Chapter 41

The director stood in front of the cast, clipboard in hand and a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, folks. Time to hand out your wages from your last shift. Step forward when your name is called.”

“Duke, $200. Comment: Your look fits the role of a sanitation worker perfectly.”

Duke grinned, flaunting his cash. “Told y’all. Like fine wine—I get better with age!”

“Giselle, $100. Comment: Worked three days, lazed two. Most of the time, you were panting like you’d run a marathon.”

“Excuse me!” Giselle huffed. “Have you seen me? I’m not built for cardio!”

“Justin, $0. Comment: Letting fans do your work doesn’t count.”

Justin’s jaw clenched. He never asked them to help—those fans just showed up with brooms and devotion. Still, it didn’t matter now. Zero dollars spoke louder than his pride.

“Lilith, $50. Comment: Didn’t complete assigned tasks.”

Her eyes welled up, and she turned away. How was it her fault she got injured? Who even wrote these comments?

“Josephson, $50. Comment: Slacking won’t get you far.”

He rolled his eyes but smirked like he didn’t care. Internally, though, the social media backlash was already a storm he couldn’t dodge.

“Mia, $100. Comment: Performed tasks adequately.”

No praise, no shade. Just facts. I could live with that.

“Yvonne, $150. Comment: Diligent, careful, dependable. Keep it up.”

Yvonne lit up like a Christmas tree, soaking up the praise like sunlight.

“Now,” the director continued, “rent is due by 8 p.m. If you don’t pay, you’re out of your rental for the night.”

Justin scowled, hands empty. “Is working the only way to earn money?”

“There are part-time gigs allowed within the urban village,” the director replied. “As long as they’re legal and abide by production rules.”

The cast dispersed quickly—everyone hustling to avoid eviction.

I didn’t have enough for rent, so I grabbed my small bag and stepped outside, only to run into Giselle. We agreed to hunt for part-time jobs together.

But before we got far, an elderly woman—the same one from before—spotted me and clung to my wrist. “Sweetheart! That message you gave me last time? My leg didn’t hurt for a whole day after! Can you teach me how to do it?”

She fumbled out a thick wad of cash. “Is this enough? If not, my son’s a college professor. He can send more.”

“Wait, slow down,” I said gently, pressing her hand. “I’ll teach you for free.”

She blinked. “No charge?”

“It’s just for relief, not a cure. I couldn’t take your money in good conscience.”

Giselle hesitated, but I sent her off with a wink. I had this covered.

The grandma beamed and dragged me to her house, a surprisingly cozy flat-roofed home with a garden and a plum tree full of fruit. I couldn’t help but eye the plums with nostalgia. They reminded me of summers back home.

She noticed. “You like those? Take as many as you want!”

She handed me a handful, and I didn’t hesitate—crunchy, tart, sweet. Childhood in a bite.

We sat under the tree as I showed her where to apply pressure on her leg. I even rolled up her pant leg to give her a visual guide. Teaching her was slow, she kept pressing the wrong points or using too much force—but I stayed patient.

To my surprise, the livestream chat was exploding.

“I just tried this on my grandpa—he said it actually works!”

“Okay but is this for real? Or are y’all paid shills?”

“I’m a TCM student. I’ve only read about this technique in ancient texts. Can’t believe Mia knows it.”

“My grandpa’s a village doctor. He just called Mia master.”

Even skeptics were getting drowned out by genuine enthusiasm.

After about thirty minutes, the grandma finally got the hang of it. “I’ve taken up so much of your time,” she said guiltily.

“It’s okay,” I replied with a smile.

“It’s not okay. I saw you eating bread and water for dinner the other day. The show really makes you live like that?” She stood up, determined. “I’m packing you some real food. Take it back, okay? You young people can’t work on empty stomachs!”

Just then, a girl—about fifteen—stormed out of the house, eyes blazing.

“Mia! How dare you trick my grandma?!”

I blinked in confusion.

“You’re a celebrity! Don’t you have any shame?” she snapped.

Her name was Nydia, and I recognized her immediately from earlier streams. A diehard Justin fan.

She must’ve binged the past episodes after exams ended and connected the dots. To her, I wasn’t some healer—I was the girl constantly butting heads with her precious idol.

“You’re just here to scam my grandma!” she accused, glaring like she’d caught me red-handed.

“Nydia!” The old woman’s voice cracked like a whip. She banged her cane against the ground. “Where are your manners?!”

“I just don’t want you to be tricked again,” she muttered.

“Tricked?! I know what I’m doing!” Grandma huffed. “Go back inside and do your homework!”

“No!”