When Zhou Chaochao pushed open the door and walked into the hospital ward, the morning sunlight filtered through the blinds just right, casting alternating bands of light and shadow across the white bedsheets. The room was quiet, with only the steady beeping of monitoring equipment.
Zhou Chaochao’s heart clenched painfully.
Her twin sister, Zhou Mumu—the girl who had always been lively and smiling, her eyes once filled with starlight—now lay there like a broken doll.
Her left leg and left arm were wrapped in thick plaster casts, suspended high by a traction frame. Her right leg and right arm were also immobilized to varying degrees.
The skin exposed outside the casts was pale to the point of translucence. Her cheeks had sunken, and dark shadows lingered beneath her eyes.
What suffocated Zhou Chaochao the most was Mumu’s eyes.
Those once bright and lively eyes were now open but empty, staring at the ceiling with no focus, no spark—like two dried-up wells.
“Baby Mumu…” Zhou Chaochao’s voice choked. She gently closed the door and walked toward the bed.
She stopped at the bedside, bent down slightly, and called softly, “Mumu, your sister is here.”
Zhou Mumu’s eyes moved ever so 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 lifted and clamped tightly over her mouth. 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, only cried silently, her entire body convulsing.
“Don’t be afraid, Baby Mumu, don’t be afraid.” Zhou Chaochao carefully avoided her injuries and gently embraced her, patting her back just like when they were children. “I’m here. Your sister is here.”
Yang Li, standing to the side, could not hold back anymore and covered her mouth as tears streamed down her face.
“Baby Mumu, don’t be afraid,” Zhou Chaochao repeated softly but steadily, her hand moving rhythmically on her back.
Those five words seemed to flip a switch. Zhou Mumu finally broke into loud sobs, all the grievance, fear, and despair she had suppressed for so long erupting at once. She cried so hard she could barely breathe, her right hand clutching Zhou Chaochao’s coat like a drowning person clinging to driftwood.
“Jiejie… Jiejie…” she repeated over and over, her voice shattered.
After a long while, her trembling gradually subsided. She released her hand from her mouth but still clung tightly to Zhou Chaochao’s clothes, her voice hoarse and broken. “Jiejie… 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 my Mumu is a good girl. Those things are all lies. I don’t believe a single word.”
“But… but everyone believes it…” Zhou Mumu’s tears surged again. “Even the company doesn’t want me anymore… they’re making me take the blame for Lin Weiwei… saying I’m not popular anyway…”
Zhou Chaochao said nothing, only continued to pat her back, letting her cry. She could feel how frighteningly thin her sister had become, her entire body trembling. Those heavy casts were like shackles, trapping her firmly on the bed.
After a long time, Zhou Mumu’s sobs weakened into soft whimpers.
Zhou Chaochao released her, wiping away the tears on her face with her thumb. “Baby Mumu, look at me.”
Zhou Mumu lifted her swollen, reddened eyes.
“Listen to me,” Zhou Chaochao said, holding her hand tightly, word by word. “You did nothing wrong. Those scandals, those people who insult you, those who abandoned you—they are the ones who are wrong. You are good. You have always been your sister’s pride.”
Zhou Mumu’s tears flowed again. She shook her head, trying to speak, but Zhou Chaochao cut her off.
“Now, tell me everything you’ve gone through these past few days. Exactly as it happened. No hiding, no softening. I need every detail.”
Zhou Chaochao’s gaze was terrifyingly calm—this was not comfort or sympathy, but the focus and sharpness of a soldier gathering intelligence before a battle.
Zhou Mumu looked at her, as if finally finding an anchor, and slowly began to speak…
The lobby of Xingyao Entertainment was extravagantly decorated, golden and dazzling. A massive crystal chandelier refracted blinding light.
At 2:30 in the afternoon, Zhou Chaochao and Yang Li arrived early. The receptionist looked up, and the moment she saw “Zhou Mumu,” a trace of undisguised disdain flashed in her eyes.
Still, she maintained a professional smile. “Director Wang asked you to wait in his office.”
Her tone was polite, yet carried an unmistakable distance and contempt.
Yang Li clenched her fists, but Zhou Chaochao remained calm, only nodding lightly. “Thank you.”
The two walked through the office area toward Wang Qiang’s office. Along the way, several employees recognized “Zhou Mumu,” their expressions varied:
A makeup artist who had once worked with Zhou Mumu opened her mouth as if to greet her, but under the strange looks of others, she lowered her head and pretended not to see.
Two trainee girls whispered to each other, “How does she still dare to come?” “Shameless. Those scandals are already confirmed…”
Others pointed and whispered openly.
Yang Li’s face turned pale with anger, but Zhou Chaochao lightly held her wrist.
“Ignore them,” she said calmly. “Just barking dogs.”
Yang Li looked at her in surprise.
The face was identical to Mumu’s, yet the aura was completely different. Mumu had been gentle and sensitive, while Zhou Chaochao was hard and cold—like a sheathed blade, silent yet sharp.
Wang Qiang’s office reeked of cigar smoke mixed with cheap perfume. Luxurious mahogany furniture, leather chairs, vulgar abstract paintings, and photos with celebrities decorated the space.
He wasn’t there.
“He’s doing it on purpose,” Yang Li whispered. “He always makes artists wait to assert dominance.”
Zhou Chaochao said nothing. She sat on the sofa, back straight, hands resting on her knees—a standard military posture, completely out of place in this gaudy office.
Time passed.
Twenty minutes. Forty minutes. One hour.
At 4:20, footsteps finally sounded outside.
Wang Qiang entered, holding a coffee, humming casually. Seeing them, he pretended to just notice.
“Oh? Isn’t this our big star Zhou Mumu?” he sneered. “Wasn’t it said your legs and arms were broken? You look fine.”
Yang Li’s face turned pale with anger.
Zhou Chaochao slowly opened her eyes.
“I’m not here to beg,” she said calmly. “I’m here to negotiate.”
Wang Qiang laughed. “Negotiate? With you? You’re in no position—”
“Last March, you embezzled 1.8 million from artist training funds.”
His smile froze.
“Last August, you forced two new actresses to accompany clients drinking. One attempted suicide.”
His face went pale.
“This January, you took kickbacks totaling 2.4 million through your daughter’s offshore shell company.”
Silence.
“You’re slandering me!” he shouted.
Zhou Chaochao leaned forward slightly. “Your encrypted folder isn’t secure. Your password is your daughter’s birthday plus your anniversary.”
The coffee cup fell from his hand.
“You… who are you?”
“Zhou Mumu’s sister. Zhou Chaochao.”
She spoke each word like a hammer striking his heart.
“Now choose.”
Half a minute later, Wang Qiang collapsed into his chair.
“I agree… to terminate the contract…”
“No,” Zhou Chaochao interrupted calmly. “I will replace Zhou Mumu in the show.”
She leaned forward slightly.
“Or do you want me to thank Lin Weiwei properly—live on camera?”
Wang Qiang shuddered.
In the end, he gave in completely.
Contracts were drafted, revised, and signed.
Zhou Chaochao checked every clause carefully before signing.
When everything was done, she stood up.
“One more thing,” she said lightly. “I’ve set a timed release for all evidence. If anything happens to my sister—or to me during the show—it will all be sent out automatically.”
Wang Qiang’s face turned ashen. “Don’t worry… nothing will happen…”
“Good.”
Zhou Chaochao turned and left with Yang Li.
After they left, Wang Qiang collapsed into his chair, gasping.
His phone rang.
“Did Zhou Mumu agree to the show?” the boss asked.
“…Yes.”
“Good. Make sure everything goes smoothly. Use her to make Lin Weiwei shine.”
Wang Qiang swallowed hard.
He looked out the window, a deep unease creeping into his chest.
He had a feeling—
Something big was about to happen.