Chapter 16: Zhao Xiaorou's Perfect Revenge

Modern public figures dread nothing more than the four cardinal sins that irreparably tarnish reputations—infidelity, soliciting prostitutes, drug abuse, and plagiarism. Once stained by any of these, it becomes nearly impossible to escape the stigma that follows, clinging like a shadow that grows darker with each attempt to outrun it.

Zhao Xiaorou had meticulously compiled every damning piece of evidence with the focused precision of someone building a legal case: sweet nothings extracted from private chat logs, comprehensive shopping and spending records that traced a pattern of deception, along with video and audio evidence secretly filmed by her loyal assistant. All of it had been laid out in a lengthy, devastating infographic. The other women—those internet celebrities Wang Guangming had been involved with—were still recognizable in their selfies despite attempts at discretion. This wasn't just exposing an affair; this was striking directly at the very roots of Wang Guangming's carefully constructed public legacy, burning everything he'd built to the ground.

Zhao Xiaorou rented an apartment in the elegant Xiafei Court complex, a location nestled strategically among Changshu Road, Huaihai Road, and the Shanghai Library—prime real estate in every sense. The French Concession area exuded a particular romantic charm that made it perfect for street photography and the kind of casual, aesthetically pleasing content her followers craved. The high-rise building spared her the specific troubles that plagued older constructions: termites, poor soundproofing, the constant maintenance headaches that came with period architecture. It was far more practical than renting one of the area's picturesque but deteriorating old villas, no matter how much character they possessed.

Each building in the sprawling complex received varying degrees of sunlight exposure throughout the day. To save money—because even successful influencers had to watch their budgets—she had deliberately rented a west-facing unit in Building A. The living room stayed flooded with harsh afternoon light, which meant she had filled it with numerous professional fill lights and ring lamps to compensate during filming hours. The space carried a faint, persistent damp odor that came from the accumulated clutter of her profession—cardboard boxes, bubble wrap, products in various stages of review.

Zhao Xiaorou didn't particularly mind any of these imperfections. She genuinely loved the neighborhood for its abundance of boutique stores and the steady stream of expats, which allowed her to momentarily escape the grinding monotony of daily content creation and feel like she lived in a more cosmopolitan, sophisticated world.

In her increasingly rare moments of genuine leisure, she would slip on a new pair of high heels fresh from some brand collaboration and stroll to 624 Changle Road late at night. She'd stand outside the fashionable establishment, drink in hand, just to soak in the refined urban night breeze and pretend for half an hour that her life was as effortless and glamorous as her Instagram suggested.

Her 150-square-meter apartment technically had three bedrooms, but two of them served exclusively as storage rather than living space. During peak promotional seasons—holidays, shopping festivals, brand launches—gift boxes and courier bags would pile up beside the sofa and against every available wall, leaving barely enough room to navigate the apartment without stepping on something.

Zhao Xiaorou filmed unboxing videos weekly for her followers, maintaining the performance of generous gift-giving that kept her audience engaged. Hu Xiu often came over to help pack parcels, and upon entering would instinctively settle herself in front of the shipping label printer, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she swiftly assembled cardboard boxes into their proper shapes.

Zhao Xiaorou paced through the cluttered rooms with deceptive calm, her voice steady despite everything. "Wang Guangming hasn't come back to collect his things either. I'll see him in Beijing tomorrow for the event."

"What if he refuses to divorce you?" Hu Xiu asked, voicing the concern that had been circling her mind.

"I have a plan, but I couldn't discuss the specifics in the car earlier with Li Ai listening." Zhao Xiaorou's voice dropped slightly, becoming more conspiratorial. "Wang Guangming has this peculiar habit—he absolutely loves recording videos and audio of everything. He stores them in hidden albums like some kind of obsessive collector documenting his own life. So, I've systematically backed up everything he never wanted others to know about. I even have evidence that could land him directly in jail if it came to that. I won't reveal it unless absolutely necessary, when I have no other options left. But I can't let Li Ai know about such underhanded tactics." Her expression shifted, becoming more vulnerable. "I don't want him to know that side of me. Around him, I always want to be a good person. Someone worthy of his respect."

Only then did Hu Xiu fully realize something she'd missed earlier: in the rearview mirror during the drive, Li Ai could clearly see Zhao Xiaorou crying in the backseat. This woman had deliberately played the role of pitiful victim in front of Li Ai with full awareness of her audience, and her debut performance in that particular character had been an unqualified success.

Zhao Xiaorou handed Hu Xiu a can of cola, the gesture casual and grounding. "Although I spend my professional life crafting personas and performing emotions, don't take Wang Guangming's accusations to heart. Between you and me, it's always been genuine. That friendship has never been an act."

"Of course I know that..." Hu Xiu's response came automatically, warmth flooding through her.

They opened their colas simultaneously, and for several moments the only sound filling the living room was the pleasant fizz of carbonation, the small explosions of tiny bubbles finding freedom.

At 3 AM, when the city outside had finally fallen into something approaching silence, Zhao Xiaorou turned on her computer. The desktop was absolutely cluttered with Excel spreadsheets and Word documents, each one representing hours of work. She had mentioned once, in a moment of rare candor, that these were strategic plans Wang Guangming had worked on through countless sleepless nights—complex blueprints they had painstakingly built together over three years: content strategies, trending topics to capitalize on, business deals with brands, careful divisions of labor that maximized both their platforms. Untangling their shared enterprise, separating her success from his contributions, wouldn't be easy. The finances alone would take months to properly sort.

Hu Xiu didn't know what the future actually held for Zhao Xiaorou, what her career would look like six months or a year from now. But for the immediate present, she faced a potential earthquake that could destroy everything she'd built.

Zhao Xiaorou, however, showed remarkably little outward reaction to this looming catastrophe. She simply sat cross-legged on the carpet, calmly waiting for shipping labels to print so they could continue the mundane work of maintaining her follower relationships. "The gifts for the fans are all carefully chosen by me personally—I never just grab random promotional items. What do you think? The ones I selected for Qin Xiaoyi were really nice too, genuinely thoughtful choices. It's such a shame you didn't have the courage to actually give them to him, so they all ended up benefiting Wang Guangming's internet celebrity harem instead." She paused, then shifted topics. "Did you have any meaningful interaction with Qin Xiaoyi today during the game? I forgot to ask earlier with everything happening."

"He told me he remembers me." The words emerged quietly, carrying more weight than their simple construction suggested.

Zhao Xiaorou didn't look up from the labels she was organizing. "I told you that light sign strategy would work, didn't I? Never underestimate the power of a grand gesture."

The overflowing happiness that had accompanied those words from Qin Xiaoyi seemed to dilute slightly in the mundane setting of Zhao Xiaorou's cluttered apartment. Hu Xiu found herself deliberately changing the subject, uncomfortable with sitting in that feeling. "What was it that Wang Guangming said earlier that you wanted to tell me about? You mentioned there was something."

"He said Qian Jinxin added other women on WeChat behind your back—specifically that Shanghainese woman from the game tonight, the one playing with that sunny guy."

"It's not a big deal, honestly." Hu Xiu's response was immediate and genuine. "Does he actually think I must be paired with such a man, or else it constitutes some kind of loss on my part?"

Even as she said this, Hu Xiu found the entire situation somewhat amusing. She pulled out her phone and discovered a message from Qian Jinxin waiting there, its length immediately suspicious:

"Miss Hu, I am extremely, extremely angry today about what transpired. Brother Guangming's invitation to participate in this game was originally intended to make his wife happy and provide her with enjoyable company. You and I were merely accompanying them as supporting players, yet your behavior caused such serious and embarrassing consequences for everyone involved.

Your ambiguous behavior with male actors during the play, which I personally witnessed on several occasions throughout the evening, shows a complete lack of proper upbringing and moral education.

A woman with no manners, at your age still without any sense of family values or appropriate boundaries, casually fooling around with men in public—a girl like you is a disgrace to prestigious universities and reflects poorly on your entire educational background.

You and your friend are nothing but shameless ruffians who have absolutely no idea how to respect men or care for male dignity, which should be paramount in any relationship.

I will report everything that happened tonight to your father. As for you, I want to make it absolutely clear that you are not my desired marriage partner."

Brother Guangming, huh. Hu Xiu handed the phone to Zhao Xiaorou without comment, her expression carefully neutral.

Zhao Xiaorou glanced at the message, and something in her face shifted—hardened into pure fury. She immediately snatched the phone from Hu Xiu's hand and started recording a voice message, her words emerging in a rapid-fire torrent of contempt: "If you want a girlfriend who meets your exacting standards, go pick one from a women's virtue class where they teach submission! And you're pulling moral coercion and threatening to tattle to her father? Even Yang Yongxin would find you too much trouble to take in as a patient.

Hu Xiu is just too normal and too easygoing for someone like you—that's the actual problem. No need to bother telling her dad anything—let me tell you something instead: a man like you should stay single for a few more years at minimum. Cultivate that rigid patriarchal mindset of yours until it reaches its absolute peak of absurdity, and then the Confucius Temple won't need to worship anyone else but you as the ultimate embodiment of outdated values. Got it?"

She released the send button with visible satisfaction, but a red exclamation mark immediately appeared next to the message, indicating delivery failure.

Hu Xiu stared at the screen for a long moment, processing what she was seeing. "Wait. Damn, he actually blocked me? Before I could even respond?"

"He got that Shanghainese woman's WeChat contact information tonight—of course he doesn't need you anymore. What he actually needs is to secure an apartment in downtown Shanghai to transform himself into a glorious Shanghai citizen with proper residency. Hu Xiu, you don't even qualify as a useful stepping stone in that particular plan."

"Fuck me—" Hu Xiu stood up abruptly, and to her own surprise, she felt something close to relief. "What a relief! I'm actually grateful he did that!"

"Just like that? You're letting it go that easily?" Zhao Xiaorou looked genuinely surprised. "If it were me, I'd definitely add him back somehow and keep cursing him out until I felt satisfied. Only girls with too much restrictive upbringing, who don't even dare breathe loudly in public, would marry someone like him and endure that kind of treatment. Do you know why Shenyang's domestic violence center specifically only accepts male victims?"

Hu Xiu shook her head, intrigued despite everything.

"Because Northeastern women have absolutely unwavering integrity—when they encounter men like this who step over boundaries, they make damn sure he doesn't see the next day's sun. They handle it directly.

The world is already tough enough to navigate—if even strangers can step on you without consequences, what does that mean for your life? For men like this, you need to reverse-PUA them right back: forever young in spirit, forever speaking harshly and refusing to be diminished."

Zhao Xiaorou's mother was a genuine Northeastern woman who had married into the Northwest thirty years ago and systematically trained her husband into complete submission through sheer force of personality.

Family legend said that during their very first meal together with the in-laws, she'd flipped the entire dining table when someone made a comment she didn't appreciate. She smashed thermos after thermos during arguments about household management, and even went so far as to shove a glass thermos liner directly into her father-in-law's mouth when he pushed too far. The marriage had survived, but everyone understood very clearly who actually ran that household.

Hu Xiu watched as Zhao Xiaorou showed absolutely no signs of fatigue despite the late hour and yawned herself. "Why aren't you like this with Wang Guangming? Going on the offensive, I mean. Are you two still actually planning to play the loving couple tomorrow at the Beijing event?"

"For someone who loves to perform and maintain appearances the way he does, the absolute best revenge is to remain completely unmoved by his provocations and shine brilliantly on your own terms.

I'm still pretty, I'm still young, my career still has momentum. But today specifically, I plan to play the role of haggard, resentful wife for the cameras. Let people see what his betrayal has cost me."

At 5 AM, as pale dawn light began filtering through the windows, Zhao Xiaorou examined her reflection critically in the bathroom mirror, taking inventory of the dark circles that had formed under her eyes from the sleepless night. "Arguing with him outright in public would ruin my carefully cultivated sweet feminine image. I absolutely refuse to leave unflattering photos as material for meme channels and gossip accounts. I need to outsmart him instead. Strategic retreat."

Hu Xiu, who hadn't slept at all through the long night, went straight from Zhao Xiaorou's apartment to the hospital for her shift. After working a full eight hours with heavy-lidded eyes that kept trying to close, exhaustion dragging at every movement, she finally took a break and checked the gossip trending on Weibo.

Photos from a pop-up store event for a certain cosmetics brand were gradually surfacing across social media. In the pictures Zhao Xiaorou had posted herself from the Beijing event, she looked genuinely haggard—makeup minimal, eyes dull, the very picture of a woman barely holding herself together. Candid shots taken by fans showed her walking around the venue in an obvious daze, disconnected from her surroundings.

She hadn't filmed a vlog for this particular event, which was highly unusual—Zhao Xiaorou had always believed vlogs were absolutely key to growing and maintaining an audience, her non-negotiable content strategy. Compared to other radiant bloggers whose knees were even meticulously airbrushed in photos, Zhao Xiaorou appeared like an amateur who'd been dragged onto a grand stage completely unprepared—flustered, fumbling, and visibly uncomfortable.

Wang Guangming had kept his arm possessively around Zhao Xiaorou's waist throughout the entire event. In the photos he posted on his own Weibo account, though she strategically avoided looking directly at cameras, her face showed absolutely no flaws in his carefully edited versions—tear troughs and dark circles had been meticulously removed, her skin smoothed to porcelain perfection.

Yet Zhao Xiaorou herself had neither retouched her own photos nor spoken much during the event. Her official Weibo posts felt utterly soulless—just going through the motions—leaving the comments section and reposts buzzing with confusion and speculation about what was wrong.

Remembering Zhao Xiaorou's cryptic mention of "outsmarting" Wang Guangming, Hu Xiu found herself completely unable to focus on the dense translation documents spread before her. She kept refreshing social media, eagerly awaiting whatever Zhao Xiaorou's ultimate strategic move would be.

She had already booked a midnight screening slot at Snowpiercer for later that evening. Before that scheduled escape, she would wait in the office for Zhao Xiaorou's message. Once she entered Snowpiercer and lost herself in the game, she could finally allow herself to relax and stop obsessively checking her phone.

The academic conference materials she was supposed to be translating contained twenty dense pages of highly technical terminology. Memorizing them sufficiently wouldn't be easy—she needed to calm her scattered mind early and get into the proper focused groove.

How desperately she hoped everything would somehow go smoothly for Zhao Xiaorou today, that Qin Xiaoyi had emerged from last night's altercation truly unharmed, and that their next interaction would be pleasant rather than awkward.

Before long—sooner than she'd expected—Zhao Xiaorou sent a message to their group chat: "Posted on Weibo. I probably won't be accepting any promotional work for at least the next month while this plays out. Wang Guangming and I are getting divorced. If he disagrees or tries to fight it, I'll keep releasing evidence in measured doses until he has no choice."

By the time Hu Xiu clicked through to the actual post, reposts had already surpassed a thousand and were spreading with viral velocity.

"Evidence" was the heavyweight proof that netizens absolutely craved in celebrity gossip scandals—the smoking gun that transformed speculation into confirmed fact. Zhao Xiaorou's post featured an emotionally charged essay that meticulously detailed Wang Guangming's affair timeline throughout their marriage with devastating specificity.

The screenshots she included were crystal clear, leaving no room for doubt or alternative interpretation: Wang Guangming complaining to other women that 27-year-old Zhao Xiaorou was already "an old woman past her prime," that sharing a bed with her had become unbearable, that he wished traffic jams would prevent him from having to return home, and that he had to consciously "act" like an attentive husband every single time—but staying married meant access to more money and better brand deals, so the performance was worth maintaining.

As for Zhao Xiaorou's divorce statement itself, it was an absolute masterpiece of calculated PR writing—flawlessly typed without a single grammatical error, maintaining the sympathetic narrative of a "blissful wife cruelly deceived" from start to finish. Its apparent strategic retreat actually masked a calculated advance, and the more carefully one read it, the more unnerved one became upon reflection.

The statement read:

"Wang Guangming and I will soon begin formal divorce proceedings. From age 25 until now, I genuinely believed with my whole heart that he was the one who would make me happy for the rest of my life.

Now that he has cheated and betrayed everything we built together, as someone who still believes in love and takes responsibility seriously, I cannot allow this hollow shell of a marriage to continue tarnishing my devotion to real love.

My followers know that Wang Guangming and I had a whirlwind marriage right after I started my first real job.

During our brief four-month courtship, he was clever and cheerful, generous with mentoring younger people in the industry and sharing all his accumulated experience without reservation.

I admired his talent and intelligence so much that I even proposed marriage first. When I knelt on the Bund with a diamond ring, nervous and hopeful, he immediately knelt down too, saying with what seemed like genuine emotion, 'This shouldn't be done by a woman—let me do it properly.'

After we married, I became a fashion and relationship blogger. My success today is absolutely inseparable from his contributions and support.

In the first year of our marriage, I discovered that Wang Guangming loved spending time resting in his car rather than coming straight home. At first, I interpreted this charitably—I thought it was simply a man's natural need for personal space and decompression time. Marriage requires freedom and breathing room, I told myself, so I deliberately didn't interfere with this habit. I even posted publicly on Weibo that I chose a Mercedes for our family car because we had collaborated with the brand before, specifically praising its spacious and practical interior that gave him somewhere comfortable to retreat to.

Later, he began staying out overnight more and more frequently, not coming home at all. As if possessed by some terrible suspicion I couldn't control, I opened his phone for the first and what I swore would be the last time.

It turned out his WeChat account hid more young women than it did actual business clients. PR gifts that had mysteriously vanished from our home had actually all been given to these younger women as tokens of his affection.

He particularly enjoyed storing secret recordings and documentation in a hidden album on his phone, like some kind of trophy collection. That day, trembling with a dread I can still feel, I opened it—hotel receipts, movie tickets, romantic trips to the Sanya duty-free shop... all these expenses were even brazenly billed to our company accounts...

There used to be a strange, unfamiliar smell in my car that I couldn't identify. He told me it was perfume—specifically Etat Libre d'Orange's Secretions Magnifiques. Those who know this particular scent and its reputation would understand exactly what he was implying, and I actually believed him at the time.

I've compiled all the detailed chat logs and a complete timeline in a long image attached to this post; I also have extensive audio and video files that I will release as I deem appropriate.

More terrifying than loss itself is the prolonged anticipation of it. Digesting betrayal and accepting that someone no longer loves you is a slow torture measured out in agonizing seconds that stretch into hours.

I cried through so many nights, completely alone. You swore repeatedly that you never fell for anyone else, yet somehow my tears only annoyed you and made you withdraw further.

How could you claim to love me so convincingly in front of cameras, then vanish the exact moment they turned off, lying that you were just working late?

Did those girls actually enjoy being mistresses, or were they simply unaware of my existence?

I've already endured the most painful phase of this completely alone. Now, please wish me a smooth divorce and a fresh start."

Hu Xiu found absolutely no flaws in this PR statement—it was professionally executed, emotionally resonant, and strategically brilliant. Contemporary public figures most feared the four cardinal sins that irreparably tarnished character—infidelity, soliciting prostitutes, drug use, and plagiarism. Once stained by any of these, it became almost impossible to escape the stigma.

Zhao Xiaorou had meticulously organized every piece of damning evidence: sweet nothings from private chat logs, comprehensive shopping and expense records, along with video and audio secretly filmed by her assistant, all compiled in that devastating long image. The other internet celebrities' selfies were still clearly recognizable despite attempts at discretion—it was like systematically digging up Wang Guangming's ancestral grave and displaying every skeleton for public examination.

Sitting in the Snowpiercer lounge area later that evening, waiting for her session to begin, Hu Xiu found herself pondering a serious question: Had Zhao Xiaorou's three years of apparently disciplined married life been genuine dedication to building a career together, or had it always been an elaborate act? There had been truly no public signs of infidelity on her part—her behavior had remained perfectly appropriate both publicly and privately, leaving Wang Guangming absolutely no room for rebuttal or counter-accusation.

If it had all been a calculated performance, Zhao Xiaorou could directly replace Sun Honglei in Latent Love 2 and no one would notice the substitution.

What followed in the coming weeks wouldn't be easy for Zhao Xiaorou either. The latest feedback visible in their group chat showed both her phones absolutely exploding with messages from every direction, and her parents had already called demanding explanations.

In their three-person group chat, Li Ai had remained completely silent since the post went live. But Hu Xiu could almost feel his rage radiating through the screen, palpable despite the physical distance—

He had never imagined that Zhao Xiaorou, who laughed so carefreely and seemed so unburdened at REGARD during their late-night sessions, had actually endured so much private suffering in silence.

"We're about to begin the session. The train will soon arrive at Rong City station. Please wait in an orderly fashion on the platform."

The familiar iron door creaked open with its characteristic metallic groan. Approaching from somewhere in the atmospheric distance was Qin Xiaoyi, and the sound of his leather shoes striking the platform echoed in Hu Xiu's heart like a measured drumbeat. For some reason she couldn't quite articulate, she sensed with faint but growing certainty that today's Qin Xiaoyi was somehow different from his usual performance—and it was more than just the visible scars on his face from the previous night's altercation.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Qin Xiaoyi, Finance Minister of Rong City. This way, please."

Thoughts on Chapter 16:

It shifts focus from the immediate aftermath of the Snowpiercer incident to its broader consequences, while maintaining the thread of Hu Xiu's developing relationship with Qin Xiaoyi. The chapter opens by revealing that Zhao Xiaorou's apparent vulnerability was actually strategic—she had been systematically documenting Wang Guangming's infidelities for years, building an airtight case while maintaining the perfect public performance of a devoted wife. Her admission that she wants to appear as "a good person" around Li Ai reveals the genuine feelings developing beneath her calculated exterior. The 3 AM scene of the two women packing parcels while discussing betrayal and revenge captures the intimacy of female friendship—the mundane work of maintaining an influencer career continuing even as personal catastrophe unfolds. 

Qian Jinxin's message exemplifies toxic masculinity in its purest form, and Zhao Xiaorou's fierce defense of Hu Xiu demonstrates loyalty that transcends professional alliance. The revelation about Shenyang's domestic violence center and Zhao Xiaorou's Northeastern mother provides cultural context for her refusal to play the passive victim. Zhao Xiaorou's divorce statement is a masterclass in strategic communication—appearing vulnerable while actually controlling the narrative completely, leaving Wang Guangming with no viable defense.