3:17 a.m.
My stomach feels like someone's drilling for oil. I bolt awake, swear under my breath, and grab my phone.
I scroll past "Jiang-the-Jerk" and hit voice-note to Su Xiao:
"Girl, painkillers and fried rice, STAT. I'm dying here."
Twenty minutes later she kicks the door in, rain still dripping off her jacket.
"Pills, carbs, sympathy—pick two."
I swallow the pills dry. "Keep the sympathy. I've got debts to collect."
10 a.m. – Publishing House
Chief Editor Zhou slides a contract across the table.
"Three months, one best-seller topic."
I scribble the title in block letters:
"Fake Saint: How the White Moonlight Robbed My Dad's Hospital Fund."
Zhou raises an eyebrow. "You sure you wanna go nuclear?"
I shrug. "Nuclear's cheaper than chemo."
Noon – Back Alley Behind the Hospital
Chen the orderly hands me a stack of printouts.
"Hyperbaric chamber, nutrition shots, therapy sessions—signed by Lin Xiaoman, never used."
I flip through. Sixty grand for a golf-club membership.
"She swings clubs while my dad can't even stand. Cute."
Chen whispers, "I could lose my job."
I pat his shoulder. "Then let's make sure losing it goes viral."
3 p.m. – Law Firm
I dump the papers on the lawyer's desk.
"Fraud, embezzlement, forged medical records—whatever sticks."
He pushes his glasses up. "They've got PR sharks."
I grin. "Good. I'm fishing for headlines."
He quotes odds. I quote zero chill.
p.m. – Weibo Explodes
#LinXiaomanFoundationScam rockets to No.1.
Screenshot collage: bank transfers vs. golf-course selfies.
Netizens go full CSI:
—"Charity queen? More like cart-queen."
—"Refund the hospital money, sis."
Lin's team fires back: "Rumors, lawyers contacted."
The internet replies: "See you in court—livestream plz."
7 p.m. – Hengdian Set
I'm elbow-deep in fabric when Jiang Lianping storms in, eyes bloodshot.
He grabs my wrist. "Hospital. Now."
I yank free. "Psych ward's upstairs, genius."
He drops his voice. "Come home."
I snort. "My home has one name on the lease—mine."
Half the crew films it; the other half grabs popcorn.
8 p.m. – Hotel Corridor
He corners me, waving a black card like a white flag.
"Thirty grand. PIN's your birthday."
I slide the card back into his pocket. "What's the interest rate on three years of bullshit?"
His face blanks. I swipe my key-card and shut the door in it.
10 p.m. – Vogue DM
My inbox lights up:
"Hi Jian Ning, Vogue China here. Love your on-set hacks. Cover shoot?"
I type back: "Sure, but I'm bringing my dad—title: 'The Patient Charity Forgot.'"
They reply with a stunned emoji. I take that as a yes.
Midnight – Tiny Rental
Su Xiao scrolls through the chaos, squealing.
"Lin lost a hundred K followers in one hour!"
I'm typing Chapter 1: "How to Spot a Fake Saint."
Su Xiao: "Aren't you scared they'll sue?"
Me: "I'm already paying rent to cancer. Sue me—at least I'll trend."10 1:30 a.m.
I close the laptop, stomach still stabbing, but I'm smiling.
I whisper to the ceiling:
"Lin Xiaoman, you took my man—whatever.
You took my dad's medicine money?—Game on, princess."
Outside the window, city lights flicker like stage lights.
Tomorrow the sun rises—and so does my invoice.