When Zhou Chaochao pushed the door open and walked into the hospital room, the morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting alternating bands of light and shadow across the white bedsheets. The room was quiet, filled only with the steady beeping of the monitors.
Zhou Chaochao’s heart clenched violently.
Her twin sister, Zhou Mumu—the girl who had always loved to laugh and play, whose eyes once sparkled like they held starlight—now lay there like a broken doll.
Her left leg and left arm were encased in thick casts, suspended high by a traction frame. Her right leg and right arm were also fixed to varying degrees.
The skin exposed outside the casts was so pale it was nearly translucent. Her cheeks had sunken in, and dark shadows hung heavily beneath her eyes.
What suffocated Zhou Chaochao the most was Mumu’s eyes.
Those once lively and beautiful eyes were now open but empty, staring at the ceiling without focus or vitality, like two dried-up wells.
“Baby Mumu…” Zhou Chaochao’s voice choked. She gently closed the door behind her and walked toward the bed.
She stepped closer, bent down slightly, and called softly, “Mumu, your sister is here.”
Zhou Mumu’s eyes moved extremely slowly, finally focusing on Zhou Chaochao’s face.
She stared at her for a long, long time, as if trying to confirm that this was not a hallucination.
Then, her one movable right hand suddenly shot up to cover her mouth tightly, and her shoulders began to tremble violently.
Large tears rolled from the corners of her eyes, sliding along her temples into her hair, soaking the pillow. She made no sound, crying silently, her entire body shaking.
“Don’t be afraid, Baby Mumu, don’t be afraid.” Zhou Chaochao carefully avoided her injuries and gently held her, patting her back the way she used to when comforting her to sleep as a child. “Your sister is here. I’m here.”
Yang Li, standing to the side, covered her mouth as tears streamed down her face.
“Baby Mumu, don’t be afraid,” Zhou Chaochao repeated softly but steadily, patting her back.
Those five words seemed to unlock something inside Zhou Mumu. She finally broke into sobs, releasing all the suppressed grievance, fear, and despair at once. She cried so hard she could barely breathe, her right hand clutching Zhou Chaochao’s coat like a drowning person grasping the last piece of driftwood.
“Sister… sister…” she repeated over and over, her voice broken.
After a long while, Zhou Mumu’s trembling gradually subsided. She let go of her hand from her mouth and clutched Zhou Chaochao’s sleeve tightly, her voice hoarse and shattered.
“Sister… they’re all cursing me… saying I’m dirty… saying I’m bad… I didn’t… I really didn’t…”
“I know.” Zhou Chaochao held her hand, her voice gentle yet firm. “I know Mumu is a good girl. Those words are all lies. I don’t believe a single one of them.”
“But… but everyone believes it…” Zhou Mumu’s tears flowed again. “Even the company abandoned me… they told me to take the blame for Lin Weiwei… said I’m not famous anyway…”
Zhou Chaochao said nothing, simply continuing to pat her back and letting her cry. She could feel how frighteningly thin her sister had become, her entire body trembling. The thick casts were like heavy shackles, trapping her firmly in place.
After a long time, Zhou Mumu’s sobs gradually weakened into quiet sniffles.
Zhou Chaochao released her, gently wiping away her tears with her fingertips. “Baby Mumu, look at me.”
Zhou Mumu raised her swollen, reddened eyes.
“Listen to me,” Zhou Chaochao said, holding her hand and speaking word by word. “You did nothing wrong. Those scandals, those people insulting you, those who abandoned you—they are the ones in the wrong. You are good. You have always been my pride.”
Zhou Mumu’s tears surged again. She shook her head, trying to speak, but Zhou Chaochao interrupted her.
“Now, tell me everything you’ve gone through these past few days. Exactly as it happened. Don’t hide anything, don’t soften it—I need every detail.”
Zhou Chaochao’s gaze was frighteningly calm.
It was not comfort, nor sympathy—it was the focused sharpness of a soldier gathering intelligence before a battle.
Looking at her, Zhou Mumu seemed to find her anchor. She began to speak slowly, starting from the moment Lin Weiwei’s scandal broke, to how the company used her to divert attention, to how fabricated accusations spread across the internet overnight, to how she was isolated, cursed, and abandoned by the world…
She spoke haltingly—sometimes pausing for long stretches, sometimes choking on her words. Zhou Chaochao held her hand the entire time, not interrupting, just listening quietly.
By the time Zhou Mumu finished, Zhou Chaochao’s eyes had turned icy cold.
“What’s the company’s attitude now?” she asked.
Only then did Yang Li recount the details of Director Wang’s earlier phone call.
Lowering her head, Yang Li’s tears fell again. “The company… is forcing Mumu to participate in a wilderness survival live-stream variety show called Seven Days in the Wild. Filming starts next week. It’s a full live broadcast in a remote nature reserve in Yunnan… They said Mumu is full of scandals right now and has ‘high discussion value,’ so she must go—even if she has to be carried there on a stretcher…”
“What if she doesn’t go?”
“The penalty… five million.” Yang Li’s voice trembled. “Mumu’s contract still has two years left. If she refuses to fulfill her obligations, the company demands five million in damages… They know she can’t afford it…”
“A wilderness survival live show?” Zhou Chaochao repeated. “And they want a person covered in fractures to participate?”
“The company said… either she goes, or she pays…” Yang Li’s voice grew smaller.
Zhou Chaochao fell silent for a few seconds.
Her expression was calm—too calm. In those eyes, so similar to Mumu’s, there was no anger, no panic—only a cold, absolute composure belonging to a soldier.
“When does the show start? How long is it?” she asked.
“Next Friday. Seven days and six nights. Fully live, no editing,” Yang Li wiped her tears. “Chaochao, what do we do? Mumu can’t possibly go like this, but the penalty…”
“I’ll go,” Zhou Chaochao said.
“What?!” Yang Li and Zhou Mumu exclaimed at the same time.
Zhou Chaochao turned to look at her stunned sister and said slowly, “But the one participating won’t be Mumu. It will be me.”
She stepped closer to the bed and gently traced her sister’s identical features with her fingertips.
“Baby Mumu, do you trust your sister?”
Zhou Mumu nodded blankly.
“Then from now on, leave everything to me,” Zhou Chaochao said softly, yet with unquestionable authority. “You stay here. Focus on healing, eating, and resting. I’ll handle the storm outside for you.”
She turned to Yang Li.
“Mumu and I are twins. Without hairstyle or clothing differences, our faces are identical,” Zhou Chaochao said. “I’ll take her place in the show.”
“But… how will that work?” Yang Li was stunned. “It’s a seven-day live broadcast. Cameras everywhere—what if someone recognizes you…”
“They won’t,” Zhou Chaochao said with certainty. “We’ve always looked alike, but our temperaments are completely different. She’s gentle; I’m assertive. She smiles often; I rarely do. Over the years, we deliberately maintained differences—people who know us can tell us apart. And…”
She paused, her gaze sharpening. “Right now, Mumu is buried under scandals. Everyone already has preconceived bias against her. They won’t bother to carefully distinguish someone they look down on.”
Zhou Chaochao stood and walked to the window, looking down at the busy street below. Her posture was straight, like a spear.
Yang Li stared at her, too shocked by the plan to speak.
“But,” Zhou Chaochao continued, “I won’t go for free.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want the company to terminate the contract immediately,” Zhou Chaochao said clearly. “I can pretend to be Mumu and participate in the show, bringing them one last wave of attention. In exchange, they must give us a termination agreement now—with no penalty.”
Yang Li sucked in a breath. “That… that’s impossible! The company won’t agree!”
“They will,” Zhou Chaochao said calmly, with a chilling confidence. “Because I have a way to make them.”
“What way?”
Instead of answering, Zhou Chaochao asked, “Who is currently in charge of Mumu’s case at the company? I want to meet him.”
“It’s the deputy director of artist management, Wang Qiang,” Yang Li said. “He’s the one who called earlier… He’s not easy to deal with. Known as a smiling tiger—ruthless and cunning.”
“Good.” Zhou Chaochao nodded. “Sister Yang, arrange a meeting. Tell him… Zhou Mumu wants to discuss the show and contract termination.”
“But Chaochao, are you really going to do this? If you’re exposed, the consequences will be terrible! And that show… I heard it’s harsh. Real survival—no script, no special treatment. All participants have to survive on their own for seven days. You just woke up—your body hasn’t even recovered…”
“I spent five years in special forces,” Zhou Chaochao interrupted calmly. “I’ve trained in wilderness survival. I’ve hidden in the rainforest for half a month, eaten live snakes, drunk muddy water. A variety show won’t defeat me.”
Yang Li opened her mouth, then finally nodded. “Alright… I’ll arrange it.”
She took out her phone and stepped outside to make the call.
Zhou Mumu remained where she was, looking at her sister with worry. “Sister… you’re really going to go in my place? Don’t… that show is very hard. And… and those guests all dislike me. They’ll bully you…”
“They won’t be able to bully me,” Zhou Chaochao said, sitting by the bed and holding her hand. “Baby Mumu, trust me. I’ve learned many things in the army—how to protect myself, and how to make those who bully you pay the price.”
Tears fell from Zhou Mumu’s eyes again. “But… I don’t want you to suffer for me…”
“This isn’t suffering,” Zhou Chaochao wiped her tears, her voice gentle yet firm. “This is how a sister protects her younger sister. Baby Mumu, do you remember when we were little, and a boy from the neighboring class bullied you and took your eraser?”
Zhou Mumu nodded.
“And after that, he never dared to bully you again, right?”
“Because you went and beat him up…” Zhou Mumu said softly.
“Exactly.” Zhou Chaochao smiled, though there was a hint of coldness in it. “This time is the same. Those who insult you online, isolate you in real life, and build their personas on your pain—your sister won’t let a single one of them go.”
Zhou Mumu looked at her and finally nodded slowly.
She trusted her sister. Since childhood, everything her sister promised had always been fulfilled.
“Then… be careful,” she said, gripping Zhou Chaochao’s hand tightly. “You must be careful.”
“I will,” Zhou Chaochao promised.
At that moment, Yang Li returned after finishing the call, her expression complicated. “Wang Qiang agreed. Three o’clock this afternoon at the company. But… his attitude was arrogant. He said we only have ten minutes and warned us not to play tricks.”
“Ten minutes is enough. Trust me.” Zhou Chaochao took a baseball cap from her pocket and put it on, lowering the brim. “From now on, I am Zhou Mumu.”
Yang Li looked at the girl in front of her—identical to Mumu. Though her face was still pale from illness, the fire burning in her eyes seemed capable of destroying any obstacle.
Zhou Chaochao turned. “Sister Yang, please take care of Mumu. I’ll go back to the unit to process my leave. Meet me downstairs at the company at 2:30 this afternoon.”
“Alright,” Yang Li took a deep breath. “I’ll take you there. But Chaochao, promise me—don’t act impulsively. Those people at the company…”
“Don’t worry,” Zhou Chaochao interrupted, a faint, cold smile curling at her lips. “I know exactly how to deal with people like them.”
“Chaochao…” Yang Li hesitated, then only said, “Stay safe.”
Zhou Chaochao nodded, cast one last look at her sister, and turned to leave the room.
As she stepped out of the hospital, the sunlight felt a bit blinding.
Zhou Chaochao narrowed her eyes.