Late one night, I jolted awake to find Maya standing over the bed, holding a kettle of boiling water.
I realized what she was about to do and rolled aside just in time. The scalding water poured down onto the spot where I'd been lying. If I hadn't reacted so quickly, the consequences would have been unthinkable!
"Maya, have you lost your mind?" I roared at her.
"You're the one who's lost it," Maya glared at me. "It's that monster—it's turned you into this! If I get rid of it, it's for your own good!" She raised the kettle again and flung the remaining water at my chest.
I kicked her away. "This thing is my money god! Everything I earn is because of it. Anyone who tries to hurt it will pay with their life!"
I shut the door. Outside, Maya wailed.
And all I could think about was comforting the human-face sore. "Don't worry, I won't let her hurt you..."
9
From that night on, I locked the bedroom door before sleeping. Later, I stopped locking it—because I stopped coming home altogether. I took up with a female fan, bought her a house and a car, and set her up as my mistress.
Her name was Jing. Fair-skinned, beautiful, long-legged, and sweet-talking—she always knew how to make me happy.
But no matter what, I never took off my shirt around her. I didn't want anyone to discover my secret!
As for my absences, I told Maya I was too busy with work—sometimes so busy I just slept at the office.
When she seemed skeptical, I added, "If you don't believe me, come see for yourself at the company."
She couldn't very well do that—our three-year-old son kept her tied down.
To be honest, if it weren't for our son, I'd have divorced her long ago. The women I knew now were all better than her—prettier, certainly, and so much more attentive.
Only Maya gave me nothing but cold looks and sharp words. She ate my food, spent my money—on what grounds? Just thinking about it made my blood boil.
Out of sight, out of mind. And so I spent less and less time at home.
10
The taller the tree, the stronger the wind.
The livestreaming market was only so big—my gains meant someone else's losses.
A competitor I'd steamrolled suddenly fired back: he invited Sasha onto his stream for a tell-all interview!
After the earlier slap incident, Sasha had been subjected to vicious cyberbullying. Her home address had been doxxed. Angry netizens sent her funeral shrouds and razor blades. When she went outside, people recognized her, spat at her, and threw filth at her... They all called her an ungrateful wretch who didn't deserve to live.
She'd tried to defend herself, but her voice was too small. Now that someone was finally willing to give her a platform, she was desperate to seize the opportunity.
On the show, Sasha tearfully recounted what had really happened, then pointedly declared that I'd staged everything just to drive traffic...
With her red-rimmed eyes and pitiful demeanor, she struck a chord with the onlooking public. Feeling manipulated, they turned their weapons on me in fury.
I was torn to shreds.
Just like Sasha, I received funeral shrouds and razor blades. Walking down the street, people spat at me and threw filth...
The wheel of fortune, it seemed, had come full circle.
11
I asked the human-face sore what to do this time.
It gave a cold, sharp laugh. "She has a mouth—don't you? Go find her ex-boyfriend! Money makes the devil turn the grindstone."
The answer crystallized in my mind.
I brought Sasha's ex onto my stream and conducted my own interview.
As for the content—you can probably guess. We twisted the truth and smeared Sasha's reputation. We claimed she was promiscuous, that she'd even contracted an STD. The ex had been forced to leave her because he couldn't take it anymore; she'd threatened suicide when he tried to break up...
"Look, here's the proof—her medical records," the ex declared, brandishing a document.
The medical records were genuine. Sasha had indeed had an STD—but she'd caught it from him. She was the real victim. That was what had driven her to attempt suicide.
"This man risked his life to save you, and this is how you repay him? I couldn't just stand by—that's why I'm speaking out today! As the saying goes, you can't let a hero bleed and weep!" The ex ended with theatrical indignation.
This masterful performance fooled the public once again. They flipped sides, and the tide of opinion swung back in my favor...
And I, the "victim" once more, rode another massive wave of traffic straight to the bank.
12
"Max, how could you do that? Treating a girl that way—it's despicable! How many moral lines are you willing to cross for money? You've become truly terrifying!"
When Maya found out what I'd done, we had another explosive argument.
"That thing on your chest put you up to it again, didn't it?"
"It's not a 'thing'—it's my friend!" I shot back.
"Your friend? It's a demon! Haven't you realized that it's gradually taking control of you? Whatever it tells you to do, you do. If one day it told you to kill someone, would you do that too?"
"If that day comes, then that person deserves to die," I said coldly.
"My God, you're truly possessed!" Maya backed away, then turned and fled.
That evening, she came home very late. I later learned she'd gone to find Sasha—she was afraid the poor girl might attempt suicide again after what I'd done.
She'd been right to worry. Sasha had slit her wrists. If Maya hadn't arrived in time, she likely would have died.
Maya rushed Sasha to the hospital and waited on her hand and foot, spending money and time until Sasha was stable.
I had to admit—we owed Maya for that. If something had actually happened to Sasha, the guilt would have been crushing.
13
Sasha's crisis had barely been resolved when a much bigger problem reared its head!
The products I'd been selling had serious quality issues, drawing widespread consumer complaints. The platform banned me and ordered me to compensate all affected parties.
The figure was astronomical—it essentially bankrupted me. Easy come, easy go—the ancients knew what they were talking about.
Overnight, I was back to square one. The freefall from the clouds was agonizing beyond words.
Maya, on the other hand, looked almost relieved. She urged me to find a proper job and live an honest life going forward.
I couldn't be bothered with her lectures. I went to find Jing for some comfort, but when I knocked on her door, a stranger answered. They said Jing had sold the place to them.
I was stunned. I tried calling her, but the number was disconnected—an empty void.
Clearly, I'd been dumped. It was exactly as the saying went: when the tree falls, the monkeys scatter!
Not surprising, really. You can't buy genuine love with money.
14
That night, I got rip-roaring drunk at a bar. When I stumbled home, I had another fight with Maya. Under the stress, she suddenly collapsed...
At the hospital, the doctor said it was nothing serious—just extreme emotional stress. She needed a few days' rest. I was about to relay the diagnosis when the human-face sore stopped me: "Max, don't you want to turn things around?"
"Of course I do!"
"Then do as I say." It wore a sinister grin. "I guarantee it won't be long before you reclaim your former glory!"
15
I forged a medical report and convinced Maya she had cancer. She believed it instantly and panicked.
Then I told her about a special overseas medication that could treat her condition, but it was expensive and required long-term use. In other words—she'd have to pay to stay alive.
Finally, I told her I had a way to get the money, but she'd have to cooperate.
When I explained my plan, Maya hesitated.
"The doctor said this disease gets harder to treat the longer you wait. Our son is still so young—can you bear the thought of him growing up without a mother?" I played my trump card.
Thinking of our son, Maya had no choice but to give in...
So I dragged her in front of the camera. This time, we weren't selling products—we were selling sympathy!
I spun a heart-wrenching tale, casting myself as the world's most devoted husband, caring tirelessly for a terminally ill wife. To afford the astronomical cost of the miracle drug, I was even willing to sell my own organs...
This carefully crafted image of a loving, devoted husband won back public sympathy. With sympathy came traffic, and with traffic came money. It turned out that selling misery was another path to wealth!
To maximize the pity, I even hired a makeup artist to make Maya look more sickly...
Maya was naturally resistant. But whenever she wavered, I brought up our son.
Our son was her weak point. For his sake, she endured it again and again...
16
Two months later, I procured the so-called "miracle drug." In reality, it was just cheap vitamins with a new label slapped on. Maya never suspected a thing and took them faithfully every day.
Of course, the streams had to continue. The medication couldn't stop...
In short, it was a road with no end.