Chapter 12: Giving a Back Massage to a Rich Sister. Are you Chinese? ...

Du Yuanshan plopped down beside the electric fireplace and flipped open a newspaper. "Look, look!"

The crackling of wood filled the air with a rich pine scent. Over the clatter,

the middle-aged man's deep voice drowned out the noise: "Wife, you look so intently at the foreign newspaper."

The nice guy was full of compliments.

Du Yuanshan's tone softened, her voice dejected. "Foreign languages are like tadpoles, and I can't understand them."

It's not like she didn't understand English completely. If she could say, "How are you?" and the whole world could respond with "Fine, thank you, and you?", she would confidently declare the key to success—

"I'm fine, too."

But the rules of this strange world didn't play by the rules.

"Look at the photo in the newspaper!" The air, like bubbles in beer, spread again. Du Yuanshan, her manicure lifted, jabbed a dart at the face of the Korean actress, stopping just a centimeter away. Instead, she stroked her cheek with her fingertips. "...Which dermatologist did that? Her face is so tender." The

actress in the newspaper had gravity-defying apple cheeks, soft, supple, and smooth, with an unnaturally bright radiance.

Du Yuanshan touched her own face, overcome with envy.

A middle-aged man's voice sneered from the video: "Tsk, she's either photoshopped or faked. She's not as good as my wife."

Another thoughtless compliment.

Du Yuanshan, fed up, rolled her eyes.

The moon in Maple Leaf Country hadn't risen yet. Tiny stars took center stage, adorning the dark sky.

The eye roll traveled halfway around the world .

Outside the office window, sunlight broke through the clouds, eager to seep in. Shen Dahe closed the blinds, untied his disposable chopsticks, and poked at the vegetables in his lunch box.

The time difference between day and night was vividly captured in the video.

On the other side of the world, Comrade Shen Dahe perfectly caught Du Yuanshan's eye roll.

He quickly took a screenshot and hid it in a secret album titled "Ugly Photos of Someone." If she treated him badly, he would pull out his "collected photos" and cover them with their wedding photos.

"You're just eating this?" Du Yuanshan scoffed at the lunchbox. "Where's the meat?"

Shen Dahe snapped back to his senses, picked up some vegetables, and laid them atop the braised pork like a corpse.

Quietly completing his little gesture, he adjusted the camera on his phone and sighed, "...I can't eat."

"What's wrong with you?" Ever since Du Yuanshan arrived in the Maple Leaf Country, the old man at home had been listless and sighing. Unnecessarily nervous, she urged, "Go to the hospital and get checked out! You're smoking, drinking, and staying up all night. If you keep doing this, I'll divorce you!"

"..."

Uh, was he overacting? Shen Dahe loosened his grip, put down his chopsticks, and looked up.

In the video, a figure suddenly appeared behind his wife's radiant face.

The darkness diminished the video quality, and the figure carried a sinister aura, his gait strange.

The frame only captured his calves, making it hard to discern his movements. He looked like an actor on a track on a horror set, silently moving forward.

The ghost even had lines.

— "Hey, Director Shen is doing a food stream?"

"..." Shen Dahe wanted to throw his lunch box on Chen Che's head. "What are you trying to do with all this?"

His jerk son raised his arms, displaying his overflowing "trophies." He clutched a milk tea shop takeout bag, resembling one from a famous brand like Donkey, Diao, or Xiang.

A row of milk tea bags lined the low table. Du Yuanshan pried open the bag with her fingertips, unsure of her son's intentions. "Are you working as a delivery driver part-time?"

"Milk, would you like some?" Chen Che picked up a cup, inserted a straw, and held it out to Du Yuanshan.

Milk? The holographic screen pulled up a built-in calorie chart, and Du Yuanshan calculated the calories.

Seeing she didn't take it, Chen Che snatched the milk tea back, put the straw to his lips, and sipped: "Big sister, this is milk, not paraquat."

Du Yuanshan, whose hand fell empty, sighed: "Who said I don't drink it?!"

Shen Dahe in the video was unreasonably worried: "Wife, you're already thin enough." Chen Che

added: "If you lose any more weight, don't act in "Snowland Wasteland", go act in "Skeleton Army"."

"You idiot!"

The young master abandoned his scolding mother and ignored his cheesy father, milk in one hand and water in the other, and returned to his territory.

A new email appeared in his mailbox.

He clicked on the small envelope.

"Ah, you got it! Isn't it cute!"

His eyes counted from left to right with precision.

Including punctuation, it totaled 14 characters.

Even advertising emails were more sincere than hers!

He drove non-stop to the mall—this was his car's first show after "healing from a work injury." He was so serious about it, and she was so casual about it?

How could she not be envious, not jealous?!

The moon hung high in the sky, its shimmering light filling the cracks in the young master's expression.

His fingers flew, like an online writer rushing to update.

[You were the one who told me to redeem my prize at Heytea, and I, following your highest instructions, did so.]

Each punctuation mark beat like a drum on his solar plexus.

He paused, awaiting a reply.

"

Full moon, full moon! Awooo—" Park Ye-jin raised her arms, a full moon reflected in her pupils. "My next comic will be a werewolf story. What do you think?"

Chi Leyou raised her face from the computer and tilted it to her roommate. "Aren't you Koreans famous for nine-tailed foxes?"

"Nine-tailed foxes are out," Park Ye-jin said, her eyes sparkling, a constant stream of inspiration. "You know how popular werewolf stories are in Europe and America! The one I'm following on Wattpad..."

Park Ye-jin's Chinese faltered as she spoke about the 10/18+ ratings, so she switched to English with a mix of her native language.

Chi Leyou struggled to understand the heavily Korean-sounding English and hesitated, "It sounds..."

"Well, what's it like?" Park Yejin switched to the Chinese internet buzzwords Chi Leyou had been teaching her.

"It looks like a flopped comic from the Webtoon library." Chi Leyou sat back in her swivel chair, 1.2 meters forward, the small dining table blocking her path. "Draw something you're good at. That last comic about wealthy second-generation people was quite popular." The

comic was called "My Husband is a Crazy, Insanely Cool Wealthy Second-Generation."

The book had 47 collectors, 7 of whom were friends and family, and only 40 independent readers, most of whom were fans Park Yejin had garnered from her makeup and hair tutorials on Instagram.

An email popped up on her phone.

The 26 characters framed her eyes, and Chi Leyou inexplicably caught a whiff of exhaustion from the sender.

Belated realization washed over her.

Someone like her, a working person, put on doll costumes together and earned $90 for three hours on the platform.

At this moment, she leaned back in a comfortable swivel chair, while someone else was still working.

In the evening, giving a wealthy woman a back massage and shoulder rub was part of his job.

Expanding the scope of his duties would lead to unimaginable erotic territory.

Chi Leyou growled, "Damn her!" She was so exhausted, yet she was still urging people to go to the milk tea shop to redeem their prize badges.

A new email appeared at her fingertips. With a swipe, it was beamed across the city, beaming with moonlight. "How about we take an unconventional approach?" Chi Leyou thought about the unfortunate working man and said to the future cartoonist Park, "This time, let's draw a story about a wealthy chaebol woman and a younger man?"

" Ahhh, Juses, Virgin Mary," Park Ye-jin's long eyelashes, which she had grown herself, fluttered wildly. 

Boom—she fell back onto the bed, her cricket pupa at the head of the bed, and her pillow arced to the bed opposite. Park Ye-jin successfully dug out the tablet. She never raised her head from the tablet again. 

Chi Leyou's latest email: I'm sorry, I thought too simply. Take care of yourself. I won't disturb you at work! 

The young master, sitting in the study, resting his head on a comfortable custom gaming chair, felt like he was in a fog. 

He drove there and got a badge, just to avoid being tired. 

Work? 

He wanted to debate with her again on the topic of "Whose good family works at night?" 

Pia—the young master clapped his right hand against his left. He couldn't talk to her anymore. 

She knew too much. 

He'd come to work at his house and seen Du Yuanshan and him together, then appeared in the fan group bidding farewell. 

While she hadn't posted anything on social media, that didn't mean she wouldn't. 

He had a face that looked like a one-to-one copy of a famous star; how could a rabid fan resist? Chen 

Che resisted the urge to reply and instead called out his childhood friend on WeChat. 

[Chen Che: What does it mean if someone texts "Take care, I won't bother you at work"?] In the rough cut room of a domestic TV station, 

Sang Shi was using After Effects software to mask out the young actor who'd been featured on TV shows the day before yesterday. 

A friend's WeChat message made him swallow the sting in his eyes and reply: "Brother, I've been up all night, and you're interrupting my work. 

" [Chen Che: Not coming to ice fish anymore? Not eating yellow perch and northern pike anymore?] 

[Zombies: Who said he wouldn't eat it? I can't walk away! Lu Ziyu of Tiansha, please ask fans not to let paparazzi take pictures! He doesn't pull the curtains while stepping on the horse! 】

【Chen Che: Pay attention to quality. And, please reply to my first message. 】

Sang Shi curled his lips, and the news rolled up, and there was a confusion in his eyes that could not understand the holy intention. 

[Zombies: The other party feels sorry for the workers? 】

The emperor was not satisfied, and attached the imperial comment: The context time is 9 pm. 

Sang Shi was confused by Chen Che's inexplicable problem. 

According to contextual time, only two types of people will go to work at the big night. 

In addition to his hard-working awesome, takeaway guys, hospital emergency, fire protection and public security industries, etc. 

Whose good family works overtime at night? 

Except. 

——Sang Shi removes the fake and saves the truth, and returns to Shen Che: It’s just a worker in a special industry. It’s quite tiring to get up at night to work, so you really have to have a good rest. 

The news bombarded almost at the same time, Chen Che: Get out. 

A huge mine. 

The mine exploded on the screen, and the mulberry stone had a cracked expression: "..." 

What should I pay attention to quality? ! 

A childhood friend couldn't use it. 

Chen Che wanted to use the Instagram account he'd never met. 

Although he hadn't posted any photos, judging by his posts, he was around his age. 

[Brook: "She clearly loves something I have, but she hasn't asked for it. What does that mean?"] 

Yoyolooping, unaware of his role as an "online strategist," was online. 

[Yoyolooping: "Gain honestly, keep properly."] 

A message of explanation followed. 

[Yoyolooping: "My words weren't quite right. There's an old Chinese saying, 'A gentleman loves wealth, but he gets it in a proper way.' I think that's what he meant. Don't covet or dwell on what's not yours. Even if you truly like it, the other person will acquire it through their own abilities."] Amidst the sea of 

English, eight Chinese characters stood out. 

So much so that Chen Che stared at them until they reached saturation, blinking only to barely decipher them. 

[Yoyolooping: "Ah, Chinese is a little difficult, this sentence is a little difficult. I'll think about how to explain it to you."] 

[Brook: Are you Chinese?] 

Two messages were sent at the same time, colliding with each other's Instagram messages.