Chapter 3

I coughed violently, looking at the deliberately faked blood streaks on my handkerchief, and hoarsely said, "Tiffany makes me health tonics every day, why is it getting worse?"

"She's just too worried about you, actually…" He suddenly lowered his voice. "Some tonics shouldn't be mixed, or they can do more harm than good."

"Really?" I feigned surprise.

"Let's get you checked out first."

"We just got a new German-imported full-body scanner."

The exam room was intentionally set to a low temperature. I lay on the cold examination table, my peripheral vision catching Tiffany in the corner, her fingers unconsciously stroking the copper coin bracelet on her wrist. Her complexion was better than yesterday, her skin exuding a healthy glow.

"Blood pressure's a bit high, heart rate's unstable, quite a few issues," Sterling said, frowning at the monitor, his voice filled with concern. "You'll need regular nutrient injections to regulate."

"Alex, as your brother, I have to be honest. Your father is getting old, the corporation needs you, but your current health…"

[He's lying! The data is all fake!]

[Alex, find a way to refuse!]

"It might hurt a little." Sterling smiled, holding up the syringe, its needle gleaming coldly.

"Wait." I suddenly clutched my chest, coughing violently. "I… I can't breathe…"

Sterling immediately rushed over, anxiously steadying me. "Alex! What's wrong?"

I seized the opportunity, gripping his wrist and squeezing hard. He winced in pain and let go, the syringe clattering to the floor, the liquid spilling everywhere.

"Sorry, I'm just so nervous," I panted, apologizing, but my eyes were fixed on Sterling's reaction. His expression twisted for a moment before quickly resuming a facade of concern, but fine beads of sweat had already broken out on his forehead.

"It's okay, we can do it another day," he forced a smile, but couldn't help rubbing his own chest, where a sharp pain was flaring.

[Hahaha, serves him right!]

[Sterling is also suffering system backlash!]

[Alex, you rock!]

As we left the clinic, Tiffany's face was noticeably paler. She was clutching the wall, her steps unsteady, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. And I, though still feigning weakness, was breathing much more easily than when we arrived.

That evening, I went out alone for a walk to clear my head. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a voice message from Tiffany, the faint clinking of glass in the background. "Alex, I’ve brewed some… bird’s nest soup for you… *cough cough*… When are you coming back?"

Her coughing was three times more frequent than yesterday.

I didn't reply. Instead, I opened my stock trading app. Thorne Pharmaceuticals' stock chart today looked like a dying snake, struggling near its rock-bottom limit – exactly what I wanted. In my past life, on this very day, my father announced my entry into the board of directors, and the stock soared 7%.

[Tiffany's tonic is going to get cold.]

[Alex is playing a big game.]

The cross-river bridge, after a heavy downpour, reeked of damp rust. I loosened my tie, my expensive dress shoes sinking into the muddy riverbank. Underneath the bridge, a hunched figure was rummaging through a dumpster, his movements as practiced as if he were shopping at a supermarket.

"Hey, buddy, got a light?" I crouched down, pulling a crumpled pack of imported cigarettes from my suit jacket.

The homeless man recoiled abruptly, his eyes, under a tangle of dreadlocks, darting like a startled animal. His left hand clutched a half-eaten piece of moldy bread, his right gripped a rusty umbrella spoke. The cigarette pack arced through the air. He instinctively snatched it.

"Premium cigarettes?" His voice rasped like sandpaper on rust. "You rich kids, even your charity has to be fancy." But his trembling fingers were already tearing open the foil impatiently.

I sat directly in the mud, my expensive suit pants instantly soaking up dark stains. "Teach me," I said, the lit cigarette flickering in the dim light. "How do you live like a human being under a bridge?"