Faking Bankruptcy, First Love Sold Her House to Save Me

Three in the morning, and the villa's living room was dead silent. The only light came from the phone screen on the coffee table, a harsh white glow. In the WeChat group "Harbor City High Class of '09, Section 3," the last message still sat there from ten o'clock the night before. The class president had tagged me, asking whether I could set up the old class president's son with a job as a branch vice president. I stared at the screen, my fingertips trembling a little, and finally typed out a single line: