Su Wan suddenly snapped awake, a sharp, needle-like stiffness shooting up the back of her neck, her temples pounding wildly—she’d only dozed off in front of the computer for twenty minutes, her fingertips still firmly resting on the power-off button. Before she could even catch her breath, her phone began vibrating frantically.

The moment she unlocked the screen, three platform notifications immediately filled the entire display, blinding her and making her eyes jump:

【Content is being wildly shared!】

【Comments have surpassed 500, and the buzz keeps soaring!】

【The #WeirdBlindDate# topic has shot up to No. 3 on the local charts!】

Su Wan’s fingers paused for a moment, then swiftly swiped across the screen to open her account, “It’s Wanwan!” Right below the short video she’d just posted, the view count had already stalled at 87,000—and the number was still skyrocketing before her very eyes, breaking records every single second.

She curled her lips into a faint smile, a cold glint flashing in her eyes.

No one knew that, before posting this video, she’d agonized over it for an entire afternoon. She’d never been one to publicly clash head-on, but some people just wouldn’t take a hint no matter how generous you were.

Yet in just three short days, her account had been turned upside down. Anonymous paid internet trolls swarmed the feed, each comment cutting like a knife: “Relying on pity to grab attention—such terrible character!” “Pretending to be an independent woman? Let’s be real—you’re just desperate for traffic!” Soon after, an article from a local lifestyle account directly thrust her into the spotlight, its bold, eye-catching headline slicing right through the heart: “Persona Crumbles! Self-Media Influencer Gains Followers Through Hype, Then Throws a Tantrum After Being Rejected on a Blind Date.”

The accompanying photo was a screenshot from one of her earlier outfit videos, crudely mosaicked to obscure her identity—but anyone who knew her could recognize it at a glance. The comment section was already buzzing with orchestrated attacks: some accused her of fabricating brand endorsements and exploiting sympathy over her demolition-relocation housing; others even followed “insiders” in spreading rumors that she’d been rejected by her blind-date partner because of her poor background and fiery temper, and that she’d promptly blocked him on the spot—deserving every bit of scorn she got.

As Su Wan read those venomous comments, her fingertips grew icy cold. It instantly dawned on her that this wasn’t random cyberbullying—it was a carefully orchestrated, systematic smear campaign. And every single attack was aimed squarely at that absurd blind date six days ago.

Instead of arguing, she quickly pulled up the full recording of the blind date—every timestamp was crystal clear, starting at 3:27 p.m. and running for a full thirteen minutes, with every single word meticulously captured. As she hit play, Wang Hao’s self-righteous, condescending voice immediately filled her ears:

“The government encourages simple weddings—so if you really love me, you should agree to zero bride price and stop with all this nonsense!”

“The dowry must be 200,000 yuan—that’s your support for our little family, not a penny less!”

“I’ve taken out a loan to buy the marital home, so you’re responsible for all the renovations. And that car you’re driving today? It’ll also belong to our little family after we get married.”

Su Wan dragged the progress bar to the most explosive part of the recording, pressing her finger a little harder to crank up the volume.

“Our local custom is to get pregnant first, then register the marriage and hold the wedding banquet. Let me be clear: you have to deliver a boy before we can officially get married.”

Without any unnecessary fluff, Su Wan quickly edited a thirty-second highlight reel, adding clear subtitles to every line of the recording. Key phrases like “zero bride price,” “200,000 dowry,” and “get a boy first, then marry” were all bolded and highlighted in red, maximizing the impact. The cover image was equally straightforward: black background with white text, staring straight at the viewer: 【Blind Date Recording! Man Demands Car, Renovations, Dowry, and Insists I Get Pregnant with a Boy First—Not a Single Word Cut, Full Proof Throughout!】

She timed the post perfectly—9:03 p.m., the golden hour when everyone’s scrolling through their phones: office workers unwinding after work, students staying up late surfing the web. At precisely that moment, she hit “publish.”

A splash of cold water on her face instantly chased away the drowsiness. Su Wan sat back down at her computer, her browser still open to a local lifestyle forum. She casually typed in “Wang Hao, City A,” and a workplace-sharing post from half a year ago popped up immediately: user ID “Mr. Wang the Pioneer,” face clearly visible in a sharp suit, posture arrogant, and self-introduction proudly declaring, “Regional Manager at a certain finance company.”

End of Chapter 12: The Counterattack