"Alright," Long Fengxi agreed readily, "it's settled then."
Shen Congmo pulled her into his arms, seized her lips in a fierce kiss, and once he had his fill, resumed carving pieces of watermelon for her.
Late into the night, He Meiwei was taking a shower. The foam from the body wash and shampoo spread across the tiles, and just as she finished rinsing her hair and body, reaching for the towel, she slipped with a loud crash and fell hard to the ground.
The pain struck her so fiercely it felt as though her internal organs had been shaken loose.
Sitting there on the cold floor, every inch of her ached with exhaustion and bruises.
Her body ached from the fall, her soul from the weight of the day's labor.
Though her job was said to be light, in truth, it spanned countless grueling hours.
To her, the workload was overwhelming.
For such a meager wage, He Meiwei truly loathed earning money this way.
But to cast a long line for a big catch, one must first endure.
This was the maxim she gifted herself.
Still, the reality was undeniable—she desperately needed money for medication.
Her wages barely covered her daily expenses. Where was she to find the funds for treatment?
She hadn't refused Madam Long's offer out of pride, but because she wanted to leave a favorable impression. That was the only reason she had stubbornly played tough.
And now, Madam Long might indeed think better of her—but the price was her own suffering.
She dragged herself up with great difficulty, rinsed off again, and stepped gingerly out of the bathroom.
The phone was ringing. She didn't even need to look to know who it was.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, she answered curtly, "What is it?"
Her mother's voice came through the line. "Meiwei, your brother's getting married."
"Then let him marry."
"He wants to buy a house. He said we just need to cover the down payment, and he'll handle the mortgage. But we can't even scrape together the deposit right now."
He Meiwei gave a faint, indifferent "Oh." "I just underwent a donor match surgery. I don't even have money for my own medication. I can't help you."
"You did another match test?" her mother pressed.
"The last one failed. Someone helped me with this one—I didn't pay a cent. Not that I could've. Mom, you know my situation," she said, frowning tightly. "Figure something out on your own."
Her mother had only reached out because she was truly out of options. Hearing Meiwei's firm refusal, she couldn't help but lash out: "What's the use of raising a daughter like you? Back when the family had money, we sent you abroad to study. Now that the business has collapsed and we're broke, you can't even give back a single cent."
"I'm going to sleep." He Meiwei hung up without another word.
Her father had died of illness when she was just two years old, and the family business fell into the hands of her stepfather, who steadily drove it into ruin.
As a child, unaware of the truth, she had called him "Dad." It wasn't until she grew older that she learned the truth. Yet she never corrected herself—after all, her stepfather had always treated her kindly. Or at least, it had seemed so on the surface.
By the time she reached middle school, however, his wandering hands became frequent. She immediately moved into the school dormitory. She boarded through middle school, high school, and naturally, left for college abroad—putting as much distance between them as possible.
But during school breaks, life became unbearable.
From middle school on, she stopped calling him "Dad." Only "Uncle."
She had once told her mother about the inappropriate touches. Not only was she not protected—she was viciously beaten for it.
Unwilling to surrender, she recorded video evidence of her stepfather's actions and showed it to her mother.
What followed was an even more brutal beating, along with a warning: never speak of this again. Let it rot in your belly.