The year I turned eighteen, I gave up my acceptance letter to a top-tier university, deciding instead to work and help my family pay off our debts. Just as I excitedly told Mom I’d found a job paying $4,000 a month, I saw my dad on the financial news playing on the bus TV. The simple blue-collar worker I knew transformed into the sharp-suited CEO of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate. “I announce that Maya Evans’ trial has failed. The group will be inherited by Valerie Evans.” I walked home in a daze. The acceptance letter in my hand, which I’d torn up then painstakingly taped back together and treasured, now felt scorching hot. My mom, usually so disheveled, was now dressed in the elegant attire of a high-society woman. She gently set down her white porcelain cup, then looked up at me. “Maya, you didn’t pass your trial.” “You’ve disappointed us deeply.” … I opened my mouth, but my throat felt choked, unable to utter a single sound. Our home had changed. Yesterday, the walls were peeling and cracked; today, they were covered in a fine, grey wallpaper I didn’t recognize. The old, creaking sofa was gone, replaced by a sleek, leather set. The air was filled with a strange mix of leather and some expensive fragrance. Everything felt like a cruel mockery of my eighteen years of life. “Mom, what are you talking about…” I finally found my voice, struggling to keep it from shaking. “What trial? What inheritance? Didn’t we owe over a hundred thousand dollars? Dad, he…” “Your father, Richard Evans, is the CEO of EvansCorp.” Eleanor Evans, the woman I’d called “Mom” for eighteen years, cut me off. She sat primly on the expensive sofa, her posture elegant, utterly devoid of the warmth she’d shown me for eighteen years. “We mapped out the optimal path for you. But what did you do? You arbitrarily gave up your full scholarship and abandoned your studies to work. This is classic shortsightedness, a total lack of strategic vision, and a refusal to follow the family’s arrangements.” My blood rushed to my head, and my whole body trembled. “I gave up my studies because Dad’s back was bad! I didn’t want him to work so hard anymore! I went to work to pay off our debts sooner…” I thought she’d be moved, or at least show a hint of guilt. But she didn’t. She merely set her teacup down gently, the crisp sound of glass clinking sending a shiver through my heart. “Ah, the self-indulgent martyr, lost in her own little world of pointless sacrifice.” Her tone was icy, tinged with a hint of disappointment. “Maya Evans, the heir to EvansCorp, requires unwavering execution and long-term vision. You, on the other hand, give up halfway and are shortsighted.” My world suddenly went dark, as if countless steel needles pierced my heart. I’d spent eighteen years saving every penny, never buying a cold drink in summer, wearing old, patched-up clothes through winter, even recycling anything I could get my hands on, all to help ease our burden… I thought we were a family, relying on each other, poor but happy. Turns out, it was just my solo act. Turns out, I was just an experiment, a subject under observation. “Mom…” I fought back tears, wanting to approach her but held rooted to the spot by her chilling unfamiliarity. “Don’t call me Mom! You’ve disappointed me too much.” Eleanor Evans took a delicate sip of tea, then spoke a name I’d never heard before. “Valerie Evans has done far better than you. She’s the more qualified heir.” Valerie Evans. That name in the news headline, the one meant to replace me. I clenched my fists, the sharp sting of my fingernails barely keeping me upright. “So, these eighteen years of mother-daughter affection, that was fake too?” I asked my last question, my voice weak, carrying a plea I hadn’t even realized was there. Eleanor Evans finally looked up, meeting my gaze directly. “Maya, you must understand, though I am your mother, I am also the examiner for this trial. I must be responsible for its outcome.” My beliefs completely crumbled. I thought, at least there was still this bond of family, but it turned out even mother-daughter affection was just my own wishful thinking. I stood there, saying nothing more. I didn’t approve of their methods; I didn’t agree with this absurd life. The roar of an engine echoed from downstairs. A black Maybach, completely out of place, pulled up to our dilapidated building entrance. The car door opened, and out stepped Richard Evans, my nominal father. His exquisite suit was perfectly unwrinkled, identical to his image on TV. Then, a girl stepped out from the other side. She was around my age, dressed in a white dress, exuding an elegant aura, like an ethereal princess, as if untouched by the mundane world. She was Valerie Evans. “Mommy! Val misses you so much!” She ran past me, holding up her dress, and pounced into Mom’s arms like a kitten. “Val, come let Mommy give you a hug~” Their intimate gestures made me, standing rooted to the spot, feel like an outsider, an intruder disrupting their reunion. My heart died at that moment. My mother of eighteen years, seemed like nothing but a dream. Valerie Evans stood up from my mother’s embrace, looking toward my father, as if only just noticing I was standing there. “Oh, Dad, is this my sister?” Richard Evans’ gaze finally pulled away from his wife and Valerie and landed on me, as if I had been transparent air moments before. He spoke to Valerie in a tone I’d never heard—so gentle. “Val, this is your sister. She’s the one who failed this trial.” Valerie looked at me, her gaze a mix of pity and superiority, like she was looking at a clueless child. “Maya, don’t blame Dad. I’ve always felt bad for you, honestly. Giving up your studies to work—how irrational is that? Knowledge and vision are the real wealth. Trading your physical labor for meager pay at your age? That’s so shortsighted. It’s a shame you never understood that.” Every word she spoke was couched in “good intentions for me,” yet every single one was a sharp blade, stabbing my heart. Everything I had done was for the shared future of my father, my mother, and me. In her eyes, I was just a clueless, shortsighted failure, only capable of reacting to immediate circumstances. “I don’t need you to lecture me!” I yelled back. Richard Evans frowned, apparently displeased by my loss of control. “Enough.” Richard Evans’ face was filled with disappointment, his voice tinged with anger. “All your actions are based on base emotions, not absolute rationality. You are merely a failure; we are very disappointed in you.” “Failure.” I repeated the words. My eighteen years of life had only been seen as a test to choose an heir. “Yes, we had great expectations for you. We spent eighteen years accompanying you in this environment, honing you, only for you to return such a report. I hope you stop creating a fuss; at least you are still my daughter, Richard Evans’ daughter.” That last sentence, carrying a veiled threat, actually affirmed that I was his daughter. I held out my hands, palms up, before them. They were rough, calloused hands from years of washing vegetables, cooking, moving goods, and mending clothes. Then I looked at Valerie Evans’ hands, perfectly manicured, her nails gleaming beautifully. In that moment, for the first time, I felt the absurdity and collapse of my world. “So, because of all this, you’re going to deny everything about me?” “This isn’t denial, it’s an evaluation.” Richard Evans corrected me, his voice cold and emotionless. “According to the trial rules, you, Maya Evans, as the failed subject, will be stripped of the inheritance rights to EvansCorp.” He paused, as if announcing a great act of mercy. “Of course, the family won’t abandon you completely. We’ll send you to a university abroad, for a fresh start. This is our final act of kindness towards you.” Kindness. Ha ha ha, kindness. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears and laughter burst forth on my face simultaneously. Valerie Evans saw my state and, as if looking at a madwoman, pulled her father back half a step. “Dad, let’s not talk to her anymore. I don’t want to see her; she’s not well.” Richard Evans just patted her head. In his eyes, as he looked at me, I saw only indifference. At this moment, I cast aside all my illusions. I wiped away my tears and offered a smile. My smile stunned them too. They probably expected me to cry, throw a tantrum, shriek curses, or beg on my knees. What they didn’t expect was for me to quietly smile. “I’m not going.” I looked at Richard Evans, speaking each word distinctly. “And I don’t want your kindness. I’m staying here, to live on my own.” Richard Evans seemed to find my words utterly laughable. “On your own? Maya Evans, what can you do besides a few inconsequential chores? The card I gave you, I’ve already had my assistant freeze it.” The moment he finished speaking, my phone received a bank alert. [Dear customer, your savings card ending in xxxx has been frozen. Current available balance: $0.00.] The money in that card was what I had saved working day and night. “Is this another punishment for my defiance?” I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. “No, this is to make you face reality.” Richard Evans said, then snapped his fingers. A van pulled up downstairs, and a team of uniformed cleanup personnel emerged. They were expressionless as they walked straight into the house I had lived in for eighteen years. They began to clear out everything. My secondhand books, bought with my meager savings, were tossed into bins marked for recycling. My handicrafts, made from aluminum cans, were crushed flat. The small potted plant I’d nurtured for three years on the windowsill was uprooted and thrown into a black garbage bag. “What are you doing!” I rushed in, trying to stop them. But I was heartlessly blocked and met with a cold statement. “Ms. Evans, all items here are assets of EvansCorp. The corporation reserves the right to reclaim and destroy them.” My existence, the traces of my life—all merely corporate assets. I saw the photo frame in the corner, our only family photo. I lunged, clutching it tightly. “You can’t take this!” A cleanup crew member tried to snatch it from my hands. In the struggle, the frame clattered to the floor, the glass shattering. Valerie Evans walked over elegantly, bending down to pick up the photo. She examined it for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. “Huh, so it’s just a photo. Maya, you don’t seriously think keeping this is useful, do you?” Valerie Evans tore it into pieces right in front of me. In that instant, I lost all my strength. Even the memory of that “father” who had once smiled kindly at me was snatched away. As I stood there in a daze, my phone rang. It was my only good friend, Chloe Hayes. “Maya, you… you know everything?” Her voice sounded anxious. “Maya, don’t be foolish, just listen to your parents. They’re doing this for your own good. Going abroad is great, don’t be stubborn. You can’t fight them.” I hadn’t even had a chance to speak before she cut me off. In that moment, I understood everything. My friend, my confidante, was just an observer planted by their side. I hung up the phone, feeling everyone drifting away from me. Just then, Eleanor Evans walked over and slipped an envelope into my hand. “Here’s seven thousand dollars, consider it your severance. Make it last.” Her tone was like dismissing a housekeeper who had worked for years. “Also, I’m informing you, this building will be demolished tomorrow morning. After all, it no longer has any value.” She finished speaking, turned, and left without another glance at me. I was completely expelled from that family. Eighteen years of existence, wiped clean by them. I stood before the building, about to be torn down, unable to move. The seven thousand dollars severance in the envelope was crushed in my trembling hand. Richard Evans, Eleanor Evans, and Valerie Evans were getting into the car, preparing to leave. A surge of courage, from I knew not where, made me rush forward and block their car. “Richard Evans!” For the first time, I called him by his full name. “I just have one last question. These eighteen years, did you ever feel a single ounce of genuine affection for me?” I stared intently at him, trying to find a trace of humanity on his face. I pointed to my right lower leg, where a hideous scar lay, which I always covered with long pants, even in summer. “Ten years ago, when I was eight. To save a puppy hit by a car, my leg was crushed. I remember it clearly: you held me and ran through the hospital corridor, telling me, ‘Maya is Daddy’s good girl, so responsible.’ I was in so much pain I nearly fainted, but hearing those words, I felt it was all worth it.” My tears finally broke free, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “That pain, that feeling of being affirmed by you, was that fake too?!” It was the most profound warmth in my memory, the lesson where I learned the meaning of “responsibility,” the cornerstone of my life’s beliefs. If even that was fake, then… I truly had nothing left. Richard Evans fell silent. The air in the car seemed to freeze. Just as I thought I had finally touched even a flicker of emotion in him, he calmly spoke to his assistant beside him. “Give her that report.” The assistant quickly retrieved a document from his briefcase and handed it to me. The title of the document shattered my last shred of composure. *Responsibility Cultivation Program*. Richard Evans’ voice sounded again, horrifyingly calm. “You’re right. That accident was also carefully designed. The driver who hit the dog, the dying puppy, even the old woman on the roadside who yelled for you to save it—they were all professional actors we hired.” I opened the report, my hands shaking so much I could barely hold it. The permanent scar on my leg was merely recorded in this report as an accidental injury due to my physical inadequacy. My trembling hands could no longer grip the report, letting it fall to the ground. Finally, he rolled down the car window and, in a tone almost of condescension, spoke his last words to me. “Maya, you must understand that all the suffering we inflicted upon you was meant to make you stronger. You just failed to grasp our intentions and instead veered into defiance.” “Telling you the full truth now is so you understand you are not entirely worthless. All those so-called excellent qualities you possess were actually bestowed by us.” With that, they drove away, leaving me alone. I slowly crouched down in front of the old building, soon to be a ruin. With trembling hands, I traced the ugly scar on my leg again and again. My world, in that moment, completely collapsed into a wasteland. But I had to forge a new path for myself. I sat in front of the ruins all night. The sky transformed from pitch black, pierced by the first rays of dawn. My spirit went through a tsunami. From breakdown to numbness. I didn’t cry. Tears, to them, were just a sign of my weakness. From now on, I would have no connection to them. I began to calmly review, to replay, my ridiculous, carefully designed eighteen years. They simply didn’t understand what humanity was, what life was. True life isn’t designed; it pushes its way up from the dirt, from cracks in the rock, from the bottom up. The qualities they discarded in me were precisely what he and the perfect Valerie Evans lacked. Those were the things that truly belonged to me. Daylight broke. I walked through the pile of debris left by the cleanup crew. Pushing aside the broken items that held eighteen years of my life, I found a small, worn-out ledger. It was my personal record of our daily life, which they had discarded as useless. I opened it. It contained not only daily fluctuations in vegetable prices but also my notes on every little detail. “Mrs. Davis’s tofu is the freshest, but she’s a bit grumpy, always needs to weigh it in front of you.” “Mr. Peterson’s pork is never watered down; his son got into college last week, so I should go congratulate him.” “The couple at the fruit stand on the corner seems to be arguing a lot lately; their business is suffering.” This was their evidence that I lacked “strategic vision.” But now, in my eyes, it was no longer just a ledger; it was proof of my living, breathing existence. I clutched this ledger tightly, and the seven thousand dollars severance in my pocket. I needed to use them to create a new life for myself. I stood up, dusted myself off, and walked toward the local market I knew so well. With that money, I rented the cheapest, most out-of-the-way stall near the market. I wanted to start a business, but not just be a street vendor. What I wanted was to build a successful career without their interference. My first employee was quickly found. It was Ms. Anya, the cleaning lady responsible for this area. When she needed help most, I did something extra in my father’s eyes—I helped her. When I found her, she didn’t say a word, just tucked her half-eaten bun into her pocket and grasped my hand with her rough ones. “ Honey, if you trust me, I’ll follow you with my life!” My rebellion officially began here. I would create a world of my own, despite their constant dismissal. My small restaurant, “Maya’s Kitchen,” opened. No firecrackers, no flower baskets, just Ms. Anya and me, and the steam rising from a large pot. Thanks to the records in my ledger, my catering business was well-organized. I sent rich, braised pork to Mr. Peterson’s son, congratulating him on his academic success. It was tender and not greasy. I brought spicy and sour fish soup to the quarreling couple at the fruit stand, telling them that life always has its arguments, but you need to eat well to have the energy to keep going. Soon, I became the most famous, most down-to-earth restaurant around. I introduced a more community-friendly model. Nearby vendors could sell me their unsold fresh vegetables at cost price. I’d cook them into meals and sell them at below-market prices to sanitation workers and day laborers who needed extra food. The small stall somehow formed a warm, economic cycle. One day, a flashy luxury car pulled up to the old alley, a stark contrast to the surroundings. Valerie Evans, dressed in opulent clothing and wearing wine-red high heels, walked over, assisted by her personal assistant, wrinkling her nose and covering her mouth with a silk scarf in disdain. “Maya, I’m so happy for you, really. You’ve finally found a career suited to your… limited scope.” Her words were dripping with aggression. “Look at this oil and smoke smell, how full of life it is. Much warmer than the cold air at our corporate headquarters, isn’t it?” I was busy packing a meal for an old man who pulled a rickshaw and didn’t look up. “It is. After all, people are alive and need to eat, unlike some things that only need money.” Valerie Evans’ face stiffened. “You’re still so sharp-tongued, so disobedient. Dad heard about your antics here and is very angry.” She put on an expression of deep sorrow. “He said that by choosing not to pursue higher education and instead making a scene here, you’re disgracing the Evans family. This is self-degradation, an insult to our family.” I handed the packed meal to the old man and took his five dollars. “The Evans family’s honor? Is it that report that treated their own daughter as an experiment, or that hypocritical face printed on the financial front page?” “You!” Valerie Evans was so furious she couldn’t speak. Not long after she left, trouble arrived. A team of uniformed men burst into my small shop. The leader held a notebook, his face stern. “We received a report that your hygiene standards are severely subpar and you’re operating illegally on public property. You’ll have to come with us.” I sneered inwardly. Valerie Evans’ tactics were still so crude and simple. I didn’t panic. I just quietly pulled out my phone and started a live stream. “Hey everyone, live from the scene! Let’s see how hard it is for an ordinary person to start a business.” I aimed my camera at the lead man. “Officer, you say my hygiene is subpar—where exactly? You say I’m illegally occupying public space, but my shop door opens inward. Which space am I occupying? Is it the road to your house?” The man was flustered by my actions, clearly not expecting such a move. He pointed to an innocent green onion on my cutting board. “This… this piece of meat! Its placement here doesn’t meet hygiene standards! This is irresponsible to diners! A fine of five hundred dollars!” I zoomed the camera in, giving that innocent piece of meat a big close-up. “Folks, come see, this piece of meat, worth five hundred dollars! What high crime has it committed? Is it because it grew too well, offending the eyes of certain important people?” The comments section exploded instantly. “Holy cow! I could laugh for a year at that excuse!” “They’re bullying her to no end!” “Her five-dollar lunch box is cleaner than my own kitchen, and it has meat! This lady truly has a heart of gold!” Just then, Mrs. Davis, returning from grocery shopping, Mr. Peterson, passing by on his delivery route, and all the neighbors gathered around. “Ms. Maya’s place is cleaner than my own kitchen!” “They’re just jealous of a young girl’s good business!” “We eat here every day! If there were a problem, we’d be the first to complain!” The voices of the crowd, united, were deafening. The uniformed men, surrounded, turned beet red then ghostly pale, and slunk away. I ended the live stream, watching the soaring number of viewers on my phone. Richard Evans, Valerie Evans. You think the path to success means discarding what you deem unimportant. But you don’t understand that true power accumulates from the most insignificant places. The next day, I received a call from an unfamiliar number. “Ms. Evans? Hello, my name is Daniel Miller, I’m a reporter for an independent media outlet. Your live stream… it went viral.” I wiped flour from my hands. “I know.” “We’d like to do an in-depth interview with you. Not about the scandalous family drama, just about your story with these honest working people. Would that be okay?” “Yes.” This was exactly what I wanted. I didn’t hesitate to agree. EvansCorp’s PR department clearly noticed the public outcry. They quickly took action, simple and crude—with money. Chloe Hayes, my once best “friend,” called me again. “Maya, I heard. Can you stop this? They spent three million dollars to take down the trending topics, but the hashtag ‘EvansCorpBullying’ actually shot to the top! You’re part of the Evans family too; do you want to destroy them?” Listening to her anxious tone, I found it laughable. “Really? Then they should reflect on why three million dollars can’t buy public sentiment.” I hung up. The fire of public opinion burned hotter and hotter. My story of being sensible but labeled rebellious by a wealthy family garnered immense attention and empathy. Under pressure, EvansCorp’s perfect heir, Valerie Evans, was forced to give an interview to a mainstream financial media outlet. In the video, she wore a perfectly tailored business suit, her makeup flawless, her performance impeccable. “Regarding some of the recent false claims circulating online, I am deeply regretful.” “EvansCorp has always been committed to social responsibility, and we respect every hardworking individual.” But the reporter posed a sharp question. “Ms. Evans, how do you view your sister, Ms. Maya Evans, giving up her studies to open a small restaurant near the local market? Is this also a form of hard work?” Valerie Evans smiled elegantly, but in that smile, her inherent sense of superiority towards me was instinctively revealed. “Of course, I’m happy for my sister’s independence. But frankly, I believe choice is more important than effort. She wasn’t without options, and I respect her decision.” She continued, as if she were the most successful person in everyone’s eyes. “I deeply understand everyone’s difficulties. However, if they just strive to improve their awareness and broaden their horizons, they can absolutely escape their current situation. Our corporation also provides many free learning opportunities, but unfortunately, many people don’t seize them.” This interview became the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Her condescension, her “let them eat cake” attitude, and her highly utilitarian nature were screenshotted by netizens, turned into memes, and spread across the entire internet. Her meticulously crafted image as the perfect heir vanished into thin air at that moment. *** Two days later, the *Community Watch* exclusive interview video was released. The camera showed me wearing a simple apron, sitting at the entrance of my small shop. No tears, no accusations. The reporter asked me: “Do you hate your family?”
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