"You... what did you say?"

"The title to that apartment belongs to me. You transferred and mortgaged it illegally, and I have the right to reclaim it."

"Your mother gave it to me!"

"My mother had no right to give you my house."

"She was your guardian—"

"A guardian has an obligation to protect the ward’s property, not to hand it over for outsiders to squander."

I finished every word clearly, watching his face turn from red to white to a sickly green.

"You just wait!" He threw those words at me and stormed into the hospital room with his plastic bag.

I stepped out of the inpatient building, and the wind rushed in to meet me.

Standing on the steps, I looked up at the sky.

It was a dull grey; the sun was nowhere to be seen.

My phone rang; it was my lawyer, Sienna.

"Nora, I’ve cleared up the transfer issue. The 2013 transfer was registered under the reason 'gift,' signed by your mother in her capacity as your guardian."

"Can it be annulled?"

"Yes. According to Article 35 of the Civil Code, a guardian must perform their duties based on the principle of the best interests of the ward. Disposing of the ward’s property requires court approval. She bypassed the court process, so this gift is void."

"How long until we get a result?"

"From filing to judgment, three months if it goes quickly. But if the other party doesn't cooperate—"

"He won't cooperate. He has a mortgage on that house."

"Hmm, that makes it more complex, involving the interests of the third-party bank. But the law is on your side, don't worry."

I hung up and stood at the hospital entrance, watching people come and go.

Some were supporting the elderly; others were carrying children.

Everyone had family by their side.

I had only the wind.

But the wind is fine. The wind doesn't hit you.

Chapter 8

The night I returned from the hospital, the situation shifted in a direction I hadn't anticipated.

Someone had filmed a video of my confrontation with Gary at the hospital.

It was in the corridor, those few seconds where Gary grabbed my arm and I shoved him off.

It was posted on a local short-video platform.

The title read: "Orphan of a Martyr Disowns Her Own Mother, Leaves Unfeelingly by the Hospital Bed."

The nine-second video was clipped at both ends, keeping only the part where Gary shouted "ungrateful wretch" and the shot of me turning and walking away.

By that evening, there were over three thousand comments.

"Her mother is dying and she doesn't care? People like this are truly cold-blooded."

"No wonder they say a white-eyed wolf never changes with age."

"You shouldn't forget your roots."

When Lu showed me the phone, I was testing a new dish—osmanthus sticky rice lotus root.

"Nora, this video has been shared on local forums, and someone has already dug up our shop’s details."

I finished watching the video and set the phone down.

"Who filmed it?"

"I don't know. The account is newly registered and has no other content."

I thought for a moment. "Lucy."

"How do you know?"

"The angle is from the end of the corridor, and that’s exactly where Lucy was standing. She stayed there the whole time."

Lu frowned. "What should we do? Should we issue a statement to clarify?"

"No rush."

"Nora, people are starting to tag our shop in the comments. A major influencer reposted the video, saying, 'To think the owner of Nora’s Kitchen is this kind of person.'"

I fished the lotus root out of the pot, sliced it into thin rounds, and plated it.

"Let them talk."

"But business—"

"Let them talk."

The impact was felt the next day.

Three bookings for lunch were cancelled. Two regular customers called in the evening to ask about the situation.

I didn't explain.

Cole, however, couldn't sit still.

He came to the shop in the afternoon and slapped his phone on the table the moment he walked in.

"Did you see it?"

"I saw it."

"Why aren't you responding?"

"Why should I?"

"Because your reputation is being affected. Nora’s Kitchen is at a critical point of national expansion; this kind of public opinion—"

"Cole." I looked at him.

"You are my investor, not my public relations manager. I will handle this myself."

He opened his mouth, then swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue.

"Fine," he said, leaning back on the sofa. "How do you plan to handle it?"

"Do nothing."

"...Are you serious?"

"I’m serious."

I brought the osmanthus sticky rice lotus root I’d finished testing to him.

"Try this first."

He picked up his chopsticks, took a slice, chewed, and his expression softened.

"Delicious."

"Good. Making good food is stronger than anything else."

He looked at me for a while, then suddenly smiled.

"That temper of yours is exactly like Grandma C’s."

"Of course. I’m her apprentice."

That evening, things fermented further.

Someone dug up my identity—daughter of Jiang Yuanzheng, martyr’s orphan, former left-behind child, and now the founder of a private kitchen brand.

But the tide of public opinion did not shift in my favor.

Because Lucy posted another video.

This time, she was crying into the camera, with Beth’s hospital bed visible beside her.

"My mother has liver failure, and the only person who can save her is my sister. But my sister is unwilling. I begged her, and she ignored me. My mother calls her name every day in the hospital bed, and she won't even come to see her once."

"I know the family conditions were bad when we were kids, and Mom did some things wrong. But that’s her biological mother, the one who gave her life."

"I’m not asking for anything else; I’m just asking her to get the matching test. If she isn't a match, no one will blame her. But she won't even try."

At the end of the video, Lucy was sobbing uncontrollably, while Beth lay nearby with her eyes closed, the IV tubing swaying.

The video hit half a million views overnight.

The comment section was one-sided.

"So pitiful, it wouldn't kill her to do a test."

"No matter what happened in the past, a mother is still a mother."

"That sister is too heartless, she doesn't even have the courage to take a test?"

Lu stared at the phone, her face pale.

"Nora, someone is leaving one-star ratings for our shop on Meituan."

I was kneading dough, my hands covered in flour.

"Let them."

"And reporters have contacted the front desk, saying they want to interview you."

"Refuse."

"Nora—"

"Lu." I stopped and looked at her.

"Do you trust me?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "I do."

"Then just wait. What’s meant to come will come."

Chapter 9

The turn of events came faster than I expected.

On the third day, someone I didn't expect posted on their social media feed.

My cousin, Lin Yue.

She posted a very long message, accompanied by three photos.

"Regarding the matter between my aunt, Beth, and my cousin, Nora, I have seen the videos circulating online. As a family member, there are some things I cannot leave unsaid.

My cousin Nora had been living in the storage room since she was seven years old, with no heating in the winter and no fan in the summer. When I visited my aunt's home as a child, I saw with my own eyes Nora serving dishes and washing bowls in the kitchen, while Lucy sat in the living room watching TV.

Nora often had injuries on her body, and my aunt claimed she had fallen. We all believed her.

But the night Nora ran to my second uncle's house at age eleven begging to be taken in, I saw the injuries on her back. They weren't from a fall; they were from being beaten."

The three photos were pictures taken at that time, snapped by Lin Yue.

One of the images in the post was a blurry old photo: a thin, small girl with her back to the camera, lifting her shirt to reveal skin covered crisscross with scars.

This post was screenshotted and shared on a local forum.

Then, it was like a pebble dropped into a lake.

The tone in the comment section began to shift.

"Wait a minute, these injuries were from a beating?"

"These photos don't look fake."

"So that woman was abused as a child?"

"And the sister who was crying so miserably in the front—she was watching TV in the living room?"

Voices of dissent also began to appear under Lucy's video.

"When you were watching TV as a child, what was your sister doing?"

"Where were you when your mother was beating your sister?"

"You were beaten for six years over a steamed bun; why don't you talk about that?"

Lu rushed into the kitchen with her phone, her eyes shining.

"Nora! Your cousin made a post! The public opinion has turned!"