Chapter 5
3:17 p.m. – Hospital Corridor
Disinfectant so thick you can taste it.
I'm in a black trench coat, hoodie up, standing outside Dad's room. Through the glass I see Lin Xiaoman holding his hand, eyes red, voice dripping honey:
"Uncle, don't worry. I'll take care of you forever. Jian Ning's just… too tired. Let me be the good daughter."
Dad's half-awake, mumbling nonsense.
I push the door open.
Lin Xiaoman spins, smile still plastered on.
"Hey, sis. You look exhausted. Want me to handle the ward today?"
I dump my bag on the chair.
"Handle what? The fake hyperbaric chamber you billed eight grand for? My dad's stomach's still busted."
Her smile freezes.
"Excuse me?"
I slap a bank slip on the bedside table.
"Sixty-two grand in three years. Every line says 'special care'—except the care never happened. Funny how your cousin's new BMW got paid the same day."
2 She Tries the Waterworks
Lin Xiaoman's lip trembles.
"You're harassing me while your father is sick? Have you no heart?"
I lean in, whisper-level savage.
"My heart's fine. Your math, not so much."
She switches to victim mode, loud enough for the hallway.
"Jian Ning, I only wanted to help. Jiang Lianping asked me—"
I hit record on my phone.
"Cool. Tell the jury, not me."
3 Receipt Avalanche
I fan out more papers like a blackjack dealer.
• Golf-club annual fee: 100 k, labeled "nutritional support."
• Designer bag invoice: 50 k, filed as "mental-health companion."
• Maldives spa coupon: 30 k, coded "family bonding."
Lin Xiaoman's face cycles through white, green, then Instagram-filter beige.
4 The Livestream Bomb
That night I drop a 15-second teaser on Douyin:
Screen 1 – her crying charity post.
Screen 2 – bank slip for the same amount, date-stamped.
Caption: "When your tears cost more than chemo."
It hits a million views in thirty minutes.
Comments explode:
—"Receipt queen, serve her."
—"Golf therapy? My cancer wants a tee time."
5 Jiang Lianping Finally Calls
Phone buzzes. I swipe speaker.
"Jian Ning, what the hell?"
I sip iced coffee. "Hell is your accountant's spreadsheet. Check row 47-B."
Silence. Then a soft, almost broken, "I didn't know."
I snort. "Knowing requires looking. You were busy posing for couple pics."
6 Vogue DM Sliding In
10 p.m. – inbox lights up:
"Hi Jian Ning, Vogue China here. Love your on-set hacks. Cover shoot?"
I reply: "Sure, but I'm bringing Dad. Title: 'The Patient Charity Forgot.'"
They send back a shocked emoji. I take that as a yes.
7 The Court Papers
Next morning I walk into the courthouse like it's a red carpet.
Lawyer hands Lin the envelope.
She tries the trembling chin again.
I smile. "Save the act for the judge. Cameras love close-ups."
8 Social Media Meltdown
#LinXiaomanScam trends worldwide.
Brands drop her like a hot coal.
Netflix cancels her reality show.
Her lawyer begs for "installments."
I reply via IG story:
"Installments? Cute. I want the lump sum plus late fees. Interest compounds daily—karma's a banker."
9 Dad's First Real Meal in Months
Doc finally approves proper nutrition.
I spoon-feed him congee while scrolling comments.
Dad rasps, "You okay?"
I grin. "Nope. I'm freaking fantastic."
10 Epilogue at 1:30 a.m.
I close the laptop, stomach still aching, but I sleep like a rock.
Because for the first time in three years, the script is mine.
Lin's show is over.
My finale? Still loading— and it's gonna be epic.