, “He was so smart as a child, needs a little boost.” I crept closer to the kitchen and saw her add something to the pot—a strand of hair, still clinging to its root, tainted with blood. I recognized it. It was mine. She turned around, slowly smiling at me. “Ethan, be a good boy. Drink one more bowl, and you’ll remember.” “Once you remember, you can stay forever.” 3 I started to wonder: Who was crazy? Me, or the entire world? At 7 AM, my mom called, announcing breakfast was ready. Three minutes ago, she was in the kitchen, I’d seen her with my own eyes, hacking at bones, red meat still clinging to them. But now, her number appeared on my phone, her voice gentle. “My little stink bug, time to get up.” That was exactly how she’d woken me every morning when I was small. She had completely reverted to ‘herself’—no, she was simulating a more perfect version of herself. I walked into the kitchen. She wore an apron, cooking. On the table, my favorite fried eggs, soy milk, plain congee, and pickled vegetables were perfectly arranged. There was even a glass of milk, with “Best Son Ever” printed on it—the exact mug I’d used as a child, which had been reduced to ashes in the fire. Now, it looked brand new. She slid a fried egg onto my plate. “Eat up. Aren’t your friends coming over today for a project? I remember you mentioning it.” I had never said that. But then the doorbell rang. I opened the door—it was Kevin Davis, my closest friend from college. The moment he saw ‘my mom,’ his eyes lit up. He smiled politely. “Mrs. Vance, long time no see. You look great.” I was stunned. “You’ve seen her?” “Of course!” He laughed. “I came over to your place the year you graduated, and Mrs. Vance even cooked me some congee.” “She died three years ago!!!” I roared. Kevin flinched, frowning at me. “Are you having too many dreams? Your mom just chatted with me a few days ago, even told me to convince you to find a girlfriend.” I stared, aghast. “You were chatting with her?” “Yeah, WeChat video. We even added each other. I’ve liked all her posts.” “My mom can’t even use WeChat…” Before I could finish, Kevin had already wandered into the living room, chatting with ‘my mom’ about recipes. I watched their conversation, feeling as if a glass wall separated us, and only I couldn’t understand the language. I opened WeChat. It was true. She was posting. The first one: “Ethan finally ate his dinner, such a good boy.” And the likes? They were from my friends, my colleagues, even my unit supervisor. Comments below: “Auntie is such a great cook!” “A son is a mother’s soft spot.” They all truly believed it—she was alive, had never died. I privately pulled Kevin into my room, closed the door, and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Please, I beg you, listen to me. Three years ago, the fire department pulled my mom from the rubble. I identified her body. I burned her ashes. I personally put them in the columbarium. I swear I’m not crazy, she is not my mom!” Kevin looked at me strangely, silent for a few seconds. Then he said, “Why are you still living in the past?” “I’m not living in the past! I’m living in the present—but she doesn’t belong in this present!” Kevin sighed, patting my shoulder. “Ethan, I know that fire really hurt you, but she’s really fine. You should take your medication.” I stared at him, testing. “Do you remember that day you came to help me identify the body?” “What?” “Didn’t you see my mom’s body after the fire?” “Stop joking. Your mom never died.” I took a step back, my voice dry as kindling. “Look into my eyes—are you thinking right now that I’m crazy?” Kevin didn’t answer. He only said, “If she’s not your mom, then who is she? She’s the mom we all recognize. If you keep talking nonsense, everyone will really think you’re unstable.” Before he left, he threw out one last line: “If you keep this up, don’t bother calling me again.” That night, I went to find my middle school deskmate, Sarah Chen, the only friend who knew my mom had truly died. I sent her photos, pictures of the empty urn. She was silent for a long time, then replied: “Are you trying to get attention, or are you really having a breakdown?” I opened her social media. She had also liked that post, “Ethan finally ate his dinner.” I hid on the balcony, watching ‘my mom’ in the living room clear the table, fold clothes, wipe the floor, and hang photos. Every movement was perfectly theatrical. She even pulled out my favorite childhood teddy bear from a cabinet and placed it on the sofa. I didn’t believe she could find it—I’d thrown that thing away before the fire. But she found it, and it even had the bite marks I’d made on it years ago. She turned and smiled at the balcony. That smile told me she knew I was watching. I went to check my household registration. The City Hall clerk flipped through the system and said my mom’s registration had been active for three years, with no record of any fire incident. I said, “Can I access the resident death records from the year of the fire?” She tapped a few keys, then frowned. “Which apartment complex did you say?” I gave her the address. She stared at me. “Are you mistaken? That building has never caught fire.” “What?!” “I checked the street records. The fire report for your complex that year was zero.” My body went cold, my legs turned to jelly. I forced myself to speak. “Then… can I access my medical records from those days?” “Were you sick?” I nodded. “That year… I had psychogenic aphonia, and I was admitted to the city hospital.” She checked, her expression growing stranger. “You were hospitalized, but it wasn’t for psychogenic aphonia.” “What was it?” She turned the screen toward me: “Cause of death: moderate burns, crushed airways, irreversible organ damage. Died despite resuscitation efforts.” Cause of death? I was looking at my own death certificate. I staggered back two steps. My phone chimed. My mom had sent a WeChat voice message: “Ethan, come home for dinner. Today, Mom made your favorite roast chicken, just like when you were little.” I hadn’t told her what I wanted to eat. And I had never eaten roast chicken as a child. But I remembered a detail—the night of the fire, I dreamt I was gnawing on a chicken leg. In the dream, my mom was peeling the skin, saying, “Son, is it good?” That was the only time in my life I’d dreamt of her being alive and on fire. Now, she was turning the dream into reality. I started to fear the dark. My room had four lamps, and they burned all night. My mom didn’t force me to turn them off; instead, she said, “You were afraid of ghosts when you were little. Mom won’t let you be afraid.” I hadn’t told her that either. Yet she always knew my little secrets, secrets I’d forgotten years ago. How did she know? Or was it that she wasn’t “knowing,” but rather digging out my memories one by one, reflecting them back on herself? If that were the case… then she was “emptying” me.

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1 My mother, Matron Aelys, the Azure Dragon, often forgot about me after birthing me, this half-dragon, half-human anomaly. It was Lord Kaelen, the Archmage of the Celestial Spire, who took me in. He was my sole anchor in a chaotic existence. Until the Wellspring of Fates, within Lady Seraphina’s Oracle’s Grove, revealed that I was his destined, inescapable match. From that moment, he grew distant, eventually abandoning me. A century later, I found him again, but he was a mere mortal healer, vehemently denying his past as an Archmage, refusing to acknowledge me. … My mother’s dragon life was refreshingly simple: sleep and eat. Beyond that, she’d seek out handsome males from various species for an evening of shared revelry. If an egg appeared, she’d lay it and leave its hatching to fate, letting it fend for itself. But this time, she unexpectedly birthed me, a peculiar creature. Scaleless, naked, squirming, and crying – I was truly an enigma that caught her off guard. “No fangs, no claws, not even a shell.” She poked me curiously with the tip of her claw, then tried tossing me high into the sky. When I plummeted straight down, she frantically caught me, murmuring, confused, “Nor can it fly.” Fortunately, I was, after all, her flesh and blood. Though perplexed, my mother understood she couldn’t leave me to perish. So, she carried me everywhere, sometimes clamped in her jaws, sometimes balanced atop her head, never letting me out of her sight. Even when she transformed into human form to savor delicacies in the mortal realm, she’d absentmindedly tuck me under her armpit. Until the old crone, her hands trembling, asked her, “Lady, what… what is that creature under your arm?” “A human babe. Mine,” my mother replied, chewing on a candied nectarine. The old crone nearly fainted upon hearing this, only then pointing out that I was on the verge of starvation, not peacefully asleep. “Babe needs feeding every hour,” the old crone patiently informed her. “Why not let the maids feed it once and for all? I, myself, can go sixty years without sustenance,” my mother pondered, utterly baffled. The old crone looked at her deeply, shaking her head with a sigh. “No wonder you know nothing of nurturing young. You are truly an outsider.” Before, my mother’s life revolved solely around sleep and food. With me, a new task was added: finding milk for me. In her eyes, all beings across the realms were equal, noble or lowly. So, her quest for milk knew no bounds: whenever she spotted a lactating female, regardless of species, she’d simply pick me up and command them to nurse me. Thankfully, my mother was Matron Aelys, the Azure Dragon, and few in all the realms dared to refuse her. Thus, my mother carried me across the realms for an entire year. I transformed from a toothless infant who could only suckle into a mischievous sprite capable of snatching food from a dragon’s maw. Though my front teeth hadn’t fully emerged, my four canines were already sharply pointed. More strangely, two bumps appeared on my forehead. Upon first sight, my mother frowned, poking and prodding them. “Is this ugly thing a dragon’s horn?” she muttered uncertainly. Later, the bumps receded, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Just bumps from a knock, then.” Seeing that I could now gnaw on beast bones on my own, my mother concluded I could also forage for food. She reverted to her true dragon form, balanced me atop her head, and plunged straight into the deep ocean. “My child, your mother will treat you to seafood.” I could only make gurgling sounds, helplessly bobbing in the waves. My mother soared through the deep sea, chasing fish and feasting. But I, caught in the tumultuous currents, choked on mouthful after mouthful of saltwater. For dragons, born to the water, the word “drowning” simply didn’t exist. By the time she realized I wasn’t close behind her, I was already floating lifelessly on the surface, eyes rolled back. “My child has no appetite? Why is it sleeping here?” Seeing no response, my mother simply hoisted me back onto her head and shot straight into the clouds. My mother often recounted how, if it hadn’t been for Emissary Aerion, a celestial envoy, who stopped her, insisting I was on the verge of death… After a hearty meal, my mother and I squatted on the edge of the cloud sea, meticulously picking bits of leftover food from between our teeth. A wisp of white cloud suddenly zipped past us. Whoosh! The magical current flung me to the ground. As I struggled to my feet and steadied myself, I saw my mother standing with her hands on her hips, eyes blazing. “Which mage was so rude? Flying through the clouds, crashing into a pedestrian, and not even an apology?” My mother roared towards the clouds, but no one answered. A dragon’s roar sliced through the sky, and my mother instantly transformed into a massive azure dragon, soaring into the distance, leaving me, a small dragonling, standing alone and bewildered in the chilling wind. Watching my mother disappear, I sighed deeply. This wasn’t the first time I’d been forgotten on a desolate mountain. Hopefully, this time she’d remember sooner that she still had a daughter. Alas, the sky cycled through day and night, darkness and light, yet my mother never returned. Suddenly, a celestial figure, robes billowing, descended from the clouds. He rested his chin on his hand, observing me for a moment, then chuckled softly. “A dragon hatchling, still clinging to life.” What a handsome being! More elegant than any mountain herb. Could this be Emissary Aerion, whom Mother often spoke of? I lay weakly on the ground, wanting to rise but lacking the strength. “Rare. The Azure Dragon lineage is usually neglectful of its young. It’s truly remarkable you’ve survived with her to this age,” he observed. I moved my mouth, but no words came out. Only then did he notice my condition. He gently pinched my wrist. “Starving to the brink of death, indeed.” He flipped his hand, revealing a delicate jade vial in his palm. “Why is it that every time we meet, I find myself saving your life? Do we share some profound destiny?” Ignoring his words, I clutched his hand and gulped down several mouthfuls of the liquid from the jade vial. The liquid was cool and sweet, not only quenching my thirst but also filling my empty stomach. This was surely the finest celestial elixir. I drank without restraint, yet he showed not a hint of stinginess; instead, his smile grew even gentler. This being was even more generous than my mother. Once fortified, I immediately gesticulated wildly, describing how that rude mage had crashed into me and how my mother had chased after him. “Crashed into you then fled?” he asked softly. “Yes!” I nodded vigorously. “Truly despicable.” “Mmm!!!” I nodded in agreement, like a frenzied woodpecker. “Your mother hasn’t returned. What are your plans?” he asked. “Garlic? Don’t eat that!” I misunderstood him. “…I asked if you wish to wait here, or descend the mountain?” I pondered for a long time. Waiting might mean starving to death, but what if I left and Mother returned, unable to find me? A sudden idea sparked. I tugged on his robes, delighted. “Take me to find Mother!” Emissary Aerion sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Little Dragonling, how can I carry you?” “You can carry me in your mouth.” “I am not your mother.” “Then I’ll sit on your head.” “My head isn’t that large.” I scrutinized the celestial being’s human form, then it dawned on me. When Mother transformed into human form, she either carried me by hand or tucked me under her armpit. “Then you can carry me, or tuck me under your armpit.” The celestial being was speechless for a moment. Finally, Archmage Kaelen sighed, bending down. His hands gently slipped under my armpits, and he carefully lifted me. Being carried like this was far more comfortable than being dangled. I instinctively nestled against his shoulder, happily swinging my legs. Archmage Kaelen let out a soft chuckle. He patted my back lightly, sighing. “Is it your boundless luck, or my destiny? Little Dragonling, stop kicking your legs.” Only later did I learn that this man, who carried me across the celestial realms searching for my mother, was none other than Lord Kaelen, the Archmage of the Celestial Spire. The Archmage was known for his solitary asceticism; few in all the realms had ever seen his true face. Some said he had cultivated for thousands of years, others for ten millennia, and rumors even claimed he was as ancient as the cosmos itself, his age immeasurable. Few rumors about Archmage Kaelen circulated among the celestials, mostly concerning his profound magic and divine abilities. Even the rare gossip was merely “the Archmage is in seclusion for enlightenment,” “the Archmage is lecturing at the Jade Blossom Terrace,” or “the Archmage is attending a Grand Convocation.” Until today, the Archmage himself had just heard an unprecedented piece of news: “The Archmage’s companion is missing!” The Archmage was carrying a little dragonling, searching for its mother across all realms! I gnawed on my favorite mystical meat bone, my face slick with grease, completely oblivious to the murmurs at the next table. Archmage Kaelen propped his forehead with a hand, slowly swirling his jade tea cup, and sighed faintly. “Would you prefer not to look for your mother?” “No,” I shook my head. “How about I find you a master?” “Don’t want one,” I continued to shake my head. “Your mother never returned to that Celestial Peak.” I just kept gnawing on the mystical meat. “Little Dragonling, the Azure Dragon lineage isn’t known for raising young. Her leaving you is quite normal. Why insist?” My lip quivered. I tilted my head back and wailed, “Want mommy, want mommy, only want to find mommy…” “Alright, alright, we’ll keep looking.” I immediately stopped crying, pointing to the empty plate on the table. “More mystical meat!” “…” The day Archmage Kaelen took me from the Celestial Peak, he had already declined the invitation from the Jade Blossom Terrace. Later, failing to find any trace of my mother, he consecutively turned down several Grand Convocations. In the span of two years, he carried me from the highest Celestial Kingdoms to the darkest Underworld, consulting All-Seeing Orbs and the Ledger of Souls, yet he found no trace of my mother. “Kaelen, Kaelen, you are eternally wise, yet occasionally foolish,” Emissary Aerion chuckled. “What do you mean?” “With such a grand search, if she were in the celestial realms, even a wisp of her would have been found. Since there’s no news, she must be hidden in the mortal coil.” “Do you think I don’t understand that? But the mortal lands are vast. I can’t possibly go door-to-door with a little dragonling.” “Have your profound powers made you forget Lady Seraphina’s three Fated Wellsprings?” I rested my chin in my hands, watching Archmage Kaelen and Emissary Aerion play their game of celestial chess, completely engrossed, when Archmage Kaelen suddenly tossed down a piece. “Haha! Could it be you were so bothered by Lady Seraphina’s persistence that you simply erased her from your mind?” Emissary Aerion clapped his hands and laughed mischievously. “Now, how will you ask for her help?” “Thanks to your reminder, I had indeed forgotten about those three mystical wells.” “Archmage, what three wells are those?” I asked curiously. They sounded like they could help me find Mother. The Archmage sipped his tea without answering. Emissary Aerion picked me up and explained, “Those are Lady Seraphina’s three mystical wells: one reveals past and present lives, one reflects blood kinship, and the third… it shows you your fated one.” “What’s a fated one?” I asked. “That’s the Archon who will fly to meet and marry you when you grow up.” “Aerion, you’re becoming increasingly undignified. How old is she? Why speak of such things?” I knelt at the well’s edge, anxiously waiting for the Wellspring of Fates to reveal Mother’s whereabouts. “Archmage Kaelen, do we really have to wait here until dusk?” I pleaded, looking up at the tightly shut grand gates, clutching the hem of his long robes. “Easy, Lyra. Lady Seraphina is usually quite accommodating; she won’t keep us waiting long,” Archmage Kaelen said calmly, his gaze fixed on the closed gates. A soft chuckle suddenly drifted from the clouds. “So, you’re not her actual kin, Archmage Kaelen of the Celestial Spire.” As the voice faded, the tightly shut grand gates slowly swung open. “A millennium, and you haven’t brought your daughter to greet me. Truly heartbreaking,” Lady Seraphina, draped in flowing white silks, floated gracefully, landing before me. She first cast a sidelong glance at Archmage Kaelen, then knelt down, gently tapping my nose with her fingertip. “How old is this little one?” “Hello, Lady Seraphina! I’m five years old,” I answered politely. Lady Seraphina covered her mouth with a soft laugh. “By age, you should be calling me ‘Ancient One.’” “Hello, Ancient One!” I immediately corrected myself. No sooner had the words left my lips than Archmage Kaelen suddenly clapped a hand over my mouth. Simultaneously, a bolt of divine lightning struck, searing Lady Seraphina, leaving her charred and smoking. “Wh-why can’t I bear even a greeting from her?” Lady Seraphina coughed out wisps of black smoke, still frozen in the pose she’d been in when struck. “The laws of the cosmos,” Archmage Kaelen stated coolly. Lady Seraphina scoffed. “I crossed the Dragon’s Gate millennia ago. Besides a true dragon, who can humble me?” She trembled, pointing at me. “Could it be… this child has true dragon blood?” “Lady Seraphina, you misunderstand. I’m human. My mother is the dragon,” I hastily explained, waving my hands. Before I finished speaking, several more bolts of divine lightning descended, scattering Lady Seraphina like a dandelion puff. While she retreated to her chambers to recompose herself, Archmage Kaelen carried me to the three Wellsprings of Fates. “Finally, I can find Mother!” I exclaimed, but I noticed the Archmage hesitating. “Which well was it again?” he muttered, frowning in thought. I couldn’t wait. I jumped from his arms and dashed straight to the middle well. “Mother, where are you?” Peering in, I yelped and recoiled—the well reflected a glaring, ferocious tiger! “It seems our little Lyra was quite formidable in her past life,” Archmage Kaelen said, stroking my head, a faint smile on his lips. I turned to another well, cautiously peeking in—this well held neither tiger nor Mother, but a familiar figure. “Archmage, why are you in the well too?” I looked at his reflection, then at Archmage Kaelen beside me, and suddenly understood. “Could it be I was an Archmage in my past life too?” Archmage Kaelen remained silent. Just then, the distant jingle of ornaments announced Lady Seraphina’s hasty return. She placed her hands on my shoulders, looking into the well again. When Archmage Kaelen’s reflection reappeared, she slumped to the ground. “No wonder this well never showed my fated one. You were never meant for me.” A gentle breeze swept past, and another pair of hands pressed me to the well’s edge. As the figure in the well reappeared, I turned to Archmage Kaelen beside me. “Huh? Archmage, why do you look so pale?” It was strange.

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I was the golden child of a wealthy dynasty. In my past life, false accusations got me expelled from the Elite Arts Academy. My father died of shock, and our empire collapsed. Exiled to a rural labor camp, I suffered terribly. When I finally returned, I found Ethan Blackwood—my fiancé—beaten and forced into crippling debt. Guilt-ridden, I worked as a club dancer, even selling myself to a disgusting client to pay it off. The day I cleared the debt, I brought gifts—only to catch Ethan (who was supposedly paralyzed) in bed with my adoptive sister, Summer. Summer: “Thanks for reporting Ellie. Without you, I’d never have replaced her as lead dancer.” Ethan: “What if she finds out the debt was fake? That the client was just a paid actor?” Summer: “Who cares? She stole everything from you—your dance career, your inheritance. And she never suspected I faked my injury.” I vomited blood and died on the spot. But fate gave me a second chance. This time, I took that damning letter—and switched the name to Summer’s. 1 When my eyes next fluttered open, I was back to the day before the report was made. “Ellie, rehearsal’s over, why are you still lingering? Waiting for Ethan, are we?” A colleague from the Academy called out, a playful smirk on her face. I offered them a shy, manufactured smile. Everyone at the troupe knew Ethan and I were childhood sweethearts. But in my previous life, on this very day, he had personally placed an anonymous accusatory note on Director Hayes’s desk. From that moment on, my reputation was shattered, my life spiraled, and I met a humiliating end. Thank heavens for this second chance. This time, I’d turn the tables. Once the Academy emptied out and the lights dimmed, a furtive shadow slipped into the Director’s office – it was Ethan Blackwood, the Academy’s smooth-talking announcer. I hid in the murky corner, observing. A few minutes later, he left. I stepped inside the office. There, on the desk, lay a stark envelope. I tore it open. The contents were identical to the letter from my past life. It smeared my name, claiming promiscuity, involvement with multiple men, and even serving as a wealthy patron’s kept woman. I took the original letter, replacing it with an exact replica. The only difference? The name accused in the letter. I’d changed it from mine to Summer Woods. Even after it was done, a tremor of unreality ran through me. Last life, that letter had dragged me through hell. My name utterly destroyed, I’d rushed home, desperate for Father’s help, only to hear the housekeeper weeping that he’d spat blood and died from the shock. The family estate had plunged into bankruptcy, and I’d been forcibly sent away to that desolate rural work program. Overnight, I’d plummeted from the clouds into the mud. Before I left, I’d worried about Ethan and Summer suffering, so I’d given them the last scraps of our family fortune to manage, keeping nothing for myself. Life in the countryside was a brutal nightmare. Every grimy, back-breaking chore fell to me. I was ostracized, forced to sleep in a drafty barn, and battled endless illnesses through bitter winters and scorching summers. Once, I was sent to forage for firewood in the desolate hills after dark and narrowly escaped a pack of wild wolves. One agonizing memory after another flooded my mind, filling me with a raw, searing pain. Hatred, cold and deep, settled in my bones, and I burned with a furious self-pity. As I stepped out of the Academy gates, I saw Ethan hadn’t left yet. He spotted me, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Ellie, why are you leaving so late? Wasn’t rehearsal over hours ago?” “Just took some time tidying up props today,” I said, a cold politeness in my voice. His hypocritical face made me want to say no more. Ethan visibly relaxed, seeing no suspicion in my reply. We walked down the quiet street in silence, each consumed by our own thoughts. Suddenly, a figure sprang out, intimately linking arms with Ethan. “Ethan, why did you leave first? Weren’t we going to celebrate with a fancy dinner tonight? After tomorrow, no one can stop us from being together…” That cloying voice could only belong to Summer Woods. We all worked at the Academy, yet he rarely sought me out. Turns out, after work every day, he was sneaking around with Summer. Ethan frantically pushed her away, turning to explain to me. “Ellie… she meant for all three of us to have dinner tonight. I just got paid…” Only then did Summer seem to notice me, a flash of annoyance in her eyes, quickly masked. “You two go on,” I cut in, too weary to watch their pretense. “I’m tired. Going home.” The real show, after all, wouldn’t start until tomorrow. Right now, all I wanted was to get home to Father—this time, he was still alive… “Sister, do you hate me that much? You won’t even share a meal with me.” Summer’s eyes welled up. Ethan looked at her with sickening tenderness, then rounded on me, his voice sharp with accusation. “Summer is your sister, after all. Why must you always hurt her feelings? You will come to this dinner.” Before I could protest, Ethan roughly tugged me, practically dragging me into the restaurant. 2 At the table, they chattered animatedly, completely ignoring me. Now, looking back, it had always been like this. Back then, I was foolish enough to believe their closeness was due to my presence, unaware of their secret affair brewing behind my back. Ethan, as if realizing he’d neglected me, feigned concern. “Ellie, eat more.” I looked at the mango shrimp salad, the French pudding… all of Summer’s favorites. Ethan had completely forgotten my seafood allergy, forgotten my utter dislike for anything overly sweet. My gaze drifted to the dance hall opposite, lost in thought. In my last life, after two years of aimless misery in the rural work program, I returned to the city to find Ethan confined to a wheelchair. Summer, in a torrent of tears, claimed Father’s enemies had stolen all our money, beaten Ethan, leaving him paralyzed and bound to a wheelchair for life. The guilt was overwhelming. I ran to the Onyx Club, taking a job as a dance hostess, desperate to earn enough to repay the supposed debts. I often found myself brawling over paltry tips, enduring vile insults: “Look at her, thrown out of the countryside for being a mistress, now she’s stealing clients? Addicted to being a home-wrecker, aren’t we?” Back then, I’d clutched the crumpled bills, swallowing my pride and the humiliation, all so I could buy them their favorite desserts after my shift. I poured my heart out for them, yet they couldn’t even remember what I was allergic to. The server, bringing our food, stumbled. A sizzling steak slid off the plate. My hand shot out instinctively to block it. The searing heat instantly blistered my arm, blood-red and bubbling. Summer, seated next to me, was also grazed, but her skin was only faintly pink. Ethan, in a flurry of concern, cupped her hand, gently blowing on it. Summer’s face flushed scarlet with apparent bashfulness. The server apologized profusely. A man in a sharp suit approached. “My deepest apologies, Miss. I’m the restaurant manager. Your meal is on the house today, and I’ll personally take you to a clinic for dressing.” I nodded, wincing in pain. Only then did Ethan seem to register the severity of my injury. Yet, I heard him say to the manager, “Could you take this lady first? Summer just has a scratch; Ellie’s injury can wait.” His shameless audacity made me laugh, a bitter, breathless sound. The manager, momentarily stunned, pretended not to hear, helped me up, and led me out of the restaurant, driving me to the clinic. Behind us, I heard Ethan’s enraged shouts and Summer’s feigned sobs. It was late when my arm was finally bandaged. The manager drove me home. He leaned against the car, his voice a lazy drawl. “I’m Jaxson Sterling. If you need any help in the future, you can find me at Sterling Manor on Willow Creek Lane, number 8.” I waved back. “I’m Eleanor Vance.” Jaxson Sterling smiled, a brief, knowing nod, and watched me go. When I returned, Ethan was seething. “Ellie, why are you back so late? Were you on a date with that man? How could you throw yourself at just anyone?” I was utterly speechless. “I burned my hand. If you won’t care, at least don’t slander me. And anyway, who I associate with is none of your business.” Summer interjected, “Sister, how can you speak to Ethan like that? If you ever get into trouble again, only we can help you…” A subtle flicker of malice crossed her eyes, hinting at something dark. “Oh, really? We’ll see about that,” I retorted, a cold smile on my lips. Seeing my defiance, Ethan shoved a gift box into my hands. “I picked this up while shopping. Consider it compensation for your burn.” It was the first time Ethan had ever given me a gift. He expected me to be overjoyed – in the past, even a wildflower he’d picked from the roadside could bring tears to my eyes. But this time, I didn’t spare it a glance. I took the gift and walked straight upstairs. 3 Pushing open Father’s bedroom door, I saw his kind face, peacefully asleep. I asked the housekeeper, “Has Father taken his medicine today?” “Yes, Miss. The Second Miss has been personally preparing his traditional remedies recently.” “Nonsense! Since when is it her place to handle his medicine?” I reprimanded the housekeeper sharply. “Forgive me, Miss Eleanor. You’ve always indulged the Second Miss, so I didn’t dare report it.” “From now on, Summer Woods is not to interfere with Father’s diet or daily care.” I carefully collected the remaining herbal dregs and instructed a footman to send them to Sterling Manor on Willow Creek Lane, number 8. In my previous life, Father had suffered a fatal hemorrhage before I even returned home. He had always loved and trusted me. He wouldn’t have succumbed to mere rumors. There had to be foul play. Summer Woods, if you dare harm my family, I will make you pay a hundredfold. The next morning, I came down for breakfast to find Summer and Ethan already seated at the dining table. Summer was wearing the most fashionable vintage gown, adorned with a matching diamond necklace and earrings. The glittering diamonds, accented with emeralds, made her look strikingly glamorous. The style felt eerily familiar. I remembered the gift Ethan had given me yesterday—it was of the same aesthetic. Compared to her set, my gift was painfully cheap—it was merely a trinket, a throw-in with Summer’s extravagant jewelry. Summer caught my gaze, her voice dripping with feigned fragility. “Am I making you angry, Sister, by wearing new clothes? “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to steal your thunder. It’s just… I’ve never worn such a beautiful dress. Ethan gave it to me, and I love it so much.” Before I could open my mouth, Ethan sneered, his voice laced with venom: “She’s your sister. Her looking beautiful reflects well on you. Are you afraid she’ll outshine you? Ellie, you’re too jealous.” I remembered Summer usually wore faded, worn-out dresses. Ethan had often scolded me for it, claiming I was stingy with my sister. But every time we went shopping, I bought her loads of clothes and accessories, which she never wore. I tried to explain countless times, but Ethan simply turned a deaf ear. I could only silently pay for the clothes he picked out for Summer, and then, he would begrudgingly favor me with a small smile. Back then, I was naive enough to believe he cared for my family. But it turned out Summer was deliberately playing the victim, creating the illusion that I mistreated her, all to gain Ethan’s sympathy. Hmph, such pathetic tactics. I slowly, deliberately, sliced the toast on my plate. “How about I set up a stage in the backyard, and you two can perform a full-blown melodrama for everyone?” “Summer Woods, honestly, when have I ever gone shopping without buying you clothes? I often buy more for you than for myself.” “And Ethan Blackwood, this is my house. You have no right to speak here. Pack your things. Get out.” In my previous life, these two scoundrels used my money to carry on their sordid affair in Father’s mansion, while I suffered isolated misery in the countryside. This time, your good days are over. Ethan exploded in a rage. “You want to kick me out? I’m going to marry you! This house will be partly mine!” Ethan was originally the son of Father’s business partner. After his family fell on hard times, they moved back to the countryside. Out of sentiment for our childhood connection, and fearing he’d struggle, I pleaded with Father to let him stay at our home. I never imagined that being too kind to some people only breeds insatiable greed. 4 “What’s all this commotion so early in the morning?” Father descended the grand spiral staircase. I rushed forward to steady him. He affectionately pinched my cheek. “My little darling, how’s rehearsal going? This time, Dad won’t miss your performance.” “I’ve practiced so well, Dad. You simply must come see it in a few days.” Summer watched our tender exchange, biting her lower lip in simmering resentment. Ethan discreetly squeezed her hand, whispering a reassurance. “After today, Ellie’s reputation will be ruined. Everything here will be yours.” Only then did her expression soften. She turned to me, a smug glint in her eyes. “Sister, shall we go? I’m really looking forward to today’s… rehearsal.” 【Alright, Summer Woods, if you’re so eager to plummet to hell, I’ll gladly oblige.】 In my past life, I met a client at the Onyx Club who offered to be my patron, his terms lavish enough to clear all my debts. That patron often tormented me in bed, driving me to the brink of despair. Afraid Ethan and Summer would worry, I only dared to cry and vent when no one was around. Later, Ethan caught me getting out of the patron’s car. Overwhelmed with shame, I wept, saying I was soiled, that I could never be worthy of him again. He pulled me into his arms. “Ellie is the purest girl. It’s all my fault, a useless cripple. Otherwise, why would I make you do such things? Once the debt is paid, we’ll get married. I’ll protect you for the rest of our lives.” With Ethan’s promise, I worked even harder. The day I finally paid off the debt, I joyfully quit my dance hostess job, bid farewell to the patron, and went shopping for gifts for them both. I ran home through the rain, soaked to the bone, but the gifts, clutched to my chest, remained perfectly dry. Pushing open the front door, through a narrow crack, I saw Ethan, who should have been in a wheelchair, holding Summer as if he were whole, entangled in passionate kisses on the bed. Then I heard the full, horrifying truth. The ones who had brought me to this ruin were the very people I held dearest. Rage surged through me, a violent current. My already sickly, weakened body could no longer bear it. I coughed up a torrent of blood. Before I lost consciousness, I heard Ethan tell Summer: “Ellie’s nothing but a harlot, sick from being used. I wouldn’t take a woman like that even if she were free. Everything I did was for you, Summer… you’re the only one in my heart…” In my previous life, I met such a miserable end. Now, everything would be reversed. Entering the rehearsal studio, everyone was whispering, pointing fingers at us. “I can’t believe it, she’s really that loose…” “Yeah, at such a young age, playing mistress…” “She looks so innocent, but secretly, she’s doing such unspeakable things.” Summer, hearing the whispers,’s eyes flickered with a knowing cunning. She positioned herself protectively in front of me, declaring loudly, “You can’t say such things about my sister! How could she do anything so vulgar?” In my previous life, she acted the same, pretending to be my devoted sister. And that’s precisely why I never suspected them. 5 Luna White, usually my closest friend, pulled me away from Summer, casting a disdainful look at her. “We weren’t talking about Ellie. Some people know exactly what they’re talking about.” Left alone, Summer saw everyone staring at her with hostile eyes, confusion clouding her face. 【Did Ethan not put the letter in? No… he said the plan was foolproof last night.】 Thinking this, her confidence returned. She lifted her chin, a defiant glint in her eyes. Just then, Director Hayes walked in, her face stern. “Summer Woods, my office. Now.” Ethan, who had been lingering outside the door, saw Summer enter the office and rushed over to confront me. “Ellie, if you caused trouble, you should bear it yourself. Why did you let Summer go in there to speak for you? “What about her reputation? Are you always so selfish?” Luna bristled, indignant. “Are you even listening to yourself? Everyone in the Academy knows now that Summer Woods was the one being kept. She’s the one ruining Ellie’s name!”

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The summer I turned eighteen, Jackson Hayes and I tasted the forbidden fruit. I winced with the unfamiliar pain, but secretly, I soared with joy all night long, believing six long years of unspoken adoration had finally found its resolution. It wasn’t until the next day, when I overheard his friends teasing: “Alright, man, the class stunner helped you break in.” A wave of humiliation washed over me. I was about to slip away quietly when Jackson’s nonchalant reply drifted through the open classroom door. “I’m planning to pursue Renee Sterling, the campus queen. Didn’t want her to think I was too green, too inexperienced. Figured I’d practice my technique on Elara first.” I said nothing. Just moments before the deadline, I silently changed my university application from Northwood to Sunstone. 1 Jackson’s words struck me like a sudden, deafening thunderclap on a clear day. My mind instantly went blank. On such a scorching summer afternoon, I felt an icy chill seep into my very bones. The conversation inside the classroom continued. His friends seemed to pause for a beat, then spoke again. “Classic Jackson. Even the class stunner is just a warm-up act for him.” “So, she’s practically like… a practice dummy for the lord of the manor, right?” Jackson chuckled dismissively. “What are you talking about? She didn’t lose anything, did she?” Someone immediately chimed in, “True, true. Elara is a bit thin, though. Compared to Renee, her figure… well…” Jackson impatiently tossed a book at the guy, cutting him off. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, you know? The atmosphere was there, and besides, she looked like she was really struggling to hold back…” The others shared knowing glances, teasing him. “Who knew the class stunner was such a dark horse?” “Tsk, tsk, Jackson, your charm is just too potent. Why let a piece of meat at your lips go to waste?” “Elara’s been chasing you for years. Guess she finally got what she wanted. Probably been itching to pounce on you.” The laughter inside the room grew noticeably louder. I bit my lip, my hands clenching into tight fists. It took every ounce of my willpower to remain standing, not to collapse right there at the classroom door. Footsteps approached from the end of the hallway. I snapped back to reality, fleeing the scene in a panicked rush. In my haste, I ducked into a toilet stall. 2 Tears of heartbreak and humiliation had long since burst their dam. Jackson’s words, each one a sharp blade, echoed relentlessly in my mind, utterly demolishing every last shred of my self-respect. If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I would never have believed that the boy who had clung to me, entwining our bodies in a desperate, breathless dance just last night, was the same person. So, you could do something so intimate without love. And in the most passionate, irrational moments, you could still lie and deceive. The blissful culmination I had foolishly believed was ours, was nothing more than a punchline in someone else’s joke. I cried harder and harder, but I dared not make a sound, my body trembling uncontrollably. After a long while, my phone chimed with a message notification. It was Jackson. [You can take a cab back yourself. My class has a party tonight, it’s not convenient to bring you.] I didn’t reply. He sent another. [Remember to buy the morning-after pill yourself. I’m busy today. Definitely take it, okay, sweetie.] I stared at the two messages, silent for a long, heavy moment. Yesterday, from dusk till dawn, Jackson had worked me over again and again. In the end, we were both utterly exhausted. Before he drifted off to sleep, holding me close, he’d even murmured twice. “Didn’t prepare enough for our first time. I’ll definitely remember to buy you the pill during the day.” He’d even warned me that girls needed to protect themselves, and that taking the morning-after pill was crucial to avoid harming my body. At the time, I’d thought he was being so responsible, that I had finally found my happiness. And now… A sharp jolt of clarity brought me back. I squeezed my palms, forcing the tears to stop. I wiped my eyes and, after composing myself, stepped out of the restroom. Too embarrassed to go to a pharmacy, I ordered the pill online. It took ages for the delivery rider to leave it at my door, and even longer before I dared to sneak out and retrieve it. After swallowing the pills with a bitter taste of tears, all my strength seemed to drain away. I just sat motionless on the carpet, staring blankly into space. From the moment Jackson’s family moved in next door, I’d been his little shadow, trailing him for ten years. I’d never imagined a world without him. I hadn’t dared to. But from now on, it would just be me. Outside the window, lights flickered on one by one, then slowly extinguished. I don’t know how long passed before my best friend, Maisie, video-called me. “Elara, why didn’t you come to our class party tonight? That Renee Sterling from the humanities class showed up, though. While you’re not here, she’s practically glued to Jackson, and they’re making everyone sick.” Maisie turned her camera. 3 In the dim corner of the private lounge, Jackson and Renee Sterling, the campus queen, sat pressed close together. Renee wore a cropped top and tight denim skirt tonight, accentuating her slender waist and long legs. They were noticeably separated from the other partygoers. Even their conversations seemed to be whispered intimately. Across the screen, I could feel the thick, ambiguous tension between them. My chest tightened uncontrollably. Jackson had just said this afternoon that he wanted to pursue her. It seemed he had already succeeded by nightfall. Renee had drawn “reverse push-ups” in a game of truth or dare, requiring her to choose a male partner. Unsurprisingly, Jackson immediately stepped forward. The crowd began to egg them on. Renee’s face flushed as she dutifully lay down on the sofa. Jackson positioned himself above her and did dozens of push-ups in one go. He was incredibly restrained the entire time, meticulously avoiding contact with Renee’s body. Until the very last one, whether from sheer exhaustion or perhaps intentionally, he lost his balance and landed squarely on top of Renee. The surrounding screams intensified, threatening to blow the roof off. Jackson and Renee’s faces turned even redder. Amidst the frenzied cheers of the crowd, Jackson simply lowered his head and kissed Renee. They engaged in a deep, French kiss, oblivious to everyone else. It lasted a full three minutes before they reluctantly separated. For that agonizingly long three minutes, I stared at the screen, unblinking, too stunned to even breathe. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart, a searing pain. I wanted to cry so badly, but I’d cried so much that afternoon without hydrating that I literally had no tears left. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Elara, did you see that? They were practically glued together, he’s totally smitten.” Maisie sighed, then turned the camera away and left the lounge. She found a quiet corner and seriously advised me, “Elara, please don’t be mad at me. If you didn’t see it with your own eyes, you would never give up.” My throat was dry and hoarse, the sounds I made almost incomprehensible. “No, I’m not mad at you.” I was only mad at myself for being so foolish for so many years. Believing that because I was always allowed to be by Jackson’s side, that spot would forever be mine. “I just can’t stand Jackson. How could he know you’ve liked him for so many years and still play the innocent boy, stringing you along, letting you fall deeper and deeper? You saw it clearly just now. I really hope you think carefully. Don’t let him ruin another four years of your life in college…” “He won’t, Maisie,” I cut her off, stating calmly. “I won’t give myself that chance again. Maisie, I’ve decided. I’m going to Sunstone University with you. But you have to promise to keep it a secret for now.” 4 With that, to ensure I wouldn’t waver, I opened my laptop right in front of her. Without the slightest hesitation, and just moments before the deadline, I changed my first-choice university to that renowned school in Sunstone. Maisie, naturally, was ecstatic. She had been begging me for ages to apply to the same university. But when I first entered high school, Jackson and I had made a pact: we’d work hard together, and after graduation, we’d go to Northwood, his dream city, the one he’d always wanted. It had his favorite aerospace engineering program. So, even though I didn’t particularly like the cold North, and felt no real connection to that STEM-focused university, for three years of high school, I’d always considered it my goal. After years of being neighbors, both our parents were thrilled at the idea of us attending the same university. Everyone, myself included, assumed that Jackson and I would naturally become a couple once we came of age. But now, I couldn’t find any reason to go to Northwood. Or rather, after today, if I continued to cling to Jackson as I had before, I would despise myself. All I wanted now was to get far away. It didn’t matter where, as long as Jackson wasn’t there. He was in the North, so I would go South. 5 Before bed, I filled the bathtub to the brim, wanting to wash myself thoroughly clean. But as I undressed, the bruises on my skin were still painfully visible. The memories of last night, uncontrolled, flooded back. The scorching heat of his skin when we embraced tightly, his burning breath against my ear in moments of passion—the lingering warmth seemed to still cling to the air around me. I violently shook my head, trying to cast off these absurd thoughts. I found the coarsest scrub brush and scoured my skin again and again until it was raw and red. I was trying, clumsily, to erase this most shameful memory of my life. The result was that I barely slept all night from the pain. Jackson, as expected, didn’t send any more messages. He had broken the habit we’d held since we first got phones six years ago: never-ending goodnight texts. That was fine. It was bound to happen someday. Might as well start the withdrawal tonight. I drifted in and out of sleep until almost dawn before finally falling into a deeper slumber. The next morning, I was still fast asleep when I suddenly felt someone press a soft kiss to my forehead in my dream.

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I spent two years recuperating in New Zealand. On my first day back, my cousin, Chloe, organized a welcome banquet for me. The guests were all the usual young masters and ladies from our circle. It had been a long time. The girls who used to be so close to me were unusually quiet today, each one strangely subdued. Even my younger brother, Finn, the heir to the Beaumont fortune, who once trailed obediently behind me, sweetly calling me “big sis,” now seemed distant. It was my welcome banquet, yet the guests largely ignored the guest of honor. A commotion erupted at the entrance. Asher Montgomery walked in, holding a woman’s hand, and the quiet banquet felt like oil had been poured into still waters. My brother was the first to rise and greet them. “Asher, Phoebe, you’re finally here.” The other young women, who moments before had been so stiff and quiet, suddenly livened up: “Phoebe, come over here.” “We saved a spot just for you.” The young woman, surrounded by everyone, smiled charmingly, her movements graceful. Asher, by her side, gazed at her with such tender affection, they looked like a match made in heaven. If Asher wasn’t my fiancé, I’d be cheering for this couple. My cousin, Chloe, ever the instigator, leaned in and whispered, “See, Evie? This woman is their stand-in, but she’s become the real deal. If you’d come back any later, she’d probably be pregnant already.” My cousin and I grew up together. Aunt Linda, being rather lax, often left Chloe at our house, where she was raised alongside me. My mother, having no way to refuse her own sister, simply acquiesced. Thankfully, our family wealth was vast, and raising one more child was no burden at all. Two months ago, Chloe sent me a photo. In it, Asher was intimately embracing a young woman. She bore a striking five-point resemblance to me. I’d heard that Phoebe, the new sensation from The Thorntons, had been raised in the countryside. It wasn’t until I left the Capital City two years ago for my recuperation that she returned to The Thorntons’ estate and began to frequent all the social events in our circle. Initially, Phoebe imitated my style of dress, and because of her similar appearance, others mocked her as a cheap imitation. But gradually, people in the circle discovered that while Phoebe resembled me in looks and style, her personality was gentle and graceful. Compared to my brash and headstrong nature, Phoebe was far more likable. Beyond her gentleness, Phoebe was also skilled at livening up the atmosphere. In summer, she’d invite everyone rafting; in autumn, she’d organize fly-fishing trips; in winter, she’d whisk them off to exclusive ski resorts. Soon, she became the new darling of the social scene. My former circle of friends slowly gravitated towards her. Even my brother, Finn, who initially disdained her, gradually began to treat her like an older sister, finding a warmth and sibling bond with her he’d never experienced before. And my fiancé, Asher Montgomery, the Montgomery heir, went from loudly scolding her not to imitate me, to gazing at her now with eyes full of tender affection, as if Phoebe were truly his fiancée. My cousin, my ever-present sentinel, always relayed every detail to me, making it impossible for me to feign ignorance. “Phoebe, like me?” I looked at her with a piercing gaze. Phoebe’s body trembled, and she instinctively recoiled behind Asher. I scoffed softly. “You all need an eye exam. Where do we look alike?” Today, I was wearing a white cocktail dress. Phoebe was also in white. Around my neck hung a valuable pink diamond necklace. She, too, wore a pink necklace, though hers was of pink pearls. Phoebe was undeniably pretty. But even when she wore clothes of the same color and similar jewelry, I never thought her features resembled mine. My words cast an immediate silence over the room. People exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. Phoebe was the first to react, her face pale, yet she said with a hint of defiance, “Miss Beaumont’s beauty is famously the Capital City’s finest. I hardly compare to Miss Beaumont.” Everyone present seemed to show disapproval at the humble tone in Phoebe’s voice. “Evie,” Finn chimed in, “a person’s appearance is born with them. Phoebe’s looks were set at birth; it’s not her fault she resembles you. You can’t just lash out at an innocent person because you demand everything to be unique, can you?” I almost laughed aloud. If I were truly lashing out, would you all still be standing here so comfortably? “Fool. Don’t you realize, I’m talking about you?” My words were directed at Finn, but my gaze swept slowly over everyone in the room. “Two years away, and Miss Beaumont’s temper is still awful, isn’t it?” “Before, I just thought Phoebe and Miss Beaumont were similar. But seeing them side-by-side, a weary Miss Beaumont truly can’t compare to a radiant Phoebe.” “Honestly, Miss Beaumont is just… passable. And her temper…” My volatile temper was well-known in the circle. My father once told me a woman should be gentle like water, flowing and yielding. But then again, cruelty can also flow like water. Rather than consume myself with resentment, I prefer to light a fire under others. Watching the people in this ostensibly harmonious circle quake in their boots after a single sentence from me, I found it utterly boring. “This is supposedly my welcome banquet, yet you all look glum facing me, then turn so enthusiastic for an unrelated Phoebe.” I turned to my cousin. “Chloe, thank you for arranging this gathering today. From now on, please don’t invite me to any events where these people are present.” I picked up my clutch, ready to leave. As I passed by Phoebe, her friend beside her suddenly let out a yelp. The friend stumbled, and the gift box in her hand tilted, sending a massive white crystal geode sliding out. It crashed onto Phoebe’s foot, instantly bruising her instep. In an instant, Asher’s enraged roar filled my ears. “Evie, what are you doing?!” “This geode, Phoebe searched so many places to find it for you, thinking it could purify your aura and benefit your health. If you didn’t want it, you didn’t have to take it. Why smash it?” Asher and I had grown up together, practically childhood sweethearts. He was always aloof, keeping everyone at a distance. Even on the day of our engagement, his expression was neutral. This was the first time I’d ever seen him so furious. Now, he condescendingly knelt beside Phoebe’s foot, carefully examining her injury. Once he confirmed she was unharmed, he straightened up and glared at me, his voice a venomous hiss: “Everyone came today specifically to welcome you back after your years abroad. And what did you do? You spoke nothing but cold, cutting remarks, smashed a gift, and made the whole affair incredibly awkward.” “Two years, and your temper is still as terrible as ever.” SMACK! The loud slap finally silenced Asher. Such a chatterbox. I flexed my wrist and pulled my bag tighter. A few decorative pieces had broken off and were now hanging from Asher’s shoulder. The surrounding crowd stared, wide-eyed, having just witnessed a spectacular show. Asher’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “You actually hit me?” Did hitting him require a special occasion? I scoffed coldly. “You’re still my fiancé. You think I’d tolerate you openly defending another woman right in front of me, wearing that enormous green hat?” I’d honestly thought my temper had mellowed after these years recuperating abroad; after all, extreme anger harms the body. The old me, upon hearing others gossip, would have immediately started a heated argument, escalating to physical blows if I was truly provoked. Now, it seemed they had forgotten who I used to be and insisted on provoking me. He who provokes first is the villain, yet they blame me for retaliating. “Miss Beaumont, it’s all my fault.” “I… I didn’t know this gift was so fragile. If it had been placed flat, it wouldn’t have shattered so easily.” I sneered. “Of course, it’s your fault. You brought a geode as a gift. Do you think I’m some kind of evil entity that needs purifying?” Phoebe cried. Indeed, she was a beauty, and her tears were truly pitiful. As she covered her face, I caught a glimpse of her lips subtly curving upward. A smile, meant only for me, visible from this angle alone. Asher’s face grew even darker. He stopped rubbing the spot where my bag had hit him, turned to comfort Phoebe, and delivered a chilling warning: “I never knew you were such an unreasonable person.” My brother, Finn, also pointed at me and scolded, “Evie, what did Phoebe do to deserve such treatment from you?” “When we see Father tonight, I’ll certainly have him punish you!” I smiled, waved a dismissive hand, and turned to leave. “Go ahead and report me.” “‘Big sis Phoebe,’ huh? What kind of random stray can be your sister now?” “Oh, and by the way,” I stopped and turned back, “Asher, have you forgotten that the engagement between you and me was something your father desperately begged for when he brought you to our home?” “Since you like Phoebe so much, I won’t stand in your way. I agree to break off the engagement. You can go tell The Montgomerys yourself.” Might as well finish it all in one go. I turned to Phoebe. “As for you, do I look like an idiot?” “While my temper isn’t great, I walk with purpose. I didn’t even touch your friend just now, yet she stumbled like that. Was she trying to stage an accident?” “Don’t believe me?” I pointed to the streetlight in the courtyard. “The camera at this angle should have captured it very clearly.” My direct, name-calling scolding left Finn’s face somber, Asher’s face ashen. Phoebe’s face was a mixture of red and white. Everyone else looked uncomfortable. Their discomfort meant my mood improved. I was used to it, anyway; they either gossiped about me to my face or behind my back. Am I some kind of doormat, unable to fight back when insulted? “You don’t need to report me; I’ll do it myself. I’ll relay every single one of your performances today, exactly as they happened, to each of your family heads.” “After all, there are plenty of high-definition cameras here. Your clothes, your makeup, your expressions,” I shook my phone, “even the words you spoke, are all clearly recorded.” With that, I didn’t bother with their panicked expressions and turned to walk out. But I bumped directly into a man entering from outside the courtyard. His strong hand gripped my arm, steadying me firmly. I looked up, meeting a handsome, flawless face. The man’s face flushed, and he quickly released me. But I was in no mood to admire handsome men. Once steady, I pushed him away. “Don’t touch me. Get out of the way!” Instantly, the man’s face grew even redder, his ear tips turning pink. I frowned. Did this person like being pushed around? “Evie,” my cousin whispered, her voice meek. “Let’s go together.” “Oh, don’t mind him. He likes it when you scold him.” There were people with that kind of kink? He was so handsome; his personality must be anything but ordinary. There was a sense of familiarity about him. The red-faced man saw me looking at him and immediately introduced himself: “Miss Beaumont, I’m Julian Davies of The Davies family.” The Davies? A prominent, but second-tier family in the circle, a notch below our Beaumonts and The Montgomerys. Before I could react, Julian shoved a gift box into my hand, then turned and scurried away. Even after I was in the car, I was still confused. “Julian Davies? Have I met him before?” Chloe leaned comfortably against the seat back, tapped a few times on her phone, and an AI voice began to speak: “Julian Davies, second-in-command of Davies Group, second child of The Davies family head. Currently known to be worth billions. If The Davies fortune is passed to him, his worth is estimated to be tens of billions. Age 22, unmarried, height 6’2”, and all the essential details…” My face burned. What kind of inappropriate AI was my cousin using? “You don’t know him? You had to ask your AI?” “Oh, should I know him? This is the first time I’ve seen him today.” I looked at my cousin, half-amused, half-helpless. Keep playing dumb. My cousin also pretended ignorance. “Evie, why don’t you check what he gave you?” She quickly took the gift box and began to unwrap it. Once the excess packaging was removed, Chloe gasped. I looked over, and she held a velvet cloth, showcasing a flawless, imperial green jade bangle, translucent like glass. Such a bangle was rarely seen, even at auctions. I took it, examined it carefully, and slipped it on. It was a perfect fit for my wrist. Chloe clicked her tongue a few times. “Evie, you said you didn’t know him. He even knows your wrist size and preferences so well.” I rotated my wrist, watching the bangle shimmer with light, and smiled faintly. Although the welcome banquet had ended unpleasantly, receiving a perfect bangle was certainly a good outcome. Perhaps the bangle had a calming effect, for I slept soundly that night. I woke up early the next day. By the time I finished my Eight Sections of Brocade, it was still before eight. Once I was ready, I had my bodyguards go to The Cloud Haven Bistro, the most popular restaurant in our circle. They set up a seven-foot-tall display screen at the entrance, playing an edited video of yesterday’s welcome banquet on loop. Phoebe’s attempt to frame me, Asher’s scolding, Finn’s indignation, and the others’ reactions—all were there. I even thoughtfully added subtitles, detailing who said what, with each person’s name clearly labeled. Passersby, guests entering the restaurant, and even eager onlookers uploaded the video online, and it quickly went viral. Today, the social circles’ group chats exploded. A torrent of messages at-ed me, demanding to know what my intentions were. I replied with a “smile” emoji, then exited the group. According to the information my assistant gathered, the second-generation heirs of prominent families featured in those videos were severely reprimanded by their own families after returning home. After all, who gave them the audacity to openly mock the Beaumont heiress?

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The holiday season was in full swing, and tickets were impossible to get. My colleague, Winston, had somehow managed to snag an overpriced train ticket from a scalper for me. But when we both finally boarded the train, he simply settled into my seat, refusing to budge. “My leg’s injured, and I can’t stand for over twenty hours,” he pleaded, his voice laced with an exaggerated whine. “So, can you please let me have the seat?” His brazen attempt to commandeer my berth left me standing for thirty-eight agonizing hours on a train that eventually stalled. The moment we finally disembarked, his injured leg gave out, and he stumbled onto the platform, nearly trampled by the surging crowd. As he scrambled back to his feet, his eyes burned with a malevolent glare. “Why didn’t you just spend an extra four hundred to buy a sleeper berth for me, Luca?” he snarled, rage contorting his face. “You’re such a tight-fisted cheapskate, you almost got me killed!” Then, with a furious shove, he sent me sprawling onto the train tracks just as an oncoming train roared into view, its massive steel frame bearing down on me. I gasped, my eyes snapping open. I was back. Back to the very moment I’d bought that standing ticket. 1 “Luca, I’ll introduce you to my ticket broker. You can pay an extra two hundred for a seat. Standing for over twenty hours is just ridiculous,” Winston said, his voice dripping with false concern, after realizing I’d only managed to get a standing ticket. “Who can stand for twenty hours? That’s too grueling. I’d hate to see you suffer like that.” “Just an extra two hundred, and you’ll have a proper seat. Send me your ID. Don’t hesitate.” Tickets for the peak holiday season were notoriously scarce. I’d spent days desperately trying to secure one, only to end up with a standing ticket. Even that had required an army of friends and relatives to help me snatch it. Seeing my hesitation, Winston, with his usual presumption, reached for my backpack, which was slung over my office chair. He was about to pull open the zipper when I snatched it back, a sharp reprimand escaping my lips. “That’s my bag! Don’t touch it.” Reborn into this moment, my mind cleared instantly, every detail of what was about to unfold rushing back to me. This seemingly warm and generous colleague, Winston, was, in reality, petty and cunning. I spoke, my voice unnaturally cold. “But even a seat for twenty-plus hours… that’s still uncomfortable.” At my words, he practically jumped with excitement, his mouth flapping incessantly. “Then spend an extra four hundred for a sleeper! The broker can get sleeper berths. If you’re willing to pay, you can lie down all the way home.” His eyes gleamed like welding sparks, a sight that left me utterly stunned. Even after my rebirth, his brazenness still made me cringe. In my previous life, he’d successfully conned me out of my seat. Now, merely a casual comment about the discomfort of a regular seat was enough for him to try and manipulate me into paying for a sleeper berth for his comfort? He wanted to reap all the benefits without lifting a finger. If that was his game, I certainly wouldn’t play by his rules. I was going to ruin him. “You can get a sleeper berth too?” I feigned shock, my mouth slightly agape. Winston reached out, his hand imperiously demanding. “Give me your phone, quick. I’ll personally handle it right now. I’m confident he can get a sleeper. I just met this broker; he’s incredibly resourceful.” I simply smiled, observing his every move with a keen eye, and unhesitatingly handed him my phone. He grabbed it and scurried off towards the restroom, clearly intending some underhanded dealings. I wasn’t worried; I had one-click pay enabled. He could easily control my phone. But if I didn’t utterly ruin him this time, I’d be doing a disservice to the self he’d betrayed in my past life. Half an hour later, Winston returned, a smug grin plastered across his face, and tossed my phone back to me. “Luca, I spent an extra four hundred to get you a lower sleeper berth. You’ll be much more comfortable on the way home, no need to worry about swollen, aching legs.” Winston’s apparent consideration earned him praise from our surrounding colleagues, especially a woman named Chloe. She gushed about him, praising him to the heavens. “Winston, you’re so incredibly kind and generous! Tickets are impossible to get these days, yet you managed to buy one for Luca. Luca, how are you going to thank Winston?” Chloe, ostensibly just a colleague, was actually secretly involved with Winston. He’d recently injured his leg participating in a company sports event, leaving him with a persistent limp. Chloe had been diligently caring for him during that time, her devotion seemingly boundless. But deep down, they were both utterly fake, penny-pinching cheapskates. A truly despicable pair. Chloe would concoct the schemes, and Winston would shamelessly execute them. The reason was simple: they wanted to inflate my travel costs to save money for themselves. They’d unapologetically stoop to any level to squeeze even a dollar out of me. These particular trains traveled from south to north, and a regular seat or standing ticket cost two hundred and sixty. In my previous life, I’d let Winston spend an extra two hundred to buy me a seat ticket from the scalper. But Winston had then brazenly occupied my seat for nearly forty hours. That time, a snowstorm had damaged the tracks, causing the train to halt for over ten hours. I had stood for nearly forty hours, almost squeezed into a pancake by the crowd, suffering immensely. The moment we disembarked, Winston, with his limp, was jostled onto the platform and trampled a few times. I was so startled, I just stood there, watching him, unsure what to do. He turned his misery into anger, screaming at me, “It’s all your fault! You made me stand for nearly forty hours! My legs gave out, that’s why I fell. Why didn’t you buy a sleeper berth? If you had bought a sleeper, I wouldn’t have suffered like this. I could have used your sleeper!” I quickly tried to explain, “I didn’t… it wasn’t me.” I wanted to say more, but then Chloe emerged from the sleeper car. The two of them glared at me, a unified front of hostility. “Luca, you almost got me killed! You almost got me trampled to death!” It was Winston who had occupied my seat for nearly forty hours. He himself was exhausted and fell after being shoved, yet he blamed me for his misfortune. His audacity was truly boundless. Shamelessness, it seemed, was indeed an unstoppable force. Taking advantage of my momentary shock, Winston shoved me hard onto the tracks, right into the path of an oncoming train… Now, seeing Winston and Chloe’s duplicitous faces before me, I found it utterly ridiculous. I had been reborn at this crucial juncture, and they were simply asking for trouble. I turned to Chloe, a playful taunt in my voice. “Excuse me, did you buy a ticket?” Chloe faltered for a moment. “I bought a ticket home. You guys are going home, and I’m planning to go home too.” Her demeanor was unnatural, and she kept glancing nervously at a bewildered Winston while she spoke. They were truly something, each more selfish than the other. Chloe had secretly bought her own ticket, intending to visit Winston’s home. Yet, she didn’t want to share her sleeper berth with her limping boyfriend, so she kept it quiet. She wanted to be comfortable, leaving Winston, the poor cripple, to fight with me for a spot. Chloe refused to inconvenience herself in the slightest, even though Winston was her man and should have been her responsibility to care for. I calmly complimented them. “Right, so we should get ready to go home. Let’s pack our bags now.” I gave them a friendly smile, not forgetting to remind them. Both Winston and Chloe nodded. Back home, I opened my phone to check the ticketing system. Winston had indeed spent an extra four hundred with the scalper, who in turn had provided me with a three hundred and ninety lower sleeper berth ticket. My sleeper ticket cost a whopping seven hundred and ninety in total, incredibly expensive. Clearly, when it wasn’t his own money, he felt no pain. “But it’s okay,” I muttered. “I’ll get it back with interest. Tomorrow, the long-haul game officially begins, and I’ll play along to the very end.” I finished packing my luggage. The next morning, I rushed to the train station, laden with bags. Winston was shivering uncontrollably in the cold wind, his leg still limping. He looked… genuinely pathetic. The moment he spotted me, his eyes lit up, and he hurried over to exchange pleasantries. “Luca, can I talk to you about something?” I feigned ignorance. “What is it?” “Can I come with you? Can I sit in your sleeper berth for a bit? I’ll go back to my original spot soon, I promise I won’t bother you.” He tried desperately to appear honest. But his transparency was like waving a flag; I could see through his thinly veiled plot. I asked, feigning curiosity, “You, a standing ticket holder, trying to squeeze into my sleeper? Do you really think you can get in?” “What era do you think this is? Your carriage and seat are checked thoroughly. You can’t get into my sleeper carriage, understand?” Of course, he knew. And I knew he had a way. All he had to do was flash his injured leg, play the victim, and whine about not getting a sleeper ticket, and the conductor would likely make an exception. Conductors these days were generally understanding. Winston sighed dramatically. “I have a way to get in. Just let me follow you.” “Nonsense! You want to come in and take over my sleeper, then use your injury as emotional blackmail to force me into your standing-room-only carriage for dozens of hours? Winston, your calculations are far too precise.” I didn’t use my harshest tone to expose his lie. Instead, I wore a knowing smirk, making it seem almost like a joke. He froze for a moment, a hint of guilt flickering in his eyes. But a truly contemptible person is utterly shameless at their core. He quickly changed his tone, adopting a reproaching voice. “Luca, I didn’t mean that. I just want to sit in your spot for a bit. If you won’t let me, I can just sit by the window. Anything’s better than being crammed with people. There are too many, I can’t stand it. Please, I’m begging you.” In my past life, my constant softheartedness had led him to push me into my death. But this time, I found it hilarious. I jutted my chin towards Carriage 18. “Why don’t you go check out who’s in Carriage 18? Instead of begging me, you might as well beg that person.” Chloe was probably lounging comfortably in Carriage 18 right now, probably glued to her phone, head propped on a pillow, scrolling through pictures of guys with six-packs. She’d kept it a secret from him that she’d bought a train ticket to his hometown for the holidays, and here he was, shamelessly clinging to me. Winston looked confused, glancing in that direction for a moment before frowning. “What do you mean?” Everything was implied. For this entire charade, I had spent a considerable amount of money, but if it meant a good show, I was more than happy. “Nothing. I need to board the train. Time’s running out.” I made my way to Carriage 17. The moment I stepped inside, Winston hurried in after me. A conductor immediately stopped him. “Passenger, please show your ID.” Winston quickly pointed at me. “My ID is in his backpack! But he went ahead, so I’m just following him to get it. I’ll show it to you in a moment.” Oh, that bastard! I hadn’t anticipated such a low trick. He swiftly darted in, right behind me. The conductor, having to deal with other passengers first, was forced to let him slip into my carriage based on his audacity. “Lower Berth 22, this is it! Luca, my leg hurts, this spot is mine!” He rushed to claim my berth, even placing his carry-on luggage on the floor, making it clear he had no intention of letting me sit. I laughed, a humorless huff. This man was truly brazen, determined to bleed me dry. I crossed my arms, standing over him, looking down at Winston like he was a dog. Winston lay there for a moment, then met my gaze. “Why are you staring at me? I want to sleep for a bit; don’t disturb me.” I spoke, my voice cold. “Are you sure you want to usurp this spot? Are you sure you’ll just lie in my lower berth and not move?” Winston’s expression darkened, clearly annoyed. “Don’t say it like that. I have a limp, remember?” Without another word, I swiftly headed towards Carriage 18. Winston, if I let you lie there for another ten minutes, then I lose… I easily found a short-tempered male conductor. “Excuse me, my lower berth has been taken by a standing ticket passenger. He’s occupying my berth and refusing to move. Can standing ticket passengers really go into the sleeper carriage these days?” I deliberately spoke loudly in this carriage, hoping to pinpoint Chloe’s location. Soon enough, I saw her quickly pull a blanket over her head, as if trying to hide from me. I smiled inwardly, making a mental note of her spot. In a moment, I’d drag her out and add fuel to the fire. Hearing my words, the conductor rushed over. “A standing ticket passenger in the sleeper carriage? I’ll go check.” I triumphantly led the conductor to Winston, who was still lounging in my lower berth. Indeed, he’d been there for less than ten minutes. I wouldn’t let him be that comfortable. The conductor, a man with a fiery temper, looked at my ticket, then yanked Winston to his feet. “Sir, this is not your spot. You are in Carriage 8. Please leave immediately.” The conductor was clearly annoyed. The holiday travel season was already more difficult than usual, and many staff members harbored some resentment. Winston was creating unnecessary trouble, increasing the workload for this hardworking man, and the conductor was in no mood to indulge this idiot. Seeing the conductor’s irritation, Winston pointed to his leg. “No, wait. I know I have a standing ticket, but Luca is my colleague and from my hometown. I bought the ticket for him. Can’t I just stay in his spot?” “Besides, I’m injured. I’m practically disabled. Here’s my medical report; I had a fracture. Though the severe injury has healed quite a bit, I can’t stand over there.” “And it’s not that I didn’t want a sleeper ticket, but I couldn’t get one! I could only grab a standing ticket.” He was just as manipulative as he’d been in my past life. Even after everything, his brazenness still shocked me. I watched, curious, to see how the conductor would handle this.

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My parents, rooted in their outdated traditions, cut off Liam’s medical funding again for the sake of their adopted son. At that moment, my heart finally died. The bullet comments were filled with sighs: 【Oh, Eric, your parents said they don’t really favor their adopted son. They just found him to temper you both, afraid they’d spoil you otherwise.】 【Last time, they made you sell blood for tuition. The time before that, they let thugs steal your meal money… Now it’s the 99th trial. They said if you two can just endure this one, they’ll finally be able to love you freely.】 Endure this one? But Liam was already dead. When I saw my parents illegally barge into my cramped rental apartment, I wasn’t surprised in the least. After all, ten minutes after I posted my desperate plea online, they used their immense financial clout to have my post deleted and my account banned. They had the money to silence me, but not a single penny to save my brother’s life. I clenched my fists, listening to my father’s voice, cold as a demon’s, as he announced: “Eric, your allowance for the entire year is gone.” Then, he launched into a furious tirade of accusations. “You and Liam are getting increasingly out of line! Resorting to faking medical bills and spreading rumors online just to get money!” He snarled. “Do you have any idea how much it cost me to take down your post?” He grew more agitated with each word, his eyes blazing as he surveyed the small apartment. “And where’s Liam? Get out here, you brat! Today, as your father, I’m going to teach you two a proper lesson!” His gaze fixed on me. “You first. Get on your knees!” My mother stepped forward, feigning protection. “Let’s talk this through calmly, no need for threats of violence.” Then, her voice hardening, “Eric, where’s your brother? Don’t just stand there, tell him to come out and apologize to your father with you.” She shook her head. “This time, your little prank went too far. If you remain so stubborn, even I can’t help you.” Help? When had she ever helped us? Every single time, she’d coldly stood by as a spectator, only to play the peacemaker once the dust settled. If their “trial” succeeded, she’d boast about her effective parenting. If it failed, she’d lightly push all the blame onto Liam and me. Even the comments, having witnessed this recurring drama so many times, couldn’t help but pity me. 【Ugh, Eric’s parents have really crossed the line this time. Eric was clearly posting for help, hoping some kind soul would assist him with Liam’s funeral arrangements. But in less than ten minutes, his parents had the post taken down.】 【My heart aches for Eric. This is just the fate of a supporting character, isn’t it?】 A bitter, hollow laugh escaped me. From the moment Adrian Sterling entered our lives, I gained the ability to see these bullet comments. I knew then that Liam and I were mere stepping stones for Adrian, the protagonist. We were destined to fail. Yet, I refused to give up. I tried to fight back, but each attempt ended in failure. Every time Adrian falsely accused us, I would try desperately to explain, to prove our innocence to my parents. But in their eyes, it was merely ‘cunning sophistry.’ Later, I learned from the comments that my parents intended to use Adrian to temper us, which was why they silently condoned his actions. Finally, I gave up, accepting this absurd trial. I even repeatedly urged my younger brother to dutifully endure our parents’ tests. I thought the trials would end quickly. But it had been seven years, and the tests came one after another, endlessly, with no end in sight. And my brother, my only companion, died in the hospital because of their 99th trial. Even now, he lay in the cold mortuary, because I had no money for his funeral. And my father? He had simply cut off my monthly allowance of $500. I took a deep breath, waiting for them to finish speaking. Then, I slowly began. “You can cut off my allowance.” My voice trembled slightly. “But please, just lend me $2,000. Please?” I swallowed hard. “Liam… he’s still waiting to be buried…” My father exploded in a fit of rage. He unbuckled his belt and lashed it across my back. “Well, well! Still lying to us even now! What kind of elder brother are you, wishing death upon your own brother?” A sharp, searing pain pulsed through me, but I persisted. “I’m not lying. Liam was in a car accident.” I choked back a sob. “When I called you, you refused to pay for Liam’s medical expenses.” My voice cracked. “He bled out and died! But for cremation and burial, the cheapest option is still $2,000…” Tears welled in my eyes. “I don’t have any money… that’s why I posted online for help… You can beat me as much as you want, but can you please just lend me $2,000 so Liam can be buried…?” My voice was barely a whisper, trembling uncontrollably. They had money. So much money. Yet my brother had died because we had none. It was absurd. My mother, hearing my words, froze. “Eric, what do you mean? Liam… he really…” My father furiously slapped my mother’s hand away, then struck me again with his belt. “You believe his lies?” He scoffed. “Those two brothers have been lying their entire lives! Faking illnesses as children, and now they’re even faking death!” His eyes burned with conviction. “Adrian was right. They’ve just been after our money from the start!” He glowered at me, his voice a menacing growl. “If only you two were as sensible as Adrian, your mother and I wouldn’t have to be so strict with you!” My heart shattered, and I finally broke. “Really? Wouldn’t you? Or is Adrian just a tool you found to torment Liam and me?” I screamed, my voice raw. “You knew all along that Adrian was framing and bullying Liam and me, but you turned a blind eye!” Tears streamed down my face. “Weren’t we ‘sensible’ enough? We earned our own tuition. When we ran out of money, we found part-time jobs. We got top grades in every subject and won scholarships every year! But what did you do? You heartlessly sent thugs to beat Liam and me black and blue, stealing all the money we’d worked so hard to earn for food!” My voice cracked with desperate anguish. “I only asked you for $2,000 to bury Liam. Is that too much to ask? He’s my own brother, and your son!” I sobbed. “Why won’t you just believe us, just this once?!” Both of them froze, a flicker of awkwardness crossing their faces. They clearly hadn’t expected me to know about their “trials.” My mother, flustered, nervously reached for my hand. “Eric, when did you find out…? Did Liam know too? Is that why you kept making up excuses to ask us for money?” So, this was the conclusion they reached after hearing my hysterical accusations? I laughed bitterly, a self-deprecating sound. “If you still don’t believe me, then use that $2,000 to sever our ties.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “From now on, I am no longer a son of the Sterling family. You won’t have to worry about me shaming the Sterling name. Is that satisfactory?” Two thousand dollars. I wondered if, after Liam’s cremation, it would be enough to cremate me too. With Liam gone, I had no reason to live. I didn’t expect to get their response before I heard a deep male voice sharply rebuke me. “Brother, aren’t you being incredibly hurtful to Mom and Dad?” I looked at Adrian Sterling, who stood impassively in the doorway. He was dressed in a custom-tailored suit, a million-dollar watch gleaming on his wrist. I glanced down at myself: a t-shirt my neighbor had thrown away, and shoes I’d salvaged from the village trash dump. These were my parents. Millions spent enriching an adopted son, yet they wouldn’t spare $2,000 for their own flesh and blood. The comments, too, were crying foul on my behalf. Adrian’s face was filled with feigned sincerity. “Brother,” he began, “I just saw you and Liam buying fake medical records at the hospital this morning. How can you now claim Liam is dead?” He sighed, a performance of profound disappointment. “Since you want to sever ties, Mom and Dad, just agree. After all… consider it another trial.” A self-deprecating laugh escaped me. How could Adrian lie so naturally about things that never happened? I felt utterly helpless, but I couldn’t stop myself from trying to explain again. “If you’re so capable, why don’t you go to the hospital yourselves and check if there’s a deceased person named Liam Sterling? The truth would be clear!” My voice cracked. “Then, it would be obvious who’s lying—Adrian or me, wouldn’t it?” But my mother’s trust in Adrian was absolute. “Adrian isn’t like you; would he lie to us? Liam is your own brother; how can you keep saying he’s dead? Are you cursing him, or us?” Her face hardened. “Now, you call Liam out here immediately to apologize, or else he’ll never see another penny of allowance!” I looked at the comments floating in the air. Without exception, they were furious on my behalf, comforting me, trying to brainstorm solutions. But I was utterly numb. Because I had long since given up expecting them to understand me. I had explained countless times, yet they still refused to believe. Liam had been in a car accident, and we needed to pay for his medical expenses. I called my parents, begging them to cover the bills. The most ridiculous part was that my parents used this as another “trial,” adamantly refusing to pay. Liam struggled for three days on a gurney in the hospital corridor, until he finally gave up and died from massive blood loss. I thought, everyone is free now. Once I sent Liam off, I would join him. But I never imagined I couldn’t even afford the funeral. As despair deepened, my father scoffed. “Since you already know about the ‘trials,’ then perfect. I’ll give you one last chance. If you pass this trial, I won’t just give you $2,000.” He paused, a cruel glint in his eye. “From now on, I’ll grant you whatever you wish for.” Adrian’s face changed dramatically. He clearly hadn’t expected my father to propose yet another trial for me. To be honest, neither had I. I looked up and saw the comments all urging me. 【Eric, you should agree. After all, they’re your and Liam’s birth parents; they probably won’t make it too hard for you.】 【Yeah, Liam’s body is still at the hospital. His funeral can’t wait. You’re still young; how long would it take you to save up enough money for Liam’s arrangements by working odd jobs? Liam can’t wait that long.】 Yes, Liam couldn’t wait. I had tried every method imaginable. Borrowing money, loans, finding jobs… I had exhausted every option. Each time I saw a flicker of hope, my parents would send someone to sabotage it. I was at my wit’s end, which was why I finally resorted to exposing my identity as the Sterling family’s eldest son online, hoping to stir public opinion and find a way out. But in the end? I was still cornered, step by step, by my own biological parents, forced to pass their “trials” just to arrange my brother’s funeral. It was utterly ironic. After a long silence, I finally spoke. “Alright, I agree.” For my brother, I had no choice but to agree. Adrian’s face was livid, his eyes fixed on me with intense resentment. I ignored him, silently extending my hand. “But I beg you, can you please transfer me the $2,000 first?” My voice was barely audible. “My brother’s burial truly can’t wait any longer.” Adrian burst out laughing. “Brother, aren’t you being too greedy?” He smirked. “Still lying about Liam being dead?” He paused, feigning a thoughtful look. “Speaking of which… Mom, Dad, I did accidentally see Brother buying something from a shady character recently. That $2,000… he wouldn’t be trying to…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. My parents’ faces instantly contorted with rage. My mother, furious, slapped me across the face. “Eric! How old are you, and you’re already stooping so low?! You actually dared to take those things?!” My father’s face was grim. “Since you’re so desperate for $2,000, fine. This last trial.” His eyes narrowed. “Earn $2,000 within one week.” He paused. “If you complete it, I’ll send you to rehab and make sure you kick this habit!” Adrian couldn’t hold back his laughter. I felt as if I’d plunged into an ice hole, my chest heaving rapidly. A ball of fury churned inside me, with nowhere to go. They left without hesitation. Adrian remained, surveying the rental apartment. “Honestly, I was quite worried just now, thought you almost won this one. Good thing Mom and Dad still don’t believe you.” He shook his head. “I think your last trial will be very difficult to pass. Why don’t you get on your knees and beg me? I could help you, you know.” He smirked. “It’s just $2,000. I could introduce you to a few wealthy women. If you take care of them, forget $2,000, you could get $200,000!” His eyes gleamed with malice. “After all, Mom and Dad already think you’ve fallen so low, don’t they?” The comments were furious, cursing Adrian, the protagonist, and urging me to quickly explain everything to my parents. But what was the point of explaining? They were always like this, pretending to care deeply for Liam and me, but never actually doing anything concrete. Just like before, when they endlessly called, pressuring me to pay tuition, insisting I had to go to school, or they wouldn’t acknowledge me as their son. But when I asked to borrow the tuition from them, they would say: “Eric, your education is your own responsibility. You have to figure out the tuition yourself. And your brother’s tuition too.” They’d added, “There are plenty of opportunities in this society. As long as you’re willing to work hard, you can easily earn your tuition, instead of expecting everything handed to you.” But when they said this, I was still a minor, and employing child labor was illegal. I could only go to remote places, pretend I was an adult, and earn tuition by selling my blood. If they truly cared about Liam and me as much as they claimed, they would have investigated the moment they heard about Liam’s death. But how could they, after I’d told them countless times, still insist I was lying? Adrian mocked me some more, then left. I collapsed weakly to the floor, lost in a daze. But I needed $2,000, not to pass a trial. I needed it to bury Liam. After a long hesitation, I finally made up my mind and headed to a bar. It’s just putting on a smile, isn’t it? As long as I could get Liam buried quickly, I would do anything. But that sketchy place was far beyond my capabilities as a novice. For an entire night, I gritted my teeth, enduring the discomfort, accepting one drink after another from strangers. I begged and pleaded, managing to convince only two gold-toothed bosses to open a bottle of expensive champagne. I endured, day after day.

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When I submitted my expense report, Ms. Jenkins, the accountant, practically threw the receipts back at me. “New company policy,” she snapped, her voice as crisp as a freshly ironed shirt. “Accommodations in major cities capped at $100 a night, food at $20. You’re way over the limit!” “Seriously?” I stared at her, disbelief curdling in my gut. “I was in New York City! Even a budget motel like ‘InnExpress’ costs upwards of $300. What am I supposed to do, sleep on a park bench for $100 a night?” “That’s not my problem,” she said, her voice flat, her eyes unblinking. “It’s Mr. Sterling’s rule.” I glanced down at the pile of receipts in my hand, nearly $50,000 worth. My last six months’ salary, plus maxed-out credit cards, had barely kept me afloat. If they didn’t reimburse me, I wouldn’t even be able to afford groceries. Thinking of all my contributions to the company, the millions I’d brought in, I went to Mr. Sterling’s office, clinging to a thread of naive hope. But he just waved me off. “I said it’s a company rule,” he repeated, not even bothering to look up from his computer. “Coming to me won’t change anything!” 1 I’d been on the road for months, constantly traveling to nail down a multi-million-dollar project for the company. Now, with the project finally nearing completion, they were suddenly refusing to cover my travel expenses. Earlier, I’d tried to catch Ms. Jenkins in between trips back to the office to report on the project’s progress, but she’d shut me down immediately. “Expense reports are only processed during the last week of the month,” she’d declared. The problem was, the last week of every month was exactly when I had crucial project review meetings with the client. How on earth was I supposed to be in the office then? So, I had no choice but to wait until the very beginning of the last week, rush back to file my report, and then dash back to the client. And now, of course, my accommodation and dining expenses were “over budget.” Ms. Jenkins had a face like a stone wall, repeating the same mantra over and over: “If Mr. Sterling signs it, I’ll process it.” Armed with my stack of denied reports, I found Mr. Sterling. “Sir,” I began, trying to keep my voice steady, “you can’t possibly find a hotel in New York City for $100 a night.” He scoffed, a sneer twisting his lips. “Have you even tried? How can you be so certain it’s impossible when you haven’t made an effort?” “Even a budget motel like ‘InnExpress’ charges $300,” I insisted, my voice rising slightly. “I stayed in a dingy little inn for $150, which was already a steal. Go online, check it out!” Mr. Sterling smirked, pulled out his phone, and typed furiously. He quickly found a few youth hostels online, advertising beds for $50 a night. “See?” he crowed, holding up his screen. “Need me to book one for you?” “Those are hostels!” I retorted, exasperated. “Eight people to a room! That’s not a business trip, that’s a sleepover!” “And?” he shot back, his eyes narrowing. “If others can stay there, why can’t you?” “Because I need to work overtime! I can’t get anything done with eight people crammed into one room! And what about my personal belongings, my company laptop? What if they get stolen?” He paused, perhaps conceding the point. But then he typed away again, pulling up “InnExpress” locations in the outer boroughs or far-flung suburbs, like Staten Island. Sure enough, some listed rooms for $100. “Mr. Sterling,” I said, barely containing my anger. “While technically part of New York, those locations are hours away. I’d need to take a commuter train just to get to the client’s office!” He opened a map on his phone, scrutinizing it for a long moment. “Nonsense. There are buses! You just have to wake up earlier, that’s all, Ethan.” I bit back the urge to curse. “And $20 for meals isn’t enough either. A basic sandwich and coffee in the city costs nearly that much!” “Ethan,” he said, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin. “This is where I really need to set you straight. If you weren’t traveling, wouldn’t you pay for your own meals? Why should the company cover it just because you’re on a trip? You have to eat whether you’re traveling or not. The $20 is a perk, a bonus! It’s at least enough for a budget meal service, isn’t it?” I was utterly speechless. Along with the company’s insistence on slow, uncomfortable regional trains, this was the “business travel package”: endure a miserable journey, bunk in a hostel, and eat cheap, shared meals. Anyone who wanted that could have it! Watching his utterly shameless expression, I knew he wouldn’t budge on the money. Fine. I’d give in. Even if I only got reimbursed at his ridiculous rates – $100 for lodging, $20 for meals – that still left over $40,000. I needed something back, especially since I was struggling to put food on the table. But then, unbelievably, even after I swallowed that bitter pill, Ms. Jenkins still wouldn’t release the funds. 2 I trudged back to my cubicle, adjusted the reimbursement amounts on my report, and then headed back to Ms. Jenkins’s desk. “Ms. Jenkins,” I said, trying to sound reasonable, “how about this? Just reimburse me based on the $100 for lodging and $20 for meals, as per company policy.” Ms. Jenkins took my report, glanced at it, and then tossed it back onto the counter. “Can’t process it.” My blood ran cold. “But I just agreed to your company’s absurd policy! Why can’t you process it now?” “The invoice amount doesn’t match the reimbursement amount.” “So what? The invoice amount is higher than the company’s allowed expenditure! The national tax regulations even permit this kind of adjustment!” “The government might allow it, but Mr. Sterling doesn’t. He requires the amounts to match exactly.” My temper flared. “Ms. Jenkins, I haven’t submitted an expense report in almost a year. I’ve personally covered over $50,000 for this company, and now I’m willing to settle for just $40,000-something based on your company’s insane rules! Can you please, for the love of God, just process this?” “Mr. White,” she said, her voice utterly devoid of emotion, “those are Mr. Sterling’s requirements. Get his signature, and I’ll process it immediately.” Watching Ms. Jenkins, who seemed to be carved from granite, I knew arguing was futile. So, for the second time, I returned to Mr. Sterling’s office. “Mr. Sterling,” I began, trying to rein in my frustration, “Ms. Jenkins says the invoice amount is too high and needs your signature to be processed.” He took the report, saw the reduced amount – over $10,000 less than the original – and a wide, gleeful smile spread across his face. “Ethan, my boy,” he said, practically purring. “You know, a company this big can’t be managed by people alone; it needs systems, it needs rules. Consider this a lesson learned. Normally, we don’t allow such discrepancies, but I’ll make an exception for you this one time. Don’t let it happen again, though!” With that, he scrawled his signature on the report. He’d just swindled me out of over ten grand, of course he was happy to sign. Armed with Mr. Sterling’s signature, I hurried back to the finance department. The moment I handed the report to Ms. Jenkins, she, once again, tossed it back. “Can’t process it!” Hearing those words, my blood practically boiled. 3 “What now?!” I snapped, my voice dangerously high. “Company policy states a maximum reimbursement of $5,000 per month. You’ll need to split that into nine separate reports. Go break it down and bring it back.” I took a deep, shaky breath, fighting to keep my composure. “Ms. Jenkins, why couldn’t you have told me all the problems at once?” “The company’s financial policies are posted right there on the wall,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “It’s not my fault if you don’t bother to read them.” I looked up. Sure enough, a printed notice was tacked to the wall. Who the hell ever wandered into the finance department just to read notices? I felt myself about to explode, my voice rising with every word. “This reimbursement is for money I paid out for the company! This is money the company owes me, not a bonus or a salary! I spent nearly $50,000 of my own money, and you expect me to wait nine months to get it back? Are you going to pay me interest?” But, as always, her reply was the same emotionless drone: “It’s Mr. Sterling’s policy. Get his signature, and I’ll process it immediately.” Mr. Sterling again? Looking at Ms. Jenkins’s unyielding expression, I knew further argument was pointless. So, once more, I trudged back to Mr. Sterling’s office. “Mr. Sterling,” I said, trying to maintain a shred of politeness. “Ms. Jenkins says there’s a new company policy limiting reimbursements to $5,000 a month.” “That’s right,” he said, not bothering to hide the satisfaction in his voice. “That’s the rule.” “But I’ve been traveling constantly, I haven’t had time to come back and file reports. I’ve accumulated over half a year’s worth of expenses! Even at your company’s reduced rates, that’s still over $40,000!” He didn’t even lift his head. “Then split it up. Reimburse a little each month.” “But I travel every single month! My new travel expenses alone will almost hit $5,000! By your company’s rules, I’ll never get my $40,000 back! This is money I paid for the company!” At that, Mr. Sterling slowly lifted his head. “Ethan, a company this large needs rules to function properly. You didn’t file on time; that’s your problem. And I just told you, I made an exception for you once, but it won’t happen again. Why are you back?” “Mr. Sterling, I have crucial project meetings at the client’s site at the end of every month! I can’t possibly come back to the office! How am I supposed to file?” “See, Ethan, you’re always so absolute. Have you even tried to find a solution? You haven’t made an effort, so how can you say it’s impossible?” “The client requires my presence at those meetings! I genuinely can’t come back!” “You could always fill out the forms and mail the receipts in, couldn’t you?” Are you kidding me? How was I supposed to know about all these ridiculous new rules that popped up out of nowhere? Besides, I had mailed them in once before, and Ms. Jenkins had complained my receipts weren’t taped horizontally, letting them sit in her office for months. But if I told him that, he’d just retort, “Well, why couldn’t you tape them horizontally then?” It was always something with him. He always had an answer, always a way to make it my fault. 4 I stormed out of Mr. Sterling’s office, a boiling cauldron of rage. But what choice did I have? I had to get at least $5,000 out. My credit card bills were due, I needed to eat, and my entire salary had been sunk into these travel expenses. I was flat broke. Finally, on my fourth attempt, Ms. Jenkins accepted my expense report. Her face was still a blank mask. “Mr. White,” she said, “this report is finally correct. It seems you’ve learned to follow our financial rules, haven’t you?” If I weren’t so desperate for the money, I might have slapped her. I bit back my anger and forced a question. “Thank you, Ms. Jenkins. When can I expect the reimbursement?” “If you’re lucky, it’ll be processed with next month’s salary.” My jaw dropped. It was already the end of the current month. Next month’s salary wouldn’t be paid until the middle of next month. That meant I wouldn’t see a dime for nearly two months! I was counting on that money to eat! My last paycheck had immediately been swallowed by credit card debt. I was truly penniless. “Ms. Jenkins,” I pleaded, “can’t it be sooner? I’m genuinely out of money.” “Mr. White,” she droned, “that’s just how the reimbursement process works. We have to verify receipts, reconcile accounts… it’s not a quick turnaround.” Processes. What was the point of all these processes except to trip up ordinary people like me? I decided to try a different angle. “Ms. Jenkins, could I get an advance on my salary for this month? I really, truly don’t have money for food.” Predictably, the same old line: “If Mr. Sterling signs it, I can process it!” “Ms. Jenkins, can you please, for once, try to see this from my perspective? I’ve effectively been paying to work for this company for over half a year! My salary and all my savings have been poured into travel expenses!” Ms. Jenkins’s poker face remained impassive. “Get Mr. Sterling’s signature, and I’ll advance your salary immediately.” I was starting to wonder if Ms. Jenkins was an AI, programmed with only one response: “If Mr. Sterling signs it, I’ll do it.” Defeated, I sought out Mr. Sterling again. To my surprise, he didn’t refuse outright. “Ethan,” he said, feigning sympathy. “You should know, advancing a salary incurs financial costs for the company. That money, sitting in the bank, earns interest. Since you’re truly broke and need an advance for food, I can’t just let you starve. But, business is business, and you’ll have to bear the loss of that interest. How about this: I’ll approve $5,000, and we’ll calculate interest at 5%. So you’ll actually receive $4,750, with $250 as interest.” So, the old snake did understand the concept of capital costs? Then why wasn’t he paying me interest for holding my money for so long? Today was a real eye-opener. From start to finish, he had me completely cornered. It really felt like I was paying to work here. But the thought of not being able to eat gnawed at me. I swallowed my pride and forced out the words, “Thank you, Mr. Sterling.” “No need to thank me,” he said, beaming. “Just work hard, Ethan, and repay the company with your performance!” Repay? Oh, I’d repay him alright. With interest. 5 The very next morning, just as I settled into my office, Mr. Thompson, our client from New York, called. “The end-of-month project review meeting is today,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. “Why aren’t you here?” “My apologies, Mr. Thompson. Our company policy dictates that expense reports can only be filed at the end of the month. I had to return to the office for that. Perhaps my boss can arrange for someone else?” Mr. Thompson exploded. “Expense reports? Are you kidding me right now? You’re missing a critical project meeting for expense reports? Do you know we’re on the cusp of final acceptance? Everyone’s working overtime, and you’re filing expenses?!” “Mr. Thompson, please calm down,” I tried to explain. “I haven’t been reimbursed in over half a year. I literally didn’t have money for food. If I hadn’t come back yesterday, I might have been sleeping on the streets today.” But Mr. Thompson wasn’t listening. “I’m calling your boss right now! We’ll see what’s more important: your expenses or this project!” The second phase of the project had a potential budget in the tens of millions. Mr. Sterling wouldn’t dare offend such a huge client. Sure enough, less than three minutes later, Mr. Sterling burst into my office, practically roaring. “The project is about to be accepted! Why are you still in the office?” “Mr. Sterling,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “I want to be there, but I don’t have any money.” “Didn’t I just advance you $5,000?” he sputtered. “It was $4,750, actually. And it all went to pay off my credit card debt. Now I’m flat broke again. Can’t afford a train ticket, can’t stay in a hostel, certainly can’t eat a budget shared meal.” Mr. Sterling froze, stunned. But then his face hardened. “Are you trying to say you don’t want your commission and project bonus?” I knew he’d try to scare me with that. “Mr. Sterling, if I stayed in New York, I don’t know if the project would be finished, but I’d definitely be finished. I don’t have a single dollar on me. I can’t even buy a train ticket to New York, so how am I supposed to worry about project bonuses? Am I supposed to take out a payday loan?” “For the company, what’s wrong with a small loan?” “Mr. Sterling, you take a 5% cut when you advance my salary, and now you want me to take out a payday loan for travel expenses, which would be another few percentage points? So my salary effectively gets discounted by 10% from now on?” Seeing my firm stance, Mr. Sterling finally gave in. As he walked out, he said, “Go to Ms. Jenkins and get another $5,000 advanced. Go now.” “Will you still charge 5% interest?” I asked, pushing my luck. “Because if so, I don’t think it’s worth it.” My words choked him for a moment. He finally spat out, “No! It’ll be a company travel advance!” I immediately filled out the advance request form, found Mr. Sterling, who angrily scrawled his signature. “Ethan, don’t do this again! Work comes first. Don’t let a little money jeopardize project progress.” A “little money”? He had some nerve. If not for his ridiculous rules, would I have willingly put myself through this miserable train journey back and forth to New York? Of course, my goal was to get the money. There was no need to burn bridges yet. So, I mumbled an agreement, went straight to Ms. Jenkins, and she quickly transferred the funds. Money in hand, I whistled my way back to my office and continued messing around on my phone. I had no intention of going back to New York to eat budget shared meals. 6 I hadn’t been goofing off for long when Mr. Sterling, passing by, saw me lounging in my office. He stormed in, his face crimson with fury. “Mr. White, why are you still in the office? The client’s project meeting is this afternoon!” “Mr. Sterling,” I said calmly, “the $5,000 was only enough to pay off my credit card. Once that was done, I didn’t have money left for a ticket.” His face flushed even darker. “Are you doing this on purpose?” “I only came back because company policy dictates end-of-month reimbursement. I truly don’t have any money. The $5,000 travel advance you gave me was automatically deducted by my credit card company the moment it hit my account. I’m as helpless as you are, Mr. Sterling.” Before I could finish, Mr. Sterling’s phone rang. I recognized Mr. Thompson’s voice on the other end, unleashing a torrent of abuse at my boss, demanding that I show up at the project meeting that afternoon. I distinctly heard Mr. Thompson shout at Mr. Sterling, “Do you even want the second phase of this project?!” After he hung up, Mr. Sterling gritted his teeth. “Is your credit card paid off now?” “Still owe a little over $5,000,” I replied. “Alright, look,” he said, his voice strained. “Go to finance right now and get a $10,000 advance. Book a midday flight to New York!” He paused, then turned back. “No, forget it. I’ll have my assistant book the flight. You just go get the money.” It was clear Mr. Sterling was desperate. Before, he’d forced me to take slow regional trains, wouldn’t even approve a faster commuter rail. Now, it was a same-day flight. I quickly checked; it was a full-fare ticket, over $2,000. Mr. Sterling’s heart must have been bleeding. I found Ms. Jenkins again, presenting Mr. Sterling’s signature for another $10,000 advance. Ms. Jenkins looked utterly incredulous. “Mr. White, you’re truly something! You’ve managed to move $20,000 out of the company in just two days!” “Ms. Jenkins,” I said, trying to maintain my calm. “You need to be precise with your language. I haven’t gotten back what’s rightfully mine yet. How is this ‘moving money’? If anything, the company should have given me $50,000 yesterday. I’m still at a disadvantage here.” Once I had the money, Mr. Sterling’s assistant had already booked my flight. Time was tight, so Mr. Sterling even had his driver take me to the airport. I actually got a taste of the boss’s treatment for once. However, after pushing Mr. Sterling this far, I knew my days at the company were numbered. He was begrudgingly approving these funds, undoubtedly banking on me completing the current project’s acceptance and helping him secure the second phase. Once this project was done, I was certain he’d kick me to the curb. My 5% project commission would be around $200,000, plus the $30,000-plus in outstanding expenses. Getting that money back would be tricky. Good thing I had a backup plan.

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