Chapter 50: Who’s the Real Fool
“Sister Qian, should we go chase them off?” Shen Jiashu fumed.
Chi Qian remained completely calm. “Let them be.”
They really thought homework was that easy to copy? For failing students, even with the answers right in front of them, they’d still mess it up.
She and her uncle had already scoured the place yesterday. Forget gold—there wasn’t even bird poop left.
If those people wanted to snatch, let them waste their time.
Gu Hua noticed Chi Qian arrive and then leave. She secretly asked her system, “You really can’t scan if there’s gold nearby?”
System: […I’m a romance-strategy system, not a treasure-hunting system. I can’t detect that.]
“Then how did Chi Qian know there was gold here?”
“She was just lucky.”
“How much luck does she even have left? Didn’t I already drain most of it?”
“Please don’t forget—you’ve also returned quite a bit of luck to her lately.”
The subtext: How many times have you failed your tasks already?
Every time she failed to slap Chi Qian’s face, some of the stolen fortune flowed right back to her.
Gu Hua gritted her teeth. She couldn’t just let things continue like this. She had to take the initiative.
*
By afternoon, all the guests were scheduled to row out to sea. This was another task set by the production crew: cleaning up garbage on the nearby waters.
But when Chi Qian’s group reached the shore, their boat was nowhere to be found. Neither was Shen Jing and his son’s.
“Chi Qian, where did your boats go?” Luo Fan asked with fake concern.
Gu Hua curved her lips. “The tide rose last night. Maybe they weren’t tied properly and got washed away.”
“I’d say someone here couldn’t keep their hands to themselves,” Chi Qian said flatly. “Better cut them off.”
Luo Fan raised his hands. “Hey, not me! Don’t drag me into this.”
Ling Qian’s face darkened. “Don’t go accusing people without evidence. As if we’d care about your shabby little boat.”
“Who can say for sure? Food you haven’t tasted always smells delicious. Maybe someone here thought our sh*t smelled good and snuck a lick when we weren’t looking.” Chi Fengxiao’s voice dripped with mockery.
Wen Li’s expression was hard to describe. “Fengxiao, your mouth these days… really knows no limits.”
Coming from anyone else, such words would be branded crude and tasteless—a black mark on their image. But Chi Fengxiao’s standing in the entertainment industry meant he could say whatever he liked.
Chi Fengxiao ignored Wen Li completely, leaving her visibly displeased.
Tang Xin whispered to her, “Mom, whether we get a decent boat still depends on Chi Qian. Maybe we could…”
“No,” Wen Li cut her off coldly. “We’re not on the same team. What would you gain by helping her?”
“But she helped me before…”
“If you like her that much, why don’t you just go join her side.”
Tang Xin stared at her, at a loss.
Gu Hua smiled gently, playing peacemaker. “Xin Xin, Qian Qian has a strong personality. Even if we tried to help, she wouldn’t accept it. She might even think we’re pitying her.”
Wen Li’s face softened a little. “You’re right, Hua Hua. Xin Xin, you should learn from her.”
Tang Xin nodded timidly, not knowing what to say.
Was it because she had refused to give Yanran her blood, that her mother was still angry with her?
What could she do to earn her mother’s forgiveness?
She felt utterly lost.
Meanwhile, with the little boat gone, Chi Qian had effectively lost the most important prop needed to complete her task.
Those who had been lurking in the livestream, waiting for a chance to strike, instantly went wild with excitement.
They were the same students who had once ostracized Chi Qian at school, spreading nasty rumors behind her back.
Their resentment had been festering for a long time, waiting for a chance to settle the score.
In real life, they couldn’t do anything to her—but online, they could at least spew some venom, couldn’t they?
After all, insulting someone wasn’t against the law.
[That speedboat from yesterday, and the gold buried on the island, were all scripted by the production team. Only an idiot would think Chi Qian actually had skills.]
[How much money did the Chi family pay the show to prop up the “royal princess”?]
[Let’s see how Chi Qian pretends now. Without her script, she’s nothing.]
[So what if she’s the little princess? In the end, she’s just a low-IQ fool. Her second uncle said so himself.] A recording was attached.
As more and more people listened to the clip, suspicions spread—was Chi Qian really slow-witted? Was everything she did on the livestream just scripted?
Chi Chaoshen received a call from Chi Muze, asking about the situation.
Chaoshen sent him a copy of Chi Qian’s psychological evaluation report and explained that day he had only been joking with her.
Who would have thought a rat would be eavesdropping?
Chi Muze said coldly, “Someone’s stirring up public opinion. Don’t respond yet. Watch who’s involved, gather a list, and we’ll settle accounts later. When the timing is right, release the evidence.”
Everyone who surfed the web knew—if a topic was allowed to be openly discussed, it would eventually blow over.
But if you tried to suppress it by deleting keywords and silencing netizens, you’d be poking a hornet’s nest.
Chi Qian’s popularity had skyrocketed recently. Even though she wasn’t in the entertainment industry, stories about her were everywhere.
If this PR crisis wasn’t handled properly, the damage to her could be immense.
The same went for the Chi Corporation.
Chi Chaoshen spun a stylus in his hand, the tip tapping sharply against the trending topic, his voice icy: “I know what to do.”
While the brothers plotted their counterattack, the firestorm online only grew hotter.
Classmates who bore grudges against Chi Qian stepped up to add fuel.
They accused her of cheating on exams, claiming she relied on her family connections to get advance copies of test papers, which was why she always ranked at the top.
They said she acted arrogant and overbearing as the rich young miss, and that her classmates had long grown sick of her.
Even friends who once played with her had since drifted away—proof of her character.
Mixed truths and lies muddied the waters.
Chi Qian’s reputation was on the verge of collapsing into a pit of filth.
Just then, Chi Chaoshen decided it was time to act.
The Chi Corporation’s official account released Chi Qian’s transcripts from middle school onward—not once had her grades slipped out of the top three in her year.
Alongside were photos of the trophies and certificates she had earned in campus tournaments and provincial or municipal youth competitions.
An entire wall was covered with the honors she had worked so hard for, back when she was still trying desperately to please the Gu family.
Cheating in school exams was possible—but what about at provincial-level competitions?
[If Chi Qian is a “fool,” then I must be disabled ten times over.]
[How “smart” do you have to be to post baseless rumors? Show us your own transcripts, I want to see what breed of donkey you are.]
[Chi Qian was isolated? Please. She isolated her classmates all by herself—with pure excellence.]
[Cheating to get into a provincial competition? Mortals, don’t use your shallow ignorance to measure the limitless brilliance of my goddess.]
[Fine, maybe she’s smart. But that doesn’t prove her livestream wasn’t scripted. What about the speedboat and the gold?]
[Exactly. So many people hate her—doesn’t that show it’s her fault? How can someone like this have over ten million fans? Blind much?]
