In the ward of Second People’s Hospital, Zhou Mumu had, for once, fallen into a peaceful sleep.
The effects of the painkillers had temporarily suppressed the intense agony in her body, and the return of her older sister, Zhou Chaochao, had acted like a powerful sedative, steadily calming the fear and despair surging within her heart.
She lay on her side, her right hand tightly clutching her sister’s hand. Even in her sleep, her fingers remained tense, unwilling to loosen their grip in the slightest.
Zhou Chaochao sat quietly by the bed, letting her sister hold onto her hand while her other hand lightly scrolled through her phone.
Moments earlier, a message from Political Commissar Zhao Jianguo had arrived: “Coordinated and handled. Relevant false information is being removed, and trending topics on major platforms have been taken down. If clarification is needed later, materials can be submitted at any time. Stay safe.”
Just a few simple words, yet behind them was the silent but powerful force of the military at work.
Zhou Chaochao opened Weibo and searched for “Zhou Mumu.” The glaring topics that had dominated the trending list just three days ago were now nowhere to be found.
Although there were still scattered discussions, the large-scale insults and reposts had already subsided. The marketing accounts that had been the most aggressive had quietly deleted their related posts.
Public opinion always surged like a tide, and just as suddenly, it receded.
But those who had been submerged by the tide were already soaked through, their hearts left scarred.
Zhou Chaochao turned off her phone and looked at her sister’s pale sleeping face. Mumu’s brows had finally relaxed, and her breathing was steady. Yet the heavy dark circles under her eyes and her increasingly gaunt cheeks silently testified to the suffering she had endured these past days.
The ward door was gently pushed open, and Yang Li walked in softly, carrying a thermos container. Seeing that Zhou Mumu was sleeping soundly, she immediately lightened all her movements.
“Asleep?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Mm, just fell asleep,” Zhou Chaochao replied. Carefully, she slipped her hand out of her sister’s grip and stood up, gesturing toward the window. “Sister Yang, let’s talk over there.”
The two walked to the end of the corridor outside the ward, avoiding the passing medical staff and patients.
“The company has signed the agreement, and all the termination procedures are completed,” Zhou Chaochao said in a low voice, then added, “Also, regarding Mumu’s negative rumors, the military has intervened to coordinate. The trending topics have already been taken down.”
Yang Li’s eyes widened in shock. “Taken down? That fast? I just checked my phone earlier, and nothing had changed…”
“It was probably just handled,” Zhou Chaochao said calmly. “It can’t completely erase the impact, but at least it can calm public opinion and give Mumu some breathing room.”
Yang Li’s eyes reddened, and her voice choked up instantly. “Thank you… Chaochao, really, thank you. If it weren’t for you, Mumu this time might have…”
“She’s my sister. It’s what I should do.” Zhou Chaochao paused, then looked at Yang Li seriously. “Sister Yang, there’s something I’m not sure if I should say.”
“Go ahead, I’m listening.”
“You should leave Xingyao Entertainment as soon as possible.” Zhou Chaochao’s tone was firm and unquestionable.
“What Wang Qiang did is only the tip of the iceberg. From the materials I obtained today, several senior executives in the company are involved—chaotic fund flows, tax issues, even connections to criminal elements. The authorities have already set their sights on them. This company won’t last much longer; it’s only a matter of time.”
Yang Li sucked in a sharp breath, her face full of shock. “It’s that serious?”
“Worse than you think,” Zhou Chaochao nodded. “If you stay, you’ll inevitably be implicated when something happens. Even if you get out safely, your record will be tainted, and it’ll be hard to survive in this industry.”
She looked at Yang Li sincerely. “Sister Yang, you’re one of the rare good people in this circle. I don’t want you to get dragged into this.”
Yang Li fell silent for a few seconds, then gave a bitter smile. “Actually… I already submitted my resignation. I originally planned to wait until Mumu’s contract expired and take her with me, but I didn’t expect all this to happen…”
“It’s not too late to leave now,” Zhou Chaochao pressed. “When can you officially resign?”
“According to the contract, I have to stay until the end of next month and hand over my current work.” Yang Li suddenly thought of something, her eyes lighting up. “Oh right, for that variety show contract you signed for Mumu, the company won’t assign a manager or assistant. If you don’t mind, I can be her temporary manager and assistant for this month.”
Zhou Chaochao was momentarily stunned and quickly declined. “How can I trouble you like that, Sister Yang?”
“It’s no trouble.” Yang Li shook her head, her gaze firm. “I’ve watched Mumu grow up. She’s like a younger sister to me. Seeing her bullied like this, and not being able to do much, I’ve been holding in anger. Now that you’re willing to stand up for her, I’ll help however I can.”
She paused, then added a bit shyly, “I may not be a top-tier agent, but I understand the rules of the entertainment industry, program processes, and contract details very well. And I’m familiar with everything about Mumu—I can help you mimic her habits so you can be more like her.”
Zhou Chaochao looked into Yang Li’s sincere eyes, feeling a warmth rise in her chest. She took a step back, straightened her posture, and gave Yang Li a standard military salute—crisp, precise, and solemn.
Yang Li was startled and waved her hands in confusion. “Chaochao, what are you doing…”
“Sister Yang, on behalf of Mumu—and myself—thank you,” Zhou Chaochao said, lowering her hand, her voice slightly hoarse. “Thank you for taking care of her all these years, and thank you for still being willing to help her at a time like this.”
“Don’t say that…” Yang Li’s eyes reddened again, her voice choked. “I failed to protect her…”
“It’s not your fault,” Zhou Chaochao interrupted. “In this industry, there’s only so much a manager without backing can do.”
As she spoke, she took out her phone and made a few taps. Yang Li’s phone vibrated. Looking down, she saw a bank notification for a transfer of 10,000 yuan. She immediately panicked. “Chaochao, what are you doing? I can’t take this! Helping Mumu is something I’m willing to do!”
“Sister Yang, listen to me.” Zhou Chaochao held her hand, her tone earnest.
“This isn’t payment. It’s compensation for taking care of Mumu during this time. You’ve been running back and forth, bringing food and supplies, and even covering medical expenses—I know all of that.
I have my military salary and allowances now. I’m not short of money. Please accept it—it’s just a small token from Mumu and me.” She looked at Yang Li firmly. “If you don’t take it, I’ll feel uneasy instead.”
Yang Li opened her mouth but didn’t refuse again. Clutching her phone, she said tearfully, “Alright… I’ll accept it. Just this once.”
Having spent over a decade in the industry, she had seen all kinds of human relationships and利益纠葛—artists and agents were often relationships of convenience, discarded once no longer useful.
But Zhou Chaochao’s salute, her words of thanks, and this gesture made her feel that all the effort she had given Zhou Mumu over the past seven years had been worth it.
Zhou Chaochao nodded. “Then I’ll trouble you for the next month, Sister Yang.”
“As I should.” Yang Li wiped her tears and instantly regained her professional composure. “The variety show starts filming next Wednesday. We have five days to prepare. You need to quickly familiarize yourself with the program flow, the backgrounds of the other guests, and… all the little details of Mumu.”
She took out a tablet and handed it over. “I’ve compiled Mumu’s past activities, interview videos, as well as her habits, mannerisms, and catchphrases. Make sure to go through them these next few days.”
“Alright.” Zhou Chaochao took the tablet, her gaze sharp. “Also, give me a complete guest list and background checks—especially Lin Weiwei.”
“I’ve already started compiling it.” Yang Li’s expression turned cold instantly. “Lin Weiwei will also participate in ‘Seven Days in the Wilderness.’ She’s currently one of Xingyao’s promoted rising stars, backed by a powerful sponsor, though no one knows who exactly. She has a terrible reputation within the industry—snatching resources, acting arrogant, undermining colleagues—but her PR is strong, and all her scandals have been suppressed.”
“This time, she won’t be able to suppress them.” Zhou Chaochao spoke softly, the sunlight outside the window reflecting a cold sharpness in her eyes.
When they returned to the ward, Zhou Mumu was still sleeping peacefully. Zhou Chaochao stepped forward to adjust her pillow and tuck in the blanket carefully. Then she sat quietly by the bed, looking at her sister’s serene sleeping face—her gaze filled with both gentle affection and unwavering determination.
Baby Mumu, wait for your sister.
Wait until I come back… and deal with every single person who bullied you.
At the same time, in a high-end apartment in the eastern part of the city:
Gu Huaizhou had just finished a video conference with a brand partner. He removed his glasses and rubbed his brow. Outside, the city lights sparkled, but what kept replaying in his mind was the girl lying in the middle of the road that night—her bloodless face, and the minimalist contact list on her phone with only two names.
“Qin Zhou,” he said, pressing the intercom.
“Teacher Gu, your instructions?” Qin Zhou’s voice quickly came through.
“How is Zhou Mumu’s situation?”
“I just came back from the hospital,” Qin Zhou reported in a low voice. “She’s still hospitalized. Her left ankle needs surgery with steel pins, and she won’t be able to walk for at least four months. Her agent Yang Li is accompanying her, but her emotional state… is still very poor.”
Gu Huaizhou was silent for a moment, then asked, “What about those scandals? Any findings?”
“I contacted a few familiar media friends. They said Xingyao Entertainment is clearly sacrificing her to protect themselves,” Qin Zhou said, then added, “A former employee also said Zhou Mumu has stayed unpopular for seven years because she refused to accept casting couch practices and offended the company’s higher-ups.”
“I see.” Gu Huaizhou’s voice remained calm. He was about to speak when Qin Zhou suddenly interrupted, “Teacher Gu, wait! I just got a notification—Zhou Mumu’s trending topics… they’ve all been removed!”
Gu Huaizhou frowned slightly. “Removed?”
“Yes, within the last ten minutes. Hashtags like ‘Zhou Mumu confirmed sleeping for roles’ and ‘Zhou Mumu get out of the entertainment industry’ have all disappeared from the trending list,” Qin Zhou said, his voice full of confusion. “And the keywords are being restricted—discussions have dropped by more than half.”
Gu Huaizhou put his glasses back on and opened his tablet. Sure enough, the trending list was clean. Those glaring topics had completely vanished. Searching “Zhou Mumu” mostly brought up old news, with very few recent smear articles remaining.
“Was it Xingyao Entertainment?” he asked.
“Unlikely,” Qin Zhou analyzed immediately. “They’re using Zhou Mumu as a scapegoat. It makes no sense to remove the trends now. Besides, removing trends on this scale requires both powerful connections and huge funding. Xingyao doesn’t have that capability—unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless there’s some capital backing Zhou Mumu that we don’t know about,” Qin Zhou hesitated. “Teacher Gu… do you think we might have been fooled? That night, maybe she staged the accident, or… had another motive?”
Gu Huaizhou did not respond immediately. He recalled the girl’s hollow, lifeless eyes in the hospital, Yang Li’s tearful insistence that “she’s a good child,” and Old Chen mentioning that “she didn’t even look at the car when she ran into it.” Those details felt too real to be staged. Yet the sudden disappearance of the trending topics was undeniably strange.
“Keep investigating,” Gu Huaizhou finally said, his tone firm. “Find out who removed the trends and what their purpose is.”
“Yes.”
After hanging up, Gu Huaizhou walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the countless lights of the city. Every day, countless stories played out in this city. Beneath the glamorous surface lay too many hidden undercurrents.
Zhou Mumu.
An obscure minor artist. The orphan of a martyr. A pawn sacrificed by her company.
Yet at the peak of being universally condemned online, all negative trending topics about her had vanished overnight.
Who was behind this?
A sudden awakening of conscience from capital? Or… someone else entirely?
Gu Huaizhou suddenly thought of the contact marked as “Sister” on the girl’s phone that night—the sister he had never been able to reach. A thought stirred in his mind, and he had a faint premonition: behind this seemingly simple car accident might lie a far more complicated truth than imagined. And the girl lying in the hospital bed, covered in injuries, might not be as helpless as she appeared.
His phone suddenly vibrated. It was a message from Director Chen: “Huaizhou, the production team of ‘Seven Days in the Wilderness’ just contacted me. They want to invite you as a guest for one day. It could help promote your new movie—consider it.”
Gu Huaizhou stared at the words “Seven Days in the Wilderness” on the screen, his fingers lightly tapping it. If he remembered correctly, this was the very show Xingyao had forced Zhou Mumu to join—even with a fracture. Although she was now too injured to attend…
He replied: “Send me the program details.”
Perhaps he should go to the set himself.
To see what kind of hidden schemes lay behind the show that had pushed a girl to such desperation.
As night deepened, on the other side of the city, Zhou Chaochao walked out of the hospital and stood under a streetlamp, sending a message to the Political Commissar: “Trending topics have been removed. Thank you. Entering the production next week. Proceeding according to plan.”
A reply quickly came: “Stay safe. Remember, you are a soldier first.”
Zhou Chaochao tightened her grip on her phone and looked up at the night sky. The stars were sparse, the moonlight cold. She took a deep breath and turned toward the subway station.
A week later, at the filming site of Seven Days in the Wilderness:
She would step onto that wilderness under the identity of Zhou Mumu.
And at that time, all the enemies hiding in the shadows would be exposed under the first broadcast’s lens.
The prelude to revenge was about to begin.
Only, at this moment, no one knew—
What earth-shaking form this revenge would take.
And no one knew that the ever-calm and self-controlled Film Emperor Gu Huaizhou had already quietly set his sights on this show.
The net of fate was silently tightening.