After a year of trash-talking my gaming nemesis online, we agreed to meet up for a duel. But as soon as I got there, I was stood up. [Can’t make it today. Saw my dream girl. Rain check.] Before I could even type out a curse, someone spoke to me: “Hey, what a coincidence running into you here.” 1 My fingers, poised to type a string of expletives, froze. I looked around. A handsome guy with slightly red ears was talking to me. “Fate must be bringing us together,” he said, looking awkwardly shy. I blinked, confused. “Do we know each other?” His face turned bright red. He coughed awkwardly and stuttered, “I-I’m Liam, from Physics 101. We were paired up for that lab freshman year? And… and we volunteered together at the sophomore carnival…” “Last Friday, 6:30 PM, dining hall, line A. I let you have the last chicken leg.” He rambled on. The chicken leg part sounded vaguely familiar, but barely. “Oh. Thanks,” I replied, distracted. “You’re… you’re… welcome,” Liam stammered, getting worse. I didn’t have time for this. I was scanning the crowd for the dog who dared to stand me up. I was going to find him and beat him up. 6’2″, black hoodie, jeans, earring in the left ear. Where was he? I scanned the area but came up empty. “Are you looking for someone? My vision is 20/20 in my left eye, 20/15 in my right. Maybe I can help?” The stranger was back, eager to assist. I took a step back, instinctively rejecting him. “No need—” Wait. I hadn’t looked closely before. Why did this guy named Liam look so familiar? He matched my nemesis’s description perfectly! I hesitated, then probed, “What brings you here today?” “Some noob… I mean, a new player thought I was hacking because I’m too good, so they challenged me to a duel.” He almost said “noob.” I caught it. “Where is she then?” I asked. “Don’t know. Probably saw me and ran away in shame.” “…” That familiar arrogance. I was basically certain. The guy I’d been flaming online for a year was standing right in front of me. I’d never met anyone with a more toxic mouth. “Can I add you on WeChat?” I needed to be absolutely sure. “Me…?” The surprise hit him like a truck. Liam froze. I had to call his name a few times to snap him out of it. “Yes! Yes! Absolutely!” He whipped out his phone, fumbling with the app because his hands were shaking. Ding. Added. I saw the familiar avatar and username. It really was him. I sneered internally. 2 My feud with Liam started a year ago. I suck at games. Usually, I play against bots. But the moment I tried a real match, I got thrown into a high-ranked lobby. After feeding the enemy team 17 kills, a player named [X] finally turned on his mic. “Archer, just stay in the fountain.” I thought he was being nice, telling me to stay safe. Then he continued. “Don’t get killed by the minions.” “Archer, are you playing with your feet?” “Archer, stop farming steps on the map.” “Archer…” I knew I sucked, so I stayed quiet. But after the game, [X] sent a friend request. Message: [First time seeing a bot with personality. Thanks for the free win for the other team.] Maximum emotional damage. High insult level. I accepted. Everyone makes mistakes. When he called me trash, I waited for him to slip up and flamed him back. “Wow, Mr. Pro Gamer died? I thought you were immortal.” “So generous, giving the blue buff to the enemy.” “Why aren’t you taking the dragon? Do you not feel like it?” “Oops, the ‘God’ died again…” Later, typing wasn’t enough. I made a smurf account just to troll him. At first, we had some semblance of manners. Now, the first thing we do every morning is insult each other’s ancestors. It was a complete disconnect. The guy in front of me, whose voice was so soft it was practically squeaking, was the same person who called me an idiot daily. If he hadn’t pitched his voice up, I might have recognized him sooner. Thinking about his excuse for standing me up… I realized something. The “dream girl” he mentioned… seemed to be me. I didn’t rush to reveal myself. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. 3 “You sit here and rest. Tell me what he’s wearing, I’ll go find him right now,” Liam said, eyes burning with determination. He really wanted to impress me. “No need.” I made my eyes red and wiped away imaginary tears. Liam panicked. He frantically offered me tissues, confused by my sudden sadness. “What’s wrong?” I put on my best victim voice, choking back a sob. “The person I was supposed to meet isn’t coming.” “What?!” Liam was furious. More angry than I was. “Who dares to stand you up? Tell me who it is, I’ll teach him a lesson!” It’s you, idiot. I suppressed a smirk and looked pitiful. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to. He must have had an emergency…” Hearing me defend the “other guy,” Liam got even madder. He looked like he wanted to murder his imaginary rival. “Emergency my ass. Probably rushing to jump off a cliff.” Calling himself a dog. I wished I could record this and play it back to him later. Feeling better, I plotted my next move. “What game were you talking about earlier? I’m bored, can you teach me?” I pulled out my phone and asked softly. “Huh?” The righteous hero looked blank. “I said, can you teach me how to play?” I secretly deleted the game app and opened the app store, asking again. 4 Liam was a top-tier player. Multiple server titles. He was like a math genius who couldn’t comprehend why someone couldn’t solve 1+1. I was waiting for him to snap, to reveal his toxic nature and shatter his “dream girl” image of me. Hehe. But… I seemed to be wrong. My shallow understanding of humanity didn’t prepare me for this level of double standards. I died to a minion at the start. Liam laughed. Not a mocking laugh. A doting one. Like dying to a minion was the cutest thing in the world. It was terrifying. I got goosebumps. If this were my smurf account, Liam would have already asked if my brain was fully developed. I didn’t give up. I bought random items. I remembered once I lost a bet to him, and he made me write out item descriptions fifty times. He wouldn’t be able to hold it in. He’d curse. “Wow, you learned how to buy items already! Smartest beginner I’ve ever seen,” Liam praised, looking genuinely proud. I was stunned. Bro, are your eyes open? Can’t you see I bought six mana crystals? I took deep breaths, forcing back the urge to curse his ancestors. I didn’t push towers; I ran around the map. He said: “Great mobility.” My team started a team fight; I farmed jungle camps. He said: “So smart, avoiding the crowd.” I… I was defeated. For the first time in twenty years, I felt like a masochist. I desperately wanted Liam to yell at me. The meaner the better. No, this was too gross. If I stayed any longer, I’d suffocate. “My mom’s calling me for dinner. Rain check!” I practically jumped out of my seat and fled. It was a polite dismissal, but Liam took it literally. “When? I’m free tomorrow! And the day after! I’m free 365 days a year!” He shouted it so I wouldn’t miss it. People stared. So embarrassing.

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My snake has been acting weird lately. She’s always sneaking around, trying to steal my iPad, nearly bashing her own head in several times. Curious, I unlocked the iPad, casually left it next to her enclosure, and set up a high-def camera. The next morning, I shot up in bed— She has a “SnekBook” account! I watched my snake painstakingly tap the screen with the tip of her tail, typing: [My owner keeps saying I feel rough and prickly. How do I tell her the heating pad is shocking me?] Attached was a selfie.jpg I refreshed the page, and hundreds of comments popped up. Other snakes were roasting her: “Where did a basic Rat Snake like you get an owner? And a heating pad? You can lie to the homies, but don’t lie to yourself.” The next day, I peeked at her cautiously. She was curled up in a dark corner, sulking. So angry she went mute. 1 After my brother died in a car accident, I was left alone in the house. I often visited his and our parents’ graves. One day, on the way there, I accidentally stepped on what I thought was a thick garden hose. I looked down. It was a snake! I almost died of fright! Instinctively, I grabbed a stick nearby, terrified it would bite me. But the snake just looked at me, flattened itself, and slithered away. ? That night, I had a dream. I dreamed that snakes have their own social media called SnekBook. The snake I stepped on went home and posted about me, trying to shame me. But instead, all the other snakes roasted her. [If you didn’t bite, don’t post. You’re embarrassing us.] [Don’t push coward content to my feed.] [Certified wimp. My venom glands hurt just reading this.] They even added her to a group called “Useless Losers” for periodic check-ins. The snake fainted from anger. I woke up laughing. I used to be terrified of snakes, but now, the little thing seemed kinda cute? But when I opened my front door, there she was! The snake, looking dusty and disheveled. She had tied herself into a loop and hung herself on my door handle, like she was trying to prove she wasn’t a coward by “hanging herself on the southeast branch.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I tried to get her down carefully, but the poor thing was terrified. Trying to intimidate me, she bit her own tail tip. Hard. Snap. Bone fracture. Me: “…” The snake hissed at me righteously—showing me her tail. ? Excuse me? I stepped on you, so you bite yourself, and now I’m responsible? Is this fair? But if I hadn’t stepped on her, she wouldn’t have come all this way to hang herself on my door. I was conflicted. It’s a snake! What if she bites me? Just then, an AC repairman walked by. He saw the snake and his eyes lit up! “A Rat Snake! Perfect for snake soup!” The snake froze, tail stop shaking. I froze too. Seeing him reach for the snake, I panicked. “Sir! That snake is venomous! It bites!” The repairman didn’t care. “Nah, it’s just a Rat Snake. Non-venomous.” Seeing the snake about to meet its maker, I made a split-second decision. I took off my jacket, grabbed the snake, stuffed her into a bubble tea bag, and threw her into my apartment. “That’s my pet!” The repairman walked away, cursing. “Should have said so! Wasting my time!” … I closed the door and stared at the bag on the floor. The bag moved. A small head poked out, staring at me in terror. What do I do now? I took photos, looked up the species, searched “how to raise a snake” on Reddit, and found the nearest exotic pet vet. Terrified, I used chopsticks to poke her head back in and rushed to the vet. Well, she’s here now. Gotta be responsible. … At the hospital, I asked the vet cautiously. “Cats and dogs wear cones so they don’t lick their wounds. Do snakes need that?” The vet, experienced and calm, asked back: “Look at her. Where would you hang it?” I sheepishly let go of the leash I was looking at. The bill came. Four figures. Damn! Exotic vets are highway robbery! Half a day later, I returned home, eyes dead, carrying a pile of supplies, a bag of pinky mice, and a vivarium. If this was the snake’s revenge… She succeeded. That night, the snake proved she wasn’t useless. I was sleeping when I heard rustling in the living room. Groggily, I opened my eyes just as a gray shadow darted over me. I screamed like a banshee. But then! The snake easily headbutted open the “escape-proof” lid I paid a fortune for and chased the shadow like lightning! After catching the mouse, she paraded around the apartment like a conquering general. Finally, she dropped the dead mouse in front of me—plop—and hissed triumphantly. I stared at her with dead eyes, then at the expensive “escape-proof” tank. My sky collapsed. 2 I realized this snake was weird. She was interested in my iPad and phone? Whenever I lay on the couch scrolling, a small head would peek out nearby, peeping. Several times, I found my phone in camera mode with two tiny puncture marks on the screen protector. The gallery was full of extreme close-up snake selfies. Who was the culprit? A mystery. Especially after I fell asleep, she would sneakily try to steal my iPad, nearly smashing her own head in the process. Curious about what she wanted, I unlocked the iPad, “accidentally” left it by her tank, and set up a camera. In the middle of the night, the snake squeezed out of the glass gap, flattened herself, and expertly woke the iPad screen with her tail tip. Then I sat up in bed— She has a SnekBook account! I watched her tap the screen with her tail, typing: [My owner keeps saying I feel rough and prickly. How do I tell her the heating pad is shocking me?] Attached: Selfie.jpg I refreshed. Hundreds of comments roasting her. “Where did a basic Rat Snake get an owner? And a heating pad? Stop lying to yourself.” The next day, I checked on her. She was curled in a dark corner, a ball of misery. Autistic from anger. 3 I was too curious. While the Rat Snake slept, I secretly opened her SnekBook. Her profile pic was a selfie. Clearly taken by holding the phone in her mouth. Extreme close-up. Scrolling up, I actually found the post about her being stepped on! So my dream wasn’t a dream! This snake loved to overshare. But. Every. Single. Post. Was added to the “Loser” group by other snakes. Including but not limited to: [A human came while I was eating! I ate as fast as I could while vibrating my tail to scare them off!] I made the “grandpa looking at phone” face—shouldn’t a scared snake regurgitate and run??? But reading further, I couldn’t laugh anymore. Hit by a kid with a rock, head bleeding. Chased by a cat. Coming to find me was the first time she summoned courage… she even made a flower wreath. And bit her own tail. … I scrolled up, my heart aching. Snakes have a hard life in the city. Except for a few exotic pet owners, most people either scream or throw rocks. Honestly, even venomous snakes are terrified of people. They only bite as a last resort, thinking, I’m dying anyway, taking you with me. Humans are giants to them. They’re scared to death; why would they attack? I looked at the snake sleeping belly-up next to me. Whatever. Extra frozen mouse for the kid today. Just then, a DM notification popped up on her SnekBook. She didn’t wake up, just scratched her head with her tail tip and rolled over. Respecting her privacy, I quietly put the iPad back. But when I came back from a job interview, the snake was gone!!! 4 I panicked, tearing the house apart. I even unpacked my winter clothes, thinking she burrowed in there. Nothing. She can’t bark, so calling her was useless! I was desperate! Then I remembered the pet cam. I checked it, and my world collapsed again. She went out! This is Guangdong. If she goes out, she’s soup!!! Wait— I remembered the SnekBook on the iPad. I logged in and checked the DMs. She was invited out by another snake. The other snake’s profile pic was a cute, Extreme Red Albino Hognose. High EQ: “Chubby baby, so expensive!” Low EQ: “Wiggles like a fancy maggot.” Both species are known for low IQ and tail-biting. No wonder they’re friends! The Hognose was polite: “Hello Snake. I saw your post about being stepped on via ‘Nearby Snakes.’ Do you have wilderness survival experience? I only know how to escape my tank. My owner fainted. Can you tell me how to get out? I want to find help.” My Rat Snake, Cola (I named her!), was enthusiastic. “Sure! Where do you live?” “I’ll teach you how to open the door hiss hiss—” ? The address the Hognose gave… holy crap, it’s the apartment above mine. Unit 3102. I rushed out. Never mind how a snake reaches the elevator button. Did they think about this? One costs $2,000, the other costs the price of a vegetable dish. If they go out together, the Hognose’s owner might post a reward. But Cola? Am I supposed to fish her out of someone’s soup pot?! Time was critical! The elevator dinged. I rushed out and met Cola, who had slithered up the stairs, panting. …Okay then. Seeing me, Cola froze. Behind me, the door to 3102 clicked open. A flat, red-and-white head poked out. Seeing me, the Hognose stiffened. Tongue flick, belly up, play dead. Oscar-worthy performance. I looked at Cola, Cola looked at me. Just as she prepared to bolt, the Hognose’s concern for its owner overrode its instinct. It cried and crawled over. “…Hiss hiss hiss hiss.” ? Don’t understand. Need SnekBook. But Cola understood. She looked at me pitifully. The Hognose overcame its fear, crawling over, playing dead every other step. …Honestly, the wiggling really looked like a big-headed maggot. My morals and my sense of humor fought a fierce battle. Morals won. I held it in. I followed the Hognose inside. A young man was lying on the floor. I peeked. Whoa, handsome. But no time to admire. I checked his breathing—he was alive. I didn’t dare move him, so I called 911. While waiting for the ambulance, the Hognose was anxious. It stared at me, afraid I’d leave. The room was a mess. Spilled water cup, knocked over terrarium… The little guy really tried hard to make noise. Unlike Cola, he was short and fat. Who knows how much effort it took to contact help. I felt a pang of sympathy. Good baby! Until I saw him skillfully wiggle onto an iPad and unlock it with his belly pattern. Never mind.

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I am a voice mimicry streamer. I can imitate any voice, and I charge ten dollars an hour. I’ve had clients who just went through a breakup pay me to mimic their ex’s voice, begging for forgiveness. I’ve had clients pay me to mimic their boss, calling them “Big Brother” just to stroke their ego. Of course, there are plenty of people who look at me through a dirty lens—including my own mother. She says using my voice to make money is “seductive” and “shameful.” Just as I was about to explain myself for the thousandth time, a new order popped up: “Streamer Cloud, can you mimic the voice of a dead person?” “Of course,” I typed back. “As long as I can hear a sample, I can mimic anyone—even your great-grandmother.” I didn’t know it then, but that single order would change the trajectory of my entire life. 1 I’ve always had a knack for mimicry. It started with frogs when I was a kid, and as I grew up, it became uncanny. Men, women, children, the elderly—if I heard it once, I could replicate it. After getting laid off last month, I decided to try my hand at being a voice mimicry streamer. Ten bucks an hour. I become whoever you need me to be. Naturally, aside from the paying customers, there’s the peanut gallery in the comments section. They leave filthy, suggestive remarks: “Ten bucks just to hear a voice? I’d rather add fifty and get a ‘happy ending’ downtown.” “Streamer, if I pay extra, can I get the ‘special menu’?” I rolled my eyes and typed a reply: “I’m really curious about your upbringing. Why does everyone you meet look like a sex worker to you? Is it because you’ve never experienced a genuine interaction, or are you just proud of being trash?” After I posted that, the dogpile got worse. “She’s just making money by acting cute and moaning. Stop pretending to be high and mighty.” To keep the chat clean for actual customers, I usually just delete, block, and move on. It saves my sanity. My mom, sitting next to me cracking sunflower seeds, leaned over and sneered. “I told you not to embarrass yourself. If the relatives see this, I won’t even have the face to visit them for New Year’s.” I just wanted to make money using my talent, but I was constantly being twisted into something I wasn’t. My bio clearly read: [ID: Cloud. Voice Mimic. I can vent anger, I can listen. ZERO tolerance for sexual content.] When did my mom start believing that a girl with a nice voice must be doing something dirty? Probably a few years ago, when I got an opportunity to do dubbing for a TV drama. My mom saw my facial expressions while I was recording—the way I had to contort my face to get the right emotion—and she called me “mentally ill” and “slutty.” She said I should get a “real job” instead of doing this “westernized nonsense.” She showed up at the recording studio every day to make a scene until I was forced to quit and find a boring office job. I thought that would bring peace. But this year, on New Year’s Day—my birthday—I volunteered to work overtime just to avoid hearing her say, “I suffered so much giving birth to you.” My mom stormed into my office, screaming that my boss was a bloodsucker. Result? I was “advised to resign” again. She thought she was standing up for me. She called me a coward. It wasn’t until the neighbors told her she was out of line that she backed off a little. I told her I’d look for a job after the holidays, and in the meantime, I’d use my voice to make some cash from home. She agreed at the time. But now, she was pouring cold water on me right when I was trying to build confidence, stomping on me while strangers misunderstood my profession. Her expression screamed: See? I told you this kind of work isn’t decent. I sighed, deleting another nasty comment. Suddenly, a new order came in. “Streamer, can you mimic the voice of a dead person?” Business is business. I sat up straight. “As long as there’s audio, I can mimic anyone.” The user, ID “Sarah,” quickly DM’d me a ten-minute screen recording. “Hi Cloud. I’m Sarah. Can you mimic my mother’s voice?” I opened the recording. It was a long scroll of a chat history. Sarah’s mom had sent her hundreds of 60-second voice notes. Every single one of them had a red dot next to it. Unread. Sarah had never clicked on them. She had never replied. “Look at this heartless thing,” my mom muttered, peeking at my screen again. “Her mother sends her so many messages and she doesn’t even reply!” I stood up abruptly, hiding the phone behind my back. I’ve told her a million times to respect my privacy. She always counters with, “I raised you, I’ve seen every inch of you, what privacy do you need?” But I knew arguing would just be added to her ledger of my sins to be brought up later. “I have an order. I need to work. Please leave,” I whispered. Mom grumbled something and walked out. I locked the door and opened the chat window. I mimicked the tone of the voice in the video and sent a message: “Sarah, I listened to the sample. How do you need me to cooperate?” She was satisfied with the voice match and gave me a specific request: “Streamer, I want you to reply to my messages without being a buzzkill. Be the mom who doesn’t ruin the moment.” I paused. I thought Sarah’s mom had passed away and she wanted closure, a final conversation. I didn’t expect her request to just be… a supportive mother. Following the “customer is god” principle, I didn’t pry. After receiving the payment, Sarah sent me an old photo to use as my avatar. It was a woman in a red wool coat holding a little girl with pigtails, sitting on the grass. Setup complete. Timer started. [Scenario: Childhood Sarah] Sarah sent the first message: “Mom, I accidentally broke an egg. I’m sorry.” 2 She followed it with a blurry, pixelated photo of a broken egg on the floor. I typed: [Patting your head] Then I held down the voice note button: “Sarah, you’re amazing! You smashed the egg into the shape of a little duck! That’s so cute!” She replied instantly: “Mom, you’re the best!” “But I only got a 95 on my test this time. Next time I’ll check my work better.” I replied: “Sarah, you got a 95? When I was your age, I was lucky to pass! Come on, let’s go get hot pot to celebrate!” Sarah sent a laughing emoji. “Mom, I got the 95, why do I have to accompany YOU to eat hot pot? Humph, shouldn’t you ask what I want to eat?” “Right, right! What does my Sarah want to eat? Mom will take you!” Sarah sent a thoughtful emoji. “Okay, let’s do hot pot! But I want a bubble tea, too.” “Deal! I want bubble tea too! Cheers!” Sarah sent a string of happy emojis, then switched the scenario. [Scenario: College Sarah] “Mom, I got a part-time job at a milk tea shop over the break. It feels like playing house when customers order, but I’m actually making money.” I laughed into the mic: “I want to drink milk tea made by Sarah too!” “I’ll bring you a cup I made myself after work!” [Scenario: Working Sarah] “Mom, I just finished a huge high-pressure project. Since the holidays are coming up, let’s go on a trip together?” “Let’s go! Mom will pack the bags, you book the tickets! We leave tonight!” Sarah was switching scenarios faster and faster. I thought she was about to send another one, but instead, she sent a sighing emoji. “Cloud… thank you. But forget it. Let’s stop here.” It had only been twenty minutes. I offered to refund half the money, but she refused. She sounded disappointed. “Sarah, are you unsatisfied with my replies?” “No, I’m very satisfied.” Before I could ask more, she continued: “Cloud, your replies were perfect. You were the mother I fantasized about. It just… it felt too unrealistic.” “Because in real life, every time I shared joy with my mother, it turned into misery. Every time I shared a problem, she made it a catastrophe.” “When I sent you that screen recording… just hearing her voice in the preview made me feel like I was having a breakdown. I felt panic.” “But she’s dead. And I cry about it. I love her, but I hate her. I don’t know what to do.” Sarah’s voice trembled. It sounded painful. I typed: “Is there anything I can do to help?” “No. Today is the anniversary of her death. I’m tired. I want to rest. I’ll contact you if I need you.” I quickly replied: “Okay. Take care.” I usually turn my successful orders into promotional videos (with permission). I posted Sarah’s video. Surprisingly, I got three more orders immediately. All people wanting to “talk” to deceased relatives. To say the things they never got to say. I worked until late at night. I had done eight orders that day. Compared to the three I did all last month, things were looking up. I felt like I was doing something good—helping people find closure. Just as I was about to sleep, my phone pinged. A voice note from Sarah. “Mom, do you know why I only ever listened to the very end of your sixty-second voice notes? Hahaha!” 3 Her voice was slurred. She was drunk. Heavily drunk. “Do you want to know, Mom?” I was exhausted, but to make up for the time she didn’t use earlier, I cleared my throat and replied in her mother’s voice: “I want to know. Can you tell Mom, Sarah?” Her voice was raspy. “Because I was afraid you had an emergency, but I was also afraid you didn’t. So I only listened to the last sentence.” “Mom, when I broke an egg, you beat me.” “But when you were making breakfast and YOU broke an egg, why did you scream at me? Why did you call me a lazy parasite?” “I was six years old, Mom. If you didn’t want to cook, you could have taught me.” “I got a 95 on the test. First in the class. I just wanted a bag of chips.” “You poked my temple so hard it bruised. You asked me why I didn’t check my work. Why I handed it in early.” “But Mom, I checked it three times. I didn’t know why I got that one wrong.” “In college, I worked at the milk tea shop to help with your bills. I wanted to share my excitement about my first paycheck.” “You told me if I didn’t study, I’d be selling milk tea for the rest of my life. But my grades were good! I got into a top university! Why couldn’t you just praise me?” Listening to Sarah’s crying and shouting, my mouth hung open, unable to speak. Because my mother was exactly the same. I didn’t know how to comfort her. She continued: “Mom, you always said Auntie Wang’s daughter took her on trips, and you were so envious.” “Even though work was killing me, I wanted to take you on a trip for the holidays.” “But you refused. You said you were used to a hard life, unlike me, who ‘spends money like water’ just to play.” “My friends invited me to a nearby city for two days. You mocked me, saying, ‘Two days isn’t enough! Why don’t you go for ten? Maybe you’ll lose your job while you’re at it!’” “You knew I never went anywhere except for work trips. Why did you say I was always playing?” “If I argued, you cried! You said I grew up and my tongue got sharp.” “If I stayed silent, you asked if I was mute!” Sarah was screaming now, questioning the “me” on the other end. “Mom, when Dad got sick, I was studying for my entrance exams for grad school.” “You sent me dozens of voice notes a day, crying that Dad was dying, that he was in pain.” “Every time I rushed to the hospital, you screamed at me for not studying. You asked what I was doing there wasting time.” “But when I stayed home to study, you called me heartless. You said I didn’t care that my father was sick.” “You seemed to forget I was taking exams when I was at the hospital, but remembered it the moment I was actually studying.” “Later, I listened to you. I focused on the exams.” “That was when I started skipping your messages. I only listened to the first few seconds to make sure it wasn’t an emergency.” “On the day of the exam, you stormed the test center. You screamed at me in front of everyone for not replying, for not seeing Dad one last time.” “That’s how I found out he was gone. I failed the exam. I never tried again.” “Mom, why did you always hide the important information in the middle of your rants? Why did you have to send sixty-second voice notes for something that took one sentence to say?” “I wanted to see Dad one last time too…” “From that day on, whenever relatives praised me, you’d add, ‘What’s the use? She couldn’t even pass her grad school exams.’” Sarah broke down into uncontrollable sobbing. I waited a long time for her cries to subside. I mimicked her mother’s voice: “Sarah, don’t cry. Mom was wrong. It’s all in the past.” But she didn’t seem to hear me. She spoke to herself. “I’m so tired. I don’t want to keep going.” I felt a chill. I sat up in bed immediately. “Sarah, listen to me. You got into a great university. You worked hard to earn money. You are amazing.” She screamed: “Shut up! I won’t listen!” “I’m terrified to make friends! I’m terrified to date!” “Because you always belittle me in front of them until I feel like I’m nothing!” “When friends leave me, when boyfriends dump me, you tell me it’s because I’m useless. You say, ‘No wonder nobody wants you.’” “If I die, will your voice finally stop echoing in my ears? Will the nightmares stop?” “Yes. That must be it. That must be the only way!” Sarah sounded like she was losing control. While I tried to comfort her, I clicked on her profile. She was in the same city. The location tag on her previous videos was only a twenty-minute drive away. To keep her on the line, I didn’t hang up. I quietly texted the police on my other phone. The police replied they were tracing her location and told me to keep her talking. But my family was just like hers. How could I comfort her? I listened intently. Her voice was breaking up. Signal interference. I turned the volume all the way up. I heard the sound of water lapping. And the wind. It was getting louder. She was at the river! I texted the info to the police. I grabbed a coat and headed for the door. The noise woke my mom. She blocked the doorway. “Where are you going in the middle of the night?” I muted the call and whispered urgently, “I have to save someone! Someone is jumping into the river!” Mom shoved me back inside. “You aren’t going anywhere! What if she dies and they blame you? What if you get sued?” 4 I stomped my foot. “Mom! I called the police! No one is going to sue me!” “If you called the police, why do you need to go? Get back in your room!” Why did I need to go? Because I wanted to see Sarah. I wanted to hug her. I felt like Sarah was me. She was doing the thing I had always wanted to do but never dared. I’m in my twenties, and I have no friends, no lover. Even now, I have a curfew of 9 PM. Mom glared at me. I threw her hand off and bolted out the door. Behind me, she screamed, “You’re so loose! Running around at night! No man will ever want you!” I covered my ears and sprinted out of the complex. Only when I was on the street did I lift the phone again. Thank god. The call was still connected. Sarah was mumbling, unaware of what was happening on my end. I unmuted and steadied my breathing. I switched back to her mother’s voice. “Sarah, it was Mom who didn’t understand you. I suppressed you. It was my fault!” “But you are wonderful. You graduated. You worked hard to help me. You took me traveling.” “Mom is so happy! Sarah, will you make Mom a milk tea tomorrow? I really want to drink it.” Sarah laughed lazily. “Mom, stop acting. You aren’t like this… you would never talk like this…” “Before you died, you handed me a bank card with seventeen thousand dollars on it. You told me you couldn’t see me get married.” “You said you saved it your whole life, scrimping and saving. You knew you were sick but didn’t dare say anything because you were afraid of spending the money. Afraid I would spend money to cure you.” “You said it was my dowry. You told me to find a good man.” “You told me to be diligent at my in-laws’, to do more housework, to be sweet so my mother-in-law would like me.” “The day you died, I cried and begged you to stop talking.” “When I took my life savings to the doctor and begged him to save you, he told me, ‘Now you worry about your mom? It’s too late.’” “Mom, I’m sorry. I know you loved me in your own way. But these words… they hurt so much.” “Today is the anniversary. I miss you.” “I miss when I was in kindergarten and you held me. Back then, you praised me. You rarely badmouthed the neighbors.” “But when I tried to listen to your old voice messages… I broke down again.” “That familiar voice brought it all back.” “You cursed me under the guise of caring.” “You told me to rest, or my eyes would go blind from the computer.” “But on my days off, you woke me up at dawn. If I didn’t get up, you called me a corpse.” Sarah was gasping for air, sobbing violently. Suffocation gripped my heart as I listened.

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Even after the real daughter returned, my adoptive parents still favored me. When it came to choosing bedrooms, the real daughter merely glanced at my princess-themed room with curiosity. Mom frowned instantly. “That’s Paige’s room. She’s lived there for eighteen years. You can’t take it from her. Pick any other room on the second floor.” At dinner, the table was piled high with my favorite dishes. Dad, Mom, and my brother kept comforting me. “Paige, you will always be our precious baby girl.” They even wanted to transfer 20% of the company shares to me. The real daughter’s eyes reddened on the spot. “If you don’t like me, why did you bring me back?” 1 When Sarah, the real daughter of the Lawson family, started crying out of frustration, I was frantically trying to communicate with Mom using sign language. I wanted to tell her: I’m not important. You guys should take care of your biological daughter first. But I had only lost my voice two days ago, and my sign language was completely made up. Mom watched my chaotic gestures, confused, until a lightbulb seemed to go off. “Paige, calm down. Don’t worry, you will always be our most precious daughter.” Most precious? Then what about Sarah? My mouth twitched, and I gave Mom a speechless thumbs-up. Wow, great way with words, Mom. Sure enough, Sarah looked like she was about to crumble. But my parents’ eyes were habitually fixed on me. “Paige, Dad knows you must feel insecure now that Sarah is back. I’m going to transfer 20% of the company shares to you right now so you can feel safe!” No! I don’t want shares! I want you to look at your biological daughter! She looks like she’s about to shatter! Seeing the despair in Sarah’s eyes, I clutched my throat, rolling my eyes in panic. Good God. Why did I have to get my tonsils and adenoids removed right now? “N… no… ugh… hurts…” My throat felt like it was on fire. Every syllable was like swallowing glass. Seeing me struggle, my parents panicked. “Paige, don’t talk! We understand!” You understand nothing… Looking at Sarah’s increasingly pale face, I felt terrible. I rushed away from the table, sprinted up to my room on the second floor, grabbed my writing tablet, and hurried back down. As soon as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard my brother, Lucas, yelling at Sarah. “You just have to compete with Paige, don’t you? She’s crying now. Are you happy?” Sarah screamed back. “Happy about what?” She stood up, scanning the faces of her parents and brother, and let out a cold laugh. “I haven’t said a single word since I got here, and you accuse me of competing with her. I don’t even have the right to speak in this house. What do I have to compete with? How dare I compete with her?” I felt like the most desperate person in the room should be me. I quickly scribbled a paragraph on my tablet and shoved it in front of everyone. [I wasn’t crying. My throat hurts too much to talk, so I went upstairs to get this tablet.] Then, I pointed at the table full of food—abalone, king crab, lobster, and my favorite, spicy stir-fried intestines. I wrote furiously, my face serious. [Even though these are my favorites, I can’t eat any of them right now. So you actually prepared these for Sarah. Why didn’t you tell her? Why did Mom keep putting food on my plate?] Mom smiled sheepishly. “Sarah just got back, and we didn’t know what she liked, so we had the chef cook your favorites. We were afraid you’d get upset and have an episode, so we served you first…” I rolled my eyes and kept writing. [If you don’t know what she likes, you can ASK her! I stole eighteen years of her wealthy life. What logic is there in ignoring her to comfort me and revolving everything around me?] Seeing how serious I was, the room fell silent. Dad pulled out his phone, looking awkward. “In those ‘Real vs. Fake Daughter’ novels, doesn’t the fake daughter usually throw a fit and become the villain? Plus, with your condition, we thought…” I facepalmed. Dad… please delete TikTok immediately. Mom held my arm, looking at me with heartache. “We were just so afraid you’d do something extreme! I raised you for eighteen years. You’re no different from my own flesh and blood. I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Lucas laughed too. “It’s fine if you take the shares. I’m not jealous. Keep the wealth in the family. When you grow up, I’ll just chase you and make you my wife… I’ve watched you grow up. Aside from your illness, we know you’re a good person.” Me: “…” My heart felt warm, but I also felt a strong urge to roast him. Lucas and I are only two years apart. We used to bathe in the same tub as kids. How can he even think about that? He might be able to, but I definitely can’t! [Brother, you will always be the best brother in my heart. I don’t want the shares. This home is wonderful, and I love you all very much. But it’s time for me to go back to my own home and return to the life that was meant for me.] Sarah looked at me with mockery and sneered. “Stop with the fake acting. If you were really willing to give up this luxurious life, you’d be packing your bags right now. Saying all this is just a tactic to make Mom, Dad, and Lucas think I’m forcing you out so they’ll hate me even more.” She looked at my parents with disgust, like she had nothing left to lose. “This house has no room for an outsider like me. The one who should leave isn’t her. It’s me.” With that, she ran upstairs, eyes red, grabbed her suitcase, and came back down. 2 Her suitcase was still packed from her arrival. She didn’t even need to organize. Seeing me still on the sofa digging for my charger and Switch, she scoffed again. “Dragging your feet. I knew you didn’t want to leave. It’s fine. If you won’t go, I will.” She turned to Dad, looking exhausted. “I don’t want a penny from you in the future. I don’t care about the shares. Just transfer my household registration back here. I want to get into Stanford, and I need the local residency status. As your biological daughter, is that too much to ask?” She stared at Dad coldly, looking like she saw right through him. Dad scratched his head, clearly having a headache. He ordered the butler. “Lock all the doors. Don’t let either of them leave.” Then he dragged Mom, who looked like a lost puppy, up to the third floor. “Come on, we need to figure out what to do. My head is splitting…” Mom looked sadly at Sarah and me. Clearly, neither she nor Dad wanted to give up either daughter. Lucas walked up to Sarah with a dark face, grabbed her suitcase, and carried it back to the guest room on the second floor. “What are you doing?” Sarah chased after him, furious. “This is illegal imprisonment! I’m calling the police!” Lucas threw the suitcase into the room, snatched her phone, tapped on it for a bit, and handed it back. Ding! My phone buzzed. It was a notification that Sarah had been added to the family group chat. Immediately after, I saw a transfer notification from Lucas to Sarah. $10,000. With a note: [Welcome home, Sarah!] That was his entire allowance for the month. I immediately followed suit and transferred her $10,000. [Welcome home, Sarah!] Then Mom and Dad sent a massive transfer. [Welcome home, Sarah! It was our fault we didn’t realize our daughter was switched. We will protect and compensate you from now on.] They sent $5,000,000. I paused. Since when were Mom and Dad this generous with cash? Sure enough, Mom sent another message. [Considering you’re young and don’t know how to manage finances, once your registration is transferred, Mom will open a new account for you and put this money in a trust. You can withdraw the interest every month. We’ll also give you an additional $10,000 monthly allowance. This is how we raised your brother and Paige.] Meaning, no favoritism. Sarah didn’t reply. She didn’t accept the money. She just glanced at Lucas and me. “Hypocrites!” Then she pushed Lucas out and slammed the door. Lucas looked at me, speechless. He saw me clutching my throat, slowly walking toward my room. “Paige, you’re not really thinking of leaving, are you?” “Don’t be silly. Your biological parents are a gambler and an alcoholic. Both have violent tendencies. When I grabbed her phone, I saw scars all over Sarah’s arms. You’ve been raised like a princess for eighteen years. If you go back, you’ll be beaten to death in days. Believe me?” “And if your illness relapses… sigh! Just don’t be stupid…” Of course I knew going back would be hell. People who would swap their own baby for a rich one aren’t exactly saints. [Brother, I will always love you.] Seeing that sentence, Lucas thought I had given up and let out a long sigh of relief. In the middle of the night, when the butler dozed off, I snuck out through the doggy door in the garden wall. Standing outside, I looked back at the elegant estate. The home I lived in for eighteen years. I wanted to cry. Dad, Mom, Lucas… I love you. If only I were really yours. But I’m not. I’m the reason your perfect family was broken. What right do I have to stay? Goodbye. 3 My biological parents lived in a dilapidated shack on the outskirts of City C. The shack was surrounded by a crumbling wall. Beyond the wall was a small forest and a creek. The other houses in the village were far away. It was like this family was intentionally isolated. Well! No wonder no one called the police despite Sarah being abused for years. In a place this remote, even if someone died, no one would know, right? 4 A large black dog lay at the entrance of the small courtyard. I got out of the taxi, clutching the address I stole from Dad’s study and the photo of the Lin family. The dog immediately bared its fangs and barked ferociously. “Woof! Woof!” “Who is it?” Hearing the dog, a young man with dyed yellow hair walked out. He was thin as a rail, wearing a red tank top, heavy eyeliner, and a neck full of cheap silver chains. His jeans were covered in studs. He stared at me for a second, looking weirded out. “Paige Lawson?” I nodded and forced out a painful greeting. “Brother… Dave?” Dave sneered. “Who’s your brother? Didn’t the Lawsons say they’d keep raising you? Why are you back? If you know what’s good for you, hand over the money you got from them and scram back to your rich life. You’re lucky to have such soft-hearted foster parents.” Yeah. How lucky am I to have lived with Mom and Dad for eighteen years? My throat hurt so bad. Speaking was torture. I looked down and scribbled on my tablet, my long hair hiding my expression. [I’m not going back! And I didn’t take much money from the Lawsons.] To make Sarah feel secure, I decided to cut ties completely. I changed my SIM card and abandoned my old social media accounts. The substantial savings my parents gave me over the years were in fixed deposits, and I didn’t bring the cards. “Didn’t take much? Who are you kidding?” Dave scoffed, clearly not buying it. I wrote seriously: [I only took $3,000 cash. I need it for medicine. Anti-inflammatories and sedatives are expensive.] Dave rolled his eyes. “You lived with the richest family in City A for eighteen years, and you only have that much? Who’d believe that? You cheapskate, you need a lesson. Blackie, sic her! Bite her ear off!” The dog listened to Dave perfectly. It lunged at me, jaws wide, aiming for my ear. I had developmental delays as a child; I’m only 4’11”. When the dog stood up, it was as tall as me. It opened its mouth, drooling stinking saliva onto my face. I got goosebumps from the disgust. Just as it was about to bite my ear, its eyes changed. It collapsed, convulsing in pain. “Whimper… whine…” It struggled for a moment, then stopped moving. Dave ran over in a panic. He saw blood gushing from the dog’s chest. “Blackie? Blackie?” He looked up, startled, and saw me holding a bloody tactical knife. “Paige! Blackie has been with me for ten years! He’s family! How could you be so cruel…” I ignored him. I calmly wiped the dog blood off the knife with a wet wipe. And off my face and clothes. Unfortunately, the blood spatter on my white dress wouldn’t come off.

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I came home early for the holidays, hiding in the wardrobe to surprise my parents. In the evening, they came back, whispering right in front of me: “Honey, Claire comes back tomorrow. Have you figured out how to kill her yet?” “Easy. She trusts us completely. We’ll put some pills in her food, then strangle her with a rope.” I covered my mouth in horror, stifling a scream. Then, my dad looked down. “Huh? Why is there an extra pair of shoes by the door?” 1 My hand froze mid-air, inches from pushing open the wardrobe door. I couldn’t believe my ears. Claire is my name. My parents… want to kill me? “Sigh, do we really have to go this far? We raised her for twenty years, after all.” “Cut the crap. She has to die.” I trembled all over, my legs turning to jelly. Was this really my father speaking? What did I do wrong? Why do they want me dead? My mind raced, my heart feeling like it was being sliced open. In my memory, my parents had always been kind people. They were friendly to everyone, wouldn’t even kill a mouse that ran into the house. They had always been good to me and my little brother. How could they possibly want to kill me? It must be a joke. Right? I tried to steady my breathing, patting my chest. Yes, that must be it. They probably knew I was back and were just messing with me. I refused to believe my parents would kill me. I took a deep breath, ready to burst out and clear things up. Then I saw my dad walk into the living room, holding a rope. “This rope should be enough. Tomorrow, make her favorite dishes and put a heavy dose of the drugs in them.” My mom hesitated, wiping away tears. My dad slapped his thigh in frustration. “We’re at the point of no return, and you’re still hesitating? If she doesn’t die, our son will. Is a daughter more important than a son?” My mom went silent, then nodded heavily. I know my parents. Their expressions… they weren’t joking. Which means, they really intend to kill me. A layer of frost seemed to coat my body. I crouched in the wardrobe, shivering violently, tears streaming down my face like a broken dam. I clamped my hand over my mouth, desperate not to make a sound. My dad walked to the door and suddenly froze. “Honey, why is there an extra pair of shoes on the rack?” 2 My eyes widened in terror. Crap, I forgot about that! To surprise them, I had dragged my suitcase into the wardrobe with me, terrified they’d spot it. But I took off my shoes. I knew my mom; she was a neat freak and would be furious if I wore shoes inside. It was a habit. I had taken them off and left them by the door without thinking. My dad bent down, picking up a shoe and examining it closely. His cold gaze slowly drifted toward the wardrobe where I was hiding. Our eyes almost met through the slats. I’m dead! My heart pounded against my ribs like a drum. They were already planning to kill me. If they found me now, my death would only be more gruesome. His expression twisted into something menacing as he slowly walked toward me. The room was dead silent, except for the thunderous beating of my heart echoing in my ears. Just as my dad was about to open the wardrobe, my mom appeared. “What shoes?” She bent down, picked up the other one, and thought for a moment. “These look like Claire’s.” “Hers? Is she back?” My dad’s voice was devoid of emotion. My mom’s eyes darted around, then she shook her head. “Impossible. She specifically said she’s coming back tomorrow. I must have dug these out yesterday to have them ready for her.” My dad let out a breath, his hand slowly dropping from the handle. “Tomorrow decides the fate of our entire family. Don’t screw it up.” “For Danny’s sake, don’t go soft.” My mom nodded coldly. “I know. I love our son more than anything.” My heart felt like it was being shredded. The pain was unbearable. They always favored my brother, Danny, but I never minded much. He was younger; as the older sister, I thought it was my duty to yield. But I couldn’t understand—what exactly did Danny need that required my life as the price? I took a deep breath, opening my eyes with a newfound resolve. If they didn’t see me as a daughter, there was no point in grieving. Priority one: survive. Priority two: figure out what the hell they were planning. I glanced at my phone. It was 6:00 PM. I just needed to hold out until they went to their bedroom, then I could make a run for it. I had recorded everything just now. Originally, I wanted to capture a happy reunion. I smiled bitterly, curling tighter into the corner of the wardrobe, shaking uncontrollably. The home I lived in for twenty years now felt like hell. About thirty minutes later, I heard a crisp, childish voice. “Mom, Dad, I’m home.” I looked up. I knew that voice. It was my little brother, Danny. He must have just gotten back from school. He threw his backpack down and jumped into Dad’s arms. “My good boy, you’re back! Let Daddy give you a kiss.” He kissed Danny hard, his face beaming with joy. Mom picked up the backpack, stroking Danny’s head gently. “Tired from school? Wash your hands, let’s eat.” I watched all this with dead eyes, memories of my own childhood flooding back. Before we moved here, I remembered rushing into Dad’s arms just like that after school. He would laugh heartily, rubbing his stubble against my cheek. Was all of that fake? Did they never love me? Was Danny the only one who mattered? I was an outsider in this family. Look how happy they were. You couldn’t tell that moments ago they were plotting my murder with such cold cruelty. I buried my face in my arms, realizing I had run out of tears. In these few short hours, my heart had completely died. Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine. I looked up and saw Danny standing right in front of the wardrobe, staring dead at me through the gap. 3 My heart stopped. Terror seized me instantly. Crap! If he exposes me, I’m done for. “Sister!” He whispered. Cold sweat poured down my back. I frantically put a finger to my lips, signaling him to be quiet. His big eyes were filled with confusion. He tilted his head, seemingly unable to understand why I was hiding. “Sister?” He said it again, louder this time. Mom poked her head out from the kitchen. “Son, who are you talking to?” I panicked completely. I mouthed to him: “I’m playing hide-and-seek with Mom and Dad. Don’t talk.” He stared at me intensely. Then, he stroked his chin and smiled. A weird, twisted smile. A smile that didn’t belong on a ten-year-old’s face. It made my skin crawl. Dad noticed too. His eyes went cold as he walked over, a kitchen knife in hand. “Son? Who are you talking to?” Danny turned to look at Dad, then pointed straight at the wardrobe. “It’s Sister.” “Sister is in the wardrobe.” The room went dead silent. I felt like I had plunged into an ice cave. This little brat. I wanted to burst out and strangle him right then and there. Dad’s massive frame shuddered violently as he looked at the wardrobe in horror. Mom rushed over too. The three of them stared at me through the wood. So strange. So cold. “Daughter, are you back?” “Did you hear everything?” I stayed silent, curling my small body into the corner, trembling. Dad signaled Danny to move aside. The knife in his hand glinted coldly. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears soaking my sleeves. Creak. The wardrobe door opened. Dad’s head and the knife poked in. Silence. One second, two seconds… Time seemed to freeze. A bizarre sense of absurdity washed over me, like I wasn’t even in this world anymore. About a minute later, I heard Dad let out a sigh of relief, followed by a burst of laughter. “Silly boy, how could your sister be in the wardrobe?” “It’s just a photo.” Dad picked up a framed photo near me, wiped it gently, his eyes flickering with emotion. Mom let out a long breath too, patting her chest. “Scared me to death.” Danny stared at me, hidden amongst the pile of clothes, but he didn’t say a word. Mom snatched the photo from Dad. “Son, you miss your sister, don’t you?” “Don’t worry, she’ll be back tomorrow.” Danny stared at the photo for a few minutes. Suddenly, he raised it high and smashed it onto the floor. Crash. Glass shattered everywhere. “I hate Sister.” He stomped on it twice, hard. “I hate Sister. I never want to see her again.” Mom and Dad looked at each other, surprised. Dad squatted down, hugged him, and tapped his nose. “Don’t worry, son. Tomorrow will be the last time you see her.” “Daddy promises. After that, you’ll never see her again.” Danny nodded vigorously, then smiled. Mom watched him with a loving smile, whispering softly: “Son, we’re doing this all for you.” The three of them left laughing, turning off the living room lights. The last sliver of light vanished. I was left in pitch-black despair. I lay in the pile of clothes, staring at the ceiling, my chest heaving, tears flowing uncontrollably. What happened in the six months I was away? Six months ago, when I came home, Danny jumped into my arms, nuzzling me. Mom and Dad asked about my life, carried my bags, cooked a feast. Laughter. Love. Back then, I thought I had the happiest family in the world. I would have given everything for them. But now, I was discarded. Hated. A lamb to the slaughter. A useless daughter. I cried until I fell asleep. I was woken up in the middle of the night by a strange noise. 4 I snapped my eyes open, praying it was all a nightmare. But the dark wardrobe told me everything was real. I was lucky Dad didn’t find me earlier. Otherwise, I’d be a corpse by now. I slowly propped myself up, trying not to make a sound. It was my parents. They were dressed and in the living room. They were whispering to each other. I checked my phone. 2:00 AM. Where were they going this late? My heart raced. This was my chance to escape. I hadn’t called the police because I still held onto a shred of hope. Once the police got involved, there was no turning back. I needed to know what happened to this family. Were these people really my parents? They were cautious. They opened the door, peeked out to make sure the coast was clear, then left. The house returned to silence. I didn’t leave immediately. I waited ten minutes to make sure they were gone. I gently pushed the wardrobe door open and stepped out. In the darkness, I heard a child’s voice. “Sister.” I turned around. Danny was standing there in his pajamas, staring at me with dark pupils. I glared at him, fists clenched, his words from earlier echoing in my mind. “I hate Sister. I never want to see her again.” Why? Tears fell again. I slowly approached him. He took two steps back, sobbing. “Are you going to hit me, Sister?” That sentence broke my psychological defenses. Grief surged like a fountain. I let out a desperate wail, clutching my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. He stood not far away, slowly reaching out a hand, then stopping. He just stared at me, his big eyes filled with anxiety, fear, confusion, and pain. “Danny, can you tell me why you hate me?” I stepped forward to hug him, but he shoved me away. “I just hate you! Dad says you’re a slut! A money-loser!” “It’s because of you that our life is bad!” I gritted my teeth, about to speak, when Danny started screaming. “Mom! Dad! Sister is hitting me!” “Help! Help!” I snapped back to reality and clamped my hand over his mouth. He continued to scream, muffled, kicking and thrashing. In that moment, I wanted to suffocate the little monster. But at the last second, I let go. Danny sat on the floor, stopped crying, stopped screaming. He looked at me with expectation. I glared at him one last time, turned, and left. Danny stared at my back, mumbling something. But I didn’t hear it.

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On the way home from another day of bullying, I found a notebook with no name on it. I decided to use it as a diary, writing down the hell I was going through. Suddenly, the notebook wrote back. “Go to Northside High. Find Luke Vance. He will help you.” 1 July 26, 2009. Wednesday. Overcast. Today, Chloe and Jessica forced me to kneel on broken glass. They tore my clothes. They took photos. I cried and begged, but it didn’t matter. It only made them worse. My throat is raw from screaming, and there isn’t a single part of me that doesn’t hurt. I cried to my parents, but they said we’re poor. We can’t afford a better life. We can’t offend them because their families have money. They have parents who protect them. Even the teachers and the principal listen to them. Why don’t I? I don’t want to be bullied anymore. I want someone to protect me too. I ran my fingers over the bloodstains and tear marks on the page. I put down the pen. My knees were throbbing. The iodine my parents applied stung just as bad. Suddenly, the notebook moved. Words began to appear on the paper. “Don’t cry. Go to Northside High, Senior Class 3. Find Luke Vance. He can protect you.” I stared blankly at the words forming before my eyes. It wasn’t a hallucination. The handwriting was bold and forceful, like a boy’s. I picked up my pen and wrote: “Who are you?” “Doesn’t matter. Just find Luke. He’ll help you.” “Oh wait, it’s 2009. You need to tell him something specific.” “What?” I wrote. “Tell him: ‘I won’t eat cake ever again.’” I stared at the sentence, completely confused. If the physical pain wasn’t so sharp, I would have thought I was dreaming. After that, no matter what I wrote, the notebook didn’t reply. 2 The next day, I got on the 952 bus. The notebook was in my bag. This wasn’t the route to my school. I was going to Northside High. Just to see. To try. When you’re desperate, you grasp at anything, no matter how ridiculous. The words in the notebook were my only hope. Before leaving, I slipped a folding knife into my bag. Northside High wasn’t far from my school, Eastside High. It was the best high school in the state. I got off the bus and walked straight in. Luckily, we were all high schoolers, and the uniforms looked similar enough. Security didn’t stop me. I stumbled my way to the senior hallway and found Class 3. “Who are you looking for?” A boy standing by the door asked curiously. I gripped my backpack straps, keeping my head down. “I’m looking for Luke Vance.” “Luke’s not here. Try again later, kid.” He turned to go back inside, but I grabbed his arm. “Wait… can you tell me where he is? It’s urgent.” The boy hesitated, seeing how anxious I was. “At this time? Probably still awake from an all-nighter at the internet cafe. Try the breakfast joint on the street behind the school.” I bowed quickly. “Thank you.” The boy stepped back, waving his hands. “Whoa, no need for that.” Following his directions, I found the street behind the school. It was bustling with vendors. I watched the students passing by, wanting to turn and run a hundred times. Coming here based on a magical notebook? Impulsive. Maybe I was losing my mind. But then the memories of them dragging me by my hair into the boys’ bathroom flashed in my mind. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart. I was already here. Even the smallest hope was worth a shot. I spotted the breakfast joint on the corner. A few students in uniform were eating inside. In the corner sat a boy with bleached blonde hair. He looked like a delinquent. I twisted the hem of my shirt and walked up to a group of students. “Excuse me… do you know Luke Vance?” They paused. Suddenly, the blonde boy in the corner looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. “Why are you looking for me?” 3 I froze. Short sleeves. A tattoo on his neck. A scar across the bridge of his nose. Even with the scar, which most would call a disfigurement, he was unfairly handsome. It just added a dangerous edge to his look. But handsome or not… He definitely didn’t look like a model student at a top high school. Luke leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, looking reckless. Just like the “bad news” teachers warned us about. I instinctively wanted to run. Then I remembered the notebook. Would he really help me? “Cat got your tongue?” Luke slurped some noodles, then glared at me. “If you got nothing to say, get lost. You’re ruining my appetite.” I gritted my teeth, walked over, and sat opposite him. Under his scrutiny, I stammered, “I… I’m being bullied. Someone told me you could help…” “Hah.” Luke scoffed before I could finish. “You got the wrong guy. Help you? Who the hell told you to find me? Everyone at Northside knows I’m the one doing the bullying.” “Go back and cut ties with whoever told you that. They’re messing with you.” I bit my lip, remembering the notebook. “He said… if I told you one sentence, you’d help me.” “What sentence?” “Tell him: ‘I won’t eat cake ever again.’” Luke froze mid-bite. He looked up, his gaze turning ice cold. I shrank back in fear. Just as I thought he might hit me, he stood up, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Let’s go.” I blinked. “Where?” “You wanted help, right? I’ll go kill them for you. Good?” He looked back at me. My scalp tingled. I waved my hands frantically. “I… I just wanted protection, not murder…” “Oh.” Luke nodded. He raised his arm, and I noticed he was wearing a watch that looked like a woman’s style. “How do you want protection? Bodyguard style? 24/7?” He turned back, the sunlight catching his grin. It was beautiful. I opened my mouth but couldn’t say a word. 4 Luke walked me to the gate of Eastside High. Seeing the school made my chest tighten like a giant hand was squeezing it. I couldn’t breathe. “Wait here a sec.” Luke ruffled his hair and walked off. I gritted my teeth and walked through the gate. The security guard glanced at me. “Exams are coming up. Stop hanging around with those thugs.” I didn’t answer. In the hallway, every student passing by made my skin crawl. I flinched at every accidental touch. When I entered the classroom, the noise died instantly. Chloe turned around and snickered. “Oh, look, Maya’s here! I thought you wouldn’t dare show up today.” Her laugh made my body go rigid. Fear flooded my veins. “What are you doing standing there? Get in!” The teacher shoved me from behind. I stumbled to my seat. “Exams are around the corner! Focus!” the teacher barked. My seat was in the back row. As soon as I sat down, Chloe turned around. She gave me a look of pure malice. I saw her mouth the words clearly. “Don’t leave after school.” … I rubbed the cover of my textbook, watching the seconds tick by. Every second, my heart sank lower. The nightmare… was coming back. I pulled the notebook out of my bag and reread the conversation. I thought of Luke. Would he come back? The bell rang. School was out. “Focus on your studies!” the teacher reminded us one last time before leaving. Chloe stood up and turned to face me. Luke didn’t come. I thought despairingly. No one is going to protect me. 5 Chloe cornered me. “Little bitch, you told the teacher, didn’t you?” She kicked me. I fell to the floor. Pain shot through me, bringing a cold sweat. “I… I didn’t tell anyone.” “Bullshit.” Jessica walked up behind Chloe, glaring at me. “If you didn’t tell, why did the teacher call me to the office?” “Little bitch, you didn’t learn your lesson yesterday?” Jessica grabbed my hair. From pain to numbness, I knelt on the floor, tears streaming down my face. They seemed to enjoy my suffering. “Scream louder!” Jessica pulled a black plastic bag from her backpack. She shook it in front of my terrified face, laughing. A crunching sound came from inside. “Kneeling didn’t teach you enough yesterday. Today, you eat it.” I realized instantly. The bag was full of broken glass. “No!” I scrambled up and shoved Chloe hard. Then I ran like my life depended on it. “You bitch! You dare push me?!” Before I could reach the door, a hand grabbed my hair and dragged me back toward the boys’ bathroom. “Run! Keep running!” Jessica pried my mouth open. Chloe opened the bag, ready to pour the glass down my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut in terror and despair. Praying for it to be over quickly. I trembled, waiting for the pain. But it never came. “You dare touch my person?” A familiar voice. I opened my eyes. Through the blur of tears, I saw Luke. He had dyed his hair black and changed into our school uniform. A cigarette dangled from his lips. He crushed the cigarette against the wall.

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Over summer break, my younger brother used my account to blow $5,000 on video games. When my mom found out, she acted like the sky was falling. She frantically demanded my ID so she could file for a “minor’s unauthorized purchase” refund. “That’s five thousand dollars! Do you know how long it takes me to save that much?” she wailed. “Claire, give me your ID right now!” I comforted her, promising to fix it, and rushed home from college. On the way, I was scrolling through a local community forum when a post caught my eye: [How do I get a refund for a minor’s game purchase with the least impact on my son?] My son played games all summer and spent five figures without me knowing. Luckily, he’s under 18, so I can apply for a refund. But will this affect his credit or future? Oh, right. I have a daughter in college. If the refund fails, can I just make her pay for it? The top comment offered a “solution”: [You have a daughter? Easy. Say your son used her account. Any bans or credit hits will fall on her, not him.] The original poster liked the comment. My blood ran cold. 1 The comments section was tearing the poster apart: [Stop trying to scam the system. Take responsibility.] [If you do a chargeback like this, the tech giant will blacklist the ID. That phone number and SSN will be banned from all their services forever. It’s digital suicide.] [If your son goes to college later, he might not even be able to log into university portals if they use single sign-on!] But the poster ignored the warnings. She only liked the comment suggesting she use her daughter as a shield. My mind went blank. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Just moments ago, my mom called me, sobbing that my brother Tyler had spent $5,000 on games and begging me to come home. I had dropped everything at my dorm and sprinted to the station. My phone buzzed. A voice message from Mom. “Claire, how far away are you?” “I don’t know how Tyler got my card password. I can’t control him anymore! I just want to die!” “Claire, you’re all I have!” Her voice was desperate, filled with despair. We’re a single-parent household. Since the divorce, Mom raised Tyler and me on her own. She’s aged faster than other women her age. September was coming. Tuition was due for my sophomore year and Tyler’s senior year of high school. We needed money. I gripped my ID card so hard my knuckles turned white. A mother who suffered so much for us… how could she be the person who wrote that post? It had to be a coincidence. The subway announced my stop. I typed back quickly: [Mom, don’t worry. I’m almost there.] 2 I ran all the way from the station. When I opened the door, the house was dark. A shattered vase lay on the floor. Mom was on the sofa, wiping tears. Tyler stood in the corner, looking guilty but shooting me a glance that screamed, Save me. When Mom saw me, she grabbed my arm like a lifeline. “I looked away for one summer, and he went crazy!” she cried. “I checked the statement. Five thousand dollars! Do you know how hard I work for that? How am I going to pay your tuition?” She looked at me with intense urgency. “Claire, did you bring your ID? We have to apply for the minor refund right now!” Tyler looked at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Sis, please.” Looking at his face, I just wanted to punch him. He used to be a good kid. How did he rot so fast in one summer? I moved to scold him, but Mom blocked me. “I already yelled at him! Claire, just give me the ID!” If this were yesterday, I would have handed it over without a second thought. I did whatever she asked. But the forum post was burned into my retina. I hesitated. “Mom… maybe we should contact customer support first? Understand the consequences?” Mom gripped my wrist tighter. It hurt. “Claire, don’t worry! I already called them! You just need to hold your ID, let me take a picture, and do a facial recognition scan. Refunds take time. We have to do this now if we want the money back for tuition!” The more anxious she got, the colder I felt. I shook my head. “It’s okay, Mom. My tuition isn’t urgent. I have a 3.9 GPA; I got a scholarship this semester. You just need to worry about Tyler.” “Besides, we’ve never done this. What if we mess it up and they deny it? Let’s research first.” Seeing my resistance, Mom finally let go of my arm. She glared at me. “You’ve grown up. You don’t trust your own mother anymore.” 3 I didn’t comfort her. Instead, I took Tyler’s phone and contacted the game’s support chat to ask about the refund process. While waiting, I laughed bitterly internally. I used to see news about parents refunding thousands of dollars and thought, good for them. Now, I was the victim. Support finally sent a link. It was a form. Bank statements, birth certificate, photos of the minor playing, and a photo of the account holder (me) holding my ID. Tyler’s situation was specific. Games have strict anti-addiction measures for minors. So, during the summer, Tyler used my account to bypass the time limits. I had agreed to it back then because I was soft-hearted. So now, to get the money back, I—the adult account holder—had to claim fraud. At the bottom of the form, in bold red letters: [WARNING: Upon processing a refund for minor usage on an adult account, the account holder’s ID and phone number will be permanently banned from all services within our ecosystem.] I froze. “Ecosystem.” Mom was still buzzing in my ear. “Claire, are you done? See? It’s fine. Come here, hold the ID up.” My brain was buzzing. Mom was loud. I looked over at Tyler. He was standing in the corner, head down… playing games on a second phone hidden in his sleeve. He didn’t care. He wasn’t sorry. Something inside me snapped. I pushed Mom away. “Ouch! My stomach hurts!” I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. 4 Sitting on the toilet, shaking, I pulled out my phone. I found that forum post again. The poster’s IP address was local. The timestamp was July 10th—right at the start of summer break. I scrolled down to the comments. The poster had replied to the comment about using the daughter’s account: [So, if he uses his sister’s account, my son won’t be affected at all? You’re sure?] The reply: [100%.] The poster replied: [Great. I’ll let him play then. Boys will be boys, gaming isn’t a big deal.] My hands were trembling. I opened WeChat and searched my chat history with Tyler. July 11th. The day after the post. Tyler: [Sis, can I use your login for games? My kid account has a 3-hour limit.] I had sent him the verification code instantly, telling him to focus on studying. Tyler: [Love you, Sis.] My heart shattered. It wasn’t a mistake. It was a setup. From a month ago, my mother had planned this. She let him spend the money knowing she would burn me to get it back. The tech giant that owned this game also owned the software my university used for online electives and the portal for submitting assignments. If my ID was blacklisted, I would become a digital ghost. I wouldn’t be able to log into my classes. I would fail due to attendance. I would lose my scholarship. And Mom… she knew. She knew the consequences, or at least that someone would face consequences, and she decided it should be me. Someone pounded on the bathroom door. “Claire! Hurry up! What are you doing in there?” 5 I stepped out of the bathroom. Under the harsh living room lights, my mother looked old and tired. The words of accusation died in my throat. I felt nothing but a hollow ache. I didn’t understand. Why? I was the good child. I got scholarships. I tutored kids to buy her and Tyler new phones. I wore old clothes so they could have new ones. I saved every penny to buy her a gold necklace for Mother’s Day. Was I just a fool? “Where’s the ID?” she demanded. I took a deep breath. “I… I lost it on the way here.” Silence. Mom frowned, her eyes narrowing with genuine anger. “I told you to be careful! You’re so useless. How are we going to fix Tyler’s mess now? Fine, we’ll go to the DMV tomorrow morning to get a replacement.” “Can we just… not refund it?” I asked, my voice trembling. “He played on the official server. We can sell the account to recoup some losses.” Mom stared at me like I was insane. “Sell it? How much can we get?” I pulled up a trading app. “The items and skins he bought… market value is about $800.” “$800?! No! That’s a huge loss!” Mom screamed. “That’s how virtual items work,” I said quietly. “Mom, you said Tyler needs to learn the value of money. He spent $5,000. We sell the account for $800. The remaining $4,200… you take out of his allowance. Let him learn a lesson.” “As for my tuition… don’t worry about it. I have my job. I won’t starve.”

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In the third year of my younger brother forcing a “poor scholarship student” to love him, her older brother finally showed up. A young, cold, handsome man stepped out of a black luxury car. The floating text comments—the “bullet screen” only I could see—were going insane: [Ahhh, the male lead’s brother… finally!] [He finally made it big and came back for revenge!] [These two bully siblings are about to get destroyed.] [I’ve been waiting for their downfall for so long.] [From now on, it’s the male lead and his sister’s revenge arc!] The comments were celebrating. But as I looked at the man in the black suit across from me, my expression was… unnatural. Because my brother learned his “forced love” tactics from me. And three years ago… I used those same tactics on the man standing right in front of me. 1 I never thought I’d see Julian again. And I definitely never thought he’d be Sarah’s brother. Three years ago, at the opening ceremony, my brother, Ryan, fell in love at first sight with the student representative, Sarah. He threw himself at her. Hard. But Sarah didn’t like him. Ryan was used to getting his way. Sarah didn’t like him? Fine. He relied on the fact that she was a poor orphan and used every method in the book to force her into a relationship. Of course, I tried to stop him. I tried to curb his tyrannical behavior. But Ryan shut me down with one sentence: “Sis, remember the scandal you caused with that poor student back in the day?” He said, “You gave him a car, a house, money… you even hired bodyguards to watch him so he wouldn’t run away.” “Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa… they all lectured you, but no one could stop you.” He muttered under his breath, “I learned everything from you.” 2 As he spoke, my brother—the guy who never shed a tear or begged for mercy even when Dad beat him as a kid—suddenly had red eyes. “I can listen to you about anything else,” he said, his messy hair framing a face of rare seriousness. “But Sis, I really, really like her.” I looked at him. For a second, I saw my past self. I, too, had once desperately sought love from a man who didn’t want me. I used every trick, every resource I had. But I still couldn’t keep him. He still ran away from me. Seeing the fragility on Ryan’s face, I turned my back. “Fine,” I said. “But aside from keeping her by your side, you cannot hurt her in any other way.” “Or I will freeze all your accounts.” 3 My affair with Julian back then was indeed a huge scandal. It ended poorly. Very poorly. To this day, no one dares mention his name around me. So right now, watching him step out of that black Bugatti, I felt like I was in a different lifetime. He wore a severe black suit, a luxury watch on his wrist. His assistant bowed slightly, guiding him. He seemed taller than before. When I forced him to stay with me, we had just graduated high school. He was only 18. Poor, thin, always wearing a washed-out shirt. He always turned his profile to me, cold and indifferent. He wouldn’t look me in the eye for days. 4 “This is Ms. Chloe Zhou,” his assistant introduced me. His eyelashes fluttered, and he finally deigned to look at me. The moment our eyes met—his dark, abyssal gaze locking onto mine—a flurry of white text zoomed across my vision: [Damn! Finally!] [The male lead is back in the country!] [This time, he’s not the tragic hero anymore; he’s a god!] [No more humiliation, just pure, unadulterated revenge.] [These bully siblings are the first wave of cannon fodder he’s going to crush.] [Crushing them and saving his sister will be easier than squashing ants for him.] [They’ve bullied his sister for years. I can’t wait to see them beg.] [Brother, please destroy them.] 5 I stared at the aggressive words floating in the air. Male lead? Julian? In that moment, I wasn’t even surprised. Julian had everything a male lead should have. A flawless face, a brilliant mind, a stoic and enduring personality. Even his tragic, poverty-stricken background fit perfectly. “Ms. Zhou?” The assistant prompted me again. I snapped back to reality. I saw Julian’s cold, impatient face. I suppressed my emotions. I looked him in the eye and spoke calmly. “I will have someone send Sarah back to you tonight.” 6 His assistant had probably prepared a list of reasons and conditions to negotiate with me, fearing I’d be difficult. My clean, immediate agreement left his words hanging in mid-air. He looked at me, bewildered. Then he glanced instinctively at the silent Julian. Time had left its mark on him. The man in the black suit was inscrutable. But every move radiated the oppressive power of a mature, successful man. He was no longer the thin boy I locked in my house. “And how do we settle the harm your brother caused my sister over these years?” Julian finally spoke. His voice was low, magnetic. “Calculate it however you want,” I replied. “The Zhou family won’t protect him.” I picked up my bag, ready to leave. “Sarah will be returned on time tonight.” But Julian stopped me with a single sentence. His voice echoed in the empty lobby. “And what about you?” He asked, “How do we settle what you did to me back then?”

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My boyfriend suddenly regained his memories. He remembered his first love, the girl he’d been obsessed with for years. He couldn’t wait to break up with me. Our two-year relationship was instantly voided. He warned me: “Forget this relationship ever happened. Pretend we never met.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Just yesterday, the System notified me: [Host, your mission is complete.] [Commencing erasure of mission-period memories.] 1 On our two-year anniversary, Asher got into a car accident and fell into a coma. I sat by his bedside for eight hours, only to hear him say: “Anything that happened while I had amnesia was not my own will. Naturally, this two-year relationship doesn’t count.” He got his memories back, and he wanted to break up. I wasn’t surprised by this ending. From the beginning, we hadn’t been honest with each other. Back then, he was an amnesiac with broken legs, hurt by love. I was a Redeemer with a mission, sent specifically for him. The System told me: [The mission objective is to help him stand up again.] Not just physically, but mentally. He was too negative and refused treatment. A person who doesn’t remember the past and can’t see the future is lonely and lifeless. To visualize the mission progress, the System displayed his “Love Value” for me, saying that love could give a person courage again. With love in your heart, you can face any difficulty. When his Love Value for me reached 100, my mission would be complete. I spent two years pulling him out of the abyss, accompanying him as he learned to walk again. The Love Value climbed slowly at first, then soared. Until it stopped at 99. It wouldn’t budge. I was anxious but couldn’t find the reason. Finally, the System couldn’t stand it anymore and reminded me: [Love requires sincerity. You must exchange a true heart for a true heart.] So, I sat on the balcony all night and decided to let go of the mission mindset. I decided to gamble with my real heart. Finally, on our two-year anniversary, while Asher was driving me to our date, we collided with a truck running a red light. In that life-or-death moment, he desperately turned the steering wheel toward himself, leaving the chance of survival to me. In that instant, the System announced: [Love Value Progress: 100%] [Host, your mission is complete.] Fortunately, the cars only scraped past each other. There were no casualties, but Asher fainted from the impact of the airbag. I sat in the hospital room from night until dawn, watching his Love Value drop from 100 to zero. Then it fluctuated up and down until the progress bar disappeared completely. As the sun rose, he opened his eyes and said to me: “Yvonne, let’s break up.” From the beginning, every Redeemer who completes their mission faces two outcomes. One: Be with the mission target forever. Two: Forget each other and disappear into the crowd. Asher frowned, enunciating every word: “Forget this relationship ever happened. Pretend we never met.” This was the ending he chose for us. I looked at him quietly and summoned the System: “Will Asher’s Love Value change anymore?” The System was silent for a few seconds, then told me: [Mission complete. The ending is set.] [From now on, Love Value will not be displayed.] Makes sense. Outside of the System, human love and hate don’t have visible data anyway. Besides, every look and action from Asher right now was telling me clearly—he didn’t need a progress bar. The person he loved now wasn’t me. It was his “White Moonlight”—his first love. Sophie. 2 They were childhood sweethearts. Before I even met Asher, the System told me about his past with Sophie. It was a cliché story of unrequited love. Sophie fell for someone else and planned to go abroad with him. Asher chased after her in his car during a heavy rainstorm, crashed, lost his memory, broke his legs, and fell into a deep depression. His friends couldn’t stand it and called Sophie. From across the ocean, she only said three things: “It’s better if he forgets me. Saves him from pestering me.” “We just grew up together. Helping him recover isn’t my obligation.” “Please don’t bother me anymore. My boyfriend will be upset.” Asher felt nothing about this. In fact, he was annoyed by his friends constantly bringing up Sophie and emphasizing his love for her. Their reminders only highlighted the fact that he, who should have shared memories with everyone, remembered nothing. Every gathering was full of acquaintances who felt like strangers. He was part of the group, yet an outsider. Surrounded by noise, but empty inside. That was probably why I could approach him so easily. We had no shared past, which was a kind of equality. I smiled and told him: “Our memories start now.” Countless moments of eye contact and touch condensed into an Asher who loved me. But when his past memories resurfaced… Our two years couldn’t compare to their twenty. To make matters worse, Sophie was back. Just a few days ago, she had a fight with her boyfriend, secretly returned to the country, and appeared in front of the amnesiac Asher in the rain, crying her eyes out: “I have nowhere to go, Asher.” Faced with this uninvited guest, Asher was annoyed. He ruthlessly pointed out: “Go home. Stay in a hotel. Sleep under a bridge. Even if you really have nowhere to go, my place isn’t a shelter.” Sophie looked like she was about to faint, staring at him in disbelief: “You’ve never spoken to me like that.” “Well, sorry about that,” Asher sneered. “I forgot how I used to talk to you.” I couldn’t bear to see her getting soaked, so I handed her an umbrella. She slapped it away, looking at Asher with hurt eyes. “Even if you don’t remember, Asher, someone must have told you about our twenty years together. Aren’t you afraid you’ll regret treating me like this when you get your memory back?” “Or are you doing this on purpose to get back at me for leaving? Finding a random girlfriend just for revenge?” Then she looked at me and scoffed: “Do you know what this is called? Taking advantage of a vacancy.” I didn’t know if I was taking advantage, chipping away at his defenses while he forgot his love for her. But Sophie was right about one thing. Asher, with his memories restored, regretted it. Unexpectedly, when Sophie heard he was hospitalized, she came to visit. Facing Asher’s soft question: “Aren’t you mad at me?” She huffed cutely and said: “I’ll settle the score after you’re discharged.” “You got into a car accident; how could I not come?” 3 The hospital room quickly filled with people, and I became the extra one. They chatted animatedly about the past—a life I had never been part of. The conversation always circled back to Asher and Sophie. They went to school together, skipped class together. Asher fought for her, took punishments for her. I suddenly felt it was pointless, so I turned to leave. But Sophie called out to me, extending a warm invitation: “Miss Yu, we’re going to celebrate Asher’s new lease on life. You should come too.” I was about to refuse when Asher spoke up first: “No need. We’ve broken up. I’m saying it here so everyone knows—don’t mention it again.” The room went silent for a few seconds before Sophie feigned surprise: “Oh, is that so? Okay then.” “But I have to warn you, Miss Yu, don’t do things like this in the future. You’ll only get hurt.” She glanced at Asher playfully and said to me: “Especially… stay far away from big bad wolves like Asher.” I nodded and smiled gently: “I will.” Asher frowned. Someone laughed and teased: “Tsk tsk, if Asher is a big bad wolf, how did you survive growing up with him, Sophie?” She beamed, her voice crisp: “I’m not afraid of him. I’m the kryptonite for big bad wolves.” Everyone laughed. I walked out of the hospital, finally feeling like I could breathe. Bending over, pressing hard on my chest, I asked the System: “How much longer?” Yesterday, when the System announced I had completed the mission, it also notified me: [Commencing erasure of mission-period memories.] This protocol starts by default upon mission completion, but can be terminated at any time once the ending is set. It’s a protection mechanism for the Redeemer. After all, a mission is like an immersive life simulation. Many Redeemers suffer severe mental and emotional trauma from the second ending, unable to continue their original lives. Giving your heart is handing someone a knife to hurt you. Right now, that knife was stuck in my heart. It really hurt. The System replied quickly: [Integrating mission data. Please wait.] I couldn’t wait. The uncontrollable pain was making me lose it. I needed a distraction. My phone rang. A restaurant name. They said I left something there. Without thinking, I rushed over. When I arrived, the manager told me it was actually Asher’s item, but he had listed my number as the emergency contact. I was about to say my identity had changed when the elevator doors opened. I froze. A sea of tulips flooded my vision. Gentle lights twinkled amongst them, stretching all the way to the main hall at the end of the corridor. It was like stumbling into a romantic floral ocean. The manager handed me a velvet box from a cart, smiling warmly: “Mr. Asher rented the entire floor yesterday, but he never showed up, and we couldn’t reach him. He left this here.” The scene stung my eyes. I didn’t need to look inside the velvet box to know what it was. The setting, the atmosphere, and yesterday being our two-year anniversary… it wasn’t hard to guess. This was a proposal setup. 4 Asher had planned to propose yesterday. I remembered the nervous look in his eyes in the car, and his excited tone when I asked where we were going: “It’s a secret. Saying it early ruins the surprise.” So this was the secret he couldn’t hide. I never expected it to be revealed like this. I stood there in a daze, then heard footsteps coming from around the corner. Voices, excited. I recognized Asher’s friends instantly. “Double happiness, huh?” “Memory recovered! Single again!” “What do you mean ‘single again’? Sophie pouted. “He had amnesia, so it doesn’t count. It was just play-acting.” “You guys, too. I wasn’t around, and you didn’t watch him properly.” “Letting just any woman get close to Asher.” Asher’s friends never really liked me. They saw me as an intruder in their circle. They only held back because Asher liked me enough, and they saw he was getting better with my help. The relationship maintained a delicate balance. Sophie’s return had caused a ripple. After Asher refused to let her in that rainy night, he got an angry call from a friend: “It’s pouring rain, and you won’t even let her in? Asher, you grew up together! You just don’t remember how much you liked her.” “Aren’t you afraid you’ll regret this?” Everyone was sure he would regret it. Asher sneered into the phone: “How many times do I have to say I only like Yvonne? You keep bringing up Sophie—is it me who likes her, or you guys who like her but are too chicken to admit it, using me as a cover?” Silence on the other end. Asher threw the phone aside and hugged me, his voice softening: “So annoying. Why does everyone say I like her?” “Is liking someone hidden in memories?” I smiled and hugged him back, thinking for a moment. “Liking someone is hidden in the heart.” But now, the ‘like’ in his heart was clearly no longer for me. Around the corner, Sophie’s voice continued. She pretended to be angry: “You better think of how to make it up to me.” “I’m still mad.” Asher’s voice sounded weak, probably because he just woke up: “What kind of compensation do you want? I—” He stopped abruptly because he saw me. And the romantic proposal scene behind me. The manager, realizing something was up, stepped forward to explain. He thought Asher had brought friends for the proposal. He congratulated them with a big smile until he saw everyone’s faces darken. He slowly stopped talking. Someone muttered, “Play-acting… with a proposal?” Asher’s face was cold. He watched as I walked closer, shoved the velvet box into his hand, and said gently: “Since you’re here, I’m leaving. Here’s your stuff.” “Wait.” He suddenly spoke, looking down at me. “If we meet again, pretend we’re strangers.” I didn’t look back. “Okay.” The elevator doors opened and closed. The last thing I saw was Sophie taking the ring from his hand, playing with it, and telling the manager unhappily: “Hurry up and get rid of these flowers.” As the elevator went down, a ding sounded. System notification: [Data integration complete.] [Beginning erasure of Host’s mission memories and all traces of existence.] [Beginning unsealing of Host’s pre-mission emotional module.] [Mission reward—Full Recovery Card—issued.] [Your fiancé is about to wake up.]

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After the car accident, my boyfriend and I both lost our memories. We had no choice but to void our relationship. He couldn’t wait to chase after his newly single “White Moonlight” – the girl who got away. I started dating my old deskmate who had just returned from abroad. I thought we both had bright futures ahead of us. Until I sincerely wished him luck in pursuing his true love. He went crazy, screaming at me: “Who gave you permission to actually lose your memories and forget me?!” I didn’t understand. Was he faking his amnesia all along? 1 I broke up with Liam. On our two-year anniversary, we got into a car accident and both ended up with amnesia. Close friends came to the hospital and told us we were a couple. Liam looked me up and down, raised an eyebrow, and made a quick decision: “Since neither of us remembers, I guess we aren’t a couple anymore.” I understood what he meant, but I hesitated. “But we might remember eventually. What if we regret it? Everyone knows we were together.” He chuckled lightly, sounding completely sure of himself. “If you truly like someone, even if you forget the details, the feeling remains. Besides, who can say if we’ll ever get our memories back?” True. Even the doctor couldn’t guarantee when or if our memories would return. He just suggested we interact with people and things from our past to jog our memories. The doctor explained that there are many types of amnesia. Ours seemed to be selective amnesia. We only forgot specific people and events—like our relationship and each other. Everything else, we remembered clearly. This usually happens when the brain or heart suffers severe trauma. It’s a self-defense mechanism to lock away bad memories. Unless the patient is willing to unlock them from within, external intervention doesn’t do much. A friend visiting us had an epiphany after hearing this: “So, basically, you can’t wake a person who’s pretending to be asleep.” I lowered my head and breathed slowly, then glanced at Liam, who was pursing his lips in silence. He turned his face away and scoffed: “If we’re both willing to forget, it means it wasn’t important.” Fair point. One person forgetting might be a coincidence. Two people forgetting means it didn’t matter. When I first woke up in the hospital and learned he was my boyfriend but I had no memory of him, I was nervous. I met his scrutinizing gaze and apologized weakly: “Sorry, I don’t remember you.” Unexpectedly, he smiled as if a heavy burden had been lifted: “It’s okay. I forgot you too.” And so, our two-year relationship was officially voided in that moment. Liam couldn’t wait to post on social media: [The End.] Letting everyone know we broke up. The first comment was from Sophie. She teased: “Liam, copying me again?” Copying what? She dated, he dated. She broke up, he broke up. Sophie and Liam were high school classmates. In college, she became my roommate. She was the one who introduced Liam to me, saying: “Why let an outsider have him? Keep the good stuff in the circle. What do you think? Is my high school buddy handsome?” He was handsome. Tall, long legs, sharp features. Especially when he smiled—cool but boyish. I wanted to be with him the moment I saw him. Later, because of Sophie, we got closer. On the night Sophie announced her new relationship, Liam confessed to me. Now, coincidentally, we were both single again. 2 Everything went back to square one. But Liam still showed up downstairs at our dorm every day. He was there for Sophie. Unlike us, whose relationship ended due to amnesia, she remembered her relationship and was having a hard time moving on. Liam tried every trick to cheer her up. I saw them when I was coming back from the library. Liam handed Sophie a bag of roasted chestnuts and some artisanal pastries that supposedly required a three-hour wait. He comforted her gently: “Don’t be sad. Tomorrow I’ll take you to the arcade.” “We’ll win as many Cinnamoroll plushies as you want.” The next second, he looked up and saw me walking toward them. The hallway lights were bright. I couldn’t see his expression clearly against the backlight, but I felt him stiffen. Probably because we just broke up. Even though we were now strangers, less than friends. Sophie, on the other hand, walked over with red eyes. She must have been crying, but she still forced a brave smile for me: “Sarah, don’t misunderstand. There’s nothing going on between me and Liam. Once he gets his memory back, everything will be fine. He’s just helping me distract myself from the breakup.” This wasn’t the first time she’d said this to me. Even though I always replied calmly: “It’s fine. I don’t remember anyway, and we broke up.” Next time we met, she’d say it again, as if convinced we would definitely regain our memories and get back together. She would even sigh enviously: “I wish I had amnesia like you guys. Then I wouldn’t be so heartbroken.” She was heartbroken. So much so that she went out drinking right after the breakup. Once, at a bar, she saw her ex celebrating a friend’s birthday and mistook the friend for a new girlfriend. She caused a scene. When the guy yelled at her, Liam rushed in and started a fight. Bottles smashed, cake flew everywhere. Liam ruined someone’s birthday party and got his face cut by a shard of glass. Seeing the wound on his face, I was horrified and lost control, blurting out: “Liam, can you stop being so impulsive?!” He wiped the blood off his face, not caring at all: “If I’m not impulsive, they’ll bully Sophie. That scumbag deserved it. Sophie is so sad, why does he get to celebrate happily?” I thought he was unreasonable, but I still softened my voice and begged: “Next time, be careful not to hurt your face, okay?” These were events I read about in my diary. I’ve always kept a diary. It also recorded how, shortly after we started dating, we walked past a row of claw machines after a movie. I excitedly wanted to win a Butter Puppy plushie. Liam kept his hands in his pockets, looking bored, and said: “Too childish. Claw machines are for kids.” But now, he was telling Sophie he’d take her to the arcade and win her tons of Cinnamorolls. I guess amnesia changed his perspective. Just like my diary mentioned him saying that waiting three hours for overly sweet pastries wasn’t worth it. I never got that Butter Puppy, and I never tasted those pastries. I didn’t know if he meant the pastries weren’t worth it. Or the person. 3 Liam didn’t like these conversations between Sophie and me. She said there was nothing between them. I said we were long broken up. Every time, Liam would interrupt unhappily: “A love that can be forgotten isn’t much of a love. Even if I remember, we won’t be together again.” Yeah. Forgotten means forgotten. Not liked enough. The past is smoke; one breath and it’s gone. Nothing to hold onto. I had no interest in their developing relationship, but I bumped into them almost every day. Junior year course load was heavy. Liam wasn’t even in our department, but he skipped his own classes every day to sit with Sophie in hers. I’m sure Liam never did that for me, because soon girls were asking Sophie: “Wow, is that your boyfriend? He’s so hot!” Sophie would wave her hands, smiling, explaining while the light in Liam’s eyes dimmed: “No, no, we’re just friends.” The girls would say “Oh~” suggestively, looking back and forth between them. “Friends…” They didn’t say the rest, but everyone was imagining it. What kind of friend skips class every day to sit with you? Buys your favorite bubble tea every time? Eats with you after class? Specifically sits between you and other guys? Even when it rained, he got soaked protecting her from the water. Which led directly to a fever and a cold. So the next day, when he accompanied Sophie to class, he was lying on the desk, groggy and sick. During the break, he suddenly groaned hoarsely: “Sarah, I feel terrible…” The voice wasn’t loud, but it was abrupt. People around us turned to look at me, sitting in the back row. Even Sophie asked him nervously: “Liam, did… did you remember?” My pen stopped. I looked up, then down. A long time later, I heard him whisper: “Dizzy. My head is foggy.” Maybe he really was foggy. Because when I went to the infirmary at noon to buy Vitamin C and saw him getting an IV drip, the first thing he said when he saw me through his exhaustion was: “Shrimp and vegetable porridge again?” We both froze. I knew why he said that. My diary recorded that whenever he was sick, I brought him shrimp and vegetable porridge and ate with him. He had frowned once and asked helplessly: “Change the flavor next time.” I smiled and agreed softly, but next time, I still bought shrimp and vegetable. Eventually, he got used to it. But now, he blurted it out while having amnesia. In the silence, his gaze moved to my empty hands. He seemed to wake up, realizing his mistake. Under my slightly surprised gaze, he said stiffly: “Don’t misunderstand. I didn’t get my memory back. I just… habit of thought. Yeah, maybe it happened before.” I didn’t care about his stumbling explanation. I smiled indifferently, said “No misunderstanding,” and left the infirmary with my vitamins. His gaze lingered on my back for a long time. I didn’t look back. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Reminder for my tutoring gig. Math, physics, chem for a high schooler. I rushed over with my lesson plans. As soon as I walked in, the student ran out of the study to greet me: “Miss Sarah!” A second later, another figure walked out of the study. Elegant, tall, holding a test paper. His gaze landed on my face without hesitation. Our eyes met, and my smile froze. The student excitedly told me: “Miss Sarah, this is the cousin I told you about with the terrible grades, Chen. He just got back from abroad today.” She turned to him proudly: “This is the teacher I told you about, Sarah. She’s amazing. She goes to the university I dream of getting into.” Chen stood by the door, one hand in his pocket, looking relaxed. After hearing the intro, he looked at me with a half-smile: “Teacher Sarah…” “Long time no see.” 4 It had been a long time since we parted before college entrance exams. Long enough that I thought I’d never see him again. My high school deskmate—Chen. The impression was too deep. Back then, his terrible grades stuck out like a sore thumb in the advanced class at City High. His personality was cold and jerky. For a long time, I thought he was useless except for his face. Until one day after PE class, I accidentally got locked in the equipment room. As Friday evening approached, the school emptied out. I tried climbing the high windows repeatedly but failed. Just as I was curling up in a darkening corner, hopeless, the door was kicked open. Light poured in. Slowly revealing Chen’s silhouette. I had to admit, in that moment, backlit and glowing, he looked like a god descending from heaven. I stood up and thanked him earnestly. He walked closer, smiling down at me: “Verbal thanks aren’t enough, Student Sarah. I plan to demand repayment for my kindness.” It wasn’t an unacceptable demand. Just tutoring. When we first started school, I saw him frustrated over a test score of 15/100 and kindly offered to explain the questions. Back then, he just looked at me coldly and said: “Mind your business. Who wants to listen to you?” But the next time he encountered the same type of question, he remembered to use the method I mentioned. However, his defensiveness was strong. No matter how kind and enthusiastic I was, I eventually retreated. I didn’t expect him to ask for help now. At least he had ambition. We got closer through tutoring. In those youthful days of burying our heads in books, my life seemed to consist only of schoolwork and Chen. Once, I got sick and was hospitalized. My parents were busy with work and couldn’t come. The person who showed up in my ward was Chen. I lay in bed, looking at him with his backpack slung over one shoulder, surprised: “Did you skip class?” He raised an eyebrow at me: “Is that weird?” True. Skipping class used to be his daily routine. He stopped because of the tutoring, so I had forgotten. Seeing I was silent, he took off his bag and said leisurely: “I’m not here for a lecture, Teacher Sarah.” I was shocked and accused him: “Chen, are you an evil capitalist? I’m sick and you want me to work? This is exploitation!” He chuckled and pulled a takeout box from his bag. Suddenly serious, his voice softened: “Yeah. Compensation for exploitation.” It was shrimp and vegetable porridge. The ward was quiet. Soft sunset light filtered through the window. He ate porridge with me, slowly. I held my spoon and tilted my head, smiling at him: “Thank you, Chen.” The only person who came to visit me. The taste of quiet days makes you think the future is long. But change always comes suddenly. Before the college entrance exams, a criminal my dad had arrested was released. Seeking revenge, he deliberately tried to hit me with a car. At the critical moment, Chen pushed me away. In the chaos, I threw myself next to his bloodied body, afraid to touch him. I only remember through my blurred vision, he seemed to use his last bit of strength to twitch his lips: “Don’t cry. Wait for me to wake up and demand repayment!” I didn’t wait. Because he completely disappeared from my life. The medical staff told me his family took him away. I knew it. Entering the advanced class with bottom-tier grades, the respectful attitude of the homeroom teacher… the distance between us was so vast I could never cross it. It was fine. He would have better medical resources. I just had some regrets. I hadn’t properly said thank you yet. A life debt. How did he want me to repay him back then?

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