I can only go home if I fill the “Hatred Meter” of the male lead. So, I activated Maximum Drama Mode. If he liked it, I snatched it. If he hated it, I shoved it in his face. Basically, my entire existence was dedicated to making him loathe me. But instead of hating me, he indulged me more and more. When others complained about my behavior, he just shrugged and said: “She only acts up for me. Why are you so pressed?” 1 Julian and I grew up together. But for his birthday party, he invited everyone except me. No problem. I have no shame. I’ll crash it. I kicked open the banquet hall doors. The room went silent. Every eye was on me. “Holy sh*t, she scared me.” “Can Chloe ever chill? I swear I want to hit her with a hammer.” I ignored the whispers. Scanning the room, I spotted Julian in the corner on the phone. I marched straight over. “Hey, Vance. What’s the meaning of not inviting me?” My tone was bratty and arrogant. Julian finished his call before even glancing at me. The warm orange light hit his face, highlighting his sharp jawline. If you ignored his eyes—which were cold enough to freeze hell over—Julian was undeniably handsome. As expected of the male lead. I sighed internally. Julian didn’t seem surprised by my intrusion. “You were in Europe yesterday. How was I supposed to send you an invite?” He gestured at the door, where eight bodyguards stood uselessly. ” besides, not inviting you didn’t stop you, did it?” I choked for a second but recovered quickly. “Send it or don’t, who cares where I am? If I’m in the mood, I’ll come.” I looked around the party with disdain. “I don’t know what you were thinking, picking such a lame venue. Boring…” I let my gaze drift over the guests, making it clear they were the boring part. Suddenly, a simply dressed woman stepped forward. Her face was pure, her expression stubborn. “Miss Chloe, how can you say that about everyone? That’s… so rude!” “You should apologize!” Silence fell. Everyone stared at the speaker—Lily Lin. I looked at her and laughed. 2 I’m the infamous brat of our social circle. Relying on my parents’ wealth, I wreak havoc everywhere I go. No one dares to stop me. Especially with Julian. I dance on his last nerve daily. Everyone says if I weren’t rich, I’d be dead meat. What they don’t know is, I’ve been waiting for that day my whole life. I’m not from this world. I accidentally transmigrated into this brain-dead, old-school melodrama novel. The original owner of this body was the ultimate villainess who tortured the heroine and ended up in prison. To go home, I have to follow the plot and make the male lead hate me. Fill the Hatred Meter, go home. Julian is the male lead. So, from the moment I met him, I’ve been clinging to him and acting like a nightmare. 3 At first, I had a System that reported the Hatred Value daily. It was rising slowly but surely. Very encouraging! But one day in high school, it disappeared. Leaving me to fight alone. But I didn’t panic. If I could make him hate me before, I could do it again. So I continued my diligent work of being the worst. I embraced the persona of the spoiled heiress. If Julian liked something, I took it. If he hated something, I forced it on him. I refused to do anything that made him happy and went out of my way to do things that annoyed him. It worked. He frowned every time he saw me. His face screamed disgust. Perfect. That’s exactly what I wanted. 4 Tonight’s party was a golden opportunity to boost the Hatred Value. In the story, this is where Julian gets attracted to Lily’s pure, unpretentious nature and her consideration for others. Consequently, he hates me even more. I came here for one purpose: To be Lily’s foil and make Julian despise me. Watching Lily stand up for everyone, I glanced at Julian next to me. He was looking at her. The plot is irresistible! Julian was actually interested in Lily. Showtime. I immediately channeled my inner villainess, sneering with maximum arrogance: “Who do you think you are? Lecturing me?” Lily’s eyes turned rabbit-red instantly: “How can you say that, Miss Chloe? I’m doing this for everyone!” She looked around at the guests, hoping someone would back her up. Dead silence. These people grew up under my tyranny. Except for Julian, who would dare speak against me to my face? I turned to Julian. He was still looking at Lily, frowning. Like he was unhappy no one was defending her. He’s so in love! Lily sensed it too. She turned to Julian, looking pitiful: “Mr. Vance, am I wrong?” Everyone looked at Julian, expecting him to scold me like usual. I looked at him too, waiting for my scolding. Julian was silent for a moment, then spoke calmly: “Are you the police?” Lily froze and shook her head. “Then why do you care so much?” His voice was thick with impatience. I was stunned. That doesn’t make sense. Did Julian start a big project with my dad again? Is he doing this for my dad’s sake?

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Julian was a notorious playboy. He treated every girlfriend well, giving them whatever they wanted. Except marriage. Everyone knew he broke up with his first love and was still hung up on her. He couldn’t commit to anyone else. In the fifth month of our relationship, my family pressured me to settle down. So I said goodbye: “I heard your first love is coming back. Congrats.” He smiled. “Yeah.” That night, his friends threw him a “single again” party. It was a huge, lively event. Someone mentioned me: “Hey, Julian, I think I just saw Chloe. She was with a guy, pretty handsome.” Everyone started gossiping. Julian suddenly exploded. He crushed his cigarette and sneered: “She’s the one who wanted to be together, and she’s the one who wanted to break up.” “How can she have it so good?” Chapter 1 When I first started dating Julian, his friends placed bets. Big money on whether our relationship would last more than a month. He came from a prominent family and had quite a reputation. When I first met him, my roommate warned me: “The Vances run this city. You don’t want to mess with them.” “But this Julian Vance is different. I heard he’s easy to pursue, never loses his temper with girls, and always breaks up amicably.” It wasn’t a lie. But between us, there really wasn’t any “pursuing.” I was a second-year grad student, working on a research project with my advisor. I needed an out-of-print English monograph that was impossible to find. I posted everywhere online with no luck. Just as I was giving up, someone replied. The tone was cynical yet earnest: [My old man seems to have it. Contact me if you want it. I’ll do a good deed for once.] I contacted him immediately. To thank him, we met up a couple more times. We got along well. The last time, he stood under a streetlamp, handsome and dashing. Suddenly, he raised an eyebrow and asked: “Will we see each other again?” Would we see each other again, as the seasons changed, year after year? The moonlight was cold, the night beautiful. Saying “no” felt like a letdown. Something possessed me to smile and challenge him: “I heard you’re easy to pursue. Is that true?” He looked at me, unable to stop smiling. “Why don’t you try?” When you’re young and naive, meeting someone so free-spirited and confident makes you want to get close. Besides, I had seen him long ago. I had just arrived in the city, my wallet was stolen at the station. Penniless, after filing a police report, I walked out into the rain, miserable and crying. He drove by, slowing down. “Where to? I’ll give you a ride.” Of course, I didn’t dare get in. He was patient, coaxing me: “I’m not a bad guy. Trust me once. Stop crying, okay?” I always wanted to thank him, but we never crossed paths again. In a city of millions, meeting someone again is hard. Not long after that night, we were together. My roommate was shocked. “What’s it like dating someone like him? Must be nice, right? But I heard he never dates anyone for more than two weeks.” “Just enjoy it while it lasts.” I said yeah, enjoy it while it lasts. People are naive sometimes. Back then, I thought love was just following your heart. When I liked him, I didn’t care about his past. I just wanted a future with him. But later I found out, that’s not how it works. Take that bet, for example. Julian never dated anyone for more than two weeks. So why did his rich friends bet on one month? Long after, I found out. The extra two weeks were because I looked 30% like his first love. Chapter 2 Most people lost that bet. Because, to everyone’s surprise, Julian and I had a great relationship. Unlike his previous flings. He was unusually proactive, visiting me every day for lunch or dinner. Once when I was busy, he waited at the school gate for over half an hour. I felt bad and offered to treat him to a nice meal, but he tugged my sleeve, suppressing a laugh: “Your boyfriend wants to eat at the cafeteria.” He paused, then asked: “Is that okay?” I knew he didn’t want me running around. I had heard that back in school, the young master was too posh for cafeteria food. We didn’t break up. Our relationship was surprisingly good. In our third month, he moved near my campus. We spent more time together. He set up a home theater, and we’d curl up on the sofa watching movies. He wasn’t really interested, but I was. He watched patiently from beginning to end. For movies I loved, he’d take notes and write reviews seriously. His grandfather was a famous painter, and Julian had learned a thing or two. He was quite talented. During those days, he occasionally painted me. One painting stuck with me—a girl standing under a camphor tree, holding a stack of books, with delicate features and a bright smile. I always wanted to ask him: when we first met, I was shy. Did I really smile that brightly? Later, late one night. It was our first time. I hit a snag in my research. He patiently guided me through it, tapping my waist lightly, relaxed. “Understand now?” I had an epiphany and hugged him in delight. His gaze darkened. He pressed forward, lips moving, his touch cold. He was nervous, but acted nonchalant, gripping my hand. “Chloe.” “Mm.” Halfway through, his voice low, he mentioned the painting: “When we first met, and you stood there, I really wanted to paint you.” I laughed, kissing his neck, teasing: “Do you say that to all your girlfriends?” Whispering sweet nothings in the heat of passion, reminiscing about first meetings. He tsked, pressing against me. “Go ask around. Who else have I gotten this far with?” The ambiguity flowed silently. Eventually, I stopped laughing and cried softly in his arms. September in the North is beautiful. Social media was full of videos of tourists praying at temples. I pestered him to go with me. He pulled several all-nighters to clear his schedule for a day. On the winding mountain path, he held my hand up hundreds of steps, watching my every move, afraid I’d trip. But after leaving him, I thought: who goes through life without tripping? Back then, I really liked him. Chapter 3 When did things start to change? Probably when I saw that photo. It was the fifth month of our relationship. Julian had many friends, and they were all geared up to celebrate his birthday. Preparations started weeks in advance. I was on break, so I helped out. Spending time with them, they didn’t hide their conversations from me. Slowly, I learned that Julian had been serious about love once. He earnestly proposed, picked rings, chose a venue. But in the end, over a small matter, the girl felt he didn’t love her enough. After a big fight, one left in anger, the other didn’t chase. They broke up. They almost got married. Finally, someone showed me a photo, bluntly: “Speaking of which, you look a bit like Sophie. That’s why we started the betting pool.” In the photo, Sophie smiled brightly. So similar to the girl under the camphor tree in the painting. When I first heard about the bet, I thought they were bored. Now, I realized the fool was me. Everyone knew he broke up with his first love and was still unwilling to let go. He followed her updates. Every year on her birthday, he sent expensive jewelry across the ocean. If she had any trouble, someone would tell him, and no matter what, he’d go and quietly fix it. Without her knowing, without contact, but never letting go. Only I naively thought I was different. Finally, someone laughed: “Since Sophie left, Julian has been dating, but we all guess he’s doing it to force her back.” Everyone laughed. Julian returned from his call, sat next to me, squeezed my hand, and chuckled: “What are you talking about? So happy.” I looked at him, heart cold, and said woodenly: “Talking about your first love.” He froze. He rarely zoned out. In the end, he didn’t say her name, just said lightly: “What’s there to talk about?” This was the first time I thought about breaking up. I should thank his friends for not keeping me in the dark. Because they didn’t care about my feelings, they told me the truth, allowing me to wake up and see the situation clearly. To understand that I was just a passerby in Julian’s life, a tool to love another. Chapter 4 After that day, I felt a subtle shift between Julian and me. But neither of us mentioned Sophie. He didn’t try to explain anything. He became more generous with me. He took me to auctions. If I glanced at something, it would soon be delivered to me. I forgot who said it. Julian treated every ex well, never stingy during breakups. Whatever they wanted, he gave, be it money or resources. It felt like a transaction. The night before his birthday, he sent me two transfer contracts. A villa and a car. My fingertips were cold when I received them. Shaking, I called him. He answered quickly. I pretended to be casual. “Sending such big gifts for your birthday, aren’t you losing out?” “Losing what? I like you, I want to treat you well,” he replied, voice lifting with a smile. Like a lover’s teasing. I pinched my palm, forcing myself to be calm. “These are too expensive. Almost like a dowry.” He was silent for a long time. I pursed my lips, tears falling silently. Finally, his voice paused, then he said nonchalantly: “Chloe. “Don’t overthink it. Sleep early. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.” Should I believe him? That he did this because he liked me, not because he wanted to break up.

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My fiancé, Julian, and I went from high school sweethearts to nearly married. But on the eve of our wedding, he died in a tragic accident. I cried until I almost fainted, but suddenly, text messages started floating before my eyes. [Can someone tell the female lead that he faked his death?!] [Julian’s mistress ran away when she found out he was getting married. He faked his death to chase her to London! The female lead is crying at his grave while the mistress is crying in his bed. I’m so mad!] [It’s a pity. When he comes back from his ‘death,’ the female lead won’t know anything and will happily marry him…] Two weeks later. News of my engagement to the city’s most eligible billionaire spread across New York. Julian’s accomplice, his best friend, rushed over to confront me: “Julian hasn’t been gone for long, and you’re already in a rush to find someone new?” “He’s dead. You don’t expect me to stay a widow forever, do you?” 1 When the floating text first appeared before my eyes, I thought I was hallucinating from grief. But the text kept scrolling. [If the female lead goes to the rooftop now, she’ll know the male lead isn’t dead at all.] [She hasn’t eaten in two days because of him. She can barely walk. Why would she go to the rooftop?] I dragged my heavy legs toward the rooftop. Just a few steps from the top, I heard a voice I knew too well. It carried a hint of amusement. “Is my funeral over yet?” The voice was coming from Julian’s best friend, Leo’s phone. “Not yet, Julian.” “What about Chloe? Did she suspect anything?” Leo: “No, she’s been busy with everything. She almost passed out yesterday from grief. She’s probably still crying in her room.” Julian sounded casual: “Comfort her for me.” Another friend, Sam, chimed in: “But Julian, you really fell for that little bird, huh? Faking your death to chase her to London, even making us act along with you.” The floating text was real. I gripped the handrail tightly. Every cell in my body trembled. I heard Julian say: “Doesn’t matter if I fell for her or not. Just keep it from Chloe.” Leo asked: “Are you still going through with the wedding?” “Of course. When I get back, the wedding is still on. But before I get married, let me be crazy for love just once, right?” “Fair enough.” “Once I’m married, I’ll be tied to one person. No more chances like this. Haha.” The three of them laughed, sharing their secret. My blood froze. I shuddered uncontrollably. I had prayed countless times for Julian to be alive. But never like this. 2 [Ahhh the female lead knows the truth! I hope she wakes up!] [Go out there and tear that scumbag apart!!!] I didn’t rush out to expose them. I turned around. Calmly, I walked back down the stairs. After dry heaving in the toilet, I looked at myself in the mirror. I hadn’t slept for days. My eyes were red, my face haggard. I splashed water on my face and wiped away the tear stains. [As expected, the female lead chooses to accept it silently. So frustrating!] [She loves him too much. She probably heard him say he’d still marry her and decided to swallow her pride.] [I think she’s planning something big. She doesn’t want to show her hand too early.] When I walked out of the room, Leo handed me two tissues. His face was full of concern: “Chloe, don’t be too sad. Julian’s spirit wouldn’t want to see you like this.” I looked up at his fake, solemn face. “Do you think Julian might not be dead?” 3 Leo looked panicked for a split second. But he quickly recovered: “H-How could that be? His jacket and shoes were found. You saw them yourself.” A week ago, Julian drove into the river late at night. Police deduced he was swept away by the current while trying to escape. I stayed by the river all night, sleepless. The rescue team searched for days, only finding his coat and shoes. I nearly fainted from grief. Today was supposed to be our wedding day. I cried holding our photo until my head throbbed. Now they tell me it was all a setup. My grief was just a joke from start to finish. [The male lead is trash. Keeping a mistress is disgusting.] [I thought this was a sweet romance novel, but it turned into a nightmare.] [The female lead is a gorgeous heiress. If he doesn’t want her, plenty of others do.] The nausea in my chest eased slightly thanks to the comments. Leo continued: “Chloe, stop overthinking. If Julian could see you, he’d be heartbroken.” Heartbroken… Such ironic words. This morning I was thanking him for helping with Julian’s funeral arrangements. Turns out, birds of a feather flock together. 4 Following the hints from the floating text, I found the TikTok account of Julian’s mistress. I realized I had seen her many times before. She was a small influencer signed to Julian’s media company, named Bella. Her handle was “Bella’s Daily.” Her latest video showed the streets of London, clasped hands, and a reunion embrace. The small mole on the man’s hand was all too familiar. The caption read: “In our purest love, he left his arranged fiancée and traveled thousands of miles to find me. The wind of longing finally blew from New York to London.” The video went viral. Comments gushed over their “beautiful love.” “The runaway mistress and the CEO chasing her! It’s like a romance novel!” “I know this plot! The CEO actually loves you, sis. The fiancée is just a tool to make him realize his feelings~” “Rich boys are always so romantic. I want a sugar daddy too 😭” The floating text: [These comments must be bots. This isn’t a romance; it’s a homewrecker story.] [Calling it an ‘arranged marriage’ to make the cheater look good? The female lead’s actual arranged partner was the villain in the book!]

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I confessed my feelings to my childhood friend. His roommates mocked him for an entire semester because of it. In a fit of rage, I confessed to every single one of his roommates. Except one— The one who laughed the loudest. 1 “I like you.” I finally confessed to my childhood friend, Julian. As soon as the words left my mouth, I heard snickering. Not just one person. I looked up. Julian was surrounded by his roommates. One of them, tall and arrogant— Laughed the loudest. He clutched his stomach, unable to stand straight. I knew him. He was the school’s star swimmer, Liam. “I can’t believe it,” Liam gasped. “The boring bookworm likes you?” On the far right was my classmate, Seth, with a baby face and curly hair. He shook his head and sneered, “Julian, you’re amazing. Even a mute can speak up for you.” Like a vicious bichon frisé. “Alright, everyone, stop laughing. What if Maya gets upset?” The one trying to stop the laughter was slender and handsome, with a gentle face. He seemed sympathetic, but his eyes were upturned, hiding amusement. That was Oliver, the school’s “Prince Charming.” I ignored them. My gaze was fixed on Julian. Julian was always decent and gentlemanly. He paused slightly, raising a hand to stop his roommates. Then, his voice gentle, he politely rejected me. “Thank you for liking me, but I think we’re better off as friends.” “Friendship lasts longer than any other relationship.” “I hope you find someone better.” The bitterness of rejection had just begun to rise when the three boys beside him sarcastically mimicked Julian’s voice. “Ohhh~” “I. Hope. You. Find. Someone. Better.” In that moment, burning shame rushed through me. I didn’t dare look up as tears hit the floor. Julian’s roommates made me realize one thing. Being liked by me was embarrassing. I embarrassed Julian. 2 Once I realized I was an embarrassment to Julian, I started avoiding him. We were classmates. He was the class monitor; I was the vice monitor. He was responsible for collecting homework and distributing test papers. Every time he came near me, I tucked my head in like a quail, refusing to look up. Avoiding eye contact. Julian and I grew up in the same neighborhood. So every day after school, we would walk home together. Julian was too decent. He didn’t want to lose me as a friend. Nor did he want the awkwardness between us to be noticed by our sharp-eyed classmates. So he walked up to me as if nothing had happened. He called my name softly. “Maya, walking together?” I didn’t look up. “N… no.” I couldn’t see Julian’s expression, but I heard a soft sigh above my head. His voice was gentle. “Alright then. Be safe on your way home.” As soon as Julian finished speaking, I heard the vicious bichon, Seth, snickering nearby. Ever since my failed confession, whenever Julian spoke to me, Seth would make those mocking noises. I didn’t want to cause trouble, so I pretended not to hear. But this was the umpteenth time. I looked up and locked eyes with Seth. The vivid smile was still on his face. I asked softly and sincerely, “What are you laughing at?” “How about I walk home with you?” Seth froze instantly, like a puppy that had been kicked. He stopped rocking back and forth in his chair. A blush spread across his pretty face. He snapped angrily, “In your dreams!” You treat my affection as a disgrace? Then I’ll make you feel disgraceful too. I turned my head with satisfaction. I saw Julian beside me, looking down at me. His gaze was calm as a lake. 3 After I clapped back at Seth, I thought it was over. I wanted to return to a quiet school life. Study quietly, stay away from Julian quietly. If my liking you makes you a laughingstock, I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll avoid appearing in front of you so they won’t associate us. But being in the same class, contact was inevitable. The teacher assigned Julian to draw the blackboard newspaper. I was always meticulous and good at drawing. So the teacher specifically named me to help Julian. The next day, Julian waited downstairs at my apartment. He stood tall and slender, like a green bamboo. I couldn’t pretend not to see him, so I walked over. Julian handed me the design draft, his eyes still clear and gentle. “Let’s draw according to this today.” “Mm.” I hummed quietly. Julian seemed oblivious to my awkwardness. He chatted with me as usual. “You did well on the monthly exam. I saw you ranked fifth in the school.” “The cafeteria launched a new wrap with spicy strips and sausage. Seems popular.” Bland topics. Usually, I would rack my brains to keep the conversation going. But this time, I was too embarrassed. I just wanted to escape. Escaping is shameful but useful. So I remained silent, keeping a meter distance from him. Julian kept talking, and I couldn’t rudely shake him off. Finally, near the school, Julian might have gotten tired. He took a deep breath and paused. Just as he made a sound, I gripped my backpack straps and sprinted. “I need the bathroom! Bye!” I shot off like a cannonball. Running to the school gate, bam, I crashed into someone. I looked up. Tall, indifferent expression. It was Liam. Seeing me, a smirk appeared on his lips. “Well, well. The little bookworm from next door. In a rush to find Julian?” Next to him was Oliver, the “green tea” guy. (Note: “Green tea” refers to someone who acts innocent but is manipulative.) I found out later that Oliver was voted the school hunk. Oliver covered his mouth, laughing softly, and nudged Liam. “Oh, stop it.” Okay. None of you are letting me go, right? One incident, and you’ve been mocking Julian and me for a whole semester. I looked up sharply. I smiled at Oliver. We honest people have very sincere smiles. Oliver froze, then lowered his eyes and returned my gentle smile. Like a slowly blooming white lotus. “I was rushing to find you.” “I saw you playing the violin at the last talent show.” “You’re amazing. I just wanted to tell you that.” “I’m done. Bye.” Oliver’s lips parted slightly. I ignored both of them. I tightened my grip on my straps and kept running. As I rushed through the gate, I thought I heard Julian’s voice. Calm and gentle. “What… were you guys talking about just now?” 4 I think I found a way to deal with them. I decided to confess to every single one of Julian’s roommates who mocked him. Except Liam— He laughed the loudest. I want him to know. Even if I’m trash in their eyes, I wouldn’t like him. Looking at my reflection in the glass. Bangs, black-rimmed glasses, round face. I’m timid and have strong boundaries. Afraid of disturbing others, I rarely initiate conversation. I only talked to Julian a lot. The rest of the time was mostly studying. I look average, slightly chubby. A person with zero presence on the street. Teachers and classmates evaluate me, think for a moment, and say: “Maya is an honest and well-behaved kid.” I am such an ordinary, honest person. Confessing to Julian was the timid me, the secret-crush me, being brave despite knowing it was impossible. If you all think my bravery and affection are stains on an excellent person. Tools for you to attack Julian. Then I will stain all of you.

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I have a constitution made of glass. Or at least, that’s what I was always told. The first time I went to my boyfriend Jared’s house for dinner, he handed his mother a printed sheet of paper. “Riley is allergic to seafood, mangoes, strawberries, eggs, dairy, beef, and lamb… pretty much everything,” Jared explained earnestly. “Please make sure none of this is in the food.” The list was so long it was almost comical. But after dinner, Jared’s mom suddenly gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh no… I just realized. I put a spoonful of oyster sauce in the sautéed broccoli for flavor. Riley, honey, are you feeling okay?” Under the terrified, caring gaze of both mother and son, I froze. I waited for the throat closure, the hives, the panic. But I slowly shook my head. “I… I feel fine. But I’m supposed to be deathly allergic to seafood…” These allergies were the gospel truth according to my parents. Because of them, since I was a child, my plate only ever held plain boiled vegetables, while the steaks, burgers, and fish were piled high on my younger brother’s plate. My brother, Tyler, used to mock me constantly: “Guess you were just born with bad luck, Sis. No good food for you.” I still couldn’t believe it. Back at my apartment, after hours of mental preparation, I decided to test fate. I drank a glass of milk. Then I ate a mango. Then I ordered a medium-rare steak and devoured the whole thing. Nothing happened. No reaction. Absolutely nothing. I curled up on my floor and wept uncontrollably. 1 Jared’s mom, Mrs. Davis, is an incredibly thoughtful woman. She knew about my “condition.” The dinner table was spread with eight dishes, all vegan, all carefully prepared. She untied her apron, looking at me with a warm, apologetic smile. “Riley, I know you can’t have seafood, dairy, or red meat—Jared gave me the list of twenty items. So I made everything vegetarian, and I went light on the salt, too. I hope you like it.” That gentle, cautious kindness warmed my chest. I picked at my rice, feeling shy but deeply grateful. But when I took a bite of the broccoli, I paused. It was savory. Richer and more delicious than any vegetable I’d ever eaten at home. I couldn’t help but blurt out, “Mrs. Davis, this broccoli is amazing! It tastes so much better than what I eat at home. Did you use a special spice?” That’s when her face went pale. She slapped her thigh. “Oh my god! I forgot! I added a spoonful of oyster sauce to boost the flavor. Oyster sauce… it has oyster extract! That’s seafood!” The air in the room solidified. Jared’s face drained of color. He threw down his fork and grabbed my arm, practically dragging me toward the bathroom. “Is your throat tight? Can you breathe? We need to get you to the ER, now!” His mom was right behind us, her voice trembling. “Rinse your mouth out! Hurry!” I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the sound of running water filling my ears. I stared at my reflection. “I don’t feel anything,” I whispered. “But I’m allergic to seafood…” My reflection stared back. Rosy cheeks. Clear eyes. No swelling. No rash. I took a deep breath. Then another. My lungs filled easily. My heart beat steadily. My parents had always told me I had severe, anaphylactic reactions. That a single touch of an allergen could send me into shock or kill me. “Riley, let’s go to urgent care just to be safe,” Mrs. Davis said, handing me a glass of water, her hands shaking. Her genuine fear made the absurdity of my reality crash down on me. I shook my head. For the first time in twenty-seven years, I doubted the “illness” that defined my life. “Mrs. Davis,” my voice was raspy, “I think… I think I’m actually okay.” Jared let go of my arm, but his brow remained furrowed. “But your parents said it’s severe. Even a trace amount…” His mom interrupted, sensing something heavy in the air. “As long as she’s okay. That’s all that matters.” The rest of the meal tasted like ash. 2 When Jared drove me home, the silence in the car was thick. He tried to speak a few times but stopped himself, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. When he pulled up to my rundown apartment complex, he finally turned to me. “You okay?” “I’m so sorry,” I managed a weak smile. “First time meeting your parents and I caused a scene. I must have scared them.” Jared sighed and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t be silly. My mom isn’t mad, she was just worried. Go upstairs, take a hot shower, and get some sleep. It’ll be better in the morning.” “Okay.” “Riley,” he called out as I opened the door. “Don’t overthink it. Call me if you need anything.” But how could I not overthink it? My entire life felt like a carefully constructed lie, and someone had just pulled the loose thread that unraveled everything. Back in my tiny rental, I didn’t even turn on the lights. I sat in the dark and ordered takeout. I ordered everything I was forbidden to touch. A cheeseburger. A strawberry milkshake. A shrimp basket. Mango sticky rice. When the food arrived, I laid it all out like a chaotic banquet. I opened the milkshake—the liquid that terrified me for years—and took a sip. Sweet, creamy coldness slid down my throat. I waited for the itch. The choke. Nothing. I shoved a piece of shrimp into my mouth. Then a bite of the burger. Then the mango. I ate like a starving animal, bite after bite, until my stomach hurt from fullness, but my heart felt like a gaping black hole. I stared at the empty containers and burst into tears. A tsunami of grief washed over me. 3 The dinner table at my childhood home was a battlefield divided by an invisible line. On my parents’ and brother’s side: steaming roast beef, buttery crab legs, rich stews. The smell alone was intoxicating. On my side: a plate of boiled cabbage and a bowl of plain white rice. No oil, just a pinch of salt. A soggy green pile. My brother Tyler would sit across from me, grease on his chin, laughing with malicious glee. “Riley, you really have no luck. Look at you, eating grass like a rabbit.” He would deliberately wave a greasy rib under my nose, watching me flinch, enjoying my longing and my fear. My mom would place the last piece of steak on Tyler’s plate, never even glancing at me, muttering the mantra I heard every day: “Riley can’t eat that. She’ll die. Her allergies are fatal.” Those words were my shackles. In school, while other kids bought hot lunches—pizza, tacos, nuggets—I sat in the corner with my cold Tupperware of boiled greens. I ate quickly, terrified someone would ask, “Riley, why do you only eat that?” Malnutrition made me small and frail. My hair was brittle, my skin pale. In gym class, I couldn’t finish a mile run without nearly fainting. The teachers were concerned, but my parents just shrugged. “She has a weak constitution. Born that way.” When I was seven, I watched Tyler eat a hard-boiled egg. It looked so soft, so perfect. When Mom went to the kitchen, I snatched a tiny piece of the white and popped it in my mouth. It was delicious. But before I could swallow, a hand clamped onto my jaw. Mom screamed, her face twisted in rage. “What did you eat?!” She dragged me to the bathroom, forced my mouth open, and poured salt water down my throat until I choked. She shoved her fingers down my gullet. “Spit it out! Do you want to die?!” I vomited until there was nothing left but bile. The humiliation and pain of that day branded a physiological fear into my brain. My body learned to reject those foods out of terror. But tonight? Tonight I ate everything. And I was fine. I lay on the cold floor, sobbing until my body convulsed. Twenty-seven years. I had been a donkey blindfolded and forced to grind the mill, stripped of the simple joy of food, labeled “sickly” to cover up their cruelty. 4 The next day was Sunday. My mom summoned me home for lunch. The table was set with that familiar, ironic divide. For them: Braised pork knuckles, sweet and sour ribs, a steamed sea bass. For me: Boiled spinach. Plain rice. Yesterday, the smell of the meat might have made me feel pathetic. Today, it just made me feel cold. “So,” Mom started, picking the bones out of a piece of fish and placing the meat in Tyler’s bowl. “How is Jared’s mom? Did she give you a ‘meeting gift’?” Her eyes darted around, greedy and sharp. Mrs. Davis had given me a check for $10,001—a symbolic gesture meaning “one in ten thousand.” I looked at my mother’s calculating face. “No.” Mom’s fake smile vanished. “No? What do you mean no?” “That is so tacky! First time meeting the parents and not a dime? That family is cheap. You’re going to suffer if you marry into that.” She immediately started calculating. “Since they’re stingy, the wedding contribution needs to be higher. We need at least $50,000. Cash. I raised you, fed you well all these years, I can’t give you away for free.” Fed me well? I looked at the limp spinach. What a joke. “What about my dowry then? What are you giving me?” I asked. Mom paused, then scoffed. “Dowry? Girls don’t get dowries. We’ll buy you some nice new bedding sheets. That’s enough.” “Oh,” I nodded. “Actually, Jared and I talked about it. We aren’t asking for any money from his parents. We’re modern.” “No!” Tyler stopped chewing on his rib. “Sis, if you don’t get that money, how am I supposed to get married? My girlfriend said if I don’t have a $40,000 down payment for a condo, she won’t marry me!” Mom glared at him to shut up, then turned her “gentle” face back to me. “Riley, don’t talk nonsense. Eat your dinner.” “Okay. I’ll eat.” Under their shocked gazes, I reached my chopsticks across the invisible border. I picked up a massive, greasy chunk of the braised pork knuckle from Tyler’s side. And I took a huge bite. “Are you crazy?!” Mom shrieked, jumping up from her chair. “Spit it out! You’ll die!” Her voice was the same frequency as it was when I was seven. “But Mom,” I chewed slowly, swallowing. “I don’t feel sick at all.”

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I opened a BBQ joint in the apocalypse. While others are fighting zombies on empty stomachs, I’m feasting on sizzling, fatty pork belly every day. 1 This is my third day in this world. I stared at the pork belly grilling on the rack and let out a heavy sigh. Three days ago, a gas tank exploded in my restaurant. When I opened my eyes, both my BBQ joint and I had been transported to this godforsaken wasteland. There’s no one here. Just ruins everywhere you look. At night, there are no streetlights. Beyond the glow of my shop, it’s pitch black. The craziest part? There are zombies. Real-life, blood-soaked, limb-missing zombies like in the movies! Fortunately, for some reason, the zombies can’t enter my shop. So I’ve been hiding out here, safe and sound. I flipped the pork belly. Once it turned golden brown and started dripping oil, I took it off the heat, blew on it, and stuffed it into my mouth. Fragrant, fatty, delicious. My culinary skills are still top-tier. But there’s a catch. My shop currently has an endless supply of pork belly and beer, but literally nothing else. Every time I try to grab other ingredients from the fridge, an invisible barrier blocks my hand. A robotic voice chimes in: “Please open for business. Serve customers to unlock remaining ingredients.” After three days of nothing but pork belly, I’m about to throw up. But where are the customers? Aside from the wandering zombies, there isn’t a soul in sight. I can’t exactly invite a zombie in for a cold one, can I? I squatted by the door, holding a skewer, sighing and hoping a customer would fall from the sky. After squatting until my legs went numb, the doorway remained empty. The night was thick with fog, and the only sounds from the distant ruins were the wails of the undead. In this pitch-black world, my BBQ joint was the only speck of light. I downed the last of my beer and was about to head to the back room to sleep when a staggering figure appeared at the door. I thought it was a zombie, but then I squinted—it was actually a person! A young guy, maybe 5’9″, with a round face. Although he was covered in blood and stumbling, his eyes were clear… It was a real, live human! He was staring at me in shock, utter disbelief written all over his face, his hand trembling as it rested on the window. A customer! My brain screamed. Before I could even think, my hand flew to open the door. I put on my best customer-service smile, just like back at the night market: “Hey handsome, want some BBQ?” 2 Kyle sat in a daze at the BBQ table. It was a real BBQ joint. Surrounded by cheap green plastic chairs stained with grease, kegs of draft beer in the corner. The disposable chopsticks on the table looked cheap—classic night market style. The air was filled with the scent of roasting meat, mixed with oil and spices. Familiar yet strange. How long had it been since he’d eaten BBQ…? Since the apocalypse started three years ago, he hadn’t had a decent meal. Once a chubby guy pushing 200 pounds, he was now a scrawny 130. He was practically skin and bones. And now… he looked up at the shop owner. Was this BBQ joint in the ruins real or a hallucination?! The young female owner was grinning as she grilled a handful of pork belly. The fat rendered over the fire, dripping onto the charcoal with sizzling pops. The scent of cumin drifted through the air, melding with the meat aroma, making his stomach cramp and his mouth water uncontrollably. Kyle thought he should leave. This was the apocalypse. Nations had fallen. Only a fraction of humanity remained. How could a BBQ joint exist in a place like this? And such a normal BBQ joint at that—which was abnormal in itself! But the smell of grilled meat was like a rope, binding him to the spot. He couldn’t move. His eyes were glued to the skewers over the fire. He wanted to snatch them and shove them down his throat! Luckily, the torture didn’t last long. The owner sprinkled a final dash of chili powder, pressed the meat onto the grill one last time, and piled twenty skewers onto a plate. She then filled a huge glass mug from the beer keg. The frosty beer mug instantly beaded with condensation. She placed the tray and beer on Kyle’s table with a smile. “Thanks for waiting!” The steam from the skewers hit his face, carrying an aggressive, delicious aroma. Kyle was stunned by the smell. He stared blankly at the slightly charred pork belly and hesitated: “Is this… for me? Can I eat it?” The owner laughed. “Of course. But do you have anything to pay with?” Kyle thought for a moment, then frantically dug a few green crystals out of his pocket. He scratched his head, handing them over sheepishly: “Is this okay? Level 1 zombie cores. They can buy two corn cakes right now…” He lowered his head as he spoke, knowing their value was far less than this pile of meat. After all, this was meat. In the first year of the apocalypse, all livestock vanished. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate meat. Frozen meat sold for astronomical prices on the black market, if you could even find it. And this pork belly looked incredibly fresh. Kyle’s face flushed red. He wanted to run, but he was glued to the seat. It smelled too good. Even just one bite! These crystals were his only wealth. He had gotten beaten up protecting them just now. To his surprise, the owner picked up the crystals with curiosity, looked them over, and nodded. “Sure. If it’s not enough, tell me, I’ll grill more.” She went back to the counter. Kyle stared at her in shock, but the aroma of pork belly had already infiltrated every pore, bypassing his brain entirely! He grabbed a skewer and shoved it into his mouth— The meat was tender. Incredibly tender. Probably marinated beforehand. The fatty parts were charred just right. When he bit down, the hot oil and savory juices exploded in his mouth, scalding him. But he couldn’t bear to spit it out. He didn’t even feel the burn anymore, chewing every piece with reverence. Chili, cumin, sesame… the medley of flavors made Kyle’s eyes sting with tears. He finally realized what food meant. After this bite, he could die happy! “Drink some beer, don’t just eat the meat!” The owner called out: “It’s fresh draft, changed daily.” Kyle paused and looked at the beer. The huge glass was frosted over, water droplets sliding down its sides onto the table. The scent of wheat and alcohol mixed together. He grabbed the handle with trembling hands and took a slow sip. The ice-cold beer, carbonated and sharp, washed down his esophagus, instantly quenching the heat from the spicy meat. Every pore in his body sighed with relief! Kyle slammed the mug onto the table, eyes red, and shouted: “Awesome!” The owner glanced over and smiled. Before Kyle knew it, the twenty skewers were gone. When he snapped out of it, the plate was just a pile of metal skewers. No meat left. The beer mug was empty, not a drop remaining. Kyle rubbed his stomach, disappointed. He wasn’t full. His stomach was screaming for more. But he clenched his empty pocket and gritted his teeth to stand up. Seeing him stand, the owner trotted over. “Done? Want to order more?” Kyle smiled bitterly and shook his head. “Thank you… I’ll come back when I have money.” He took a deep, lingering sniff of the lingering aroma, pushed open the door, and stepped back into the night. 3 I lay in bed that night, holding the crystals, grinning like an idiot. Customer served. New ingredients unlocked, right? Sure enough, when I opened the fridge, the crystals vanished from my hand. Reaching in, alongside the pork belly, I pulled out a giant squid. Grilled squid, my love! Those twenty skewers were worth it! I picked out a few squids and threw them on the grill. I was so sick of pork belly. Tonight’s dinner: Grilled Squid! … For the next few days, no new customers came. This place is desolate. Aside from passing zombies, there are no living things. I survived on pork belly and squid for half a week. Even the squid was starting to lose its appeal. Was my prayer heard? Just as I wished for a new customer, there was a knock on the door again. I looked through the glass. It was the customer from last week. The boy named Kyle. He was shouting anxiously: “Boss! Boss, please save my brother! I can pay with crystals!” I realized he was supporting someone. It was too dark to see clearly before. The man was hurt badly, blood dripping everywhere. He couldn’t stand straight, leaning heavily on Kyle. Kyle’s eyes were red with desperation. “Boss, please! I brought crystals this time, lots of crystals!” This kid was polite when he paid last time and didn’t ask too many questions. I liked him. I quickly opened the door to let them in. “What happened?” Kyle wiped away tears, voice full of hate. “People ambushed me for my crystals. My brother came to save me and got jumped!” “He would have been fine, but he just killed a Level 4 zombie and hadn’t recovered yet…” “Those animals!” He clenched his fist, then begged: “Boss, do you have medicine? I’ll trade all my crystals!” He pulled handfuls of shiny crystals from his pocket. Green, yellow, red. They rolled on the table, glittering beautifully. A few days ago, I was living in a peaceful city. The worst violence I saw was a drunk fight with beer bottles. I’d never seen a living person this bloody. I didn’t care about the money. I told Kyle to put the man on the cot in the back room. It was my nap bed—small, but clean. Kyle struggled to get him onto the bed. His brother was tall, probably over 6’2″. His feet hung off the edge. I got a basin of hot water and wiped the blood off his face with a damp towel. Pushing aside his blood-matted hair, I realized this man was handsome. High nose bridge, sharp jawline. Even with his eyes closed, his thick lashes trembled. Even unconscious, his brow was furrowed tight in pain. His clothes were soaked in blood. I hesitated and handed the towel to Kyle. “You do it.” Kyle didn’t hesitate. He ripped his brother’s shirt open right in front of me. Wow. Defined muscles. That six-pack was stacked neater than my meat inventory. But it was covered in fresh wounds and old scars. Such a waste of a prime human specimen. I peeked from the side, handing bandages to Kyle. Since I lived in this shop, doing prep work and grilling, I kept a stock of basic meds. Kyle glanced at me, grateful. “Thank you, Boss. I’ll repay you.” I waved my hand. “Don’t mention it.” 4 When Leo woke up, he found himself in a bed. He froze. Since the apocalypse began, he had rarely slept in a bed. Zombies were like a plague. Once one person was infected, the whole area fell. So they slept on the ground, sometimes out in the open. Sleeping sitting up was a luxury. Usually, he’d wake up every hour or two. He hadn’t slept this well in a long time. Leo moved slightly, feeling the warmth of the down comforter. It smelled faintly of body wash. It was pumping heat into his body, cold from blood loss. As he looked up, a girl smiled and handed him two white pills. “Awake?” “You have a fever.” The girl was pale, with great skin. She didn’t look like she belonged in the apocalypse. Her eyes curved when she smiled, voice crisp. “Take some antibiotics.” Leo looked at her pale palm. Two white pills lay there. His pupils contracted. After the apocalypse, medicine prices skyrocketed. Pharmaceutical factories shut down. Drugs were scarce. Three years in, even a box of expired antibiotics cost several Level 3 crystals. And now, this girl was casually offering them like candy. Leo felt dazed. Was it poison? But his silly brother Kyle was urging him excitedly: “Bro, eat it quick!” If she wanted to kill him, she could have done it while he was out. No need for tricks. Leo paused, then took the pills and swallowed them with the warm water she offered. “Thank you,” he whispered. He fished a few red crystals from his pocket. “These are Level 3 crystals. For the medicine.” The girl didn’t hesitate, grabbing them all. “You’re not well, so you should eat light. But unfortunately, I only have BBQ here. How about some pork belly and squid? Mild spicy?” Leo didn’t process what she meant, but his idiot brother jumped up. “You have squid now?! Boss, give me 10 skewers! I brought enough money this time!” The girl rolled her eyes and gestured a size about the length of her forearm. “My squid is this big. Ten will kill you. I’ll grill 4, and 50 pork belly skewers. Beer?” Kyle nodded furiously. “Yes! Large mugs!” Leo rarely felt this helpless. Since the apocalypse, he became strong quickly. He could solo Level 4 zombies. But right now, he felt like an idiot. He didn’t understand a word they were saying. Pork belly? Squid? Beer? Are these code names for new ration bars? How could BBQ and beer exist in the apocalypse? But he watched as the girl put on an apron and struggled to pull a huge bundle of skewers from a freezer. The frozen squid was multicolored and covered in ice crystals. It really was as big as she said. Leo was lost. This really is a BBQ joint. When they were ambushed and he got hurt, Kyle dragged him here, saying there was a shop with a nice owner who could save him. He thought Kyle was hallucinating. Until they actually saw that tiny light in the cold night, and he passed out. So Kyle wasn’t crazy. There really was a shop?! Leo picked up the towel. It was still hot. He wiped his face, feeling sensation slowly return to his body. Over there, the girl had started the fire. Squid on one side, pork belly on the other. Sizzling. The fat from the pork dripped onto the charcoal, popping and crackling. The girl brushed oil onto the whitening squid, its edges curling. She pressed it down with a metal plate. Sizzle. Then she brushed on a thick layer of sweet and spicy sauce. The unique aroma of teppanyaki squid filled the room. “Mild spicy, right?” Her technique was pro. Fifty skewers of pork belly turned from red to golden brown, mesmerizing to watch. Kyle wiped his mouth, staring at the grill unblinkingly, like a dog waiting for scraps. Leo muttered, dazed: “…Sure.” The girl grabbed a shaker of chili powder, dusted the meat, and let it roast for two more minutes. “Order up! Kyle, go pour the beer. Mugs are in the bottom cabinet.” “Yes ma’am!” Kyle sprang into action, grabbing three glass mugs and opening the tap on the keg. Golden, clear beer rushed into the mug, topped with thick white foam, smelling of malt. Even Leo, who faced zombie hordes without flinching, rubbed his eyes and pinched his thigh. Hiss. It hurt. It’s real. Kyle dragged the plastic table and chairs in front of Leo and turned on the overhead light. The light reflected off the oily sheen of the meat. “Bro, eat! With your constitution, a little BBQ won’t hurt!” Kyle invited the girl to sit, then downed half his beer in one go. His face scrunched up, then relaxed. “Awesome!” “I’ve been dreaming of this. Saved all these crystals just to binge on skewers!” He grabbed a hot skewer of pork belly and stuffed it in his mouth— Explosion of flavor! “This is life,” Kyle said tearfully. “How long has it been since I had a full meal? Eating corn cakes and wild greens every day, my throat has calluses.” The girl clinked her glass against his. Leo swallowed involuntarily. “Eat!” the girl urged him. “You paid enough. Don’t worry, there’s plenty more in the fridge!” She handed him a squid skewer. The seafood umami mixed with charcoal and spices hit him like a cavalry charge! Warm lights, steaming meat, ice-cold beer. Leo looked at the skewer in his hand. His brain short-circuited. This was too unreal. Like a dream. A beautiful dream. He tentatively lifted the skewer. It was so big it needed two sticks. Thick sauce coated it, smelling sweet, salty, and spicy. He glanced at the other two, then took a bite. Thick, bouncy meat with a slight crunch. The unique texture of squid mixed with the sauce filled his mouth. It was real squid. Not dried tofu or synthetic meat. His mouth, used to tasteless rations, spasmed in delight. Leo ate faster and faster. Before he knew it, he was holding two empty sticks. He hadn’t even realized he finished the whole thing. He felt awkward. He was always the protector, saving the best for the elders and kids in his clan. Now he lost control. But the other two didn’t look at him. Kyle’s mouth was stuffed with pork belly, mumbling: “Bro, try the pork belly. It’s insane!” The girl boasted, “I use the best pork belly. Almost $3 a pound. Didn’t overcharge you!” “Right, right! Great value!” Kyle struggled to swallow. So Leo picked up a pork belly skewer… That night, they ate and grilled, grilled and ate. By the time they were full, a mountain of skewers sat on the table. Leo swallowed the last piece, sighed in satisfaction, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then he saw the pile of sticks and froze. They ate so much! How much was this going to cost?! The crystals they brought definitely weren’t enough. What now?! Maybe he could leave Kyle here to wash dishes!

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I was bitten by a zombie. The zombie stared at the blue blood oozing from my wound, frozen in place. “What are you looking at? I’m one of you,” I said calmly, pushing him away. I ran my other hand over the wound, and the torn flesh healed instantly. The zombie was stunned. “Stop staring. Look at you, all skin and bones… legs barely working. Go find something to eat,” I said with concern, patting him on the shoulder before walking away. 1 My name is Xyris, and I’m a pureblood vampire. The city teeming with zombies? That’s my masterpiece. I had been sealed at the bottom of the ocean for centuries until a scientist and his crew fished me out. The crystal coffin opened. The first thing I saw was a man in a white coat, wearing black-rimmed glasses. He was kind of handsome. Instead of being afraid, he said something incredibly cheesy in a gentle voice: “Are you lonely?” I rolled my eyes. “Duh. Try living for a few thousand years and tell me if you’re lonely,” I retorted, lying back down. I warned him that if he didn’t return me to the spot where I was sleeping, I’d drain him dry. He wasn’t fazed. Instead, he walked up to the coffin, resting his long, pale fingers on the edge, and leaned in to look at me. His voice was soft and slow, echoing clearly in the spacious, quiet lab. “If I could turn you into a human and end this endless loneliness, would you be willing?” Would I? Of course not! Loneliness aside, being a regular human is nowhere near as cool as being a vampire. But I thought this guy was talking big. I didn’t believe he had the power to turn me into a human, so I sat back up. 2 The guy introduced himself as Dr. Julian Chen, a scientist. But not just any scientist. He came from a long line of researchers dedicated to studying the “vampire virus.” Generations ago, his ancestors discovered that a small percentage of humans were born with antibodies to the vampire virus. But vampires had essentially gone extinct over three hundred years ago. Unwilling to let generations of research go to waste, these scientists spent over a century tracking me down. And finally, in Dr. Chen’s generation, they found me. “After centuries of change, the original group of humans with antibodies is gone. But their descendants must still be out there…” Dr. Chen pushed up his glasses, the lenses flashing coldly. “Step one is to find a human carrier.” I laughed. “You went through all this trouble to find me just so I could help you find someone? Sorry, not interested.” Dr. Chen walked to a console and pressed a button. A hidden door in the lab slid open. He walked into the shadows and wheeled out a woman tied to a wheelchair with thick ropes. She had delicate features and almond eyes that darted around in terror. Her face was streaked with tears, and her hair was matted with sweat. A large gag in her mouth prevented her from speaking; she could only whimper in pain. When she saw me step out of the crystal coffin, her eyes widened in horror. “A woman?” I looked from her back to Dr. Chen, confused. “Data suggests her blood has an 80% chance of carrying the antibodies,” Dr. Chen replied. “Oh?” I was suddenly interested. Barefoot, I walked around the wheelchair, inspecting her. She wore a sharp suit with a collared shirt underneath and pointed leather heels. Is this what humans wear nowadays? “You want me to bite her?” I asked. The woman in the chair stiffened. Dr. Chen nodded. “Then wash her first.” Dr. Chen: “?” “I have high standards for hygiene.” 3 As a vampire who’s lived for thousands of years, I’ve evolved beyond needing blood to survive. For my first meal after centuries of sleep, I didn’t want someone who smelled like sweat and fear. After Dr. Chen wheeled her away, I explored the lab. I didn’t recognize anything. Just glowing rectangular slabs and weirdly shaped machines. A desk was piled with papers. I flipped through them—research on vampires. The bottom images showed monstrous creatures with green faces and fangs. I laughed and put them down. Fake news. Such ugly, image-less monsters were an insult to the inherent elegance of vampires. After a while, Dr. Chen brought the woman back. She was now wearing a soft white robe, her hair tied up to reveal a clean, pale neck. She looked fresh and vulnerable. Her eyes were covered with a white bandage wrapped around her head. I liked this detail. Who wants their food staring at them while they eat? I paced toward her, sensing her trembling. Maybe because I’d waited so long, I was getting impatient. I placed my hand on her head, tilting it to expose more of her neck. I found a vein pulsing with fresh blood. I bared my fangs and bit down. The soft vein pierced instantly. Warm, sweet blood flowed into my mouth. Even though I didn’t need blood to live, the instinct was hard to suppress. I held her neck, drinking greedily. I only stopped when I felt her body temperature drop and she fainted. Reluctantly, I let go. Humans are so fragile. If I wasn’t careful, I’d drain her dry. Seeing I was done, Dr. Chen approached with bandages and medicine, but I stopped him. I glanced at him and smirked. “No need for that.” I ran my hand over her neck. Where my fingers passed, the two puncture wounds vanished as if they never existed. Dr. Chen paused, clearly surprised by my ability. He pushed up his glasses and muttered, “Seeing is believing.” I took the clean towel he offered and wiped the blood from my lips, staring at the unconscious woman with mixed feelings. As a vampire, I had principles. I could accept humans as food, but I couldn’t tolerate them becoming monsters because of me. This was the first time I hadn’t drained a human dry. Although I could predict what she would become, a part of me hoped for a miracle. Through her blood, I gained her memories—her logic, her way of speaking, everything about being a modern human. This was another ability I had evolved. Her name was Sarah, a corporate executive. She was kidnapped by Dr. Chen on her way home from work. About ten minutes passed. She wasn’t fully awake, but her body started twitching. Dr. Chen looked excited, putting on thermal glasses to monitor her changes. I sat on the desk, waiting calmly. Something was wrong. The smell. The fresh, clean scent was rapidly turning into the stench of rotting flesh. Humans couldn’t smell it yet, but it was oozing from her blood through her skin. Dr. Chen moved closer with a notepad, recording her transformation. Her breathing grew heavy and rapid. Suddenly, she woke up with a guttural, beast-like roar. Her eyes turned a milky gray. Her skin became ashen and dry, thin as paper, revealing black veins underneath. She wasn’t Sarah anymore. She was a zombie created by me. And she had a craving for blood even stronger and wilder than mine. The moment those dead eyes saw us, she struggled violently. If the ropes weren’t thick enough, she would have broken free. Watching this, I glanced sideways at Dr. Chen. “Where did you get that 80% figure?” He ignored my sarcasm. His gaze on Sarah was filled with excitement and greed. For a scientist studying vampires, witnessing a human turn into a zombie was a massive breakthrough. He didn’t have time for my snark. “Experiment failed,” Dr. Chen said, finishing his notes. He looked at me. “But now we have a zombie virus carrier. We won’t need to trouble you for future experiments, Miss Xyris.” I looked at Sarah. Ten minutes ago, she was a normal human. Now she was a hideous monster. I felt a twinge of guilt. But I quickly squashed it. I had slept too long. I forgot how many lives had ended in my jaws. “Good luck to you,” I said, picking up a phone from the desk. Sarah’s memories told me it was hers. I waved the phone. “Call me if there’s progress.” 4 With Sarah’s memories, I now thought like a modern independent woman. Her digital wallet had enough money for me to splurge for a while. I used the PIN from her memories to pay for a new outfit. “Thank you for your purchase. Here is your receipt.” The cashier smiled kindly, handing me a slip of paper. “Throw it away for me,” I said, twirling in front of the mirror. The black dress flared out. As I walked out of the store, a call came in. Caller ID: Ethan. Sarah’s crush. To avoid trouble, I hung up. The status changed to “Typing…”, then a message popped up: “Are you okay?” I typed: “I’m OK.” Sent. No reply. I searched my memories for his face. Handsome, but distant. I checked his profile. Blank. Black profile pic, black background. Low enthusiasm, no interaction. No wonder he was just a crush. I put the phone away and instinctively walked toward a coffee shop. It was Sarah’s habit. She liked to work in a specific cafe on lazy afternoons. Human food didn’t satisfy me, but I didn’t hate it. Since I was awake, I might as well see what the world had become. Passing a small convenience store, I saw no customers. The owner, a woman in her forties, was eating spicy chips and sunning herself by the door. I glanced at her spicy chips; she glanced at my all-black outfit. Neither of us noticed the breaking news on the TV inside— “Serious riots have broken out across the city. Large numbers of violent individuals are attacking civilians indiscriminately. Please exercise caution and ensure your safety…”

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I took a job as a tutor, but the kid I was teaching, Leo, was obsessed with gossip. One day, he looked at me mysteriously and whispered: “My cousin is broken.” “Broken where?” I asked. “You know… down there. It’s been broken since he was little.” My jaw dropped. I felt a wave of sympathy for the poor guy. Just then, Leo shouted: “Cousin!” I turned around, and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. “That’s your cousin?” “Yup.” Holy crap. That’s my crush. 01 Ethan was just as surprised as I was. He raised an eyebrow at me. “What a coincidence.” “My aunt said she found a tutor for Leo. I didn’t expect it to be you.” “Haha, yeah… small world,” I laughed dryly. Ethan walked over, ruffled Leo’s hair, and turned to me. “Are you done with the lesson? Heading back to campus? I can give you a ride.” “No thanks!” I rejected him instantly. My reaction was so intense I startled myself. Afraid he might misunderstand, I quickly added: “I… uh… dropped something on the way here. I was just going to walk back and look for it.” Before he could say anything else, I grabbed my backpack and fled. But ten minutes later. Ethan’s car pulled up beside me. He rolled down the window. “Did you find it?” “Not yet…” “Tell me what it is. I can help you look.” Ha. Haha. What was I looking for? An excuse. How was he supposed to help me find that? I shook my head miserably. “Really, it’s fine. You go ahead.” My mind was a mess. I had no idea how to face him now. 02 I hadn’t known Ethan long. We met last month at a board game cafe near campus. Ethan lost a game, and his dare was to get a girl’s number. Yes, he asked for mine. When I looked up and saw his objectively perfect face, my breath hitched. Heat crept up my neck. “Is that okay?” he asked again. I tried to act cool as I pulled out my phone for him to scan. My roommates saw right through me. They exchanged glances and immediately launched a full-scale offensive, enthusiastically inviting him to join our table. They kept creating opportunities for me. They claimed I knew palmistry and insisted I read Ethan’s palm. “Sure,” he said, extending his hand. I had no choice but to take his fingertips. I don’t know if it was his nervousness or mine, but our skin grew damp where we touched. I let go quickly and made something up: “Your palm lines… looks like you have a lot of romantic luck. Many suitors.” “Really?” His voice was soft, like a feather brushing my ear. I nodded solemnly. His smile deepened. Warmth spread from his eyes. “Are you one of them?” I froze, my heart skipping a beat. Before I could respond, he laughed. “Just kidding. Not offended, right?” I admit, I have double standards. If a guy I’m not interested in says “hello,” it’s harassment. But if I’m interested? That’s a different story. Since that day, we’ve been chatting on and off. It was getting more and more ambiguous… Just two days ago, he asked me to go for a walk on the track. Trying to look cute, I wore a miniskirt. He wore three layers and was sweating. We walked slowly around the track. It was freezing at night. I sneezed. Without missing a beat: “So cold.” “Thank god, you’re finally cold.” He took off his jacket and draped it over me. I realized something. “You wore so many layers just to give this to me?” “Yeah.” He looked at me calmly. His beautiful eyes didn’t waver. My face burned hotter. And yesterday, I asked him to help design a logo for a competition. He revised it over and over, working until late at night. Feeling guilty, I sent him a red packet (money transfer). [Sorry for the trouble.] He didn’t accept it. He replied: [Not trouble. I’m happy to be needed by you.] My desire to date him was at an all-time high. But who could have predicted— Life would slap me in the face today. Why? Why, God? I’ve been a good person all my life. Is this my karma? Falling in love with a eunuch? 03 Friday afternoon, I went back to tutor Leo. Ethan was already sitting in the living room. I awkwardly changed my shoes, tripping over my own feet. Ethan was as friendly as ever. Pouring me water, complimenting my outfit, asking if I wanted to stay for dinner. “Haha.” I laugh when I’m uncomfortable. I brushed him off and dove into Leo’s room. The little brat was ready, sitting primly at his desk. I wiped the small whiteboard and started the lesson. As usual, thirty minutes was his limit. Once the clock hit the half-hour mark, he melted onto the desk like a boneless chicken and started gossiping. “Teacher, did you know? The father and son upstairs are chasing the same girl.” “Oh, and my dad is dating again. He matched with one of his former students. Can you believe it?” “My mom seems to be dating someone too…” “Leo,” I interrupted. “Can we talk after the lesson?” “Please, Teacher! Let me finish this sentence or I’ll explode.” I took a deep breath. “Go ahead.” “I heard my mom on the phone yesterday. She said whoever wants to be her boyfriend has to solve two math problems first. And the guy agreed! He even wrote her a love poem. Want to hear it? I memorized it.” “No thanks.” I was speechless. No wonder his mom, a math teacher herself, hired a tutor for him. This kid was born in a gossip column. Finally, the lesson ended. I picked two questions from a test paper to check his progress. He finished quickly. I graded them. One right, one wrong. Okay, I guess. I told him to correct the mistake, but he went “Huh?” “But I wrote the same thing as the answer key.” “The answer key is wrong.” “Really?” Leo picked at his face, unconvinced. This kid is stubborn. I had to call Ethan in for backup. Ethan walked in and smiled immediately. “What? Are you going to test me with math problems too?” 04 I paused. Then I realized— He was sitting in the living room looking proper, but he was eavesdropping the whole time. A few days ago, my heart would have fluttered. Now, it felt like a herd of alpacas stampeding through my chest. Who understands my complex feelings? With Ethan and me double-checking, we confirmed the answer key was wrong. Leo finally accepted defeat and started correcting his work. I packed my bag to leave. Ethan stopped me. “Stay for dinner.” “No,” I refused instinctively. “I…” “Please,” he interrupted. “I started cooking before you arrived. If you say no, it’ll all go to waste.” The words caught in my throat. I heard myself say: “Okay then.” I have to admit, Ethan is a great cook. Handsome, can cook… major bonus points. But… My eyes drifted down to his jeans. He seemed to sense it and looked at me weirdly. I quickly looked up at the ceiling. “By the way—” “Big.” He blurted it out. I froze. Two seconds later, my face exploded with heat. What? What the hell?! Did he think I was making a dirty joke? “I meant—” “It’s our department’s turn for the physical fitness test next week. I saw your department already finished.” “I wanted to ask if it was strict. Can I slack off?” I was done. Done. This man’s mouth was harder than diamond. Even if the sky falls, his mouth will hold it up. It’s gone, and he says it’s big! Big ghost! Ethan stayed calm, quickly recovering. “Some groups are strict, some are okay. Try to get the short-haired female teacher.” “Okay.” Silence fell over the table. Suddenly, Leo reconnected to the conversation. “What’s big?” “This chicken leg.” I put a drumstick in his bowl. “Oh.” He looked skeptical. After dinner, Ethan offered to drive me back. Luckily, I anticipated this and called an Uber in advance. I greased my feet and ran faster than a rabbit.

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Chapter 1 Three years into my marriage with Ethan, I started thinking about divorce. My best friend, Chloe, thought I was insane. “He’s literally the perfect man. One in a million. Why on earth would you want to leave him?” Ethan was a perfect husband. I couldn’t pick out a single flaw. I just smiled silently and asked her to play a game with me. “Send a text to your husband.” “Tell him you’re not coming home tonight.” I typed the message in my chat with Ethan. [I’m not coming home tonight.] My finger hovered for a few seconds before I hit send. Once it went through, I waved my phone at Chloe. “Don’t say anything else. Just that one sentence.” “You don’t know my hubby? He’ll call immediately.” Chloe confidently pulled out her phone and tapped away. “Sent. Now what?” Then— Her phone rang instantly. “See? Told you.” Chloe gave me a playful glare and put it on speaker. “Why aren’t you coming home, babe? Aren’t you meeting Sarah? Does she not want to go home? You can bring her here, or… do you just want to stay at her place?” The voice on the other end rambled on, firing off question after question. “Just teasing you! How could I not come home? Sarah just wanted to play a game… But babe, it’s raining outside, and it’s hard to get a cab here. Can you come pick us up?” Chloe explained quickly, her voice turning sugary sweet. Her eyes were soft and affectionate, filled with a giddy happiness rare in married women. She was clearly nourished by love. “Okay, okay, I’m changing now. Wait for me, babe~” As if to prove a point. The voice on the phone was sickly sweet too. I listened with a smile for a while, then downed my drink in one go. Finally, my phone buzzed. A new message— [Okay, have fun.] From Ethan. Chapter 2 I declined the couple’s offer for a ride and took a taxi home alone. The rain was getting heavier. I ran from the complex gate to my door, still getting soaked. Rarely, I saw Ethan as soon as I walked in. The ten-foot-long dining table was covered in legal documents like a battlefield map. He sat at the far left, facing his laptop, posture perfect. His shirt sleeves were neatly rolled up, revealing firm forearms. His usually indifferent gaze was mostly hidden behind thin, gold-rimmed glasses. The vintage-style chandelier cast a warm yellow light, softening his features. I stood in the entryway, dazed. The long table in front of me was custom-made before we got married. It was wide and long enough to spread out all my scriptwriting materials. Besides occasionally serving its intended purpose, it was mostly my desk. Ethan was a man of extreme order. In his mind, dining tables were for eating. Work belonged in the study. This was the first time I’d seen him use this table for anything other than meals. He had just been promoted to Senior Partner at his law firm. He must have taken on a tricky case, given the mountain of paperwork. Not wanting to disturb him, I wiped the rain from my face and quietly changed my shoes. But as I put them away, I accidentally kicked the shoe cabinet. Alerted by the noise, Ethan paused for a second, then immediately closed his laptop. He didn’t ask why I was back. He didn’t ask if it was raining. He didn’t ask where I went or what I ate. As he quickly stacked the bound documents into neat piles, he said, “Sorry, I’ll go to the study.” His tone was polite and apologetic. Like a trespasser caught in someone else’s territory, rushing to return it. I stared at his movements. The tiny bit of warmth that had inexplicably risen in my heart suddenly dissipated. “It’s okay.” I took a deep breath and stopped him. “I drank tonight, I don’t want to work. You can stay here.” Ethan knew I had a severe alcohol allergy. Unless absolutely necessary, I never touched a drop. He looked up, staring at my obviously wet hair for several seconds, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. But in the end, he asked nothing. He just put down the half-stacked files and nodded faintly. “Okay, get some rest early.” Chapter 3 Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe the rain. I couldn’t even stand to finish my shower. I slid down the wall into a squat. The hot water poured down, turning cold by the time it hit my skin. I shivered uncontrollably but had no strength to stand. Ethan was a perfect husband. —In the eyes of outsiders. Good family, good job, good looks. His temper and character were flawless. A few years ago, my grad school advisor introduced him to me like he was handing over a treasure. “I guarantee you won’t find another young man as outstanding as Ethan even with a lantern! He’s one in a million!” My advisor was always strict and picky. Hearing him praise someone like that for the first time piqued my interest, so I let him set us up. Without exaggeration. The first time I saw Ethan, my heart skipped a beat. Even though he seemed exceptionally cold that day, it was truly love at first sight for me. Later, at Ethan’s initiative, we met a few more times. I discovered our values aligned perfectly. Like we were destined to meet. In just six months, we went smoothly from meeting to dating to marriage. His mother adored me. The first time I visited, she held my hand and wouldn’t let go. Laughing through tears, she kept saying, “Thank you for liking my Ethan. Good girl, thank you.” My parents were 100% satisfied with Ethan. Friends and relatives who met him would tease me in unison. “You must have saved a country in your past life to find such a good man.” Honestly, I used to think so too. I loved exercising and had plenty of energy. Before I moved in, the basement was redesigned into my personal gym at Ethan’s request. All equipment was tailored to my height. Machines I hadn’t used in a while would be quietly replaced. The smart speakers would play my favorite music when I stepped in. The movie list in the home theater updated instantly based on my preferences. I’m a writer, a night owl. Ethan had mild neurasthenia, but to accommodate me, he got used to sleeping with an eye mask and earplugs. Holidays and anniversaries always came with flowers and gifts. Whenever he traveled for business, he brought back souvenirs. Occasionally, when I was down, he’d bring home cake and say, “Eat something sweet, you’ll feel better.” Ethan was too perfect. He was meticulous and thoughtful; every kindness was tangible. Marrying me was a compromise for him. —When love hit me hardest, I always thought that. Knock knock. Two light taps on the bathroom door. I must have been in there too long. I struggled to stand up, calling out, “Almost done.” Ethan’s silhouette lingered outside the frosted glass for three seconds before walking away. He said nothing. Like he had never been there. The drunkenness washed away by the shower water came rushing back. I hastily toweled off, threw on a robe, and yanked the door open. The moment I stepped out, I froze. —Ethan was standing solemnly to the left of the door frame, watching me with calm eyes. Like he had something to say. Chapter 4 It was a… hard feeling to describe. A mix of anticipation and nervousness. In the short time our eyes met, I rehearsed countless openings in my mind. If he asked, “Are you in a bad mood?” If he said, “You’re allergic to alcohol, you shouldn’t drink.” If he got angry and said, “Why are you so impulsive? You said you weren’t coming back, then came back in the rain?” I think I would have burst into tears immediately. I would have used the alcohol as an excuse to throw a tantrum, just to try one last time for this marriage, to ask Ethan the question that had plagued me for so long. But after a few seconds of silence. Ethan spoke in a flat tone: “Grandpa called. He wants seafood.” “I booked a restaurant. I’ll pick you up after court tomorrow.” His eyes and expression were normal. Like he waited here just to notify me. I pinched my palm. I felt like a balloon about to explode, suddenly deflated with a pfft. The “Grandpa” Ethan referred to was my grandfather, who had Alzheimer’s. He was lucid sometimes, confused others, often forgetting everyone but clinging to Ethan. “…No need.” My lips parted twice before I could speak, my throat tight and raspy. “Send me the location. I’ll go myself.” I rarely refused Ethan. Especially for small things like “personally driving me,” which proved his care and our intimacy. So, Ethan looked slightly puzzled. But he asked nothing, just stared at me silently for a few seconds. Before turning away, he said calmly, “Okay.” Noon the next day. After a topic selection meeting, I drove to the restaurant alone. A family gathering, both sides present. Grandpa was throwing a tantrum, clutching Ethan’s shirt sleeve and refusing to let go. Ethan coaxed him softly while peeling shrimp with a calm expression, showing no impatience. The two mothers were taking turns, their expectant smiles identical. “We’re both turning sixty next year. If you two don’t have kids soon, we won’t have the energy to help.” “Yeah, you’ve been married three years. Time to hurry up.” Ethan placed a bowl of peeled shrimp in front of Grandpa and put one in my bowl. Hearing this, he smiled faintly and responded, “We’re trying.” His tone was solemn, expression serious. He charmed the two mothers out of their grumbling, both laughing and saying “That’s right.” The atmosphere heated up. I looked down at the shiny white shrimp corpse in my bowl and felt a sudden wave of nausea. Unable to suppress it, I covered my mouth and rushed to the restroom.

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While accompanying my parents to transfer the title of my new house, I saw a video my sister posted online titled “A Toast to the Past.” In the video, my sister was smiling, basking in my parents’ adoring gazes. “First toast: When I was little, I was misdiagnosed with leukemia. My parents had a second child to save me, but it turned out to be a false alarm. Afraid they couldn’t take care of me properly, they sent my little sister to live in the countryside.” “Second toast: After my sister came back, our family went bankrupt. But for the sake of my image, my parents still threw me a huge birthday party at a luxury hotel.” “Third toast: I didn’t get into my dream college, so my parents sold everything to send me abroad. Now, I’m happily living off them.” “Fourth toast: To my parents again. I’m getting married the day after tomorrow. To give me status in my husband’s family, Mom is secretly transferring the family house to my name tomorrow.” I realized I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. 1 I was alone in the bathroom when I saw the video. The air around me seemed to freeze. I zoomed in on the video, playing it over and over. Three faces I knew better than anyone. Unwilling to believe it, I switched to a burner account and commented: [Does the poster have a sister?] Surprisingly, my sister replied quickly. [The house was actually bought by my sister. We’re transferring it to my parents today, but she doesn’t know it’s ultimately going to me~] I gripped my phone tight, then let go. My mom’s voice urged from outside: “Paige, did you fall in? Hurry up, our number is almost called!” I wiped my eyes but couldn’t open my mouth. Recently, I bought a three-bedroom apartment downtown with my own savings, paid in full. When my parents found out, they repeatedly persuaded me to transfer the title to them. “It’s safer in our name. If your boyfriend is just after your property, this protects you.” My sister, Chloe, chimed in: “Mom and Dad are right. It’s not safe for a girl to have property in her name.” I discussed it with my boyfriend, Liam. He was furious. “Paige, do you just do whatever your parents say? You’re an adult. Can’t you think for yourself?” We had a huge fight. Subconsciously, I believed my parents. I ignored Liam’s hesitation. Walking out of the bathroom, I rubbed my dry eyes. My mom didn’t notice anything wrong. She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the registration desk, scolding me as usual. “You child, you’re always so slow. You’re nothing like your sister.” I paused. Thinking of the video, I couldn’t help but ask: “Mom, why did you send me to the countryside when I was born?” 2 As soon as I spoke, my mom’s face changed. Embarrassment mixed with guilt, finally settling into impatience. “I told you, your dad and I were busy. We couldn’t handle two kids, and you were a high-needs baby. We had no choice.” I swallowed the bitterness in my throat. I already knew the answer. Chloe and I are only ten months apart. When she was born, she was misdiagnosed with leukemia. My parents heard cord blood could save her, so my mom risked her life to have a second child immediately. Me. But fate loves a joke. As soon as I was born prematurely, the hospital revealed Chloe was misdiagnosed. She just had malnutrition. Meanwhile, I was born six pounds four ounces, healthy and loud. Back then, my parents were hoping for a son. They couldn’t bear to send Chloe away, so I became the abandoned one. When I was six, Grandpa died. My parents brought Chloe back for the funeral. That’s when I learned from Grandma’s whispers that I wasn’t an unwanted orphan. I had parents and a sister. After the funeral, Grandma held my mom’s hand, teary-eyed, saying she was getting too old to care for me and wanted them to take me back to the city. I hid behind Grandma, terrified of leaving her, crying my eyes out. My mom just frowned and said, “Mom, it’s not that I don’t want to. Look at her, she’s not close to us at all. Taking care of Chloe is already exhausting; I can’t handle her.” In the end, I was left behind. From that day on, the village ladies looked at me with careful pity. Like tiny needles pricking my heart. Not painful, just uncomfortable. Later, I studied hard and got into a top middle school in the county with the highest scores. That’s when my parents seemed to remember they had a forgotten daughter in the countryside. When I first returned to the city, I gathered the courage to ask why they sent me away. Their answer then was word-for-word the same as my mom’s answer now. 3 I knew everything. I knew about the misdiagnosis, their desire for a son, their hesitation-free choice to keep Chloe. As long as they were willing to explain, even if it was the same lie, I chose to believe it. Because deep down, I wished those reasons were true. I wished they cared about me, even a little. “Mom, Dad, do you know what day it is?” I sat on the cold bench, looking at my anxious parents. They froze. “What day is it?” Recovering quickly, my mom smiled coyly. “I know, it’s an auspicious day for property transfer! You silly child, being superstitious!” Bitterness surged in my throat, suffocating me. “Today is my birthday.” Silence again. Memories flooded back. When I was first brought home, before I could adjust, Dad’s business went bankrupt. The big apartment, the car, the cabinet full of dolls in Chloe’s room—all mortgaged overnight. My birthday coincided with moving day. The truck rumbled downstairs. Mom busied herself in the kitchen and brought out a bowl of longevity noodles with two pieces of bok choy. Red-eyed, she told me: “Paige, I’m sorry. We have no money. I can only make you noodles. Look at your sister, she didn’t even get noodles for her birthday. You need to be sensible and yield to her.” I thought Chloe really suffered. From then on, I stopped celebrating birthdays. I yielded everything to her. I washed the dishes she didn’t want to wash. I wore the old clothes she didn’t like. I never asked for the toys she demanded. Until the college entrance exam results came out. I held my acceptance letter to a top university, my fingertips burning. In the living room, Mom was crying over Chloe failing to get in. “My poor baby, we can’t afford two kids in college. How can we face Paige…” Those words stabbed my heart. Watching Chloe’s grievance and Mom’s tears, I silently stuffed my acceptance letter deep into a drawer. That night, Chloe said she was going south to work to “support my education.” My parents sighed in silence. “Chloe is sacrificing so much.” She left that night with her luggage. A few days later, Mom held a recruitment flyer. “Your sister is working. We can’t afford your tuition. You should go work in a factory too.” For the next three years, I worked on an assembly line until my hands were calloused. I kept $50 a month and sent the rest home. My parents always said Chloe was suffering in the south, making it impossible for me to mention going back to school. Until I saw Chloe’s video today. It wasn’t that we were too poor for two bowls of noodles. The grievance of “poverty” was reserved only for me. Mom’s “suffering” meant Chloe didn’t have to work in a factory. Chloe’s “work” was studying abroad. And I, who gave up my dreams and suffered for three years, was the fool kept in the dark. The cold broadcast called Mom’s number, pulling me back. Looking at my anxious parents, I suddenly felt choked by that bowl of noodles from when I was twelve. 4 “Oh, stop it. You’re an adult, why are you so petty?” Mom waved her hand dismissively. “It’s just a birthday. I’ll make you longevity noodles when we get home.” Dad stood up, urging, “Alright, enough talk. Let’s transfer the title.” I shook off Mom’s hand. While they weren’t looking, I snatched the number slip. I tore it to shreds. “Mom, Dad, I have work. Let’s do this another time.” Mom stared at my hand and screamed: “Paige! Why did you tear it?!” Her voice was shrill and trembling, eyes fixed on the confetti falling from my fingers. Dad’s face darkened instantly, anger burning in his tone: “Do you know how hard it was to get this number? Your mom and I came yesterday to ask about the process and lined up before dawn today! You just tore it up? What are you doing?” 5 Their “important business” was just taking my property to give Chloe face in her new family. Dad’s desperation was undisguised. He didn’t notice my knuckles turning white. I stepped back, avoiding their hands. I dropped the last pieces of paper. “I told you, work emergency. Another time.” Seeing my resolve, Mom’s tone softened instantly, coaxing: “What can’t wait? The transfer takes a moment. Afterwards, Mom will take you to eat something good, better than noodles, okay?” She moved closer, trying to take my hand, desperation in her eyes. I stepped back again. Dad’s face was grim, brow furrowed hard. He guessed with certainty: “Did that boyfriend of yours say something? Why did you change your mind?” Mom’s brow furrowed too, her softness gone. Her voice rose, sharp and scolding: “I knew that boyfriend wasn’t good! He’s manipulating you! Paige, don’t be stupid. Only Mom and Dad truly care about you! Let’s talk at home, I’ll get a new number. We must transfer the title today!” She turned toward the machine. Watching one rushing to judge and the other rushing to transfer, the fire in my chest exploded. I couldn’t hold it back. I screamed with all my strength. My voice trembled. “Are you thinking about me, or have you only ever thought about Chloe?!”

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