Dinner was prepared by her mother, Lin Shengnan, with her own hands. The spare ribs soup in the clay pot had been simmered until it was thick and milky white, its savory aroma wafting straight into her nostrils. Without a word, Lin Shengnan ladled Su Wan a huge bowl, piled high to the point of almost overflowing.

At the dinner table, Lin Shengnan kept shoveling dishes into Su Wan’s bowl, her brow furrowed in worry as she chided incessantly: “Look at you—taking on so many brand deals every day that your eyes are bloodshot from staying up late. What if you wear yourself out? You’re young now and can handle it, but what if you end up with cervical spondylosis or eye problems later on? Then you’ll have no one to complain to!”

Su Wan lowered her gaze as she ate, her long lashes shielding the exhaustion in her eyes—and hiding a quiet, unwavering resolve. She didn’t argue; she just listened silently. She knew her mother was worried, but she had no choice. The losses she’d suffered in her previous life, she had to make up for tenfold in this one; she would never again let others take advantage of her.

From the kitchen came the sound of water running as dishes were rinsed. Su Jianguo wiped his hands and poked his head out, smiling as he tried to smooth things over: “Shengnan, stop nagging our daughter. The fact that brands are scrambling to partner with Wanwan shows she’s got what it takes! As long as she doesn’t stay up till the middle of the night, we parents will definitely support her.”

Lin Shengnan shot her husband a sharp look, her tone laced with reproach yet tinged with a softening note: “You’re the only one who spoils her! Sooner or later you’ll spoil her right out of knowing how to take care of herself.”

Su Wan raised her eyes and gave her mother a coy, ingratiating look.

At eight o’clock in the evening, after taking a shower, Su Wan walked into her study. The computer screen was still on, the faint glow of the Jianying interface lighting up her face. The timeline was packed tight with newly imported footage, leaving not a single gap.

She poured herself a glass of warm water and took a sip to moisten her parched throat, then tapped the new project icon with crisp, efficient movements—no hesitation at all. She knew all too well that every minute and every second counted toward whether she could finally break free from the hardships of her past life.

A handwritten note lay tucked in the corner of the desk, the script neat and precise—her carefully drafted plan for tomorrow, laid out this morning with crystal-clear instructions and absolutely no room for ambiguity:

1. Rough-cut five finished sponsored-post videos.
2. Write and publish two teaser copy drafts.
3. Check the corporate credit information for “Suyan Ji” (with a particular focus on identifying deceptive practices).
4. Refine the script for “Five-Minute Commute Makeup: Quick and Chic,” polishing the details.

Her cursor hovered over an encrypted folder on the desktop. Su Wan double-clicked to open it, revealing a document labeled “[Ingredient Blacklist v1].” Without wasting a moment, she dragged the ingredient lists from two newly received brands into the file and renamed it “To Be Verified.”

Closing the folder, she immediately dove into editing, dragging the timeline to precisely select the first shot of her walking in a trench coat. Outside, the night was deep and dark, and the neon sign of the convenience store downstairs glowed a warm, reddish hue. The interplay of light and shadow on her profile highlighted the gentle curves of her face, lending them a surprising strength and resilience.

She stared intently at the screen, her finger hovering over the spacebar for half a second before hitting play. On the screen, she walked across the living room carpet, the hem of her trench coat swaying gently with each step. Side lighting bathed her in a golden glow, as if she were coated in fine, shimmering gold—soft yet dazzling, completely masking the fatigue behind the camera.

Once, twice—she didn’t adjust any settings, just watched over and over, her gaze unnervingly focused, until she found the perfect frame. Then she reached out and dragged the progress bar, precisely capturing a breathtaking moment of her turning around, her fingertip swiftly clicking to mark it. Years of editing experience had honed her ability to lock onto the perfect frame at a glance.

Just then, her phone suddenly vibrated—not a WeChat message, not an incoming call, but a system notification pop-up from the platform. Su Wan glanced at it: “You have a new private message from the Business Manager of Yue Se Cosmetics.” Her expression remained utterly calm as she casually swiped it away—she knew these business tactics all too well.

Without pausing for a moment, she clicked “Publish,” and the video went live smoothly. The title hit right at the pain point: “Life-Saving Makeup for Office Workers | Quick Out-the-Door Look in 5 Minutes—Even Your Boss Won’t Notice You Didn’t Sleep Well.” The cover image was even more striking: on the left was a selfie of her bare, puffy face with heavy dark circles under her eyes, the bruising clearly visible; on the right was the same person after makeup, looking fresh and radiant, with delicate brows and rosy cheeks. Placed side by side, the two images were like night and day, instantly grabbing the attention of office workers.

End of Chapter 18: Ten Thousand Fans