1 My wife’s nephew was kidnapped. The ransom was half a million dollars. But when I tried to pay it, I found that my wife, Arabella, had frozen all of my bank accounts. I must have called her a thousand times to ask why, but not a single call went through. The boy, Jill, was tortured for three days and three nights. By the time he was rescued, his small body broken and bruised, he had already stopped breathing. I pulled every string I had to find my wife, only to track her to a hotel room, in bed with her own brother. “I’m sad our daughter died too, Caleb,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “But we can’t bring her back. As it happens, my brother needs a heart transplant, and she’s a perfect match. You should bring the body to the hospital.” So that was it. She thought it was our daughter, Maya, who had been kidnapped. A laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips. I turned and had the body delivered to the surgical wing as she’d asked. “Ugh, did Maya really die looking this… messy?” Her brother, Julian, glanced at the small form on the gurney with disgust before turning his glare on me. “And you, what kind of husband are you? Just leaving a corpse here like this? What if you scared Arabella? You’re completely incompetent.” I sneered. Me? Incompetent? Jill, my wife’s nephew, wasn’t my blood. But when he was taken, I was the one frantic with worry. I was the one who called the police, the one who spent three sleepless nights negotiating with the kidnappers. When I found my accounts frozen, I was the one who begged and knelt before friends and strangers, trying to scrape together the ransom. And where were his actual aunt and his biological father? They’d turned off their phones, ignoring every message, every desperate plea, until the kidnappers finally made good on their threat. My voice was cold as steel. “If either of you had answered a single one of my calls, if you’d helped me raise that money, that child would still be alive.” My in-laws rushed in just then. My mother-in-law shoved me aside, shielding Julian with her body. “Don’t you dare blame them! This is all your fault. If you hadn’t taken Maya to the amusement park, she never would have been kidnapped in the first place.” “Our Maya is dead because of you,” she spat. My father-in-law cleared his throat, a look of casual indifference on his face. “She was just a girl, anyway. What’s done is done. At least her heart can be of use to her uncle. She’s not a complete waste.” “She would have just been a drain on the family later on anyway,” Julian added, fanning the flames. “You know, brother-in-law, if you weren’t always spoiling Maya, she wouldn’t have been so willful. Look where it got her. Cost her her life.” Arabella’s expression hardened, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve already signed the organ donation consent forms. Your objection is meaningless.” Julian sighed, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Well, since poor Maya is already gone, I suppose I have no choice but to accept her… gift. Don’t you worry, brother-in-law. I’ll take very good care of her heart. I won’t let your good intentions go to waste.” A cruel smile twisted my lips. “As the girl’s family, how could I possibly object to a plan that allows her heart to beat again?” Leaving them all stunned into silence, I turned and walked away without a backward glance. But I didn’t leave the hospital. I went straight to the labs in the west wing. Three minutes later, I held a DNA report in my hand. It confirmed what I had long suspected: Jill was not Arabella’s nephew. He was her son. And Julian was his father. The truth had been hiding in plain sight. After our wedding, Arabella, her brother Julian, and her parents had all moved into my villa. I always found it strange, the way she and Julian behaved. They were far too intimate for siblings. I’d walked in on her in his room more than once, dressed in flimsy lingerie. When I confronted her, she’d just called me insecure. They’re brother and sister, what could possibly happen? This time, in my desperate search for them, I’d hired a private investigator. He sent me a photo. It was of them in a hotel hallway, locked in a passionate, unrestrained kiss. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Arabella was already eagerly prepping Julian for the transplant. Jill’s body, his heart now removed, was tossed onto the floor of the morgue like a discarded doll. I saw my in-laws from a distance, kicking the small form out of their way with looks of revulsion. A cold chuckle escaped me as I walked away. This had nothing to do with me. Ever since Maya was a baby, Jill had been cruel to her, pinching and hitting her when no one was looking. When Maya started learning to talk, every time she called Arabella “Mama,” Jill would shove her to the ground and beat her. And Arabella? She always took his side. I was busy with my career. By the time I realized the extent of the abuse, the damage was done. My daughter was five years old and still couldn’t speak, all thanks to him. To see him treated this way by his own parents… it was still a shock. A pathetic, tragic end. It was Maya’s birthday. I was taking her to the amusement park to celebrate. But as we were leaving, Jill blocked our path, throwing a tantrum and demanding I take him too. He despised Maya, and she was terrified of him. I knew a day out with him would only end in tears and trauma for her. So I made a split-second decision. I dropped Maya off at my parents’ house instead. I never imagined something like this would happen. For two full weeks after the funeral, Arabella didn’t come home. But Julian’s social media was active. [Surgery was a success! Someone is so worried about me, she won’t leave my side no matter what I say. She really cares about me!] [This soup my darling made for me is the best!] The comments were a stream of envy and congratulations. [Congrats, Julian! You found a keeper!] [Your girlfriend is such a good cook!] I saw the fresh love bite on Julian’s neck in one of the photos and laughed out loud. The kidnapping case had stalled completely, but they didn’t seem to be in any hurry. The medical examiner needed to perform an autopsy on Jill’s body and called the family to sign the consent forms. I was the only one they could reach. When I arrived at the hospital, the body was gone. I assumed the examiner had already taken it, but as I turned to leave, I overheard two nurses talking. “How did a body end up in the dumpster? If a stray dog hadn’t dragged it out, we never would have found it. It’s been… mauled. How are we supposed to explain this to the family?” I froze as they wheeled a gurney past, carrying a mangled, half-eaten corpse. As much as I disliked Jill, a wave of pity washed over me. One of the nurses noticed my horrified stare. “We are so sorry, sir,” she said, her face pale with guilt. “This is a result of the hospital’s negligence.” “Can you check the security cameras to see what happened?” I asked. Before she could answer, a sharp voice cut in. “Let’s not waste the hospital’s resources. The body has been found, that’s all that matters.” Arabella strode toward us, a group of police officers trailing behind her. She pointed an accusing finger at me. “This is your fault, too! You can’t even look after your own daughter’s body. What good are you? No wonder you got her killed!” Julian sighed dramatically. “Such a shame. The body is so damaged, they’ll probably never find any clues now.” He reached out to put a consoling arm around my shoulder. I stepped away. He stumbled, lost his balance, and crashed to the floor with a cry of pain. “Julian!” Arabella shrieked, her eyes flashing with fury at me. I just laughed and threw a stack of papers in her face. “We’re getting a divorce.” I had put up with all of it for Maya. But since the day my daughter was born, Arabella hadn’t cared for her once. I was the one working to provide for everyone, and the one coming home to take care of our child. I told myself she had postpartum depression, I made excuses for her. But she was a doting mother to Jill. When he was sick, she stayed up all night with him. When he bullied Maya, she forced our daughter to apologize. And when she thought Maya had been kidnapped and killed, she didn’t shed a single tear. My heart had finally turned to stone. Rage contorted Arabella’s face. She lunged, her hand raised to strike me. “You dare ask for a divorce?” I caught her wrist and flung her hand away. “Is this because I froze your accounts?” she screamed. “I was just worried! You know what they say about men with too much money. It’s your fault for not making me feel secure!” Seeing the cold indifference in my eyes, her tone suddenly softened. “What happened to Maya… it was a tragedy. Let’s just put it behind us. The living have to go on living. We can have other children.” She tried to sound seductive. “I’ll even give you a son this time. How about that?” “You and I will never have another child,” I said, pushing her away with a look of utter contempt. She was about to explode again when Julian whispered something in her ear. Her expression changed in an instant. She snatched the divorce papers, signed them with a flourish, and threw them back at me. “Fine! I don’t need you anyway,” she sneered. “But you’ll regret this.” I soon found out what she meant. The moment I got home, I received a call from my company’s secretary. Unbeknownst to me, Arabella had been using my name to systematically transfer the majority of my company’s assets into a shell corporation. The divorce would leave me not just penniless, but saddled with massive debt. I stared at the evidence on my phone, a cold smile forming on my lips. When I looked up, Arabella was standing in the doorway, arm in arm with Julian, a triumphant smirk on her face. “It’s not too late to take it all back,” she purred. “Or I will leave you with nothing.” I laughed and had my staff throw all of their belongings out onto the street. “Get out.” I tore our wedding photo in half and threw the pieces in her face, looking at her as if she were a complete stranger. Julian took a deep breath, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Here are Maya’s ashes. My sister and I have decided to scatter them at sea. What do you think?” They were that desperate to destroy the evidence, that afraid the police would connect the death to them. “Maya always loved the ocean,” Arabella added, nodding in agreement. She shot me a disapproving look. “See how much he cares about her? And then there’s you. You have no idea how to be a father.” Watching their little performance, I started to laugh. “Have you forgotten, Arabella? When I called you for the ransom money, I just said ‘our child’ was kidnapped. I never said it was Maya.” I bit down hard on the next words. “And Maya was never the only child in this house. There was also your precious, darling nephew…” Arabella just sneered. “Do you think everyone is as spoiled and reckless as Maya? Jill is a good boy. He wouldn’t just run off and get himself kidnapped.” She glanced at her watch, impatient. “We’re throwing a birthday party for him tonight at a five-star hotel. We have to go.” A question began to form in my mind. Why were they so certain the body was Maya’s? The answer came a second later. As Julian turned to leave, he shot me a smug grin and tugged at the collar of his shirt. Hanging from a simple red cord around his neck was a jade pendant. A priceless, emperor-grade jade pendant. I froze. That was the protective charm my parents had given Maya. What was he doing with it? Maya had been frail since birth. My father had spent a fortune on that piece of jade, even having it blessed at a temple. She had worn it every single day of her life. I lunged forward and ripped it from his neck. “What the hell are you doing with this?” I demanded. “I gave it to him. You have a problem with that?” Arabella said, annoyed. “I told you from the start, Maya is just a girl. Her fate is too weak for such a valuable gift. It would only bring her bad luck. If you had just listened to me, she wouldn’t be dead! Now, my brother has to wear it, to use his strong life force to suppress the bad energy from the dead.” I was shaking with rage. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I swung my hand and slapped her, hard, across the face. Julian rushed to her side, full of fake concern. “She’s not wrong,” he said, looking down his nose at me. “Sons carry on the family name. Daughters are nothing.” He smirked. “Don’t worry. Even without Maya, you’ll still have Jill to take care of you in your old age. He can inherit your vast fortune. You should be grateful. Jill is the golden boy of our family. You’re lucky to have him as an heir.” His voice turned venomous. “As for Maya’s ashes, we should just dump them somewhere filthy, to make sure a money-pit like her never dares to be born into our family again.” At his words, a wicked gleam appeared in Arabella’s eyes. “You’re right, brother.” She walked over to the small urn, and before I could react, she opened it and poured the ashes into the dog’s food bowl. The dog wagged its tail and began to eat. “Are you insane?” I stared at her, horrified. She just laughed, a wild, manic look in her eyes. “This way, that little bitch won’t dare be reborn in my womb again!” Seeing the pure madness in her eyes, a horrifying thought hit me. She was jealous of my daughter. Jealous of Maya. Just then, my housekeeper led two police officers into the room. “Julian Vance,” one of them said, holding up his badge. “We have credible evidence linking you to the kidnappers of Jill Collins. You need to come with us.” The color drained from their faces. “What are you talking about?” Arabella shrieked. “How could the victim be Jill? It was Maya! Maya Reed!” The officer looked confused. “You’re the parents and you don’t know which of your children is missing?” “I know what this is,” Julian suddenly declared, shooting me a triumphant look. “You hired these actors to try and trick us, didn’t you? Nice try, but we’re not falling for it. Jill is waiting for us at the hotel right now. I’ll call my parents and prove it!” His hand trembled as he dialed. When his father answered, he blurted out, “Dad, where’s Jill? Put him on the phone!” He shot me a cocky, challenging look. But the voice on the other end was confused. “What are you talking about? Jill’s been with you two this whole time. You’re supposed to be bringing him over!” “He’s not with you?” Julian’s voice cracked. “No. He left us a note a few days ago saying he was going to find you.” The words hung in the air. Julian slowly turned to look at the police officers. One of them stepped forward and handed him a folded piece of paper. “The child who was tortured to death by the kidnappers was your son, Jill Collins. This is his death certificate.”

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Every night after my livestream, I slowly peel off my silk stockings in front of the mirror. I know there’s a camera hidden behind the glass. But the man watching doesn’t know my secret: this delicate, alluring cam-girl is actually a man. 1 “Thanks for hanging out, fam! See you next time!” I blew a kiss to the camera and ended the stream. Standing up from my gaming chair, I stretched, my back popping satisfyingly. To cater to my audience’s tastes, I was wearing a pleated schoolgirl skirt and black silk stockings. The cropped top rode up with every movement, exposing a stretch of pale skin. I sat on the sofa, facing the mirror, admiring my own long legs as I slowly peeled off the stockings. Why the sofa? Because it’s the perfect triangulation point between the mirror, the computer, and the smoke detector on the wall. All three contain hidden pinhole cameras. I’ve known about them for a while. I also know they were planted by three different men. Every night, I deliberately undress here to tease them. But I never take off too much. Because if I reveal too much, they’ll discover my secret: I’m a man. 2 I was born with fair skin and a soft voice. Add in my slender frame and small bone structure, and when I dress as a woman, I’m a knockout. Men lose their minds over me. Since moving into this apartment complex, three men have targeted me. The camera in the mirror was installed by my landlord. He’s in his forties, chubby, with a perpetually friendly face. You’d never guess he was a voyeur. My computer has remote control software installed. It can turn my machine on and off and access the webcam. Even when I shut down the stream, the person on the other end can turn the camera back on. The culprit is the guy next door. He’s a freelancer with thick black-rimmed glasses, very quiet and polite. One day, my computer got a “virus” (which he planted), and he “fixed” it for me, installing the spyware in the process. The last camera is hidden inside the smoke detector. I bought it from the guy who delivers my bottled water. The first time he delivered, he wouldn’t shut up about fire safety. I played the concerned girl and let him install the detector. These three cameras monitor every inch of my living room and my daily life. Why haven’t I called the police? Because I planned this. These three men are essential pieces in my game. 3 I tossed the stockings onto the sofa and slowly unbuttoned my top. Underneath, I wore a loose camisole. I knew that behind those three lenses were three pairs of hungry eyes and three flushed faces. A smirk played on my lips as I walked into the bathroom. Watching but not touching must be torture. How long can they hold out? After all, they’ve had copies of my house key for a long time. 4 The landlord had the first key. He claimed he didn’t keep spares, but I knew he was lying. He has a history of letting himself into female tenants’ apartments. But with me, he’s still observing, biding his time. When I go out, I leave a spare key under the doormat. My neighbor and the water delivery guy didn’t miss the opportunity; they took it, copied it, and put it back. But none of them have dared to enter while I’m home. Looks like I need to add some fuel to the fire. I picked up my phone and spoke loudly, pretending to be on a call. “Yeah, this place isn’t working out.” “I’ll probably move soon.” “When? Not sure yet, maybe next week…” I put the phone down, smiling. The bait is set; now I just wait for the fish to bite. Time ticked by. At 4:00 AM, I heard a soft click at the door. Who would it be? The lock turned, and the door pushed open silently. Light footsteps approached the bedroom. The door creaked open, and I saw his face in the dim light. It was the neighbor, the freelancer. He stood by my bed, his glasses reflecting a predatory gleam. His hand reached out, trembling, hovering inches from my face before pulling back. Instead of touching me, he pulled out a camera and started taking pictures from every angle. I imagine my photos will soon be added to his wall of trophies. Among his collection, I’m sure I’m the crown jewel. He took photos for a full thirty minutes. He stared at my exposed arm for a long time before finally leaving. Once he was gone, I finally let myself sleep. I slept until noon. After washing up, I went out for lunch. While eating, I pulled up the live feed of my apartment on my phone. Hehe. They don’t know that I have way more cameras hidden in my house than they do. The landlord appeared on the screen. He seemed impatient. He’d entered shortly after I left. He marched into the bathroom, grabbed my underwear, and… relieved himself. I watched with interest, my lunch forgotten. Soon, he groaned and closed his eyes in ecstasy. When he was done, he put the underwear back and left. I finished my meal and strolled back. On the stairs, I ran into Julian. Julian lives upstairs. He’s a writer. He always wears turtlenecks and silver-rimmed glasses—very clean-cut and handsome. I know Julian likes me. Every time he sees me, he gets this shy smile. If I hold eye contact too long, he blushes. He knows my schedule and manufactures “chance encounters.” He knows I’m a streamer; he’s my top moderator, “SimpleJay,” always tipping and chatting. He even brings me homemade red date soup, claiming he “made too much.” Honestly, I kinda like him too. Unlike the three creeps with their cameras, Julian looks at me with pure affection, no lust. In this society, a pure boy like him is rare. So, I flirt back. I nurture the relationship. After all, killing him will be so much more satisfying when he’s deeply in love with me.

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When the main villain was thrown in jail, I, blinded by lust, took advantage of the chaos and kidnapped his eight-pack-abs son. Every day was filled with kissing, touching, and all sorts of “training.” The young man, stripped of his powerful backing, had no choice but to endure the humiliation unwillingly. Until one day, rumors spread that the villain was about to be released and was searching the world for his son. Panicked, I rushed back to my rental apartment to pack my bags and flee the country. Instead, I walked in on the boy, who was supposed to be tied to the bed, radiating a terrifying aura. A cigarette dangled from his lips as he tossed an evidence bag to his subordinate. “Let him rot in there for another ten years.” Me: ???! 1 The first time I saw Song Qingli was at the H University basketball court. The boy lifted his shirt to wipe off sweat, inadvertently revealing a perfect set of eight-pack abs and a tantalizingly tapered waist. The drawstring of his gray sweatpants hung naturally over the bulge. It immediately caught my eye. I stood there observing for a long time, feeling a heat rise through my body. Conclusion: It’s really big. Um… I mean the sun. Our eyes met. When Song Qingli saw me, a look of indescribable panic flashed through his eyes. He stopped playing and turned to walk in the opposite direction. I sprinted over to block him, intending to hand him the water I’d prepared, but only got a cold “Stay away from me.” Oh my, a flower on a high peak, and a prickly one at that. Even better, hehe— My friend who invited me to H University was blunt: “Yaoyao, Song Qingli seems to hate you a bit.” I nodded. “Normal.” Ever since I hit my head at my coming-of-age party, I realized I was living in a novel. My parents are the main characters, and Song Qingli’s dad is the world-destroying villain. Our families are mortal enemies, so naturally, Song Qingli wouldn’t have a good attitude toward me. But as the saying goes, no matter how hard a man’s mouth is, his lips are soft when you kiss them… After that day, I lowered my standards and pursued Song Qingli aggressively. He remained unmoved, avoiding me like the plague. The third time I wore a tube top, spaghetti straps, and a mini skirt, pretending to sprain my ankle in front of him and begging for help, I got caught. Song Qingli’s villainous father pointed at my nose and threatened viciously: “As long as I live, you will never touch a single hair on my son’s head.” “Then may I ask, when would it be convenient for you to die?” Before I could finish, my parents burst in and dragged me home. My mom, who usually only cared about being lovey-dovey with my dad and ignored me, was furious for the first time: “Yaoyao, we are in a life-or-death struggle with the Song family. Song Qingli hates you, you won’t be happy with him.” I retorted silently in my heart: No, you don’t understand, I will definitely be sexually happy! My dad spoke calmly to comfort her: “Honey, you’re overthinking it. With Song Huairen around, our daughter won’t get her hands on Song Qingli anyway.” 2 But they didn’t know that the villain Song Huairen was about to hit the plot point where he gets thrown in jail. That day, I stood in the most conspicuous spot: “Well, well, well, Mr. Not-a-Single-Hair, your son belongs to me now.” Under the villain’s murderous gaze, I led people into the villa and forcibly kidnapped Song Qingli. In the cramped rental apartment, for a full day and night, the boy refused to eat or drink, refusing to communicate. I understood that his family had suddenly met with disaster, the proud son of heaven had fallen from the clouds, and he couldn’t bear the blow for a while. I specifically changed into a silk nightgown to feed him water and food. But Song Qingli kept his eyes shut tight, lips pressed together, motionless, stiff as a board, looking like he’d rather die than submit. No matter how I acted cute or seduced him, he remained unmoved. Finally, my patience ran out. I forced his mouth open mouth-to-mouth and roughly poured in the red date and goji berry water I had boiled. Song Qingli’s eyes flew open, coughing uncontrollably. The water spilling from the corner of his mouth wet his shirt, sticking to his body and outlining his beautiful muscles: “What—what are you doing?” “Kissing.” Looking at Song Qingli’s expression of shock mixed with terror. Thinking back to the days when I humbly pursued love but was coldly rejected by him and humiliated by the villain. I felt a secret thrill. My thumb brushed over his rosy lips, and I chuckled: “A good boy like you, is this your first time kissing a girl? No wonder you’re so inexperienced… why don’t I teach you?” “Don’t, don’t touch me, dirty…” Song Qingli frowned, seemingly unable to bear hearing this, blushing furiously and deliberately turning his head away. My mood, which had been relatively pleasant, flared up again because of the word “dirty.” The more reluctant he was, the more disgusted he acted, the more I deliberately bit his ear and said: “Song Qingli, your dad has done all sorts of evil things over the years. Those creditors outside are waiting to eat you alive.” “Now, I’m the only one willing to protect you. In return, be my lover.” Song Qingli seemed shocked by my bandit logic, a strange light flashing in his eyes as he forced out word by word: “Me, be your, lover?” “Yeah.” “I can’t,” Song Qingli replied with trepidation. I laughed in anger: “Baby, do you think I’m negotiating with you?” “Since you don’t want to be a lover, then be my dog.” The boy said nothing, his thick eyelashes lowered, his fluffy head drooping, wet all over. He really looked like an unwanted puppy in the rain on the street. Although a top-tier handsome guy looking dejected is particularly pitiable. But I risked everything to save Song Qingli, not to watch him give me attitude. Smack— The handle of the whip slapped the boy’s pale face, leaving a faint red mark. Not heavy, but extremely humiliating. Song Qingli raised his head a beat later, the corner of his mouth hooking up almost imperceptibly, fleetingly, so fast I thought it was an illusion. I lifted my leg, the tip of my high heel grinding and pressing circles on Song Qingli’s eight-pack abs: “Don’t ignore me, or I’ll throw you to the creditors. In this rental, you only need to serve me. If you fall into their hands, being used as a rag would be a mercy.” Song Qingli trembled all over, intense emotions surging in his eyes: “Chen Xueyao…” I increased the pressure under my foot, looking down at him: “Dogs are not qualified to call their master by name.” “Serve me or be tortured to death by creditors, choose.” The boy hissed in pain, arching his back, almost crawling on the ground. Even in such a humiliating posture, Song Qingli still didn’t yield: “Just kill me—” “……” Burning with rage, I slammed the door and left, not noticing the boy staring at the whip in my hand with an obsessed look. 3 “See, you forced him to answer, and when he did, you weren’t happy. But it’s interesting, the villain’s son is so upright it’s almost evil, while the glorious protagonist’s daughter has a bit of old man Song’s style.” In the bar, my best friend Lu Ke teased with a smile. I irritably downed a shot of strong liquor. “Yaoyao, haven’t you always been about physical pleasure over emotional attachment?” Lu Ke paused deliberately, flashing a wicked grin: “Now that you have him, if I were you, I’d enjoy myself first. I don’t believe he’d really dare to bite off his tongue and kill himself.” I pondered this, hesitating. Lu Ke continued to fan the flames: “To tame a high-altitude flower like him, being soft-hearted is a big taboo. You have to know, the essence of forced love is—do it until you love it!” This woman has been divorced eight times and has a rich romantic history. She must be right. By the time Lu Ke finished sharing her experience, it was late at night. I returned to the rental apartment. The bedroom and living room were pitch black; Song Qingli was nowhere to be seen. Only the storage room in the corner had a light on. I pushed the door open and locked eyes with the boy whose pants were halfway down. Next to him was his discarded shirt and a makeshift bed made of cardboard and some junk. Song Qingli froze for two seconds, his hands trembling so much he couldn’t pull the zipper up. I stared at the exposed chest and commented: “Pink. I like it.” The boy couldn’t cover both top and bottom. His hands flew up to cover his chest in a panic, and the pants he had just pulled up fell down again. Song Qingli’s face alternated between red and white, his lower lip almost bitten through: “Chen… Yaoyao, I thought you weren’t coming back.” Song Qingli probably wanted to call me by my full name at first but changed it at the last second. Seems Lu Ke was right, the training is working. I raised an eyebrow and approached step by step until Song Qingli had nowhere to retreat and fell onto the tattered little bed. “I rented this place. I come back when I want.” Song Qingli was practically exposed to me, yet he still struggled to cover himself with the sheet, his tone almost pleading: “Yaoyao, can you please go out first?” “I made sweet and sour pork ribs. They’re in the fridge, just heat them up.” The alcohol was getting to my head, and I blinked slowly. I didn’t expect a pampered young master like Song Qingli to know how to cook my favorite dish, let alone save some for me. I yanked the sheet off Song Qingli: “I don’t want to eat right now, and I don’t want to go out.” Forced to be exposed to the air again, the boy’s eyes reddened with shame, and his voice rose involuntarily with agitation: “What do you want to do?” “You.” My gaze drifted downward involuntarily, and I couldn’t help but sigh. Song Qingli, truly extraordinary. Getting drunker, I couldn’t stand steady in my heels and swayed, falling onto Song Qingli. I simply sat on him in that position and immediately felt the boy’s reaction. “So your mouth isn’t the hardest part of you after all…” 4 Song Qingli couldn’t stand dirty talk. The veins on his tense arms bulged, as if he had reached his limit: “Chen Xueyao, get off.” I deliberately moved my waist back and forth: “Beg me.” Song Qingli groaned, fell silent for a while, and finally lowered his proud head: “I beg you…” I hooked my arm around his neck, nuzzling his neck and acting coquettish: “Fine, I’ll let you off today. Carry me to the bedroom.” Song Qingli hesitated for a few seconds, then picked me up princess-style and placed me on the soft bed. However, when he tried to get up and leave, I clamped my legs around his waist, hooked him hard, and pinned him under me. Song Qingli’s eyes widened instantly, his expression one of deceived humiliation. His whole body screamed resistance, but I forcefully blocked his lips. In between breaths, I panted softly in his ear: “Song Qingli, give it to me.” The ceiling light swayed more and more violently. Tears slid from the corner of his eyes, mixing with sweat, inseparable: “Chen Xueyao, you will regret this, you will definitely regret this.” Heh, threatening me? I bit hard on Song Qingli’s collarbone, teasing him: “If you’re so unwilling, then get out.” The boy had probably never heard such crude words in his life. He was so ashamed his tongue tied in knots, unable to say a word, so he simply covered my mouth with his hand. Half-asleep, I vaguely heard someone whispering “I’m sorry,” “I made you dirty,” and other things over and over again. The voice sounded like Song Qingli’s, but it definitely wasn’t him. Forced by someone he hates, he must hate me to death. … After that night, I gradually understood the joy of training that Lu Ke talked about. Whips, toys, handcuffs, white coats, candles… new tricks every day. Song Qingli was ashamed and angry at first, even shedding tears. After his dignity was shattered time and again, the boy seemed to reluctantly accept the humiliating reality, washing the soiled sheets with a cold face. After I washed up, I casually threw my changed underwear onto Song Qingli’s bare shoulder and ordered: “Wash this too.” The boy carefully pinched the lace edge, lost in thought. I expertly picked up the whip and cracked it on his back, making a crisp sound: “Daydreaming? Not listening to your master anymore?” Song Qingli made no move to dodge, taking the hit squarely. A strange light flashed in his eyes again, and he lowered his head to say okay. Lu Ke taught me that training can’t just be pressure; you have to give a sweet date after a slap. I patted the boy’s fluffy head and softened my tone: “Did you forget something?” I wanted to remind him to use special detergent, but before I could speak, the boy leaned down, gently cupped the back of my head, kissed my cheek, then the corner of my lips, moving down bit by bit, planting lingering, dense kisses. “Is this… enough?” Song Qingli half-knelt on the ground, looked up, his voice dry, traces of suspicious liquid still at the corner of his mouth. I was caught off guard and flirted back, my heart pounding wildly. After tying him to the bedhead, I used the excuse of being late for work to rush out the door.

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After five years of marriage, Tristan and I went from being the perfect couple to bitter enemies. The year we wanted each other dead, he choked me, cursing me for being barren as karma for my “evil deeds.” I smashed a teapot over his head, screaming that he deserved to bury the woman he loved. He locked me in the house; I strangled him with his own vows. We were locked in a death spiral. Until a stray arrow flew straight for my heart. Without hesitation, he blocked it for me, smiling as he died. “Now, I don’t owe you anything.” But idiots like him don’t know how to block arrows properly. The arrow went through him and killed me too. Two for the price of one. When I opened my eyes, I was sixteen again, vibrant and full of life. This time, he went North to find his true love, and I went South to protect my family. We were supposed to be strangers. But Tristan… he regretted it. 1 “Miss Sarah, bad news. Tristan is kneeling in the front hall. He’s begging… begging to break off the engagement. Your father wants to see you.” Looking in the bronze mirror, my sixteen-year-old face was smooth, radiant, and untouched by the years of bitterness and gray hairs from my past life in that gilded cage. It’s true. I’ve been reborn. “Fine! I agree to break the engagement!” Tristan whipped his head around, disbelief written all over his face. “Really?” “Really!” Seventeen-year-old Tristan was dashing and proud. Even kneeling, his back was straight, his confidence unshaken. “So from now on, we go our separate ways? Sarah Bennett and Tristan Cole have nothing to do with each other?” The gentle breeze blew pear blossoms like rain, highlighting the determination on his face. “Agreed!” I answered so quickly that Tristan was left speechless. In our past life, resentment and unwillingness kept us rotting together for a decade. In this life, he let go, and I was set free. Everything ended on this flower-strewn afternoon. My father was furious, smashing a blue porcelain cup. “You’re foolish! The wedding is imminent. How can you let him break it off? Think of your reputation! Your future!” My brother kicked the door open, blood on his lip, eyes blazing. “Bullying my sister? Does he think the Bennetts are pushovers?” “I chased him for three miles and beat him bloody.” “Sarah, just say the word. Even if he runs to Chicago, I’ll drag him back to the altar!” So, Tristan was in a rush to break the engagement to go find his true love in Chicago. She was the love of his life, and the arsonist of my marriage. 2 In my previous life, Tristan and I were married for thirteen years, but we spent eight of them as enemies. We went from lovers to enemies because of one woman: Emma. Tristan saved her from bandits in Chicago and brought her home. There were many ways to repay a debt, but Tristan insisted on making her his concubine. She went through the standard procedures—morning greetings, serving tea to the main wife. None of it was malicious, but she felt I was humiliating her. “You’ll regret this!” she screamed before running away. When we found her, she was a bloated corpse in the moat. Tristan went hysterical, accusing me of driving his savior to suicide. I was full of grievances, accusing him of being blinded by love and manipulated by petty tricks. That night, we had our worst fight. He accidentally pushed me down the stairs. My three-month-old baby turned into a pool of blood, dissolving our childhood friendship and three years of marriage. It also took away my ability to ever be a mother again. My father forced him to swear an oath: even if I remained childless, he could never take another woman without my permission. Tristan kept his word. He brought no one into the house. Instead, he kept a mistress in the city, rarely coming home. I wouldn’t be outdone. I kept a gigolo in the North District, drinking and singing my days away. Until his mistress got pregnant and started provoking me. Her carriage charged at me on the street, trampling the only thing I loved—my dog—to death. Before I could slap her, Tristan caught my hand. He shielded her, eyes red. “Hit me if you have to. I bought her the carriage.” “It’s just a dog. I’ll buy you ten more.” The woman, who looked exactly like Emma, hugged his arm and wept. “I didn’t mean to. If Sister hates me so much, I’ll pay with my life.” So I granted her wish. 3 I slapped Tristan twice, bloodying his face. While the woman ran upstairs to the tea room, I drew a sword and pointed it at her. She was so scared she fell down the stairs. One corpse, two lives. That night, Tristan stormed into my courtyard like a madman and choked me. “She’s dead, the baby is dead. Are you happy now?” Suffocating, I felt like a dying fish. But seeing his pain gave me a twisted pleasure. “It was just a mistress I bought for five hundred silver. I’ll pay you two thousand.” Tristan’s hands trembled. He spat venomous words. “You did it on purpose? You’re evil. No wonder you’re barren. It’s your karma.” My resolve shattered. Hatred burned inside me. I grabbed a pot of hot tea and smashed it over his head. “You deserved it too! Always burying the women you love.” The people closest to you know where to stab to hurt the most. He stumbled, clutching his bleeding head, roaring in disbelief. “You want me dead over a gigolo?” “Didn’t you want me dead over a dancer?” “You loved him? You slept with him?” he asked, incredulous. I laughed, gasping for air. “Your mistress was pregnant. Why should I stay chaste for you?” Shock cracked his expression. He staggered away, locking the courtyard gates, intending to imprison me until I died. We fought until the capital fell into chaos. A stray arrow flew toward me. Tristan blocked it, smiling as he died. “Now, I don’t owe you anything.” But the idiot didn’t know how to block an arrow properly. It went through him and killed me too. I died behind him and woke up today. The rain beat against the banana leaves. I arranged flowers and told my story calmly, as if it were someone else’s. But every word was thunder to my father and brother. My father turned pale, speechless. My brother crushed a teacup, eyes red. “I treated him like a brother! How dare he… how dare he do this to you!” “Since he treated you like this, why didn’t I kill him?” My nose stung. Tears fell as I looked at them. “Because Father and Brother… were already gone!” 4 Thunder tore through the peaceful April sky. My mother died in childbirth with me and my twin brother. My father raised us alone, struggling every step of the way. He finally rose to power, becoming the tutor to the Princes. But party politics dragged him down. He was framed by his favorite student, the Third Prince. A forged letter condemned my father and the Fifth Prince for treason. The Emperor washed the capital with blood. The rain at the execution ground was heavy, washing away my father and brother in the blink of an eye. For the rest of my life, I lived in that cold rain, never standing straight again. The capital’s wealth is blinding, but in this life, I just want my family to live. “The hydrangeas in Charleston are blooming. Father, shall we go home?” My father aged instantly, wrinkles carving into his face. He couldn’t look away from me. “If I were gone, my Sarah would suffer so much.” Ambition and legacy meant nothing compared to flesh and blood. My father loved me more than his career. He burned the stack of forged letters from the Third Prince. The dream ended. “I’m old. It’s time to retire. Why not accompany Sarah to enjoy the mountains and rivers?” My brother smiled, pretending to be relaxed. “Charleston is nice. And Cousin Luke is even better.”

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When the Doppelgangers invaded, I awakened the “Human Mimic System.” The rules were simple: Do something irrational, and I’d earn Mimic Points. These points could upgrade my body parts, allowing me to perform horrific feats—like popping my eyeballs out of their sockets. One day, a group of Doppelgangers gathered, whispering, “I feel like there’s a human hiding among us.” 1 I’m a horror game junkie. Escape rooms, puzzle solvers, battle royales, spotting the imposter—you name it, I’ve played it. Everyone knows the lore: Doppelgangers mimic, kill, and replace humans. Of course, I never thought I’d see one in real life. It was Saturday, and I was trying to activate my new system. This “cheat code” had been in my head for a week, but I hadn’t figured out how to use it. Today, I decided to stalk a random dog. Would stalking a stray dog count as “irrational behavior”? I had no idea. As I walked out of the campus gate, something felt off. A cold gaze followed me, but I couldn’t pinpoint the source. As long as it wasn’t PETA, I was fine. Shaking off my paranoia, I stuck to the plan. I picked a stray mutt on the street and started following it. If you’ve ever been chased by a dog, you know the drill: you walk past, it watches. You run, it barks and chases. Today, the roles were reversed. The dog stopped; I stopped. The dog walked; I walked. The poor thing kept looking back, clearly terrified. Ding. The system chime rang in my head. [Mimic Points +10. A Doppelganger witnessed this event and experienced a cognitive error.] [Note: The entity chasing the dog is your imitator.] [Doppelganger Exposure +50.] [When Exposure reaches 100, you will assimilate the Doppelganger.] A chill ran down my spine. Doppelgangers were real. This was definitely not good news. Imagine the anxiety of realizing everything around you is unpredictable. In games, I’ve accidentally let Doppelgangers into safe zones, leading to gruesome massacres. They could be your friends, your neighbors, your RA, your roommate… Terrifying. In games, you can reload a save. In reality, you can’t. Especially now, when the news of the invasion hasn’t broken yet. How many of them are there? No one knows. Putting aside my fear, I had to deal with the imitator first. To do that, I needed to keep racking up Mimic Points. As the dog whimpered and ran away with its tail between its legs, I dumped all 10 points into the “Brain” stat. [Brain +10. You will generate more “human-like” ideas.] A spark of inspiration hit me—I was going to get a manicure for a chicken foot. Wait, that idea made me blush instantly. I should have put 5 points into “Thick Skin.” This was going to be social suicide. With a heavy heart, I bought three braised chicken feet. I accidentally ate two on the way. Resisting the urge to eat the last one, I clutched it in my hand. I scanned the people around me. Do I need new glasses? Why haven’t I spotted the Doppelganger yet? I walked into a nail salon, holding the chicken foot. I took a deep breath. “Hi, can you give my chicken foot a manicure?” The nail tech looked at me blankly, question marks practically floating above her head. Oh god, I wanted to dig a hole and die. After adding, “I’ll pay extra,” she reluctantly agreed. The mechanical voice rang again: [Mimic Points +10. A Doppelganger witnessed this event. Cognitive error deepening.] [Note: The entity manicuring the chicken foot is your imitator.] [Doppelganger Exposure +50. Total Exposure: 100.] [When you identify the Doppelganger, you will wear its skin.] So it’s basically a skin system? I walked out of the salon holding a glamorized chicken foot. The sun felt exceptionally hot today, burning my face. It felt like my face had been upgraded and reinforced. The nail tech did her best, but my wallet was empty. If my boyfriend didn’t bring me breakfast, I was at risk of eating grass for the next two weeks. Worst case scenario, I could try dumpster diving. Ignoring my wandering thoughts, I dumped the new 10 points into “Eyes.” [Eyes +10. Eye adjustability increased. You can slightly control pupil color, bloodshot level, pupil size, and detachment.] My eyelid twitched. I thought it would boost observation skills. These upgrades were getting weird. At this rate, I wouldn’t know who was more like a Doppelganger—me or them. I opened my front-facing camera. Under my control, red veins crept across my whites, making me look sleep-deprived. Not enough. I tried turning the whole eye white. Just a pale glaze, not quite horror movie level. Shrinking the pupils? Still not pinpoint enough. I needed more points to make it useful. More importantly, I realized something: I only got points when a Doppelganger was watching. Identifying it immediately might be a mistake. I should farm it for points. A new idea popped into my head: “Take a cat to the vet for neutering, then lie on the operating table myself.” I really should have put those 5 points into Thick Skin. After capturing a stray tabby, I dragged it to the vet clinic. “Hi, do you do neutering here?” The cat in my arms started squirming, sensing danger. The nurse nodded and smiled. “Yes, we do.” I put the cat down, kept a straight face, and climbed onto the examination table. “Please neuter me!” The nurse’s eyes widened. Even the cat looked confused. She blurted out, “Huh?” System prompt: [Mimic Points +20. Your behavior has completely distorted the imitator.] [Doppelganger Exposure +100. Note: It is now purple with confusion.] 2 Under the nurse’s “calling the psych ward” gaze, I rolled off the table. Walking out of the clinic felt like escaping death. Social death is still death. That was terrifying. I almost clawed through the floor with my toes. She even patiently explained why she couldn’t do it, which made me even more ashamed. Taking a deep breath, I noticed the sky was getting dark. I immediately spotted someone casually following a dog. As expected, she was the Doppelganger mimicking me. Looking closely, she did resemble me. In dim light, she would be my twin. Seeming to notice my gaze, she subtly showed off the manicure on the chicken foot she was holding. Like she was saying, Look how beautiful this is. Oblivious to how abstract and insane it was. The moment I recognized her, her death sentence was signed. But I’d spare her for now. I continued my “human” behavior—talking to thin air. “What did you think of the surgery?” Pause. “Seems you rate the doctor highly.” Pause. “I’ll treat you to dinner tonight, don’t argue.” Pause. “Just remember to bring your wallet.” After a string of soliloquies, the system chimed: [Mimic Points +5. The imitator believes it has gathered sufficient information and will attack you in a secluded area. Please identify it before the attack.] Night had fallen. The Doppelganger stopped hiding, its gaze filled with naked hunger. Walking through the deserted streets, the cold feeling grew stronger, like I was about to be flayed alive. I reached a dark alley and stopped. “You are a Doppelganger, aren’t you?” She looked surprised, then smirked cruelly. “When did you figure it out?” System prompt: [Do not use questions when identifying.] Strict. I turned around, pointed at her, and said, “You are a Doppelganger.” [Identification Successful. Urban Legend Unlocked: The Human Mimic.] [In the city’s shadows, Doppelgangers lurk. Among them hides the Human Mimic. Its behavior deviates from the norm, bringing error, chaos, and death to Doppelgangers.] [Tonight, a Doppelganger disturbed the Mimic.] [Legend Unlock Progress: 2%. The Doppelganger fears you.] The Doppelganger before me looked terrified. Inch by inch, it crumbled, turning into a set of summer clothes that the system absorbed. I pulled up the description: [Congratulations, you have acquired Identity 1: Incomplete Doppelganger (Mimic Form). She was a failure even among her kind.] [Note: Identity becomes invalid if exposed.] [But don’t worry. Beneath the Doppelganger skin lies the Human Mimic.] 3 “Did you guys hear? Someone from Room 305 went missing.” As soon as I got back to the dorm, my roommate Sarah brought up the news. “Is it that tall, skinny girl?” Emily asked. Sarah looked at her. “Oh, you knew too?” Jessica put down her study materials. “Is this a big deal? Maya, have you heard?” I shook my head. “Nope.” Thinking to myself, Is this related to the Doppelgangers? Sarah looked at us. “Her sister came to the school demanding answers. It might blow up depending on how the admin handles it.” Emily tutted. “Her RA is weird too. The girl’s been gone for two weeks and he didn’t even think to look for her.” Sarah joked, “Maybe he’s a Doppelganger?” My heart skipped a beat. “It’s possible.” She laughed. “I didn’t mean the ones from your game.” I put my suspicion aside. It wasn’t easy to explain Doppelgangers right now. I could show off my adjustable eyes, but that would probably get me chains in a research lab, not understanding. Before the truth surfaced, I had to be careful. I asked, “What’s the RA’s name again?” Emily recalled, “Something like Lee… Fly?” Jessica added, “Lee Xinfei. He’s the advisor for the music club. He’s a nice guy, don’t spread rumors.” I looked at Jessica. I noticed she was watching a lecture video at 1x speed on her laptop. She had headphones on earlier, so I hadn’t noticed. If I recall correctly, she always watches videos at 2x speed. Noticing my gaze, she asked, “What are you looking at, Maya?” I laughed it off. “Nothing, just spacing out.” If she had already been replaced, the situation was worse than I thought. The invasion might have started a long time ago. After lights out, I put my pillow at the foot of the bed, lay facing the other way, and covered my head completely with the duvet. Basically reversing my sleeping position. A normal person wouldn’t do this. I was just testing. Then, the sound I didn’t want to hear rang out: [Mimic Points +1. A Doppelganger witnessed this. It is confused.] I shivered. This meant one of my roommates was gone forever. I dumped 20 points into my “Arms.” I hoped for a strength boost. I needed to protect myself and get revenge. [Arms +20. Your arm joints can now bend freely. Please ignore the clicking sounds.] [Action Unlocked: Handstand. Movement speed increased by 50% while in a handstand.] [Action Unlocked: Crawl. You can briefly cling to walls while crawling.] [Passive Unlocked: Fear Harvest. Reaching 90% triggers a random effect.] Looking at the list, I pondered. Seems like hitting 20 points triggers a major change. I had 6 points left. I’d save them. I had skills now, but couldn’t use them yet. It was a sleepless night. Excitement, fear, sadness, and hatred mixed together. I decided to text my boyfriend, warning him about the Doppelgangers. At 1 AM, he replied: “My roommate sucks at gaming, he must be a Doppelganger.” How to explain? “Not internet slang. The horror game kind. You streamed those games, you know them.” He understood. “The monsters that mimic humans?” I sent a thumbs-up emoji. “Like the Mandela Catalogue, but maybe worse.” I sent him a graphic: Check for biological inconsistencies. Check for stiff movements or expressions. Check for repetitive speech patterns. Check if they stare at you constantly, causing unease. Look for tiny non-human traits. A while later, he replied, “Actually, it is weird. Star is left-handed, but he smokes with his right hand. Today he used his left.” “Is he a Doppelganger?” I sent several messages after that, but he didn’t reply. My eye twitched. Did something happen? The next morning, he replied, “Fell asleep last night. Tell me more later.” Eating breakfast downstairs, he asked, “You know a lot about this?” Alarm bells rang. Was he replaced? “Not much more than you.” He nodded. “There haven’t been any new Doppelganger games in three years. Why bring it up?” “I’m replaying old ones.” He looked disappointed. “Thought there was a new game to stream. My follower count is dropping.” His logic seemed sound, but I had my own test. “Come with me to the car wash.” He was surprised. “You bought a car? Did you win the lottery? Don’t forget me when you’re rich. I can call you Mom if the breakup fee is high enough.” In my bag were two black rooks from a Xiangqi (Chinese Chess) set. I planned to use them on Jessica, but he was first. At the car wash, he asked, “Where’s the car? We walked here.” I pulled out the two chess pieces (which are called ‘Cars’ in Chinese). “Wash these cars.” He gave me the Nick Young question mark face. ??? “You’re hilarious.” “Find a tap and wash them yourself, don’t prank the workers.” I stared into his eyes, heart pounding. No system prompt. I sighed in relief. “Never mind. Let’s go.” He looked at me. “You’re acting weird. Are you a Doppelganger?” I hesitated, but decided not to reveal my identity. “Just be careful. Some have infiltrated.” He looked down at me. “Are you tired lately?” I felt the difficulty of convincing him. I could convince anyone easily, I just chose not to. Selfishness won over love. “Just keep an eye out.” He smiled. “I’m a horror game streamer. Don’t worry.” After parting ways, I met up with Jessica to go shopping. My next move: buy the same item repeatedly at the same stall. After buying lilies for the sixth time at the corner florist, the prompt chimed: [Mimic Points +10.] [Over ten Doppelgangers witnessed this.] 4 I froze, holding the flowers. I scanned the florist, Jessica, and the bustling street outside. Jessica complained, “If you like them so much, buy more. I’m losing my mind here.” The clerk kept her customer service smile, but her eyes were weird. “Enough. Let’s go back.” Back in the dorm, I threw all the lilies in the trash, put the empty vase on the balcony, and filled it to the brim with water. Jessica stared at me like the screaming marmot meme. “Huh?!” System: [Mimic Points +10. The Doppelganger’s brain has been impacted. It cannot believe what it is seeing is real and not a hallucination.] I smiled at her. Gotcha. As I went to close the door, she quietly locked it. The other two roommates were out and wouldn’t be back soon. She was thinking the same thing I was. I smiled and didn’t call her out. Jessica walked up to me. “Maya, I lied yesterday. I know something about the missing girl.” I feigned surprise. “Why didn’t you say so?” She looked around and whispered, “Because one of the other two is a Doppelganger.” The weasel paying respects to the chicken. I sneered internally but kept a straight face. “How can Doppelgangers be real?” She looked anxious. “You have to believe me. Her death is related to them.” “She died?” Jessica nodded. “I saw it. Two weeks ago, I went to Mr. Lee’s office about the choir. I saw that girl leaving.” “She mentioned our room. She said: ‘Mr. Lee, someone in 301 is following me.’” “Mr. Lee told her to calm down, said it was impossible.” “She said: ‘I’ll find proof!’” I said, “That doesn’t prove she’s dead.” Jessica looked at me. “I have proof. Under Emily’s bed. Go look if you don’t believe me.” Unsure of her game, I shook my head. “I can’t rummage through people’s stuff.” She looked exasperated. “Why are you so stubborn!” Jessica stood up, went to Emily’s bed, and pulled out a human skin. “See? Believe me now?” I looked at her strangely. “But that’s your bed.” She smiled sinisterly. “Yes, it is.” I bent down to look. My two eyeballs popped out like ping pong balls and rolled towards her, staring straight up. I stood up, empty sockets facing her. “My eyes fell out. Can you pick them up for me?”

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On a dating show, I got a call from a scammer. Suddenly, a text stream like a Twitch chat appeared in my vision. [Oh snap. Who’s getting their heart broken tonight?] [Wait, Chloe has a kid?!] [This wasn’t in the script…] But I didn’t have time for that. The person on the other end of the line wasn’t saying anything, just howling: “Mooooom…” I covered the receiver and smiled awkwardly at the camera. “Wrong number. Definitely a wrong number.” But then, chaos erupted on the other end. I heard glass shattering and a very distinct, very loud, beagle-like howl: “Arooooooo! Mom! Why don’t you want me anymore?!” CRASH! Next to me, megastar Julian Stone dropped his glass of water. Then, the howling intensified. “Aroooo! Mom, I miss you…” “Aroooo! Bad man! Don’t take my phone!” “Burp. Wifey, who is this naked guy in our house?” “Wifey! Say something!” Wait. That last voice. That sounds like my childhood friend, Liam. Shouldn’t he be on a film set? Why is he at my house? And who is naked? Julian Stone started wailing like a strangled duck next to me. “Nooo! Chloe! How could you get married behind my back?!” The chat stream floated by again: [LMAO. Is she running a zoo?] [Just add Julian to the harem. They’re missing a duck.] 1 I was on a dating reality show, Heartbeat Connection. The host prompted me to call my “crush.” I was hesitating when my phone rang. The other guests started cheering. “Pick it up! Pick it up!” The host teased, “Maybe your crush couldn’t wait and called you first!” The caller ID was an unknown number. I bit the bullet and answered. A howl blasted through the speaker. “Aroooo! Mom! You finally answered!” I sighed in relief and smiled at the camera. “Wrong number.” But then, something weird happened. Floating text, like a live stream chat, appeared in the air in front of me. [Wait, Chloe has a kid?!] [This wasn’t in the script…] [Oh snap. Who’s getting their heart broken tonight?] What the hell? Am I hallucinating? I rubbed my eyes. The text didn’t disappear; it multiplied. But I had bigger problems. My phone was about to explode. Physically. The person on the other line was howling—a specific, mournful “Aroooo” that sounded exactly like a beagle I used to own. His name was Buster. The first time the cops came to my house was because of him. He screamed so tragically the neighbors thought I was torturing him. He was the most regretful purchase of my life. More than once, I thought about jumping off a bridge with him in my arms. The howling continued. “Aroooo! Mooooom!” “Aroooo! Aroooo! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” The host tried to save me. “Probably a prank call.” I snapped out of it and hung up. I gave an awkward smile to the camera. “Yeah, definitely a scammer.” The host nodded. “Right, right. Our Chloe is so young and beautiful, how could she…” My phone rang again. I smiled awkwardly, stuck my hand in my pocket, and hit decline. Ring. Decline. Ring. Decline. Ring. After a few minutes, the host looked pained. “Maybe you should answer. It might be an emergency.” I pulled out my phone with a grimace, praying to the PR gods. I already have enough haters. My career is just taking off… I pressed answer. A deafening “Aroooooo!” nearly ruptured my eardrum. “Aroooo! Mom, why aren’t you answering? Don’t you want me? Aroooo!” “Aroooo! Mom! Why did you abandon me?!” Besides the howling, there was the sound of destruction. Glass shattering, things falling. Flashbacks of Buster destroying my apartment hit me. Thank god that era is over. Feeling a sudden surge of empathy for whoever owned this chaotic creature, I said, “Baby, be good. Did you break something? Don’t move, you might cut yourself. Wait for Mom to come home.” The noise stopped. Then, sobbing. “Aroooo… so Mom didn’t abandon Buster?” “Aroooo… Buster misses Mom.” The chat stream went wild: [I don’t know what’s happening, but Chloe is so gentle! Love her!] [Does anyone else feel that motherly glow?] Then, CRASH! Next to me, Julian Stone, the A-list actor, dropped his glass. Then, more howling from the phone. “Aroooo! Mom, I miss you…” “Aroooo! Bad man! Don’t take my phone!” The host laughed awkwardly. “Haha…” I laughed awkwardly. “Haha…” The chat: [HAHAHAHAHA] So awkward. Help. But the awkwardness broke instantly when a new voice came on the line. “Burp. Wifey, who is this guy? Why is he naked in our living room?” “Wifey! Say something!” Everyone on set perked up. Ears open. The chat exploded: [OMG! Is this content allowed?] [Abs? Did he say naked with abs? Show me!] [Tea! We want the tea!] Someone even yelled, “Chloe, put it on speaker!” I covered the mic with my hand. I didn’t dare hang up, but I couldn’t let them hear any more. Because I recognized the second voice. Liam. My childhood friend. Shouldn’t he be filming a movie? Why is he at my house? And Julian was making it worse, sobbing like a dying duck. “Nooo! Chloe! How could you get married behind my back?!” The chat: [LMAO. Is she running a zoo?] [Just add Julian to the harem. They’re missing a duck.] The host saw my face and cut the feed. She handed me water, then got called away by the director. I scurried to a corner and put the phone to my ear. “Hello? Liam? Is that you?” “It’s me! It’s me! Wifey!” I rubbed my temples. “Liam! How many times? Don’t call me Wifey!” The chat floated by: [Nooo! The angst begins!] [Our puppy Liam is heartbroken. Sad. Childhood friends never win against the new guy.] [Better Liam than the scumbag who cheats on her and gets her killed by the mistress.] [Sob. Julian is okay too. He looks nice.] [Why does Chloe pick the trash men when she has flowers all around her?] 2 A few minutes later, the host came back, looking apologetic. I hung up on Liam, warning him to stop messing around. The chat: [Heartbreak for the puppy tonight.] [He took a ten-hour train in coach just to celebrate her birthday, and she hangs up on him.] [Justice for Liam!] The host scratched her head. “Chloe… Director Zhang wants to adjust the show’s content.” I nodded. “Sure. I’m flexible.” She hesitated. “But… he wants to move the shoot to your house.” “WHAT?!” I yelled. Everyone looked at me. I bowed apologetically and scanned the crowd for Director Zhang. “That’s an extra fee,” I muttered. Director Zhang popped up like a gopher. “Negotiable! As long as we can film there, money is no object.” I slapped my own mouth. Stupid mouth. Then my agent came over to apply pressure. Director Zhang had promised to recommend me to Director Shen for his new movie. Director Shen. Oscar winner. His new film was Oscar bait. Getting an audition with him was impossible for regular actors. If I got the lead role… I could be the youngest Best Actress in history. The temptation was huge. My agent whispered, “Bad press is still press. Even if you have a wild man at home, it doesn’t matter.” “I trust your character. And your acting.” “Chloe, you’ve waited so long for a break like this. You can’t say no.” I thought about it. Director Shen didn’t care about gossip, only talent. Seeing me nod, Director Zhang jumped for joy. Before I knew it, I was in a van heading to my apartment. They confiscated my phone so I couldn’t warn the “wild man” and “wild child” at home. According to a friend on the crew, the show had blown up. Viewership jumped from 5,000 to 120,000 as soon as they announced the location change. My heart was pounding the whole way. 3 Turning the key in the lock, I prayed: Please, nothing R-rated. Please. I pushed the door open. Something dark and heavy flew at my face. I didn’t even see what it was before everything went black. I woke up to two incredibly handsome faces hovering over me, glaring at each other. The noise was unbearable. “Get out! Don’t look at my wife!” “Aroooo! You get out! That’s my Mom!” “Tch. Mom? Does Chloe admit she has a son this big?” “Pfft! Your ‘mom’ doesn’t want you!” The chat: [HAHAHAHAHA] [They fight like elementary schoolers.] [Help, my eyes hurt from the beauty but my ears are bleeding.] I opened one eye. One face was Liam. The other… was a stranger. But he was just as hot as Liam. Liam is the youngest Best Actor winner. But this new guy… Wait, if I win Director Shen’s role, I’ll be the youngest Best Actress. So Liam will still be the youngest Best Actor? Whatever. Head hurts. The bickering continued. “Well, my mom didn’t say you were her husband either.” “My mom said men are trash.” I jumped up and covered the howling guy’s mouth. I smiled awkwardly at the camera. “He didn’t mean that! We treat everyone equally here!” I looked around. The crew was hiding in corners, covering their ears. “STOP!” I yelled. They ignored me. I sat between them, grabbing a mouth in each hand to silence them. I slammed a Pringles can on the table like a gavel. “Shut your mouths!” I pointed the can at them. “Freeze. Whoever moves, I hate them.” “I point, you speak.” I pointed at Liam. “You first. Shouldn’t you be on set? Why are you in my house?” Liam rubbed his butt, looking wronged. “I took leave. Not skipping.” I banged the table. “Is that the point? Professionalism! You can’t just leave!” Liam whispered, “But tomorrow is your birthday.” The handsome stranger started howling. “Aroooo! Tomorrow is Buster’s birthday too!” The chat: [Help! The second male lead is such a pure puppy.] [When will she realize he took the train for ten hours just for her birthday?] [Wait… who is the howling hot guy?!] [Is he… the dog? I remember Chloe had a beagle named Buster. His birthday is the same as hers.] My brain rebooted. The chat reminded me. I did have a beagle named Buster. I adopted him from a “Beagle Victims Alliance” group online. His birthday was June 22nd, same as mine. The owner gave him to me immediately when I commented. I tried to refuse, but they just said, “Open the door!” and dropped him off. I adopted him. And then I realized I was the victim. The piercing “Aroooo” brought me back. “Aroooo! Mom, why are you spacing out?” I looked at the 6’1″, eight-pack having man calling me “Mom” and blushed. I looked away. “Don’t call me Mom. Call me Chloe.” He pounced, rubbing his fluffy head on my neck. “Aroooo! Why?! Mom doesn’t want Buster anymore? Buster was good today!” “Buster pooped in the toilet! Didn’t poop on the rug!” “And didn’t steal chocolate!” He looked guilty. He definitely ate chocolate! I grabbed his jaw and tried to pry his mouth open. “Spit it out! Aroooo… barf…” “Aroooo! Mom, stop! Buster is human now! Humans can eat chocolate!” The chat: [He looks so pitiful with red eyes.] [Don’t be fooled! That is the Demon King Beagle reincarnated!] [Too late! Open the door!] I pulled my hand back. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” Wait! “So you knew dogs can’t eat chocolate and you ate it anyway?!” I grabbed a slipper. He ran around the room. “Aroooo! Don’t hit me! Buster knows he’s wrong!” “It’s not Buster’s fault! Chocolate smells too good!” 4 I sat on the sofa, fuming. Liam on one side, Julian on the other. Yes, Julian Stone was here too. He had joined the chaos. One poured tea, the other fanned me. They told me not to be mad at the “idiot.” I couldn’t tell them the truth—that Buster was my dead dog reincarnated as a human. So I said he was a distant relative with “issues.” The director had fled, leaving only the stationary cameras. The show had turned into a reality TV circus. 1.5 million viewers. Eventually, Buster came over, head hanging low, carrying the slipper I threw. “Aroooo… Sis, I was wrong.” (I made him call me Sis). He knelt and offered his head. “Hit me. Buster won’t hide.” “Just don’t throw Buster away. Buster is scared.” My eyes teared up. I saw the shadow of my dog over this man. I dropped the slipper and hugged him. “Don’t be scared. Sis said she’d never throw Buster away.” Liam crossed his arms, glaring at Julian, then at Buster. The chat: [HAHAHAHAHA] [Liam’s eyes are working overtime guarding against two rivals.] [Liam: I leave for work and come back to find my wife stolen.] We sat there until dark. Every time I got up for water, Buster gave me the puppy eyes. “Aroooo! Mom, where are you going? Don’t you want Buster?” Back to “Mom.” Whatever. A dog’s memory is short. I reached out to pat his head but missed because he was taller now. Awkward. Then, I felt fuzzy hair on my palm. Buster had bowed his head, arching his back to fit under my hand. He smiled up at me. “Aroooo! Mom!” I rubbed his head and felt a sob building in my throat. I ran to the bathroom. “Buster wait, Mom needs to pee.” I cried in the bathroom. When Buster died of old age, I thought about getting another beagle. But I couldn’t. Buster was irreplaceable. Unless he came back. But I knew he would leave me again one day. Suddenly, pounding on the door. “Aroooo! Mom, why are you crying? Did Buster make you mad?” Then, a crash. Liam fell. “Ow! Wife, are you okay? Coming!” Crash. “Wife, wait! Ow!” Chat: [LMAO how does someone fall on flat ground?] [Repeatedly!] [Julian: Don’t touch my shirt with your dirty hands!] [Liam: Stingy! Let me grab your arm!] I opened the door. The three of them were wedged in the doorway, fighting to be first. They all looked up. “Arooo/Wife/Chloe, are you okay?” I shook my head. “I’m getting water…” Buster shot out like a rocket. The sudden loss of mass caused Liam and Julian to collapse into a heap. By the time they scrambled up, Buster was back with water bottles, grinning. “Aroooo! Mom, drink!” I decided to play favorites. I shielded Buster. “Forget it, he’s a child.” Liam glared at Buster. “Fine. For Wifey’s sake.” Julian copied him. “Fine. For Chloe’s sake.” Liam: “?? Why are you copying me?” Julian: “Is your name on the sentence? So bossy. No wonder Chloe doesn’t like you.” They bickered. I tried to sneak away with Buster. Liam grabbed me. “Wife, you judge!” AHHH! Headache! I am never having boys. Chat: [Poor heroine. In the original plot, she meets the scumbag today. He locks her in a basement and forces her to have five sons, and none of them help her.] [Nooo! This is good! Just the four of them living together!] My heart skipped a beat. Was the chat predicting my future? I sat back down. Liam put his head in my hand. “What about me?” I flicked his forehead. “What?” “You pet him. Why not me?” I sighed. “You’re a human. He’s…” “Don’t care. I want pets.” Fine. I rubbed Liam’s hair. He smirked at Buster. Buster headbutted him off the sofa. I ordered takeout. Five dishes. Julian came out of the kitchen in an apron. “Chloe, get chopsticks. Dinner is ready.” I hugged Julian. “You’re so domestic! Some lucky girl is going to snatch you up.” Julian peeled me off. “Stop hugging. Someone’s eyes are literally shooting lasers at me.” I went to wash my hands. When I came back, the plates were licked clean. Buster was on a chair, belly round. Liam was wiping grease off his hands. Julian looked broken. “Are you starving ghosts reincarnated? Did you not eat in your past lives?” I sighed and got a rag. “I’ll take you out, Julian. What do you want?”

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A “system” suddenly bound itself to me, demanding that I romance the male lead and the second male lead. I asked, “As long as I conquer them, does the method matter?” The system nodded. So, I turned around and installed a fake system from the system shop on both of them. The next second, both men received a notification: [Dear Host, you have successfully bound the “Romance the Heroine” System.] [Heroine affection reaches 100: Success.] [Heroine affection drops to -100: Failure.] [Failure results in immediate termination.] [Friendly Reminder: If affection drops below zero, random punishments will be deployed.] 1 When the so-called “Romance System” bound itself to me, I had just had a massive fight with my biological parents, stormed out, and was currently homeless on the streets. Just as I was figuring out where to sleep, a cold, mechanical voice rang out. [Congratulations, Host. You have successfully bound the Romance System.] A transparent screen popped up in front of me, scrolling through the profiles of two men. That’s when I learned I was living in a romance novel about a guy realizing his love too late. I was the heroine. I was also the “real daughter” in a “switched at birth” plotline, who had been wandering the streets for twenty years. Because the plot had deviated, the system appeared, demanding I romance the male lead and the second male lead. The male lead, Julian Thorne, and the second male lead, River Thorne, were uncle and nephew. Both were very close to my “fake” sister, the girl who lived my life. On the day I returned to my biological family, they specifically came over to back her up, terrified that I, the country bumpkin, would bully their precious princess. 2 Lying on a plush hotel bed, I grilled the system about every single rule. Including the punishment for failure. The system was silent for a moment before dropping one word: “Termination.” Death. But if I succeeded, I could keep a “cheat code” item from the system shop. I had to complete the mission before the storyline ended. In the original story, the characters entangled themselves in love and hate for five years before reaching a happy ending. So, I had five years. Or I die. I thought for a moment. “So, the method doesn’t matter, right? As long as I succeed?” The system hummed a yes. I opened the system shop and searched for useful tools. “System,” I said, “I need a loan. I’m buying something.” Everything in the shop was priced in local currency, but my bank account was empty. A second later, a long string of zeros appeared in my balance. I bought a fake system. It didn’t do much—just remote monitoring and messaging. I immediately bound the fake system to both men. Then I typed in the introductory message: [Dear Host, you have successfully bound the “Romance the Heroine” System.] [Heroine affection reaches 100: Success.] [Heroine affection drops to -100: Failure.] [Failure results in immediate termination.] [Friendly Reminder: If affection drops below zero, random punishments will be deployed.] 3 Through the remote monitor, I watched Julian Thorne freeze. He looked like he had just gotten home and was changing. His dress shirt was half-unbuttoned, revealing abs usually hidden under tailored suits. I cracked open a soda, leaned back on the couch, and stared at the screen. Julian was probably trying to figure out if he was hallucinating. I typed again: [Host Mission: Romance the Heroine, Sarah Vance. Affection level 100 is considered success.] [Current Heroine Affection: 0.] I debated what number to give him, but decided to mirror their affection for me. Julian and I had only met once—the day I returned to the family. Zero seemed fair. River Thorne, on the other hand? His affection for me was -50. He was clearly a black-and-white kind of guy; if you weren’t his friend, you were his enemy. I switched to River’s feed. He was shirtless, just out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. He was towel-drying his hair, looking confused. “What the hell?” After listening to the system repeat the rules, he muttered my name. Then he cursed. “Romance? Screw that. Find someone else. I’m not doing it.” I scrolled through the system shop and selected the “Electric Shock” punishment. [System detects Host negligence. Heroine affection critically low. Initiating Random Punishment Mode.] Before River could react, I hit the button. On screen, he collapsed, convulsing and howling in pain. After the first wave, River clearly hadn’t submitted. He was spewing profanities. “I don’t accept this…” I hit the button harder. Another scream. But he was still stubborn. River was a tough nut to crack. I shocked him a dozen times. Finally, trembling with fear, he gasped, “Stop… I accept.” I tapped the button lightly one last time. This time, he let out a soft groan and panted. I rubbed my ears and duplicated the audio file of his panting. My real system watched this in silence. “What exactly are you romancing?” it asked. It probably looked more like I was torturing them for fun. “Relax,” I said. I typed again: [Host must raise Heroine Sarah Vance’s affection to a positive number within two weeks. Failure will result in Random Punishment Mode.] River, gasping on the floor, couldn’t believe it. But the shadow of the electric shocks loomed large. He could still feel the phantom electricity buzzing in his veins. He felt like he had lost control of his own body. His brain was mush. It took him a while to even remember who Sarah Vance was. Oh right. The sister of Chloe Vance. The real daughter from the boonies. At the same time, I got a notification: River’s affection for me had dropped even lower. 4 I wasn’t planning on letting Julian off easy, either. He was calmer than River. No arguing, just immediately ordering a background check on me. When I switched to his feed, he was already dressed and sitting at his computer. If he wasn’t going to make trouble, I had to make some for him. They needed to learn obedience. And obedience comes from punishment and reward. [Heroine Sarah Vance Affection: -10. Current Affection: -10.] [Detected Heroine Affection below 0. Initiating Random Punishment Mode.] Before Julian could process the random drop in affection, the punishment hit. A wave of intense heat swept through his body. I had selected [Unrelieved Desire] from the shop. Honestly? I just wanted to see the show. Julian, both in person and by reputation, was the epitome of an ascetic, untouchable “High Mountain Flower.” But the first time I saw him, I thought his eyes betrayed him. He looked cold and conservative, but he had “peach blossom eyes”—eyes that naturally looked affectionate and seductive. He wore non-prescription glasses, probably to hide that contrast. Making a man like that feel uncontrollable lust… was it torture, or was it liberation? I zoomed in on the feed. Julian froze in his office chair as the heat hit him. He was trying desperately to suppress the rising tide of desire. Sweat beaded on his forehead; his face flushed. Since he was home, the glasses were off. His eyes were misty, lashes wet with sweat or tears. His lips parted, letting out involuntary whimpers. After a while, he collapsed onto the desk, heavy pants muffled by his arms. Realizing self-control wasn’t working, he started stripping off his sweat-soaked clothes. His perfect body, usually hidden beneath expensive suits, was now on full display. Julian had incredible endurance. Even rolling around in bed in agony, he didn’t curse. He just tried to stifle the shameful sounds. He arched his back, flushed red, pain mixing with… something else. I watched the livestream. Only when he realized he couldn’t stop the torment did he start to groan in misery. “Stop… please stop…” I really wanted to say, “Beg me.” But I had to maintain the cold system persona. So I issued the mission: [Host must raise Heroine Sarah Vance’s affection to a positive number within two weeks. Failure will result in Random Punishment Mode.] Julian, drenched in sweat, agreed. I stopped the punishment. He went limp on the bed instantly. For a man whose life had been smooth sailing, this was the most humiliating, unspeakable experience. A complete violation of body and mind. Even after it ended, his body seemed to tremble with the memory of it.

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My sister, a perfectly average girl, fell hopelessly in love with a billionaire playboy named Liam Sterling. Liam, driven to the brink of insanity by her relentless stalking, finally snapped. He told her, “I’m obsessed with African tribal culture. Lip plates and stretched septums are the epitome of sexiness to me. The women of those tribes are the only ones I find truly beautiful.” “If you can make yourself look like them,” he sneered, “maybe I’ll consider dating you.” My sister couldn’t hear the sarcasm or the cruelty in his voice. She took it as a promise. She actually packed her bags to go to Africa for a modification procedure. In my past life, I stopped her at the airport. I saved her from mutilating herself. She went on to graduate, marry a good man, and live a happy, normal life. But she hated me for it. She believed I had severed her red string of fate with the billionaire. Years later, she murdered me brutally. As I died, she cursed me: “If you hadn’t stopped me, I would be a tribal beauty with a lip plate and neck rings right now! Liam would have loved me!” “You ruined my life! I hope you rot in hell!” I opened my eyes, and I was back. Back to the day she was screaming about going to Africa. 1 I woke up to the sound of chaos in the living room. “You don’t understand love!” my sister, Chloe, screamed. “I would give up everything for him! Even myself!” My mom was trembling with rage. “That man is trying to scare you off! Are you deaf? What man likes a… a monster like that?” “Africa is dangerous! You could die there! Do you want me to bury my own child?” Mom collapsed on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. She hugged Chloe’s leg as Chloe tried to drag her suitcase out the front door. I walked out of my bedroom and saw the familiar scene. Seeing me, Mom wailed like she’d seen a savior. “Zoey! Talk to your sister! She’s going to Africa to get a lip plate for that… that Liam guy!” Chloe turned to me, explaining with manic intensity. “Liam said he loves African tribal women. If I become one, he’ll be with me.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through photos of Liam’s “ideal type.” The images were intense. Women with dark skin, clay plates the size of dinner plates stretched into their lower lips, necks elongated by brass coils, septums stretched wide. Leaving aside the cultural context and the immense pain involved, from a purely aesthetic standpoint in modern Western society… it was extreme. But Chloe chose to believe this was Liam’s specific kink rather than a brush-off. 2 “I don’t know why he likes it, but I’ll change for him.” “No doctor in the US will do the surgery. Even the underground clinics said no. I have to go to the source.” Chloe looked at me, tears glistening in her eyes. She was already moved by her own deep affection. I was about to open my mouth to scold her when a wave of phantom pain washed over me. The memory of iron bars shattering my bones and my flesh being stripped away paralyzed me. I realized I had been reborn. In my last life, I stopped her. And she killed me for it. She even used black magic to curse my soul. My mother, instead of seeking justice for me, helped Chloe dispose of my body. “Zoey, forgive your mother,” she had cried over my corpse. “I’ve lost one daughter; I can’t lose the second one to prison. If you hadn’t meddled, she might be a billionaire’s wife now. She has a right to be angry.” Forgive my murderer? Hilarious. All my love for my family turned into ash in that moment. This time, I looked at Chloe and Mom, and I smiled encouragingly. “Chloe,” I said, “Fortune favors the bold! If you can cater to Liam’s taste and become Mrs. Sterling, our whole family hits the jackpot!” I pulled Mom away from Chloe’s leg. “Mom, stop it. Chloe is an adult. She has her own ideas. We should support her, not crush her dreams.” I turned to Chloe. “Go, sister. Mom and I will wait for you at home.” In this life, I want to see exactly what kind of “happy ending” Chloe gets. 3 As expected, even without our interference, Chloe didn’t go to Africa. I knew she didn’t have the guts. In my past life, she texted me her entire itinerary, practically begging me to come stop her. A person truly determined to leave doesn’t leave breadcrumbs. Seeing her drag her suitcase back into the house that night, I feigned surprise. “I thought you were going to the tribes? Why are you back?” She looked embarrassed. “I… I was worried some slut would steal Liam while I was gone. I need to stay in the country to keep an eye on him.” Mom was relieved. “Good, good. Being home is best.” But Chloe didn’t give up. She ordered a horrifying amount of surgical tools, disinfectants, and stretchers online. She was going DIY. Before she started, she swallowed hard and gave us a speech about her humble love. “You know I’ve loved him for three years. I won’t fail this time.” “No matter how much it hurts, I won’t stop.” Facing the hammer, scalpel, lip plates, painkillers, and gauze on the bathroom floor, she looked up at us, terror in her eyes. “I might pass out from the pain. Do not come in and stop me!” She was scared. She wanted us to stop her. I patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone interfere.” “If Liam knows you did this for him, he’ll be so moved.” I walked out of the bathroom and closed the door. A second later, a scream like a slaughtered pig echoed from the bathroom. “AHHHH!” 4 To insert a lip plate, one must first remove the lower front teeth. Then, slice the lower lip from the jawline and stretch it. To prevent healing, a wooden plug is inserted. Once the wound heals around the plug, you start stretching it with larger plates. Chloe took painkillers, but the sound of her hammering her own teeth out was… distinct. I sat on the couch, watching TV, tapping my fingers to the rhythm of her screams. Mom couldn’t take it. She smashed the remote on the floor, eyes red. “Your sister is suffering in there, and you’re watching TV?!” I shrugged. “It’s not suffering, Mom. It’s an investment. She’s preparing to marry into royalty. Good days are ahead.” “No pain, no gain.” “Besides, it’s her choice. Who forced her?” Mom was speechless. She paced frantically outside the bathroom door. Every scream made her flinch. Finally, she couldn’t take it. She pounded on the door. “Chloe! Stop! It’s too much! Mommy can’t stand it!” Chloe, speaking through a mouthful of blood, slurred, “Don’t come in!” Hours later, Chloe emerged. She was holding onto the wall for support. Her face was pale as a sheet. Her lower lip was a swollen, bloody mass covering two-thirds of her face. It looked like a giant sausage. The smell of blood filled the hallway. Mom rushed to hold her, sobbing. I hid my smile in the shadows. Her suffering matched her stupidity perfectly.

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When my new neighbor, a heavily pregnant woman named Tammy, found out I was the Head of Obstetrics at the local hospital, my life turned into a nightmare. “Dr. Lin! Open up! I feel weird down there, you need to check me!” “Are you dead in there? I’m carrying a miracle baby! If anything happens to him, you can’t afford the damages!” At 3 AM, my door was being pounded so hard I thought it would break. This was the sixteenth time this month. At first, I thought she was actually in trouble. I did a thorough checkup. Turns out, she just ate too much takeout. She was healthier than I was. But she took my kindness as a lifetime subscription to a free 24/7 private doctor. Every night, she demanded I check the fetal heartbeat. I had to work during the day and wasn’t sleeping at night. I almost fainted during surgery twice. I started refusing her. But she wouldn’t stop. Every night, like clockwork, the banging started. The other neighbors were furious. Just when I was at my wit’s end, I saw a post in a local rental group: “Looking for an apartment. Severe insomnia, chemically imbalanced, just beat up my last neighbor. Need a new place immediately.” My eyes lit up. I messaged him instantly. 1 He replied fast. We agreed on the rent, and he said he’d move in next month. I exhaled a long breath. Finally, someone who could handle this neighbor. Seeing no movement from my apartment, Tammy escalated. She screamed at the top of her lungs: “Dr. Lin! Are you trying to murder me and my baby?” “They say doctors are healers, but you’re heartless! You don’t deserve your license!” “I command you to come out and check me right now, or I’m calling the police and reporting you for malpractice!” Her screeching woke up half the building. The neighborhood group chat started pinging like crazy. “Again? Seriously? It’s 3 AM!” “301 and 302, whatever beef you have, take it offline. People are trying to sleep.” “Pregnant lady in 302, have some decency. My kid has SATs coming up. Shut up!” Tammy saw the message notification and immediately pivoted her rage to the hallway. “Your kid is stupid anyway! Can’t even stay up late to study? He’s probably going to community college.” “My baby is a one-in-a-million genius! The psychic said he’s destined to be a Senator!” “If anything happens to him, all your worthless lives couldn’t pay for it!” The parent was furious and tagged the building management. “Are you guys going to do anything? We pay HOA fees to get abused?” The property manager, sounding exhausted, called me. “Ms. Lin, can you please talk to Ms. Tammy? Ask her to stop screaming at night. We’ve tried, but she just throws a tantrum.” I wanted to talk, but does Tammy look like she speaks human? “You guys better come up. I can’t communicate with her either.” I rubbed my temples, a headache splitting my skull. Two days ago, I opened the door and told Tammy to go to the hospital for a checkup and stop harassing me. She barged into my apartment, yelling righteously: “Easy for you to say! Do you know how much a copay is?” “A checkup costs as much as my grocery budget! I’m not rich like you!” “My husband works construction out of state, every dollar is blood money!” She marched to my medical cabinet, grabbed my fetal doppler, and shoved it into my hand. She forced me to check the heartbeat. Then she raided my pantry and took a bunch of expensive prenatal supplements. 2 I wanted to snatch them back, but she was wielding that belly like a weapon. If we scuffled and she “fell,” I’d be sued into oblivion. Thinking about that, and hearing the BANG BANG BANG on my door, I wanted to rush out and slap her. I clenched my fists and breathed. Calm down. End of the month. The insomniac moves in. Let’s see how arrogant Tammy is then. Security arrived. I opened the door to find Tammy hands on hips, screaming at the poor guard. “I’m here to see the doctor! None of your business!” “Get lost! If you stress out my genius baby, can you afford it?” The property manager looked at me pleadingly. “Dr. Lin, maybe just… check her one more time? If this keeps up, no one sleeps tonight.” Tammy smirked triumphantly. “Dr. Lin, letting you check my son is an honor. I don’t let just anyone touch my belly.” I took a deep breath and put on my professional face. “I’m sorry, but I am not your private physician. I have no obligation to give you daily checkups.” “There is an Urgent Care two blocks away. If you feel unwell, go there.” Tammy’s eyebrows shot up. She pointed a finger in my face. “You’re the Head of OB/GYN! Why should I pay to go to a hospital?” “You doctors are all black-hearted! Won’t even lift a finger to help, just want to scam people out of money!” “I know! You get a kickback from the Urgent Care for referring patients, don’t you?!” “If you don’t check me right now, I’ll post about you online! I’ll ruin your career!” I had tolerated her for too long. Today, I snapped. “Ms. Tammy, let me be clear: I will never check you again.” “I have a Ring camera. Your slander is recorded. Go ahead and post it online. Let’s see who goes to jail!” I’m usually gentle, so my outburst stunned her. After a pause, she gritted her teeth. “Fine! Don’t check me.” “I have three months left. A checkup every two days… that’s expensive. Give me $10,000 for medical fees, and I won’t bother you.” The manager’s jaw dropped. I gasped, breathless with rage. “It’s not my baby! Why should I pay for it?” Tammy looked me dead in the eye. “You make six figures a month! My husband breaks his back for pennies! What’s $10,000 to you?” “Doctors are supposed to be angels! If you won’t help, pay up!” I have never met anyone so logically bankrupt in my life. The manager tried to intervene. “Ms. Tammy, Ms. Lin is just a neighbor…” “Shut up!” Tammy screeched. “She’s a doctor! It’s her job!” “Why are you defending her? Are you two sleeping together?” The manager’s face went black. “I’m married! Watch your mouth!” 3 Tammy rolled her eyes. “So what? Look at how slutty she dresses. She’s definitely seducing men.” “Probably hooked up with half the married men in the building.” “Thank god my husband is out of state. I wouldn’t feel safe living next to her.” I wear scrubs all day. Off the clock, I wear T-shirts and jeans. How is that slutty? I forced myself to stay calm, but my heart was pounding. “Ms. Tammy, slander is actionable. Say one more word, and I’ll see you in court!” Tammy snorted. “Whether it’s true or not, you know. You never open the door for me. Probably hiding a man inside.” “Look decent, act like a whore!” She kept going. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. Seeing me actually call the police, a flicker of panic crossed her eyes. But then she touched her belly, and the arrogance returned. The cops arrived in twenty minutes. Before I could speak, Tammy started wailing. “Officer! Help me!” “This doctor is bullying a pregnant woman! My stomach hurts so bad, I’m dying, and she refuses to help! It’s attempted murder!” The officers frowned and looked at me. “What’s going on here?” I didn’t argue. I just played the Ring footage. “I am a doctor, but I am not on call 24/7 for my neighbors. She pounds on my door every night and verbally abuses me. I want to press charges.” The cops watched the video, faces hardening. The lead officer turned to Tammy sternly. “Ma’am, your behavior constitutes harassment and disturbing the peace. Please come with us to the station.” Tammy didn’t expect this. She screamed, “Why arrest me?! She’s the one letting me die! Arrest her!” An officer reached for handcuffs. Tammy threw herself on the ground, clutching her belly. “Help! Police brutality! They’re killing my baby!” She was a rolling roadblock of a human being. The pregnancy made her untouchable. The officer looked at me helplessly. “Ms. Lin, she’s pregnant. We can’t force her.” “How about this: we’ll give her a formal warning. If it happens again, we’ll escalate.” I knew their hands were tied. I nodded. After that, Tammy was quiet for a few days. I finally got some sleep. Just when I thought it was over, I came home from work to find my window open. The security screen had been ripped off. I thought I’d been robbed. I rushed in, only to find Tammy sitting on my sofa, eating a durian. 4 She glanced at me, disgusted. “This durian isn’t ripe. Tastes like crap. Buy a better one next time.” I was stunned. “What are you doing in my house?” Tammy replied matter-of-factly: “I ran out of vitamins. You weren’t home, so I had to come in through the window.” I was shaking with rage. “This is breaking and entering!” “And what does your lack of vitamins have to do with me? Why steal mine?” Tammy rolled her eyes. “So stingy. How much does this cost?” “If my son is born with a deficiency because of you, can you afford it?” The vitamins were high-end imports I bought for my sister who was trying to conceive. Hundreds of dollars a box. I didn’t care before, but these were hard to get. I couldn’t let her have them. I walked over to snatch them back. She clutched them to her chest and screamed. “What are you doing?!” “I didn’t charge you for the checkups, and you won’t even give me some vitamins? You are so cheap!” She was screaming like a banshee. I couldn’t get close without risking a lawsuit. I called the police again. The cops looked exhausted seeing Tammy again. But this time, breaking and entering plus theft was enough to drag her to the station for a statement. It didn’t help. She left the station and immediately went online. She wrote a post full of lies. Title: [Elite Hospital Director Lin Refuses to Treat Dying Pregnant Woman, Colludes with Police to Bully Her] The post went viral. The hospital leadership called me, demanding I fix it immediately. I explained everything to the Dean. Then, forcing down my anger, I knocked on Tammy’s door. She took forever to open it. Seeing me, she smirked. “What? Ready to give me a checkup?” “Finally learned your lesson, bitch?” I shoved my phone in her face. “Did you write this?” Tammy grinned. “Yeah. That’s what you get for calling the cops!” I dug my nails into my palms. “Delete it. Now.” She scoffed. “Make me. It’s all true. Sue me!” “Even if you sue me, they won’t arrest me. Let’s see who loses more!” With trash like this, logic doesn’t work. I gave her a cold look and went home. I waited three more days. Finally, the day the new tenant was moving in arrived. I called movers and quietly packed up and left. I hired a lawyer to handle the online defamation and focused on work. A week later, my upstairs neighbor added me on WeChat frantically. “Dr. Lin! Huge news! The pregnant lady in 302 hung a banner at the gate accusing you of murder!”

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A student exposed me on the campus Confession Wall, calling me a “total fraud” of a professor because I never took attendance. What the netizens didn’t know was that my “Contemporary Literary Criticism” class was an elective. The syllabus clearly stated: 30% for participation and group projects, 70% for the final term paper. The big paper was the real deal. But the internet decided I was “ruining the youth” and “waiting for retirement.” Fine. I’ll give the people what they want. I posted an announcement directly in the class GroupMe: “In response to student feedback regarding classroom discipline and academic standards, and acknowledging that previous attendance policies were too lenient, effective next week: This course will implement a strict, mandatory roll-call policy for every class. Attendance will now account for 10% of the final grade. Furthermore, the final exam format will change from an open-book term paper to a closed-book, in-class written exam.” The group chat exploded. Students who usually lurked, borrowed homework, or begged for study guides suddenly came alive. “Professor, we were wrong! Your old way was perfect!” “Please, change the grading scale back!” A few students even blocked the door to my office, begging with sad faces for me to reverse the policy. 1 This semester, my “Contemporary Literary Criticism” class was packed. The lecture hall was full, mostly because of my reputation: “No attendance, no failing.” A boy in the back row named Sean stood up, interrupting my lecture with a deliberately provocative tone. “Professor, isn’t it boring just reading off the slides every day? This is a top-tier university, and you don’t even take attendance. Isn’t that a bit… water-downed? Where’s the academic rigor?” The room went silent. The class rep, Sarah, quickly scolded him. “Sean, sit down! Professor Lee’s class isn’t about forcing people to sit here. You actually learn real skills.” Another student chimed in, “Yeah, last year a senior used his final project from this class as a portfolio piece and got hired by a Fortune 500 company. Isn’t learning practical skills better than just sitting here like a zombie for attendance points?” “Oh? Is that so?” Sean drawled sarcastically. “Taking attendance is an attitude problem. If you can’t even maintain basic classroom discipline, how can you claim to have high teaching standards? Without structure, content is useless.” Sarah and the other student looked annoyed but shut up. Many students around them started jeering, looking at Sean with admiration. Emboldened, Sean straightened his back, his words becoming even sharper. “Professor Lee, I think since we are an Ivy League-level school, teaching management should be more standardized. Like attendance. Even if it’s an elective, it shouldn’t be this casual. If we had strict sign-ins, or even GPS check-ins, it would reflect the school’s rigor, right?” I looked at him, amused. I remembered this student, Sean. Last semester, he submitted a final paper with a 70% plagiarism rate on Turnitin. The logic was non-existent. I failed him immediately. He came to me later, begging and pleading for a pass, but I turned him down. He looked furious then, but didn’t say a word. So today, he was here for revenge. Pathetic. “Sean, I hope to attract minds interested in knowledge, not bodies tethered by attendance. 70% of the grade is the final project. That’s the real battleground. What’s the point of tying people to their seats if their minds aren’t here?” Sean’s smile froze. “Professor, I didn’t mean that. I meant combining discipline with freedom is the art of teaching management.” I interrupted him. “I only know that giving students the power to choose and be responsible for themselves is the greatest respect. If you think it’s worth it, listen. If not, leave. We’re in college. Treating adults like children is pointless.” He argued unconvinced, “I’m just making a suggestion.” After sitting down, he muttered loudly, “Old stubborn fool. Can’t reason with him. Just uses his title to suppress people. Feeding us chicken soup without asking if we want to drink it!” I didn’t pay much attention to this episode, dismissing it as youthful arrogance. I’ve been teaching for over ten years. I stick to this method because I believe the core of university education is awakening internal drive, not indoctrination and control. I’ve seen too many “well-managed” students get lost the moment they leave campus. But after class, seeing the hostile looks some students gave me, I had a bad feeling. 2 When I got home and started prepping for tomorrow, a colleague sent me a link to a TikTok video. “Lee, you’re trending on Campus Wall. What’s going on? Better handle this with the poster privately before it blows up.” My heart sank. I clicked the link with trembling fingers. The video was titled: [Gen Z Student Cleans Up ‘Water Course’: Professor Never Takes Attendance. Is This Irresponsible?] It already had over 100k likes. The poster’s profile picture was Sean’s face. Caption: “Mustered the courage to suggest the ‘Water Professor’ standardize teaching and manage attendance.” The video cut to me saying: “You can come or not, my class is just like this.” My patient explanation of the grading criteria and teaching philosophy had been edited and autotuned to make me sound like an arrogant, unreasonable dictator. It was followed by a shot of an empty classroom after class, captioned: “Besides me, the brave student who dared to speak up, no one wants to listen to this Water Professor’s nonsense.” “We don’t need so-called freedom. We just need a responsible teacher, a class worthy of our tuition and youth. Is asking the teacher to take attendance and maintain order too much?” In the ten minutes I watched, the comments jumped from hundreds to tens of thousands. [There are still teachers this lazy? Never takes attendance?] [Good job, bro! Expose him! Which school? What class?] [This kind of tenure-track trash needs to be cleaned up. Support you!] [No wonder college grads can’t find jobs. It’s because of professors like this.] I was so angry I saw stars. I put 70% of the grade on a project that tests real ability, and he calls it “irresponsible.” I tried calling Sean, but his phone was off. I could only watch as the likes climbed from tens of thousands to millions. I arrived at school early the next day. Sean, leading a group of his “supporters” (the class committee), was waiting at my office door. The sports rep, Mike, a 6’3″ giant, stood in front of 5’7″ me like a wall, using his biceps to intimidate me. “Professor Lee, Sean is just looking out for the class. No malice intended. We just hope the course can be more standardized and cohesive. The public is watching. If you don’t change the attendance policy, how can you keep up with the times?” Sean smugly showed me the post with two million likes. “Professor, this isn’t just my request anymore. It’s the universal call of the students.” I said calmly, “The syllabus and grading criteria were announced at the start of the semester. They won’t be changed easily based on one-sided words.” Sean smirked. “Professor, rules make the world go round. The netizens’ eyes are sharp.” “The video has millions of views now. If you don’t think of a solution, I can’t guarantee it won’t reach the Dean, or even bigger platforms.” This was an open threat. Just then, my phone rang. It was the Department Chair. “Lee, what’s going on? I’ve received several calls. People are seeing videos online saying your class is loose and ‘watered down.’ The impact is very bad. Be careful.” “Also, the Academic Affairs Office called. They saw the online sentiment and want our department to investigate and provide a statement ASAP.” Seeing my face change, Sean’s smile widened. He even shook his phone screen at me, showing the rising share count. “Professor Lee, do you still think this is just me being unreasonable?” I clenched my fist and refreshed the post. Sure enough, the video had been uploaded to TikTok and YouTube, and our university’s official account was tagged. What chilled me even more was that the thread of comments cursing me as a “Water Professor” had reached ten thousand. 3 [I’m Professor Lee’s student. Besides reading off PPTs, he knows nothing.] [Using ‘academic freedom’ as a cover for laziness. Typical tenure abuse.] [I envy other professors who give study guides. We have to guess what’s on the exam.] These accusations made me dizzy. The boy who said I “only read PPTs”—last semester his paper was a mess. I called him to my office and helped him revise it sentence by sentence for three nights. He got a B+ and cried, saying, “Professor, I would have failed without you.” The girl envious of study guides—a month ago she posted on Instagram thanking me for a book recommendation that sparked her academic interest. The photo was of the out-of-print book I gifted her. But now, they could lie through their teeth and follow Sean to paint me as an unforgivable academic fraud. This fickleness was like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing all the passion I had poured into teaching over the years. Looking at the IDs eagerly piling on in the forum, I suddenly felt like a complete idiot. Staying up until 3 AM to prep lessons, spending my own money to buy hundreds of classic books for the classroom library, resisting the pressure of research KPIs to leave time for student questions. I gave everything, hoping to ignite even one or two minds thirsty for knowledge. And the result? They just want you to highlight the key points, leak the exam questions, and hand them an easy A. I actually thought I was doing something meaningful. Overnight, I went from “the most open-minded Professor Lee” to a morally bankrupt “Water Course Slacker.” My DMs were filled with filthy curses. Someone even photoshopped my lecture screenshot into a funeral portrait with the caption “Misleading students, deserves to die.” Early the next morning, the Department Chair found me, dark circles under his eyes, voice hoarse. “Lee, the students who started this must apologize publicly and delete the posts.” “The school will also issue an official statement to defend your reputation.” I pointed to a top comment: “Waiting for the school to whitewash their own. Academic trash get out.” I smiled bitterly at the Chair. “Do you believe that once the statement is out, the label of ‘school protecting its own’ will be slapped on, and my teaching career will truly be over?” He froze, mouth opening and closing. “But what they said is false!” When a person is pushed onto the gallows of public judgment, does the truth matter? How many scholars have been ruined by public opinion? I tried to cheer myself up, forcing a laugh. “It’s okay. There will always be sensible students who will stand up and speak the truth. Can white really be turned into black?” But when I refreshed the forum and saw a new post from thirty seconds ago, I was struck by lightning. [Insider Info: The book list Professor Lee recommends is full of unsellable books. He colludes with booksellers for kickbacks. He forces us to buy reference materials and takes a 50% cut.] The poster’s avatar was one I knew well. Mike, the sports rep. The Mike whom I personally visited in the hospital when he was sick, and to whom I gave my own out-of-print book. This post was instantly pinned and exploded in popularity. My anger was replaced by exhaustion. The last shred of illusion about the teacher-student bond was shattered by these vicious attacks. I looked up sharply out the office window. The academic building was brightly lit. I could imagine how many students behind those screens were excitedly typing away, not studying, but participating in this collective crusade against their teacher. I didn’t dare to imagine. Yesterday I was up late grading their thesis outlines. Today, these students who claimed to respect teachers were probably plotting my demise in group chats. The Chair suddenly handed me his phone, face grim. “Lee, Vice President Wang. He’s in charge of discipline.” I took the phone and spoke calmly. “VP Wang, please rest assured. I will give the school, and myself, an explanation.” Standing aside, the corner of Sean’s mouth curled into a triumphant arc. “Professor Lee, admit your mistakes early. Release the final exam questions and study guide, and we can say a few good words for you in the threads.” “Otherwise, when the school issues a punishment, it won’t look good for you.” “By the way, I have an interview with the campus radio station at 10. Your time is running out.” I stood up, walked to the Chair’s desk, picked up the “Crisis PR Plan,” and tore it in half. “Contact all media. 10 AM, Liberal Arts Building, Lecture Hall 101. I’m holding a press conference.” “I have an important decision to announce.” The Chair hesitated. “Lee, are you compromising? We can’t bow to this kind of behavior.” I interrupted him coldly. “Chair, don’t worry. I will never surrender.” With that, I turned and left the office. Behind me, I could hear the suppressed snickers of Sean and his cohorts. Laugh. The harder you laugh now, the harder you’ll cry at 10 o’clock. 4 At 10 AM, Lecture Hall 101, which seats hundreds, was packed with reporters and rubbernecking students. All eyes were on me—a mix of excitement, curiosity, greed, and anticipation. They looked at me like a convict about to be executed. Sean and Mike were surrounded by a group of students in the center, looking like rebel leaders against authority. Sean even set up a tripod and started livestreaming. “Fam, the unethical professor is bowing to pressure and apologizing publicly. This is a victory for students. As long as we unite, we can get Water Professors fired forever.” “Let’s witness history together.” I walked slowly onto the podium. Microphones and cameras were shoved in my face. I bowed deeply to the audience. “I’m sorry.” The crowd erupted. Reporters fired sharp questions: “Professor Lee, is your apology for not taking attendance, for watering down the curriculum, or for taking kickbacks from booksellers?” “Do you admit to using recommended books for personal gain?” “Will you release the final exam questions and grading criteria today?” … I straightened up, looking at those young faces written with calculation, and spoke firmly: “I have never mandated the purchase of any books. All recommended books are available in the library. I have no financial dealings with any booksellers. The so-called kickbacks are pure fabrication.” I signaled my assistant to turn on the projector. My purchase records, emails with publishers, and screenshots of students posting about borrowing my recommended books from the library appeared one by one. The reporters’ expressions grew serious. But Mike shouted from the floor, “Those can be faked! Who knows if they’re real? If you have guts, fix the attendance! Give us the exam questions and study guide!” His words drew whistles and applause. Sean smugly pointed his livestream camera at me, as if recording my submission. I smiled and nodded. “Student Sean is right. I should indeed prioritize the students’ core demands and respect everyone’s desire for strict attendance management.” Cheers erupted. Sean’s stream was flooded with comments like “Professor kneels!” and “Gen Z fixes academia!” I waited for the cheers to subside, then changed my tone abruptly. “After emergency consultations with the college and university, I have decided to make the following major adjustments to the assessment and teaching methods of ‘Contemporary Literary Criticism.’” Everyone held their breath, eyes filled with greedy anticipation. I looked at them and announced the decision clearly and calmly: “Effective immediately, the open-ended essay assessment method, which has been used for years, is completely abolished.” Several students stood up in excitement. I ignored them and continued: “To satisfy everyone’s desire for roll calls and exam study guides, this course will switch to a standardized assessment model consistent with compulsory public courses. That is, a clear scope of key points will be defined, and a closed-book examination format will be adopted. Attendance/Participation will count for 50%, and the Final Exam will count for 50%.” Silence fell over the room, followed by an even louder uproar. From open-ended essays that valued process and encouraged thinking, to rote memorization and a standardized test that determined one’s fate in a single shot. The massive gap froze many smiles. Sean sat down heavily on the floor. Recovering, he was the first to jump up, pointing at my nose and cursing, “Why?! We can research and discuss essays! Closed-book exams? Are you deliberately making it hard for us?” I looked at him coldly. “For the final assessment, you complained that the key points were vague and suspected leniency. Now, a closed-book exam, with unified standards, absolutely fair and just—isn’t this exactly what you asked for?” I signaled my assistant to switch the slide. The screen showed a screenshot of a notice just released by the Academic Affairs Office. [Preliminary Investigation and Handling Explanation Regarding Recent Online Opinion Involving Teaching Accidents], as well as emails from several cooperative research institutions stating “Need to Re-evaluate Cooperation.” I looked calmly at the students, whose expressions were shifting from dissatisfaction to shock and panic, and continued: “Due to the massive negative public opinion triggered by this false report, the academic reputation of the school and myself has been severely damaged, leading to the potential suspension of several important cooperative research projects. To enforce academic discipline, the university has decided to reduce the quota for outstanding student selection in the School of Liberal Arts by 30% this year. Quotas for various scholarships and graduate school recommendations will also be tightened.” A reporter immediately asked, “Professor Lee, are you using academic resources to retaliate against students?” My gaze swept over the pale faces below, and I twitched my lips. “I am merely stating the direct consequences of this incident. I have no interest in retaliating against students. I am simply changing my original teaching intentions to satisfy the students’ calls.” Then, I bowed deeply to the room again. “Congratulations. You got what you wanted.” Every young face was written with blindsided despair.

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