Chapter Twenty-Six: Someone Pulling the Strings

“Du Xi, Du Xi, you’re the best.”

“Most beautiful goddess Jiaqi, we’ll love you forever!”

“Shen Jing is the most handsome!”

Bodyguards cleared the way, assistants surrounded them; a wide avenue was transformed into a sea of people, as if a bustling temple fair had erupted just for their arrival. It seemed that only such a spectacle would befit these celebrities.

Once the three entered the main hall, a different air swept over Doctor Wu and his colleagues; each one was visibly brimming with pride.

“Jiaqi, I’m your fan!” someone called out.

“Thank you,” Jiaqi replied with a gentle nod, though her eyes were busy scanning the room.

Weren’t there supposed to be Li Taizai and a slew of investors? All she saw were old scholars or greasy middle-aged men.

She glanced at Du Xi and Shen Jing, both wearing the same bewildered expression, then looked toward Duan Jijin.

The only reason they’d agreed to come was that they’d once been Duan Jijin’s clients, and because they’d heard Li Taizai and some investors would be present. Otherwise, none of them would have deigned to visit such a shabby little cosmetic hospital—especially Jiaqi, who even dreamed of sparking some tabloid rumors with Li Taizai to catapult herself into the A-list.

“So where’s Li Taizai?” Jiaqi asked, her dissatisfaction evident.

Shen Jing pinched his nose and whispered, “Shouldn’t have agreed to Old Duan’s invitation. If fans find out we’ve had work done and didn’t even make any investor connections, we’ll lose out big time. I say we just come up with an excuse and get out of here.”

While the two whispered, Du Xi had already lost her temper. “Don’t you know I don’t drink this kind of water? I only drink the aristocrat of waters. What kind of dump is this? And you—are you deaf?”

She jabbed her finger at Ye Qiu, cursing him out, clearly mistaking him for a staff member.

Ye Qiu raised an eyebrow. He’d come out to tell Zhao Lei they could begin the surgery once Xiong Xinxin arrived, but hadn’t expected to run into such an idiot.

“Moron,” Ye Qiu muttered, shooting her a cold look before turning to quietly confer with Zhao Lei, ready to head back. But Du Xi’s assistant blocked his path. “Go to the supermarket and get imported aristocrat water. Du Xi can’t stand this bottled stuff.”

Before Ye Qiu could reply, Du Xi hurled her cake to the ground in irritation. “What is this garbage cake? So greasy I could die.”

“That’s just how it is in this dump,” Duan Jijin tried to placate her. “Du Xi, just wait a bit. I’ve already reserved a spot at the Linhai Grand Hotel. Once we’re done here, we’ll eat there.”

“Linhai Grand Hotel? Fine,” Du Xi agreed with a dismissive nod. Just then, the receptionist came over asking for her autograph, and Du Xi smacked the pen from the girl’s hand. “An autograph? One thousand bucks each. Can you afford that? If not, get lost.”

The young woman had adored Du Xi, even using her as her phone’s wallpaper—never imagining her idol would be so different in real life.

“One thousand bucks for an autograph?” Ye Qiu brushed past Du Xi’s assistant and walked over, immediately writing out a cash check for five million.

“Sign. Five thousand autographs. If it’s not enough, I’ll add more.”

“Who the hell are you, flashing a fake check around to show off?” Du Xi sneered. “If you can cash that check, I’ll eat your hospital’s sign.”

As she spoke, Du Xi shouted, “Who’s in charge here?”

Zhao Lei stepped forward, reaching out his hand. “I am.”

Du Xi ignored the gesture, pointing at Ye Qiu instead. “Fire him.”

Zhao Lei was at a loss.

“Well…” Truth be told, he hadn’t expected any of this. Professors, celebrities—he couldn’t afford to offend any of them.

Stand up for his own employee? Not a chance. Receptionists only earned a few thousand a month—there was no shortage of people lining up for the job.

“Ye Qiu, maybe you could just…”

“Maybe, my ass.” Ye Qiu slapped the check into Zhao Lei’s hand. “Go send someone to get the cash. If this Du doesn’t eat your sign today, I’ll fork out fifty million to dig up all her dirt. Then we’ll see if she can even show her face, never mind rake in the money.”

Zhao Lei hesitated, looking at Ye Qiu. “Will this… be okay?”

“Just do it.”

Zhao Lei itched to curse. Why did everyone have to make things difficult for him? Still, Ye Qiu was now on his side, so he had no choice but to grit his teeth and call the finance staff.

Jiaqi and Shen Jing, meanwhile, were quietly delighted—especially Shen Jing. The two of them had always been compared by the media as rivals, often snagging the same endorsements. If Du Xi went down, he’d stand to gain.

Du Xi, for her part, seemed not to notice, curling her lip. “If you really had that kind of money, you wouldn’t be working in a dump like this. Assistant, take his picture and post it for my fans. Tell them this guy insulted me.”

“Du Xi, that’s enough,” Shen Jing spoke up. He’d only intended to watch the drama, but Du Xi was crossing a line. Some of her fans were fanatical—if this blew up online, who knew what might happen? As for Ye Qiu’s five-million check, Shen Jing didn’t believe it for a second. Even the owner of this little clinic probably couldn’t scrape together that much cash on the spot, let alone just to pay for autographs.

“Enough?” Du Xi scoffed. “This is nothing. If this kid doesn’t kneel and apologize to me today, I’ll unleash my fans.”

“This isn’t your business, Shen Jing, so don’t get involved,” Jiaqi said, sashaying over to his side. “We’re all adults; no need to play peacemaker. Besides, if someone can produce five million on the spot, he’s clearly not ordinary.”

No matter who won or lost, Jiaqi was already planning how to spin today’s events to her advantage.

Shen Jing glanced at Ye Qiu, then at Du Xi, sighed, and stepped back.

Du Xi had overheard their conversation, but her disdain only deepened.

As they spoke, the finance staff returned, lugging in a bulging bag—five million in cash, stuffed to overflowing.

“The money’s here. Eat up,” Ye Qiu said.

Du Xi was dumbfounded. Her look of disdain morphed into utter shock.

What the hell? Was he some secret scion of the wealthy?

“It’s all just a misunderstanding!” her assistant quickly chimed in, attempting to smooth things over. “Sir, it was just a mix-up earlier—why don’t we just drop it?”

“Drop it?” Ye Qiu shot a sideways glance at the assistant. “Weren’t you going to post my photo for your fans? What, your words mean nothing? If you admit his mouth is as good as his ass, then fine, we’ll call it even.”

“Sir, don’t think a little money gives you the right to do as you please. You know Du Xi has powerful backers, too.”

“Oh? I’d like to see that.”

“You’re not worthy,” Du Xi snorted. “A nouveau riche like you wants to meet our Mr. Wang?”

Ye Qiu replied coolly, “Mr. Wang who?”

Before Du Xi could answer, a new group entered—over a dozen people, all speaking Korean.

Duan Jijin actually ran over to greet them.