The emergency department of the People’s Hospital was always as busy as a battlefield.
By the time Qin Zhou arrived, Zhou Mumu had already been pushed into the CT room. The corridor was filled with the sharp smell of disinfectant, mixed with hushed conversations, the ticking of machines, and distant cries.
He found the nurse’s station on duty and identified himself as the representative handling matters related to the accident.
“Patient Zhou Mumu?” The nurse flipped through the freshly printed registration form, frowning slightly. “Are you family?”
“I’m… a representative of the party involved in the accident,” Qin Zhou replied carefully. “How is the injured person?”
“Multiple fractures are certain. We’re waiting on the CT to check for intracranial bleeding.” The nurse glanced at him, her gaze somewhat scrutinizing. “Have you contacted her family? The emergency contact listed is her sister, but the phone can’t be reached. There’s also a manager, Ms. Yang, who is on her way.”
Just as she spoke, the sound of hurried high heels echoed from the end of the corridor.
A woman in her thirties, dressed in a sharp suit, ran over, slightly out of breath, her hair a bit disheveled.
She immediately spotted Qin Zhou beside the nurse’s station, then turned to the nurse. “Hello, I’m Zhou Mumu’s manager, Yang Li. How is she?”
The nurse repeated the situation.
Yang Li’s face gradually turned pale. She braced herself against the counter, taking a deep breath. “Where’s the doctor? Can I speak with the doctor?”
“The attending doctor is waiting for the CT results over there. You can go wait,” the nurse pointed in the direction.
Yang Li turned to leave immediately, but Qin Zhou called out to her. “Ms. Yang, I’m the representative from the accident party. Regarding compensation and medical expenses—”
“Compensation?” Yang Li spun around abruptly. Her eyes were already red, though she forced herself to stay composed. “Can money undo her injuries? She’s only twenty-four! She…” Her voice caught, and she shook her head hard. “Now is not the time to talk about this.”
Qin Zhou was momentarily choked by her intense reaction, about to say more when the CT room door opened.
A middle-aged doctor wearing glasses stepped out, holding the newly printed scans.
Yang Li rushed over immediately. “Doctor, I’m Zhou Mumu’s manager. How is she?”
The doctor adjusted his glasses, his expression serious. “Are you family?”
“Her… her family can’t be reached for now. I’m one of the closest people to her,” Yang Li said urgently. “Doctor, please tell me honestly.”
“Multiple fractures.” The doctor placed the CT images onto the viewing light. “Comminuted fractures of the left tibia and fibula, a fracture of the left olecranon, and fractures in the third and fourth ribs on the right side.
“The most troublesome injury is her left ankle—the talus and calcaneus are both damaged. Surgery may be required to insert metal screws.”
Yang Li covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling slightly.
“It’s fortunate there’s no intracranial bleeding, but there is soft tissue injury to the head. We’ll need to monitor for any post-concussion complications.”
The doctor paused, then looked at Yang Li. “When she was brought in, her consciousness was unclear. She kept calling for ‘sister,’ and her emotional state was extremely unstable. You should try to contact her actual family as soon as possible. At a time like this, the patient needs family support the most.”
“I understand…” Yang Li’s voice trembled. “I’ll keep trying to reach her sister. Then… how is she now?”
“She’s been moved back to the treatment room. We’re about to apply casts for stabilization. The fractures need to be handled as soon as possible—delays may lead to lasting complications.” The doctor glanced at Qin Zhou. “And you are?”
“Representative of the accident party.” Qin Zhou handed over his business card. “All treatment costs will be covered by us. Please use the best medication and treatment plans.”
The doctor took the card, his expression shifting slightly before returning to professionalism. “Costs are secondary. What matters is the treatment plan and rehabilitation afterward. Even with good recovery, she won’t be able to bear weight for at least four months. Rehabilitation afterward may take even longer.”
Four months.
For a D-list actress, what did four months of inactivity mean? Yang Li understood better than anyone. Not to mention the mountain of scandals currently hanging over her…
“Doctor, can we see her?” Yang Li asked hoarsely.
“You can, but the patient is emotionally unstable right now. Try not to agitate her.”
The treatment room was lit with a harsh white light.
Zhou Mumu lay on a mobile hospital bed, her face even paler than the sheets.
A nurse was applying temporary fixation to her left leg. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, tears silently slipping from the corners of her eyes into her hair. She looked like a puppet whose soul had been stripped away.
“Mumu…” Yang Li approached gently, reaching for her hand, only to find her right hand clenched tightly into a fist. Her nails had dug into her palm, already drawing blood.
“Mumu, let go.” Yang Li hurried to pry her fingers open. “Don’t do this, you’ll hurt yourself…”
Zhou Mumu seemed not to hear. Her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, her lips moving slightly as she whispered a few faint words: “Sister… the phone… won’t connect…”
“Maybe your sister is on a mission and can’t be reached. I’ll keep trying.” Yang Li’s eyes reddened.
In truth, she already knew why Zhou Mumu’s sister’s phone had been unreachable for three months.
Just yesterday, people from the military had come to her, informing her that Zhou Chaochao had been injured on a mission in Myanmar, shot in the head. She had been in a coma for three months at a military hospital. Out of concern for the family’s emotional state, they had first asked whether it was appropriate to inform Zhou Mumu directly.
Yang Li had immediately opposed telling Zhou Mumu. Zhou Mumu was already suffering from severe online harassment and was in a fragile mental state—there was no way she could bear the news that her sister might become a vegetable.
She had briefly explained Zhou Mumu’s situation to the military personnel and even asked if they could help the girl. They had said they needed to verify the situation before responding.
Who could have expected that very night, Mumu would be involved in a car accident…
“Mumu, don’t be afraid. Sister Yang is here. I’ll stay with you. The doctor said as long as you cooperate with treatment, you’ll recover…”
“What’s the point…” Zhou Mumu’s voice was as light as a sigh. “Even if I recover… everyone is still cursing me… the company doesn’t want me anymore…”
“Who said that! The company—” Yang Li stopped mid-sentence, unable to continue.
She knew better than anyone what Xingyao Entertainment’s attitude was. That very afternoon, she had gone to the PR department to plead, only to be shut down by the supervisor:
“Yang Li, manage your own artist. The company has arrangements for Zhou Mumu. Don’t interfere.”
The so-called “arrangement” was to use Zhou Mumu as a shield to protect Lin Weiwei.
Yang Li looked at Zhou Mumu’s lifeless face and recalled the first time she had met her seven years ago.
Back then, Zhou Mumu was a sophomore at the film academy, working as an extra on set, playing a palace maid without any lines.
During breaks, other extras chatted or played on their phones. Only she crouched in a corner, holding a worn copy of An Actor’s Self-Cultivation, reading intently.
At that time, Yang Li had thought that the girl’s eyes shone with light.
Later, she learned that Zhou Mumu was the orphan of a martyr. Her mother had passed away early, leaving behind debts. The two sisters had grown up supported by state policies for the children of martyrs.
Her sister had followed their father’s path and enrolled in a military academy, where tuition was waived and monthly stipends were provided, leaving little financial burden.
Meanwhile, Mumu’s film academy expenses were far from small. Just extracurricular training in performance skills was already a significant cost.
Yet Mumu had always been cheerful, full of passion for acting. She had once said that when her mother had been gravely ill, watching her perform would always make her relax and smile warmly.
She longed to stand on the stage she loved forever, bringing joy to more people. Her dream of acting had never wavered in the slightest. And every month, her sister would transfer her entire stipend to support that dream.
“I want to act,” eighteen-year-old Zhou Mumu had told her back then, her eyes sparkling. “Sister Yang, I feel like in acting, I can become anyone and experience any kind of life. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Yang Li had recognized her potential at a glance. When she signed her, she had been certain that with Zhou Mumu’s striking appearance, lively talent, and determined resilience, even if she did not become a top star, she would surely establish herself in the industry and claim her own place.
But seven years had passed, and Zhou Mumu had remained lukewarm at best.
It wasn’t that she lacked opportunities. On the contrary, several times her career had been on the verge of taking off, only for resources to be snatched away inexplicably, roles replaced at the last minute, or negative rumors to suddenly appear, extinguishing the momentum she had painstakingly built.
The once bright-eyed, cheerful girl had gradually lost her smile through repeated setbacks, becoming quiet and withdrawn.
At first, Yang Li had thought it was just bad luck. Only later did she begin to see the truth—because Zhou Mumu had always refused to bow to the so-called “unspoken rules.” In the eyes of some, that integrity became stubbornness, inflexibility, and a refusal to play by the rules.
Yang Li had watched it all, her heart aching. She had done everything she could to help and protect her, but she was only an ordinary manager, limited in both resources and authority.
She could not bring herself to persuade the daughter of a martyr to sell herself or entertain others. The industry was dirty, but at some point, Zhou Mumu had become her bottom line.
All Yang Li could do was sigh helplessly.
And this time, the company had not hesitated to push her out as a sacrifice.
“Mumu,” Yang Li gripped her hand tightly, her voice choking with emotion, “focus on healing first. Don’t think too much. Once you recover, we’ll start over. I’ll take you somewhere else—to another company. If that doesn’t work, we’ll start our own studio…”
Zhou Mumu slowly turned her head to look at Yang Li.
Those once lively, radiant eyes were now utterly lifeless. She asked softly, “Sister Yang, you think those scandals are real too, don’t you?”
“Of course not—!”
“But they all say there’s no smoke without fire.” Zhou Mumu interrupted her, forcing a smile uglier than crying. “So many people believe it… even my fans have left and turned against me… Sister Yang, am I really that bad? Is that why I’ll never succeed… and deserve to be treated like this?”
“Don’t talk nonsense!” Yang Li’s tears finally fell. “You are the hardest-working and cleanest artist I’ve ever managed! Do you think I don’t know what those scandals are? They’re all fabricated! Someone is trying to harm you!”
“Then why… is no one speaking up for me…” Zhou Mumu closed her eyes as tears poured out. “Why is even the company abandoning me… What did I do wrong…”
Yang Li had no answer.
All she could do was hold her hand tightly, repeating over and over, “It will get better… everything will get better…”
But deep down, she knew how hollow those words sounded.