At the very top of the comment section, under the repost of the “Workers, Save, Save, Save—The Ultimate Method” post, someone replied: “I tried it as instructed, and it really does take just five minutes—amazing!” Su Wan stared at that comment for a couple of seconds, then a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

She turned around, rummaged through the drawer to find a USB drive, plugged it into her computer, and dragged all the screenshots she’d compiled last night into it. The paid internet trolls’ posts, timestamps, IP address clusters, and even that old photo taken outside the supermarket—all were neatly organized into one folder with a clear name: [Evidence Backup]. Once she’d finished, she opened her browser and typed “Is Recording in Public Places Illegal?” into the search bar.

A bunch of legal consultation platforms popped up. She clicked on the top-ranked one and spent 9.9 yuan to buy a “one-on-one lawyer Q&A” service. The customer service bot asked what kind of question she had, and she typed: “I recorded myself talking with the other person at a dinner party, without any editing, and directly posted the video. Does that constitute an infringement?”

Less than three minutes later, the reply came: “If the recording hasn’t been edited and isn’t being spread maliciously, it generally doesn’t violate privacy rights or portrait rights.”

She immediately took a screenshot and saved it in another new folder: [Legal Basis].

Just as she was about to close the webpage, a new private message popped up on C.me.

The profile picture showed a woman in a floral dress, and the ID read “Zhang Jie from Sijiqing.” The message was straightforward: “We’ve seen your video. Our market stall would like to invite you to shoot a try-on video—one thousand yuan per piece. Please pay a deposit of one thousand yuan first. What do you think?”

Su Wan didn’t reply right away.

She clicked on the other person’s homepage and scrolled through three posts—each one was a real-life shot of women’s clothing, with the backdrop of the stall’s shelves, messy lighting but very authentic, and all posted around seven in the morning. Looking at the number of followers—over eight thousand—and the few accounts they followed in common, they all seemed well-known in the local fashion circle.

She replied: “What style are you looking for? Do you have any specific requirements?”

The other person responded instantly: “Just like before—natural, but make sure we can clearly see how the clothes look on the body. We mainly sell workwear, priced between one hundred and three hundred yuan.”

Su Wan asked further about the shooting duration, delivery time, and whether she could edit the footage herself. The other person answered each question one by one, then added: “If it’s convenient for you, we can shoot in the next couple of days. I’ll have my assistant deliver the sample garments.”

She took a deep breath and replied, “Okay.”

A few minutes later, her mobile banking app pinged: “Your account ending in ** has received 1,000 yuan.”

She stared at the notification for a full five seconds, then slowly set her phone down on the table, her palms a little sweaty.

This was the first real money she’d earned since her rebirth.

She opened her notebook and wrote in the “Money-Making Progress” column: Commercial order received, deposit of 1,000 yuan, awaiting shoot.

Just as she was about to pull out the script and start refining the shots, the compact camera suddenly went black.

She pressed the power button, but there was no response.

She pressed it again, still nothing.

She frowned, unplugged the charging cable and reinserted it—but this time, not even the indicator light came on. She tried a different data cable, switched to a new plug and a different USB port on her computer, but none of them worked. She even flipped the phone over and pressed the power button for ten seconds, and finally the screen flickered briefly, showing the camera brand’s logo. After a few seconds, it went black again.

“Come on…” she muttered under her breath, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the dead screen. “Of all times, it has to break down!”

She called the official after-sales hotline and waited six minutes before someone picked up. After listening to her description, the customer service representative said it was most likely a motherboard issue and the phone would need to be sent in for repair, with a turnaround time of at least three days.

“Three days?” Her voice rose slightly. “Is there any faster way?”

“There’s no other option unless there’s a third-party repair shop nearby that can disassemble the device for inspection, but we don’t recommend having unauthorized technicians handle it.”

End of Chapter 8: 9.9 Yuan