When Shen Yuan woke up, it was already the next morning.
The living room was quiet—Xu Anran had clearly already left.
She sat up, her gaze landing on the table. The notebook filled with densely written debt details had been closed.
Shen Yuan rubbed her temples, completely unaware that Xu Anran had seen it.
The stabbing pain in her stomach had eased considerably, but she still felt terribly weak.
She reached for her phone by the pillow and habitually opened the banking app to check her balance.
Two thousand one hundred yuan. One hundred of that was the wages she’d earned from her trial shift at the coffee shop yesterday.
Her first paycheck as a working girl.
Shen Yuan stared at that hundred yuan for a moment, then switched to WeChat and opened her chat with Xu Anran.
Her fingertip hovered over the screen for two seconds before she typed in the number: 50.
Note: 【Medicine and porridge.】
She hit send.
Watching the red transfer message go through, Shen Yuan felt a little ridiculous. This amount of money, in front of the old Xu Anran, wouldn’t even cover a sip of water for him. Sending it now felt more like buying herself a sense of peace.
But she really had no other choice right now—she could only count every penny and pay back bit by bit.
Within two minutes, her phone vibrated.
A refund notification.
The transfer had been returned untouched, without even a single word of note from Xu Anran.
Shen Yuan looked at the refund prompt on the screen and didn’t try again.
She knew Xu Anran was angry.
To be precise, ever since she’d crossed over, Xu Anran had been angry. Before, his anger carried undisguised disgust and wariness, like a hedgehog bristling with spikes. But now, his emotions held an undercurrent she couldn’t quite read.
Those things hidden beneath his cold expression—Shen Yuan didn’t dare dwell on them, and she couldn’t afford to.
She sighed, got up, took her stomach medicine, boiled some plain porridge to settle her stomach, then changed clothes and got ready for her shift at the coffee shop.
Just as she stepped out of the stairwell, a sharp ringtone shattered the morning quiet.
An unfamiliar number with no label flashed on the screen.
Shen Yuan stopped in her tracks and pressed the answer button.
“Shen Yuan, right?” A hoarse male voice came through the line, dripping with ill intent.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“When are you paying back the money you owe?”
Shen Yuan’s brows knitted tightly. “What money?”
The man let out a sneer, his tone mocking. “Playing dumb? Orange Blossom Loan—principal of twelve thousand, plus overdue interest and penalty fees, now three thousand four hundred total with interest. How long are you planning to drag this out?”
Shen Yuan’s head buzzed, as if struck by a heavy hammer.
An online loan.
The original owner had an online loan too!
When she’d first crossed over, she’d scoured the phone’s bills and only seen credit card debt and those messy luxury spending records—she hadn’t seen any trace of an online loan at all.
Either the original owner had uninstalled the app, or she’d deliberately hidden it.
“If you don’t pay by six o’clock this afternoon, we’ll start contacting everyone in your address book,” the man’s voice turned cold and sinister. “Your boyfriend, friends, coworkers—none of them will escape. If you want to be famous among the people you know, keep stalling.”
Shen Yuan gripped her phone tightly, forcing herself to stay calm. “I need to verify the loan information.”
“Verify?” The man sounded as if he had just heard a joke. “Your ID, bank card, and phone number are all yours. What are you going to deny?”
Shen Yuan took a deep breath, suppressing her racing heart. “I’m not denying anything. But I need to see the itemized bill first. Otherwise, I won’t transfer a single cent.”
“Cut the crap! If I don’t see the money by six, you can kiss your reputation goodbye!”
Beep—the call was abruptly cut off.
A draft swept through the hallway, and Shen Yuan stood in the shadows, her fingers feeling icy cold.
Thirty-four thousand.
Her entire net worth right now was just over two thousand, and she still owed Xu Anran more than thirty thousand.
How many more pits had the original owner dug?
Leaning against the peeling wall, Shen Yuan suddenly felt like laughing.
When other people transmigrated into books, they either started as heiresses or got bound to a wealth system. At the very least, they’d stumble upon some cheat code.
But her? On her first day of transmigration, she nearly starved to death. Now she’d inherited a hidden debt gift pack.
With high interest, no less.
Shen Yuan stood there for a long while, trying to compose herself, then opened her phone’s browser and searched for “Orange Blossom Loan.”
No such platform existed.
She then flipped through her messages, digging through more than a dozen pages of spam texts auto-blocked by the system, until she finally found a few collection notices at the very bottom.
The loan was taken out three months ago.
The purpose of the loan was clearly stated in four characters: beauty treatment expenses.
Shen Yuan closed her eyes.
Great. The original owner had truly perfected the art of “delicate poverty.” All for a beauty treatment, she’d gone and borrowed from some shady online lender whose app couldn’t even be found.
She switched to her messaging app and sent a text to that number, demanding a formal contract and a detailed breakdown of the loan.
The reply came quickly—a blurry screenshot.
Shen Yuan zoomed in and took a sharp breath. The interest rate was absurdly high, clearly the kind of usurious loan that wasn’t protected by law.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew she couldn’t let these loan sharks intimidate her. The more she caved, the more they’d push.
But she also knew the worst part about debt collectors wasn’t whether they were legal or not—it was their relentless, all-encompassing harassment.
They’d use call-bombing software to blow up her contacts, send malicious photoshopped texts, or even show up at her workplace to cause a scene.
She had just landed this job at the coffee shop. She absolutely couldn’t afford any trouble at this critical moment.
Shen Yuan clutched her phone, her face gradually turning pale.
When she arrived at the coffee shop, Shen Yuan changed into her uniform, clearly off her game.
Zhou Ning was wiping down the counter and noticed right away. “What’s wrong with you today? Your face is even paler than the boss’s empty promises.”
Shen Yuan forced a smile. “It’s nothing. My stomach might not be fully recovered yet.”
Linda, who was adjusting the espresso machine, glanced over and said briskly, “If you’re not feeling well, just say so. Go rest in the back. The shop doesn’t need someone trying to tough it out.”
Shen Yuan nodded quickly. “I know. Thanks, Sister Linda.”
She said she understood, but her hands never stopped moving.
Wiping tables, taking orders, packing takeout. She pushed herself to spin like a top, trying to drown out the panic in her heart with sheer busyness. The busier she was, the less time she had to think about those collection calls.
But the other side clearly had no intention of letting her off the hook.
Just past three in the afternoon, the phone in her apron pocket began to vibrate violently.
Unknown numbers kept calling one after another.
She hung up.
They kept calling.
Finally, a barrage of text messages popped up on her screen.
【Shen Yuan, hiding won’t help.】
【If you don’t pay up, we’ll come to your workplace.】
【Heard you’re at the coffee shop on Nantong Road?】
Shen Yuan’s face went pale when she saw the last message.
They’d found out.
Even the new job she’d just started yesterday—they knew all about it.
Clutching her phone, Shen Yuan slipped out to the alley behind the back door, her fingertips trembling uncontrollably.
“What’s wrong?”
A gentle male voice suddenly came from behind her.