Chapter 9

In the hospital, on a pristine white bed, a bald girl dressed in a patient’s gown lay pale-faced, reading a book. Beside her, on a cabinet, sat a thermos and a few fresh bananas.

Her name was Kang Xin. She had been a full-time writer, spending her days at home crafting novels. But one day, she suddenly caught a cold. A persistent low fever plagued her, accompanied by fatigue and bleeding gums.

At that time, Kang Xin was preparing her favorite novel, joyfully thinking that once it was finished, she would buy a camera. She dreamed of traveling, capturing beautiful scenes to preserve them forever.

But after a sudden fainting spell, her parents rushed her to the hospital, where a series of tests revealed she had acute leukemia.

When her parents learned the news, they wept uncontrollably. They were an ordinary family with only a few thousand yuan in savings.

The doctors advised immediate treatment. Kang Xin’s parents gathered what little money they had, watching their daughter undergo chemotherapy and blood transfusions, her hair falling out in clumps.

Kang Xin grew weaker and weaker, now confined to bed, unable to go anywhere without assistance.

An elderly man in worn black clothes entered the room, forcing a smile that the years had etched deep into his face.

“Xin Xin, why aren’t you asleep yet?” he asked.

Kang Xin looked at her father. Just months ago, he had been different—always smiling despite their modest means. They were from a rural background, yet her parents had tried to learn new things for her sake. When she was twenty-four, they had even tried to push her into marriage, but they listened and ultimately respected her wishes.

She loved traditional Chinese clothing, manicures, and dyeing her hair. Her father would smile and encourage her to try bold colors, while her mother joined in the fun.

So why had things come to this?

Her mother wept daily but still forced herself to borrow money everywhere she could. Her father knelt on the street holding a card about Kang Xin’s illness, begging for help.

Some people had helped, and funds had been raised, but the money was quickly depleted.

“Dad,” Kang Xin called out, her voice breaking as tears spilled over, “I can’t sleep. Maybe I shouldn’t continue treatment.”

She bit her lip to suppress her trembling.

Kang Honghou limped over, using his calloused hands and some tissues to wipe away her tears.

“Don’t cry,” he urged. “Don’t cry, Xin Xin. Don’t worry about the money. Don’t cry.”

He covered his eyes with one hand, tears streaming through his fingers.

“Your mother went out to borrow money,” he choked on his words. “Don’t worry. Sleep now. Tomorrow, when you wake up, everything will be better.”

Whether he was comforting Kang Xin or himself, no one could say.

After she finally fell asleep, he took out his old phone and stepped outside, repeatedly dialing numbers, humbling himself to borrow more money.

That night, Kang Xin woke from a nightmare. She gazed at the empty bed beside her, her heart heavy. Her father was surely out borrowing money again.

She had long expressed her wish to stop treatment—it felt like a bottomless pit they could never afford.

But when her parents begged her not to give up, crying, she didn’t know what to say. She could only grit her teeth and keep going.

Kang Xin lay silently on her bed for a long time, unable to sleep. She quietly retrieved her phone from the cabinet.

In the past month, as her condition worsened, she had rarely touched her phone.

She opened the Green River Novel website and clicked on her own novel. She had only written about two hundred thousand words before stopping.

At first, she had managed to update even after coming to the hospital, but now both her parents and doctors urged her to rest and avoid the phone.

She lowered her gaze to the comment section.

Many readers wished her a speedy recovery, hoping she would stay healthy.

Though her book’s numbers were modest, many readers still patiently waited.

She read through the comments one by one until one stood out.

[SummerSummerSummer: Could you check your WB? I really love your books and want to help.]

Kang Xin slowly opened WB, where many private messages awaited her. The top one was from SummerSummerSummer.

[SummerSummerSummer: Hello, I heard from some channels that your situation isn’t good. I want to donate some money to help you through this. Please reply if you see this. You can also contact me at 154xxxxxxxx.]

Kang Xin carefully read every word. After a long moment, she began to type a slow reply.

On the other end, Xia Zui had been talking with two systems about Kang Xin’s situation before sending the message, hoping Kang Xin would see it.

She had thought about sending gifts directly, but Green River’s payment system only allowed withdrawals once a month, and gifts sent this week wouldn’t arrive until next Monday.

Kang Xin wouldn’t last that long.

So Xia Zui reached out, hoping to send money another way.

She hadn’t slept all night, sighing as she stared at her phone. When it finally lit up, she hurriedly opened WB.

[Two Cats: Thank you for your kindness. I don’t know how to address you—are you really willing to help me?]

Xia Zui quickly replied, “Yes, it’s true. Could you give me a contact?”

After hesitation, Kang Xin shared her contact details.

She had no other choice. She couldn’t bear to see her parents’ graying hair or their desperate begging on the streets.

Though she had thought about giving up many times, seeing her parents’ tears forced her to be strong.

Xia Zui promptly called Kang Xin.

“Hello? Are you Two Cats?”

Two Cats was Kang Xin’s pen name. She loved cats.

“Hello,” Kang Xin’s weak, hoarse voice came through, as if she might vanish any second.

“I found out about your situation through some channels,” Xia Zui said quickly. “I want to donate money to help you, but the method is a bit unusual…”

“Would you be willing to try? Please.”

Kang Xin could hear the urgency and care in the voice. Her pale lips moved slowly.

“Thank you for your concern. If it’s possible…”

“I think I’m willing to try.”

She didn’t know if the person on the other end was truly sincere, but she had no alternatives.

Every lifeline from above might be her salvation.

Xia Zui spoke earnestly, her eyes red-rimmed.

“You can download the Cat Claw live streaming platform. I’ll send the money you need as gifts through the platform. Please don’t give up. Please try this unconventional way of donation.”

Xia Zui truly hoped Kang Xin would survive. She had read her novels before—so beautiful and gentle in style.

She didn’t want Kang Xin to leave this world just because of money.

That was why she pleaded with Kang Xin to try.

After all, her money could only be transferred through an online platform, and Cat Claw was the only one that allowed gifts to be received today and withdrawn tomorrow.

Xia Zui could hear Kang Xin’s faint breathing and desperately hoped she wouldn’t think she was a scammer and hang up.

“Okay,” Kang Xin’s gentle voice replied, “Should I download it now?”

Xia Zui nodded repeatedly.

“Yes, download it, then send me your live room ID. I’ll come immediately. I’m not a scammer. Believe me, I’ve already put a lot of money into Cat Claw—enough for your treatment.”

“I’ll send gifts today, and you can withdraw tomorrow. You must hold on and not give up.”

As Kang Xin waited for the download, listening to the stranger’s concern, tears brimmed in her eyes. A faint color returned to her pale face.

“I won’t give up. Thank you.”

Hearing this, Xia Zui finally exhaled in relief. Once Kang Xin finished downloading and sent her the live room ID, Xia Zui entered the stream.

On screen, a thin woman looked into the camera. The image was shaky, the lighting dim, with only a weak little lamp.

Her stream name was One Cat. Xia Zui gazed at her lying on the hospital bed—so pained, yet still managing a faint smile.

Xia Zui typed, “I’m here.”

Then, she began sending mermaid gifts. Never before had she felt so sincere when giving gifts.

Because this time, her gifts might save a life.

It was already after four in the morning. As dawn neared, Xia Zui’s gift-giving attracted other users into Kang Xin’s stream.

[What’s going on?]

[Is the streamer sick?]

[Is this cosplay?]

[Wow, so many mermaids!]

[Why is the streamer crying? She shaved her head.]

[Xia Xia is so energetic, gifting all day long like a job.]

[Is the streamer really sick?]

Seeing mermaids leap from the water, Kang Xin knew this reader truly wanted to help. She covered her face, unable to hold back her tears.

Between sobs, she whispered thanks.

Suddenly the door opened. Kang Honghou, seeing Kang Xin crying while clutching her phone, hurried over.

“Xin Xin, what’s wrong? Don’t cry, Xin Xin.”

“I’ve found a way, really. Trust me, daughter. Don’t cry, don’t cry…”

He rushed toward her, but Kang Xin shook her head, crying and smiling.

“Dad, an angel is helping us.”

She showed him the phone. Only then did Kang Honghou see the mermaids streaming across the screen.

“Xin Xin…”

He looked at her, eyes full of hope born from despair, almost like an unbelievable dream. He sought reassurance from her words.