Su Wan leaned back, her spine pressed firmly against the chair, and she stretched her arms high above her head. Her shoulder blades made two soft “click” sounds, and a wave of soreness spread from her shoulders.

She casually grabbed her phone and tossed it onto the corner of Su Wan’s bedroom desk with a light “thud.” The latest message on the screen was a voice note from “Sunflower,” which played with a choked, tearful voice: “Su Wan! Thank you so much! My parents took every single one of the demolition scam points you analyzed and verified, and immediately returned the floor deposit. They said it’s still best to stay in the original location for relocation—otherwise those hundreds of thousands would have been swindled by the developer!”

Su Wan lowered her eyes, not even glancing at the phone screen. Her fingertips quickly tapped twice on the right side of the screen, and the words “Read” instantly appeared. Then she turned back to the keyboard, typing “tap-tap-tap” as three black characters—“To Be Followed Up”—on the ledger were neatly changed to “Completed.” She raised her hand to wipe the thin sweat from her forehead, her fingers brushing over the statistics on the screen—this was already the eighty-eighth family she had saved from demolition scams in five days.

Su Wan pressed her shoulder, kneading the stiff muscles with her fingertips until her knuckles turned pale—five straight days of high-intensity consultations, sitting from before dawn until late at night, the water in her cup growing cold and then hot, hot and then cold, yet she hadn’t even taken a few sips.

The time in the bottom-right corner of the computer had just jumped to 7:07 p.m. when her phone suddenly buzzed with a “ding—” sound, filling the screen with a platform notification. Bold yellow text swam before her eyes, making them dizzy: [Congratulations to creator @Su Wan—your fan count has exceeded 30,000! You’ve unlocked a local recommendation slot and search-ranking weight privilege, and traffic support is now effective immediately!]

Su Wan’s typing abruptly stopped, and she looked up at the phone screen. She reached out and opened her homepage, lightly tapping the fan count “30,003.” A hint of surprise flashed in her eyes before she quickly hid it—just yesterday it was stuck at 29,800, but today it had surged by more than 2,000 in a single day. No need to guess—it was all people who’d been drawn in by her demolition-avoidance videos.

Su Wan scrolled down to the comment section, pausing her finger on a few earlier snide remarks like “Has the blogger given up beauty vlogs? Getting too full of herself?” A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, then she swiped down, and dozens of rebuttals filled the screen:

“Are you just being mean? How many families has Sister Su Wan’s demolition video saved? Do you even know what it means to accumulate good karma?”

“Didn’t she say before that she’d be doing beauty content next time? Rushing to be reborn already?”

“Help! My cousin almost got scammed when choosing a relocation replacement unit, but after watching Sister Su Wan’s video she managed to avoid disaster—and now she’s urging me to watch every new update!”

Su Wan opened the backend data—the newly posted “30,000-Fan Giveback | My Minimal Skincare List” had already racked up 110,000 views, with over 8,000 likes and even more saves, and the numbers kept climbing bit by bit.

Just as she was looking, the private-message list suddenly started flashing frantically, with the red unread indicator jumping to three in an instant. Su Wan tapped once, and three messages from official brand accounts popped up at the same time. Her eyebrows shot up slightly, and she leaned forward a bit to take a closer look at the screens.

The first message had an arrogant, perfunctory tone: “Our cooperation quote is 5,000 yuan per post, no trial period required. Just follow the script we provide, and don’t waste our time with unnecessary chatter.” There wasn’t even a single product photo attached. Su Wan glanced at it briefly, her fingers swiftly scrolling across the screen, her smile fading as a chill swept through her eyes—clearly they just wanted her to shut up and promote their products, milking her fans for profit.

The second message was even more outrageous, laced with threats: “You must pay in advance, and after posting you’re not allowed to delete or edit within 24 hours. Plus, you have to use our standardized comments in the comment section—anyone who dares to speak out of line will be held liable for breach of contract.”

End of Chapter 24: Fans Surpass 30,000