WBSGVS Chapter 237 V2

No one criticized Qingli anymore. Even diehard haters were drowned out. Some influencer accounts even deleted their negative comments, knowing that Su Qingli’s massive donation made her virtually untouchable, especially in the eyes of the government.

Sure enough, within an hour, several official accounts reposted Qingli’s Weibo and publicly praised her, while also harshly condemning the exploitative talk show. The show quickly deleted the video in panic.

Of course, they’d praise her—big donations set a good example and could inspire others to do the same.

Meanwhile, He’s parents were still glued to the news.

After a long wait, their eldest son finally turned to them, face dark. “She responded.”

“What did she say?” they asked, full of anxious hope.

He clenched his jaw. “She said it’s her money—she can give it to anyone she wants. Then… she donated a hundred million to a national relief fund.”

He’s parents: “!!!”

They were fuming. “Has she gone insane?! That house wouldn’t even cost a hundred million! Just twenty million would be enough!”

The eldest son said nothing, but his face twitched.

Her meaning was loud and clear:

She’d rather die, donate every last cent, than give even a single yuan to the He family.

They understood now. After all the yelling and cursing, they were left only with bitter regret.

They slapped their thighs and wailed, “That idiot youngest son—look at what he’s done!”

A few years later, when Qingli looked back, most of those names had long vanished from the industry.

The Su family hated her cold indifference. But no matter what threats they used, Qingli never budged. Eventually, they gave up on salvaging Su Yan’s career and shifted to arranging blind dates for him—he wasn’t getting any younger, and since he’d lost all his relevance, they figured he could at least settle down and have kids.

As for Zhao Muyun, that one film ruined her. She’d crossed Qingli and paid the price. No directors would touch her anymore. Her career tanked. After one short-lived collaboration with Qingli’s company, she was completely shelved. With no ability to pay her massive penalty fees, she was stuck. Within two years, she was called home by her parents to get married.

In a full circle of irony, she ended up with her ex-husband from the previous lifetime, doomed to repeat her past miseries.

Zhao Rongrong, who had been kicked out, was also forced to return home and had already been married off before Zhao Muyun came back.

Her reputation was so bad, her match wasn’t great, and afterward, she faded into obscurity.

Qingli’s name, meanwhile, was still radiant. But she didn’t immediately jump into a new film project. To the disappointment of many, she took a break for two years and had a child.

She’d taken good care of her health. Even though she wasn’t young, her medical knowledge helped her through everything smoothly.

When He Tianzhuo was released from the rehab center and finally reconnected to the internet, he was bombarded with headlines about Director Su’s child turning one and news of Su Qingli starting a new film.

Half the entertainment industry had already sent her their congratulations. Word was that as soon as her new project was announced, actors were lining up to pitch themselves for a role.

Especially for the female lead, Su Qingli’s films were known for their strong preference for women-led stories. Years ago, Kong Li, then a C-list actress, had landed the lead in one of her TV dramas. Nearly four years had passed, and now she was a solid A-lister. The female lead in Adult Affairs had become a top-tier film actress with a skyrocketing market value.

The success of these women ignited fierce envy among many actresses, all desperate for a shot at working with Su Qingli.

Male actors weren’t any less eager. Ning Xi, originally a singer, had landed his breakout screen role thanks to her film, but later on, he stopped acting and basically became Su’s loyal sidekick.

Shen Shen, on the other hand, clinched another Best Actor award for his performance in her film.

It wasn’t just the industry celebrating—online, netizens were also sending in waves of well wishes.

Of course, while congratulating her, people online didn’t forget about Su Qingli’s ex-husband. They dragged “He Buxing” (He Useless) back into the spotlight for another round of public mockery.

He Tianzhuo was so angry he nearly passed out, and only calmed down after taking some medication. His voice darkened: “She really had a kid.”

All those humiliating words she’d thrown at him—now they were coming true. People would be mocking him for the rest of his life. They were together for fifteen years with no children, and now, just a short time after their divorce, she had a one-year-old?!

The Su parents could only sigh, seeing the state he was in. “Why are you even paying attention to this stuff? You’re the one who screwed it all up.”

He Tianzhuo stiffened, turned his face away in silence, but inside, he was drowning in regret.

He had fallen for Su Qingli at first sight, chasing after her with intense passion. He’d never imagined they would end up like this.

He always believed she was the ideal wife—reserved, obedient, the perfect complement to his traditional, male-dominated mindset. She agreed to a child-free lifestyle and never brought up kids again. She was also a brilliant writer, churning out scripts that paved his way to greater success as a director.

But all her brilliance, once it turned against him, became unbearably harsh.

He couldn’t compete with her.

She used to hide her light so he could shine alone.

But when it came time to go head-to-head, he lost every time. And to avoid a crushing defeat, he made a stupid mistake—one that not only destroyed his career but also obliterated everything he’d spent years building.

Now he even wondered if Su Qingli had planned it all along, giving him the investment projects while she walked away with the real estate and liquid assets. When the time came, those investments couldn’t even be used as collateral at the bank. Only real estate could. And all he had in his name was their old marital home.

He let out a bitter laugh. There was no point dwelling on it now—this was the reality.

He was old, his health failing, his reputation gone, his savings depleted. He’d spent most of his life as a film director, but now—how was he supposed to live out the rest of his days?

Just the thought of it made everything go dark before his eyes.

In this lifetime, Su Qingli spent her life writing screenplays and making films.

When her child was still young, she released one project every two years. Once the child was older, she returned to releasing a film or TV series every year, personally participating in the editing each time.

The post-production teams she worked with later became some of the most sought-after in the industry—proof of the impact her work had.

Su Qingli became the most prestigious screenwriter and director of her generation.

And with her fame came the repeated public shaming of the scumbags who had once hurt her. Even though He Tianzhuo disappeared from the public eye, every time someone caught sight of him in his destitution, there would be another article:
“Su Qingli’s Ex-Husband Now Gray-Haired and Alone—Reportedly Kicked Out by His Own Family for Being Unproductive.”

In her past life, he had been polished and successful, stepping on Su Qingli as he held his son in one hand and handed out hush money to silence the Su family after their daughter became comatose.

In this life, he could only watch as Su Qingli thrived, cradling her child and basking in the love and admiration the world now offered her. All he had left was public scorn.

At the end of her life, Su Qingli felt a sense of completion. She had written and directed stories her entire life. It was exhausting, but bringing her thoughts and ideas to life so vividly was incredibly fulfilling. Every project left her feeling like she’d given it her all. And she was tired now.

In the next life, maybe she’d find a simpler way to live.

With that thought, as the sound of sobbing surrounded her, she finally closed her eyes for the last time.

When she opened them again, she was enveloped in the musty air of a damp room. Her stomach growled painfully, clearly from hunger.

She sat up. The room was dim. The rafters above her were so dark they were barely visible. Only a narrow shaft of sunlight peeked through the cracks between roof tiles and bricks by the eaves, just enough to keep the room from being pitch black.

At first, Qingli thought she had been transported back to the 1960s or 70s, but then she spotted a modern-looking backpack next to her pillow, and the idea was quickly dismissed.

She couldn’t tell what was going on outside, but she could hear water dripping and the heavy shuffling of footsteps—definitely not the kind of sounds a young, energetic man would make.

Sensing no immediate danger, Qingli chose to receive the host’s memories.

Moments later, her brows furrowed. In the dim light, her beautiful face—already looking a bit worn—twisted in disgust and deep sympathy for the original host.