Afternoon.
Shen Que's side moved swiftly.
Issuing a public ban against Lin Shu and Qiao Xi for breach of contract and malicious competition, the announcement cited "maliciously framing a company newcomer" and "serious violations of artist contracts and professional ethics" but conspicuously omitted the name of that newcomer—Su Qianqian.
A legal notice followed closely, pushing the matter toward criminal implications.
If proven, this wouldn’t be settled with mere compensation.
Lin Shu stared at the search results for the likelihood of jail time, her fingers turning icy.
Hiring a lawyer?
Going up against Shen Media’s formidable legal team?
Even if she could afford one, no lawyer would dare take the case.
Shen Que had made it clear: anyone who dared would be opposing the Shen Group.
Lin Shu had always known when to yield. Without money, she still had her looks—there was no need to fight a losing battle.
So she gave in.
Her apartments, jewelry, savings… under the crushing weight of Shen’s legal and financial might, they were being liquidated one by one.
Wearing a mask, Lin Shu sat on a bench outside her apartment building, unsure where to go.
Should she squeeze into the old district of S City? Or latch onto some investor who’d thrown her a lifeline?
Who knew?
——
At the top floor of the Gu Consortium.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows lay the city’s most dazzling skyline.
Gu Chengyu leaned back in his expansive black leather chair.
The sleeves of his charcoal-gray shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms.
On the computer screen before him, his private banking interface displayed a freshly deposited sum: +1,000,000,000.
One billion.
The penalty that Lin Shu had paid after being bled dry.
Gu Chengyu tapped a finger lightly on the desk, his gaze indifferent, utterly unmoved.
To him, this amount was just a number.
Then it struck him—he’d never given his little girl pocket money.
All those expensive jewels, clothes, and shoes? Just whimsical purchases, not true allowance.
The thought spurred his long fingers into swift motion across the keyboard.
He transferred a sum to Su Qianqian’s account, adding a zero to the end of that billion.
In the remarks column, he typed: "Pocket money."
Enter.
Sent.
The motion was fluid, carrying his unspoken doting.
——
Meanwhile, in the living room of Cloud Peak Apartments.
Su Qianqian sat curled up on the spacious sofa, bare feet tucked under her as she studied a script for an upcoming audition.
Her hair was loosely tied back, revealing the delicate curve of her neck.
"Ding—"
The crisp chime of a notification sounded.
She absently picked up her phone and glanced at the screen—a bank deposit alert.
Normally, she wouldn’t care. Her account rarely saw activity; Gu Chengyu handled all daily expenses, leaving her with little concept of money.
But when her gaze landed on the endless string of zeros—so long they nearly spilled off the screen—her small hand froze mid-air.
Her wide, doe-like eyes blinked rapidly, lips parting slightly.
"One, ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand…" Instinctively, her slender fingertip tapped each digit as she counted under her breath.
By the eighth digit, her head spun.
"...Hundred million?" Her voice was dazed.
How many zeros was that?
Her mind short-circuited briefly at the incomprehensible figure.
Before she could process it, another "thud" sounded.
A second notification popped up:
[Transfer failed: Recipient account single-transaction limit exceeded.]
Su Qianqian’s rosy lips puckered into a pout.
"Huh?"
A tiny whimper escaped as her brows knitted together.
"Why’s there a limit?"
Clutching the phone, she tapped the screen helplessly, as if willing those vanished zeros to reappear.
"Wuwu… all my zeros… gone just like that…"
Her whispery voice dripped with dismay.
Even if she didn’t need it, losing ten billion out of nowhere felt catastrophic.
Wuwu…
Gone. So many zeros.
——
Back at Gu Consortium Tower.
Gu Chengyu had just lifted his coffee cup when his phone vibrated.
He swiped open the transfer failure notification, one eyebrow arching.
Failed? Account limit?
For the first time in his twenty-some years, he found himself absurdly amused.
His Qianqian couldn’t even receive his pocket money properly, her account too small to handle it.
He imagined her bewildered expression upon seeing those zeros—and now, her probably pouting over the "loss."
The corner of his mouth curled upward uncontrollably.
Setting down the cup, he pressed the intercom.
"Zhao Yan."
"Young Master." The assistant responded instantly.
"Contact the bank immediately. Open a black card under Miss Su’s name."
"Then transfer ten billion from my personal account into it."
"Yes, Young Master." Zhao Yan’s tone betrayed no surprise.
Hanging up, Gu Chengyu reclined in his chair.
His fingers drummed lightly on the desk as he pictured handing the black card to her tonight—her startled delight, the way she might count the zeros on her fingers.
Tsk.
Just the thought was unbearably adorable.
