“Baby, I’ve arrived in Hecheng.”
“Cough, cough, cough!”
Looking at the words that popped up on her phone screen, Chu Yiran felt as if the sky had fallen.
She crouched in a corner of the luxury yacht’s deck, her hair whipped into a mess by the sea breeze. With one hand, she pinched the philtrum above her upper lip, and with the other, she clutched her phone tightly.
The man who sent this message was the online boyfriend of the original host.
Chu Yiran had transmigrated into this novel just four hours ago.
The first two hours were spent digesting the plot, and the next two were spent rummaging through the original host’s phone.
After finishing, she almost jumped off the yacht.
The original Chu Yiran was twenty-two years old, working as a sidekick and best friend to the wealthy heiress Song Qingwan.
To put it bluntly, she was a paid tool—someone to accompany her shopping, carry bags, drink on her behalf, and act as a human backdrop.
A monthly salary of twenty thousand sounded decent.
But the original host thought it wasn’t enough to spend.
So, this genius came up with a brilliant idea: secretly take private photos of Song Qingwan and use them to lure wealthy men on social media.
What kind of looks did Song Qingwan have?
As the only daughter of the Song family, one of Hecheng’s four major families, she had been stunning since childhood. Even her official photos on social media could trigger a frenzy of reposts across the internet.
The original host used these secretly taken candid photos to “fish” for wealthy men, and the results were nothing short of explosive.
Big fish and small fish came swarming, and the original host carefully selected the most generous spender among them.
Online alias: S.
After chatting for three months, the total amount transferred added up to fourteen million.
Fourteen million.
Chu Yiran’s hands trembled as she scrolled through the chat history.
How did the original host manage to spend this money with a clear conscience?
Using someone else’s face, acting sickeningly sweet, saying she wanted a bag today, couldn’t pay rent tomorrow, and that her mother was hospitalized the day after.
And that man named S? Every single time, he transferred the money instantly.
Never asking a second question.
Chu Yiran had initially thought, this fool is pretty outrageous too—maybe some love-struck rich second-generation heir?
Until she flipped through the novel’s plot outline…
S was Shen Yu.
The head of the Shen Group, the most ruthless figure in Hecheng’s business world.
And Song Qingwan’s Song family happened to be Shen Yu’s biggest competitor.
Chu Yiran immediately spat out her sandwich.
She stole photos of the daughter of Shen Yu’s archrival to scam Shen Yu’s money?
This wasn’t just courting death—it was courting death in style.
According to the original novel’s plot, after Shen Yu discovered the truth, the original host’s fate was social death and bankruptcy.
As for Song Qingwan, once she discovered her photos had been stolen, she would mobilize the family’s legal team to sue, leaving the original host with nothing but scraps.
Offending both sides was a dead end.
“Sis? What are you crouching there for?”
Song Qingwan’s lazy voice drifted down from the upper deck of the yacht.
Chu Yiran quickly stuffed her phone into her pocket, wiped her mouth, and stood up. “Nothing! Just seasick, crouching to recover!”
“If you’re seasick, go lie down in the cabin. What are you doing crouching on the deck?”
Song Qingwan, wearing oversized sunglasses, leaned against the railing, enjoying the sea breeze. “We’ll dock soon. Come with me to the duty-free shop for a shopping spree.”
“Sure thing!”
Just as Chu Yiran agreed, her phone vibrated again in her pocket like a death warrant.
S sent a second message: “Booked a private room at Linhai No. 1, 7 p.m. tonight. You promised to meet this week.”
Chu Yiran’s legs went weak, and she crouched back into the corner.
Linhai No. 1, Hecheng’s most expensive private club.
To avoid exposing herself, the original host had always used various excuses to postpone meeting—business trips, illness, family matters—over a dozen times in three months.
But this time, the tone was different.
It didn’t sound like a suggestion. It sounded like a notification.
Chu Yiran crouched back in the corner, biting her nails as she began to think of a plan.
Meeting him was absolutely out of the question.
What did she look like? Just an ordinary sidekick, worlds apart from Song Qingwan.
If they really met, the grass on her grave would grow two meters tall.
But someone like Shen Yu, a big shot, would definitely run out of patience. Dragging things out wasn’t a solution.
Chu Yiran took two deep breaths, opened the chat window, and started typing.
“Brother~ Why did you suddenly come to Hecheng? I didn’t even have time to prepare.”
“But it’s so unfortunate, I’m out at sea with my family today, the signal is really bad, and I might not make it back tonight…”
The message was sent, and the reply came instantly.
“Tomorrow works too.”
These four words sent a chill down Chu Yiran’s spine.
He was being too accommodating.
According to the novel’s description of Shen Yu, this man’s reputation in the business world was that he never let go of his prey without a fight.
For him to suddenly be so cooperative, either he was truly love-struck, or he was testing her!
Chu Yiran bit her lip and decided to escalate.
“Brother, actually, I’ve been reflecting lately—am I too materialistic?”
Her fingers trembled as she typed, “You’ve been so good to me, transferring so much money, and I really feel uneasy inside.”
“I think you should find a better girl. I’m not worthy of you.”
This was the thirty-sixth classic move in the green tea playbook: retreating to advance.
First, express unease, then hint at breaking up, forcing the other party to comfort her. The key goal was only one: to delay the meeting.
After sending the message, Chu Yiran quickly added two more:
“Don’t transfer me any more money from now on, really, I don’t need that much.”
“I’ll refund the recent transfers to you.”
After typing, she opened the transfer page and refunded the 200,000 yuan she had just received this month, sending it back the same way.
Her heart ached as if it were bleeding.
But her life was more important.
“See, I refunded the money. I’m really not the kind of girl who’s after your money.”
The other side fell silent.
Chu Yiran stared at the chat interface, her palms drenched in sweat.
Chu Yiran’s palms were sweating as she stared intently at the screen.
Then, another 500,000 yuan was transferred over.
Accompanied by a message: “No need to refund.”
Chu Yiran: “??” Is this guy crazy?!
She immediately clicked to reject it.
S transferred again.
She rejected it again.
S transferred a third time, the amount increasing to one million yuan.
Chu Yiran was about to lose her mind. Did this guy have some kind of problem?
Here she was, playing the “I don’t want money, I’m not worthy” act, and he was throwing money around as if he didn’t see it?
She quickly typed, “Brother, please don’t do this, I really can’t accept it, I…”
Before she could finish typing, a voice message came through from the other side.
Chu Yiran’s throat tightened as she tremblingly tapped to play it.
A man’s low, cold voice came through the speaker, devoid of any warmth:
“The only pure white jasmine flower.”
Chu Yiran’s blood instantly froze.
That was the original owner’s online username.
“Three months. Every time I bring up meeting, you have something going on.” The man’s voice was calm and unhurried. “Refunding money, saying you’re not worthy, telling me to find someone else… Where did you learn this script?”
Chu Yiran’s mind went blank.
Immediately after, the screen displayed one final text message.
“What are you so guilty about?”
“Woo~~!” The yacht’s horn blared abruptly.
Chu Yiran shuddered, her back slamming heavily against the cold railing.
This wasn’t running into a love-struck fool—this was hooking a bloodthirsty, wide-mouthed man-eating shark!
The screen lit up again, this time with a location.
“Tomorrow at 7 p.m., I’ll be waiting. Don’t disappoint me.”
Chu Yiran slumped down weakly onto the deck.
A tyrant demanding her life ahead, a wronged heiress behind.
“Chu Yiran, help me get the sunscreen spray—it’s in my bag!” Song Qingwan’s voice drifted down from the upper level.
“Coming, coming!” She pushed herself up, patted the dust off her backside, and tucked her phone back into her pocket.
Chu Yiran stood up reflexively, instinctively locking her phone screen as she did.
Guilty conscience?
Guilty conscience was an understatement—she felt utterly hollow inside.