4
The next day, I brought gifts and went to visit someone.
Sasha—that was the girl I'd pulled from the river. Word had it she'd tried to kill herself because some scumbag had deceived her, and in a moment of despair, she'd chosen death. She'd since come to terms with things and gotten her life back on track.
When she saw me, Sasha was delighted, thanking me profusely for giving her a second chance at life.
I averted my gaze, unable to look her directly in the eye.
Because my motives for this visit were far from pure!
"What are you hesitating for? Do it!" The human-face sore on my chest whispered urgently. Perhaps sensing my reluctance, it prodded sharply, "Don't you want to make money? Don't you want to rise above everyone else?"
Gritting my teeth, I reached out and squeezed Sasha's rear.
Sasha had been in the middle of an animated sentence. She stared at me, wide-eyed and bewildered. "You—what are you doing?"
"I saved your life. What's wrong with copping a feel?" I forced the words out.
Sasha's face flushed crimson—shock, humiliation, disappointment, and rage_all of these emotions flickered across her face in rapid succession. She slapped me hard across the face. "You bastard! I misjudged you!"
I didn't say another word. I turned and walked away.
5
The photo of me getting slapped quickly went viral—along with a tidal wave of outrage.
You'd think the internet was tearing into me? Think again!
My encounter with Sasha had been carefully restaged and reframed...
"You can make all this money from livestreaming because of me! What's wrong with splitting it fifty-fifty?" Sasha shamelessly extorted me.
After I refused, she slapped me in a rage: "If you don't give me what I want, I'll tell everyone you're a beast who tried to take advantage of me!"
The photos had been staged by people I'd hired. The narrative was written by my team. Sasha was painted as an ungrateful, shameless villain, and the internet erupted in fury against her.
And I became the sympathetic victim.
After this orchestrated campaign, my traffic came roaring back, and with it, an endless stream of cash...
I had the human-face sore to thank for all of it. From that day forward, I worshipped the ground it stood on.
I even came to see it as a godsend—a divine patron of wealth!
6
Flushed with success, I told my wife, Maya, everything. I even excitedly took off my shirt and showed her the face on my chest. When she saw that grotesque face, she was dumbfounded.
Gathering her courage, Maya reached out and touched it. The face suddenly opened its mouth and clamped down on her finger. She shrieked and fell backwards onto the floor. Seeing her terrified reaction, both the human-face sore and I burst out laughing.
Once she'd collected herself, Maya insisted we talk. So I put my shirt back on and followed her to the living room.
"This thing on your chest—it's the one who put you up to all of this, isn't it? Max, it's absolutely no good! Keep it around, and it'll ruin you sooner or later! Let's go to the hospital right now and have it removed!" Maya said with fierce conviction.
The human-face sore overheard her words and curled up nervously. "Max, don't listen to her! We're one and the same—how could I hurt you? I can help you make money, big money! Luxury cars, a villa..."
"What luxury cars and villa? We don't need those! Come on, let's go to the hospital!" Maya grabbed my arm.
I stiffened and pulled away. "Maya, stop being naive, will you? Haven't you had enough of being poor? Think of our son—at least give him a chance to go to a decent school! I have this opportunity now. Why should I turn it down?"
"I want a good life too, and I want our son to have a better education—but not like this! We can't just abandon our conscience for money..."
"Conscience? Can conscience put food on the table? Enough—I'm not going to any hospital!" I slammed the door and walked out.
7
Maya was furious. That night, she packed up our son and moved into the guest room.
Fine by me. Without her nagging, I had even more peace and quiet. No distractions—I could focus entirely on making money.
The human-face sore was a true treasure. It taught me many things. It said if I wanted to make money, I needed to master two principles: first, shamelessness; second, ruthlessness.
For the poor, dignity is the most worthless commodity. And your kindness will only make you someone else's harvest.
The essence of human society, it told me, is even more brutal than the animal kingdom. If you don't want to be ruthlessly reaped, you must make yourself strong.
Under its corrosive influence, my skin grew thicker and my heart grew harder. I shamelessly begged fans for gifts and incited them to mob my competitors...
In short, my bottom line kept dropping, while the numbers in my bank account kept climbing...
I developed a new hobby: I'd withdraw stacks of cash from the bank, spread them across an entire bed, and then sleep on top of the money...
That feeling was absolutely glorious!
8
Maya frequently visited my livestream channel. She was appalled by what she saw and fought with me about it many times, demanding I shut the whole thing down.
"Look at yourself—you sound like some cult leader spouting nothing but lies! Max, stop this. I have a bad feeling about where this is heading. If you keep this up, something terrible is going to happen."
"Shut up, will you? Don't curse me!" I snapped impatiently. "You're not spending the money I earn? Don't be such a hypocrite!"
Every argument turned bitter and loud, often reducing our young son to tears.