Terminal Illness and the Strange Woman

"Ye Chuan, your family is just a bunch of broke landlords. Let's break up—we really can't make this work."

The red exclamation mark on his phone screen glared back at him, painfully vivid.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

Standing in the sterile, cold hospital hallway, Ye Chuan glanced silently at the elderly man beside him. "Sir, you're stepping on my foot."

"Ah, sorry about that, young man..."

This was the city's central hospital.

He was sick.

Terminally ill. Broke. An orphan.

Life had stacked every negative buff on him, leaving Ye Chuan with no expectations for the future. His current mindset was straightforward:

Living was fine. Dying didn’t matter either. And as for starting over? He didn’t even have the courage for that.

The only thing he had left was a decently sized piece of homestead land.

But it was located in a remote suburb, far from the city center—hard to rent out, and the rent was pitifully low. Selling it? Forget the meager price; it was practically his only shelter in this city.

Clutching the medical report in his hand, he shook his head and left the hospital.

On the bus, he found a seat and absentmindedly unlocked his phone, only to be greeted by a pop-up:

[Universal Landlord APP has been installed despite risks.]

[Tap to find out more.]

The sudden pop-up made Ye Chuan pause. He frowned, trying to recall if he’d recently visited any shady sites that might’ve infected his phone.

Probably not. XX Heaven was supposed to be safe.

He long-pressed the app icon and dragged it to the trash bin.

[Uninstall failed.]

"Huh?" Ye Chuan stared for a few seconds, suddenly realizing this virus wasn’t ordinary—it was stubbornly clinging to his phone despite his efforts.

Going to such lengths for the ten bucks and change in his wallet… Damn you, Hajidu.

No money, barely any contacts, and now an unremovable app. Resigned, Ye Chuan tapped on it.

[Landlord: Ye Chuan

Status: Heart failure

Tenants: 0

Daily income: $0]

[Newbie Mission: Recruit your first tenant.]

[New tenant available.]

[Recruit a new tenant to receive a monetary reward.]

"Wha—?!" Seeing his personal info laid out in the app, Ye Chuan was stunned. The shock sent him into a coughing fit so violent the bus driver glanced back nervously, as if worried he’d drop dead right there.

Ye Chuan checked his stop, quickly pocketed his phone, and got off at the next station, covering his mouth.

Walking through the labyrinth of the urban village, he finally reached his property at the end of the street.

A four-story building with a small courtyard, its exterior clad in dull white tiles. Years of neglect had left stains and mold creeping up the walls.

Who’d even rent this place?

Maybe a Cantonese twin-tailed girl would like it.

Too bad it wasn’t closer to downtown—then he might’ve had a chance.

Sighing, Ye Chuan unlocked the gate and pushed the door open.

"Whir—"

The creak of the door was followed by a flash of cold light. A sharp pain pricked his throat.

Blinking, Ye Chuan realized a gleaming sword was pressed against his neck.

The wielder stood as tall as him, draped in a flowing white robe tied with a cloud-patterned sash. Her ink-black hair cascaded like a waterfall, her skin porcelain-pale.

Her face—flawless enough to stun—locked onto him with piercing eyes that seemed to see right through him.

"Are you… filming a drama?"

"Are you from the Qingyun Sect? Speak! What kind of secret poison did you use to strip me of my strength?" Her voice was ice, her gaze frigid enough to freeze bone. Ye Chuan noticed her robes were torn, her body littered with wounds, blood trickling from her lips.

"Qingyun what? This is my house. Did you wander off a film set?" Ye Chuan exhaled, brushing the prop sword aside. "I’m already in a bad mood. Take your acting somewhere else. And how’d you even get in? I’m calling the cops!"

The woman staggered back—then collapsed face-first onto the floor, motionless.

"?!"

Ye Chuan stared, baffled. After a wary glance around to rule out a scam or ambush, he crouched to check on her.

But the moment he touched her arm, he realized the wounds were real—still bleeding, nothing like stage makeup.

"Wait, these injuries are real? Do actors go this hard for their roles?"

After a moment’s hesitation, he scooped her up and carried her inside. She was still warm—he couldn’t just leave her there.

---

When the woman awoke, she found herself on a soft bed. Her eyes flickered open, taking in the unfamiliar room filled with strange objects.

Most surprising? The wounds from the blood-whipping curse were healing.

"You’re awake?" Ye Chuan walked in, arms crossed. "Look, I can’t afford to take you to a hospital. Call your crew or something. Though, honestly, how have I never seen you on TV? With looks like yours, you should be famous. Don’t pretty faces sell these days?"

"Even those flower-boy idols are raking it in."

The woman didn’t understand a word. After a pause, she bowed her head. "This one thanks Senior for your aid."

She sensed no malice from him.

But when she looked up, Ye Chuan’s expression was pure pity.

"Still in character, huh?"

He waved it off. "If you’re fine, get going. Have your people take you to a hospital. Oh, and you owe me compensation for the scare."

The woman rose, clasped her fists in salute, and strode out—her sleeves fluttering, silver sword in hand—like some ethereal martial hero.

"Damn, she’s committed. She’ll make it big someday," Ye Chuan mused.

Then the sound of hurried footsteps returned.

The woman in ancient garb had turned back—only to collapse face-first at his feet again.

Ye Chuan: "?"

Seriously?! Are you addicted to this?!