—Novel Plot Transmission in Progress—
The top-tier female celebrity in the tomato-wind entertainment industry has three signature skills:
Bare-handed brick-breaking, bare-handed durian-splitting, and bare-handed coconut-cracking.
As a post-apocalyptic female general, Zhao Qinghan naturally refuses to lag behind.
After being reborn as a rising variety show newcomer, she stunned the audience by showcasing her talent of chest-crushing boulders—since she had no other skills to display. Bound to a wildcard system, she skyrocketed to fame as a top-tier star.
During her first collaboration with A-list celebrities on a show, she openly clashed with the host for their insincerity. During the live broadcast, she boldly admitted she couldn’t dance and wore an unapologetic attitude. When netizens mocked her fashion sense, she doubled down by flaunting those very color combinations on screen, retorting, "I’ll do me—what’s it to you? Look at yourselves first."
With the system’s cheat-like support, her unapologetically blunt persona won over hordes of fans. She even married the award-winning heartthrob actor, leaving everyone green with envy.
Meanwhile, Ming Xiaowei—Zhao Qinghan’s number one fan—hailed from a family of immense wealth. She once splurged hundreds of millions showering Zhao Qinghan with gifts. But after marriage, her father’s company collapsed, plunging the family into poverty. When Ming Xiaowei sought Zhao Qinghan’s help, hoping to reclaim some of her donations, she was met with scorn from Zhao Qinghan’s son, who mocked her shabby appearance. Even Zhao Qinghan herself couldn’t hide a flicker of disdain at her destitute state.
Not a single cent was returned. Trapped by the struggles of daily life, Ming Xiaowei finally realized the futility of idol worship. Rewatching clips of Zhao Qinghan’s speeches at home, she saw her for what she truly was—a tactless, foul-mouthed lunatic with zero IQ or EQ.
Countless fans still showered Zhao Qinghan with money, some even severing ties with their families or threatening suicide if denied funds for their obsession. Consumed by regret and hatred, Ming Xiaowei died with one final wish: to send Zhao Qinghan to a mental asylum.
(Author’s Note: This story does not reference any real-life novels or celebrities. It solely reflects the author’s personal values. While it’s a wish-fulfillment story, I also hope to convey some much-needed life lessons. Thanks for reading.)
Moon City
The autumn rain drizzled endlessly, painting layers of mist on pristine glass windows as sheer white curtains swayed gracefully.
When Ming Xiaowei woke up, her hand instinctively groped for something beside her.
A thick, high-quality blanket.
Her long lashes fluttered as she glanced at the nightstand—a wireless charger held the latest Fruit Brand 13 Pro Max, fully charged with a whopping 1TB storage.
Si was right. This host was loaded.
Donating hundreds of millions to a celebrity? That money could’ve lasted her several lifetimes.
The moment she unlocked her phone, 999+ notifications nearly gave her a heart attack.
"What the—why so many messages?"
Most were group chats, with names like "Zhao Qinghan’s Harem," alongside countless DMs.
"Rich sis, you got to video call Han Baobao during her livestream yesterday! So jealous TT"
Her heart skipped a beat. Slipping into bunny slippers, she grabbed her iPad and checked the platform—only 300,000 yuan spent so far.
The numbers made her eyes burn red.
No, literally—she had red-eye disease.
Damn it! All that money wasted on Zhao Qinghan? She could’ve taken it herself—she was definitely prettier anyway.
But now, this fortune was hers.
Time for a minor refund.
Not a month later—nope. The original owner was still underage, one month shy of adulthood.
But she couldn’t do it alone. Ming Xiaowei stepped out of her room. The entire third floor of the villa was her domain, with only Auntie Zhang, the live-in housekeeper, tending to her.
"Auntie Zhang!"
Leaning over the third-floor railing, she waved with a radiant smile.
"Yes, Miss? Craving something?"
"Nah, help me file a minor refund claim."
Auntie Zhang: "…"
A… minor refund?
Did the young miss top up a game again?
Without question, Auntie Zhang called the platform’s customer service. The agent cheerfully insisted a parent had to authorize the refund—after all, 300,000 yuan meant splitting half with the streamer and the platform.
Auntie Zhang wasn’t having it.
"Sure. But first, look up the account’s real-name verification. See who it’s registered under. Then decide if you really need President Ming to call you."
The agent did. Her scalp tingled—it was the heiress of DT Group, a Fortune Global 500 company. The agent immediately escalated the issue.
Within minutes, Auntie Zhang hung up.
"All set, Miss. The refund should process in a few hours." She handed the phone back.
"Thanks, Auntie Zhang! Oh, I’ve got class this afternoon. Gotta get ready. Take care of yourself at home, okay?" Ming Xiaowei patted her shoulder.
Auntie Zhang froze. The young miss, though kind, never initiated physical contact.
Had… something changed?
Back in her room, Ming Xiaowei eyed the posters, photo books, and even autographed collector’s editions.
She gathered them all, snapped photos, and posted in the fan group:
"PRICEY COLLECTION—OUT OF SPACE! MUST SELL ASAP!"
The group exploded.
"OMG Wei-chan! You even have sis’s autograph?! So lucky TT"
"This’ll cost thousands, right? Sold! When can you ship? I’ll pick up locally!"
"Me! Me!"
Ming Xiaowei added them all, jotting down addresses on a notepad before tearing off the sheet and sticking it to the items.
Holy cow—just these sales netted her tens of thousands.
Of course, the original Ming Xiaowei had splurged on these collectibles, paying hefty sums for rare signed merch from other fans.
Ah, the recklessness of youth.
Ming Xiaowei sighed. No worries—she’d undo the damage.
The real her hated idol worship. What was the point? That money could’ve bought a dozen Fruit 13 Pro Maxes with 1TB storage.
She’d rather buy one and toss it than waste it like this.
After scribbling addresses and phone numbers, her arm ached. Stuffing everything into the elevator from the third floor nearly crushed her.
"Miss, what’s all this?" Auntie Zhang eyed the pile, baffled.
"Ahem, Auntie Zhang, help me mail these out. Oh, and snap pics of the tracking codes. I sold them—enough for a ton of hotpot feasts!"
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