Chapter 35: Amnesia
Dressed in a beige Tang suit, Shen Hu looked conflicted, as if assessing whether Jiang Si was stable enough to handle the news.
His hesitation inevitably made Jiang Si overthink, forcing the thoughts he had been deliberately avoiding back into his mind. Jiang Si pursed his lips and spoke with difficulty, “Did… did Hai Di not make it?”
“It’s not that,” Shen Hu said. “He woke up. He’s recovering well.”
“Then what is it?”
Shen Hu paused before finally speaking.
“…He seems to have amnesia. He doesn’t remember anything that happened while his soul was wandering.”
Hearing this, Jiang Si’s mind went blank for a moment. His first instinct was how is that possible?
But Shen Hu had no reason or standing to lie.
After a moment, Jiang Si nodded gently, indicating he understood.
Shen Hu tried to comfort him. “There should be a way to help him remember…”
“Master Shen,” Jiang Si interrupted. “It’s good that he’s alive. Nothing else matters.” With that, he forced a smile. Against his pale lips, his teeth showed slightly, making the expression look painfully sincere.
“If you can see it that way, that’s best.” Shen Hu finally relaxed. “Rest well in the hospital. My senior brother is looking after him; nothing will go wrong.”
“Mn.” Jiang Si nodded, thanked him, and turned back to his room to continue resting.
The moment the door closed, his expression collapsed. Jiang Si leaned the back of his head against the door, lifting his chin slightly to sigh, followed by a bitter laugh.
Fate really did love to play jokes. Who would have thought amnesia could happen twice?
Just then, as one wave settled, another rose. The internet was in an uproar over the promotion of a movie.
The film Escapism was about to be released, with promotional clips plastered across four or five platforms. Originally, this was normal, but Rong City had recently gone viral thanks to a stop-motion animation promo video.
After being reposted by well-known directors, screenwriters, and producers in the industry, it completely broke out of its niche. The director “Jiang Si” was deeply investigated by netizens, who discovered he was a director who had enjoyed a brief period of fame a few years ago.
His films, which had won awards abroad, were still used as teaching examples by animation professors in schools today.
And this digging revealed something major: his graduation short film, also titled Escapism, was unearthed. The basic content and style were highly similar to the upcoming animated movie. Netizens thought they had found a hidden gem and cheered that domestic animation was reaching a new level.
Originally, after Jiang Si resigned, he had no relationship with the movie. But because of the viral promo video, the producer had a “bright idea.” He had the marketing department write posts overnight, adding Jiang Si’s name to the promotional Weibo and specifically tagging him to leech off the heat.
Seeing that netizens were mistaking Jiang Si for the film’s director, the actual director was naturally unhappy. He posted a vague Weibo status, subtly accusing Jiang Si of plagiarism and stealing credit.
Coincidentally, this person happened to be Zhang Shuo, the classmate who had collaborated with Jiang Si on their graduation project. This identity made his words seem incredibly reliable. Many melon-eating netizens switched sides to support him, condemning Jiang Si as a thief who stole others’ honor and work.
The comment section under the Rong City official tourism account, once full of praise, had turned into a battlefield of verbal abuse.
[You’re an official account; can’t you verify things before posting? Do you just post anyone’s stuff online?]
[A thief is a thief. Don’t think resigning washes away your sins!]
[The most important thing for a creator is originality. How can someone like you deserve to be called a creator?]
[Damn, Rong City is rotten for using this kind of person for promotion. Everyone avoid this city! Don’t give them a cent!]
[Plagiarizing dog, go die!]
…
The few rational comments were drowned out in this crusade. Public opinion was completely one-sided, with some even resorting to personal attacks, telling Jiang Si’s entire family to die.
Since reading these comments, Luo Yan’s brow hadn’t unfurrowed. Her colleague clicked her tongue. “These people really believe whatever wind blows. Weren’t they praising him just a few days ago?”
“That’s internet keyboard warriors for you…” Luo Yan said with disgust. “It’s hard enough for us to read this. If Jiang Si saw it…”
“When will cyberbullying truly disappear?”
“Yeah,” the colleague said, rubbing her head. “Let’s think about how to handle this first. The long holiday is coming up. If we don’t manage this public opinion crisis well, we’re definitely getting scolded and working overtime.”
On the other end, Jiang Si also found out.
Seeing Jiang Si was recovering, Wang Zhao had intended to hide it, but he was so angry he couldn’t hide his emotions. One prod from Jiang Si, and he spilled everything.
Jiang Si scrolled through Weibo on his phone. Leaving the comment section aside, his DMs were already at 99+. At a glance, there wasn’t a single nice word.
“I’m going to die of anger… That bitch Zhang Shuo actually dared to counter-accuse, claiming you plagiarized and stole credit!” Wang Zhao ground his teeth. “And your old company! They were leeching off your traffic like crazy two days ago, but now that the wind has changed, they’re playing dead and supporting Zhang Shuo! Shameless!”
Jiang Si remained calm, his pale fingers sliding across the screen as he read the text seriously.
“You knew what they were like long ago, didn’t you? Wasn’t that why I resigned?”
“Fuck!” Wang Zhao cursed. “I thought film crews were messy enough, but your environment is even fiercer than mine. What kind of demons and monsters are they?”
He took out his phone and handed it over. “Just now, a few classmates asked me about your situation, subtly trying to dig for gossip.”
Jiang Si glanced at it. He had long since deleted those contacts. Seeing the names again now, he couldn’t even recall their faces.
He let out a scoff. “Are there ever a shortage of people who despise the poor, envy the rich, and can’t wait to see someone fail?”
“So what do you plan to do? Post a clarification now, otherwise, the longer you drag it out, the worse it gets. Given time, nobody cares if you’re actually innocent; they’ll just remember seeing something about you and plagiarism and label you for life.”
Wang Zhao was a veteran in the industry and saw right through these internet crowds. The melon-eating masses didn’t care if you were innocent. If they had a vague impression, they would misunderstand forever.
Even after clarifying, they’d say things like “one hand can’t clap alone,” “flies don’t bite seamless eggs,” or “who knows if capital is manipulating things” to stick to their bias.
And for a creator, once the word “plagiarism” stuck, half their career was basically over.
Jiang Si mused, “No rush. The way these people talk is strange; there must be a ‘water army’ (paid trolls) guiding public opinion. I want to see what exactly they’re trying to do.”
“Really no rush?” Wang Zhao finally understood the saying the emperor isn’t anxious, but the eunuch is. He was fuming, yet Jiang Si was calmly waiting for things to develop.
Truly his brother. Truly someone who just walked a lap around the gates of hell.
Wang Zhao stroked his chin, studying Jiang Si, and slowly understood the deeper meaning. “Not bad, not bad. Life is just like that. Once you see through it, you realize that aside from death, nothing is a big deal! Old Jiang, keep this attitude up. Don’t go thinking about suicide again.”
“…Huh?” Jiang Si was stunned by his words. “What have you understood now?”
“It’s nothing, I just suddenly understand life.” Wang Zhao looked profound as he encouraged Jiang Si. “Life is too short. We shouldn’t let bad scenery ruin the journey.”
Jiang Si nodded, half-understanding.
Seeing he had taken it in, Wang Zhao felt gratified. He took out his phone, switched to an alt account, and dove into the flame war.
As for the result, that’s a story for later.
Luo Yan contacted Jiang Si, asking if he had evidence of his original work and work schedules to refute the rumors.
Jiang Si: “I do. My computer and USB drive have the work schedules from back then as well as my own creative files.”
“That’s good.” Luo Yan breathed a sigh of relief, finally at ease. “In that case, I can confidently talk to the lawyers. We have to let these people know the cost of spreading rumors.”
“The internet is not a lawless place!”
Jiang Si stood up, looking at the scenery outside the window, and said faintly, “Can you find out the accounts that are causing the most trouble?”
“I think so.”
“I need those accounts to do something,” Jiang Si said.
…
Clack clack clack…
In a rental apartment somewhere, the sound of furious typing filled the room. A man in pajamas sat before his computer, switching back and forth between screens—social media platforms one moment, chat apps the next.
Beside his hand was a half-eaten bowl of instant noodles. His sallow face was illuminated by the blue light of the screen, wearing a malicious grin.
He typed a reply to someone: “Don’t worry, Brother Zhang. We’re professionals. With thousands of accounts joining in, there’s no narrative we can’t drive.”
With that, he switched software, banged on the keyboard, and typed out a line of filthy abuse.
He hit enter, sending it out.
Moments later, it garnered dozens of likes.
“Making this money is as easy as moving my fingers…” The man grinned, sneering. “These idiots on the internet are such dumbasses. No wonder they’re so easy to lead.”
He stood up to pour some water, but his arm bumped the noodle bowl, spilling the leftover oily soup everywhere. Cursing his bad luck, the man wiped the keyboard and desk with tissues. When he looked up again, he found the content on his computer screen had changed.
Just a moment ago, the comment section was full of words supporting him. Now, the screen was filled with: “DO YOU WANT TO DIE?”
Rows of dense black text covered the entire screen, giving him a massive fright.
“Fuck! A virus?” The man moved his mouse and scrolled down. The text seemed endless, repeating those same words over and over.
He couldn’t exit, couldn’t force a shutdown. He could only stare at the words.
A chill ran down his spine. Who would pull this kind of prank in the middle of the night?
Before he could figure it out, a bowl in the kitchen suddenly crashed to the floor. The man shuddered, craning his neck to look toward the kitchen.
The room was unlit, dark as ink. He couldn’t see a thing.
Just then, a pale, blue-white hand crawled out of the computer screen, grabbing the man’s arm and pulling him toward it.
“Fuck…” The man’s soul nearly left his body. His heart pounded like a drum as he braced himself against the desk, playing tug-of-war with the hand.
The Ring‘s Sadako had come to life!
Terror-stricken, the man’s pupils shrank to pinpoints, staring dead at the screen.
Gradually, he saw a woman’s ghastly pale face enlarging, floating closer from the distance until she was pressed right against the screen, glaring viciously at him.
In a cold, gloomy voice, she warned, “Curse one more time, I dare you!”
The man shivered, nodding frantically.
The female ghost narrowed her eyes. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”
“…” His brain working faster than it ever had in his life, the man stammered, “I know, I know, I absolutely won’t do it again.”
Mommy… I’m resigning right now. I’m never doing this again…
The ghost said, “I can find you anytime… watch yourself…”
The computer screen flickered a few times before returning to normal. The comments agreeing with the man were still increasing.
The man stood there for a moment. Ignoring the sticky soup residue on his keyboard, he flew into action, typing out a massive apology paragraph, posting it, and then deleting his previous comments—all in one smooth motion.
[I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t understand the situation and spoke carelessly, slandering an innocent person. I was wrong, I’m not human. I apologize to society, I apologize to the broad masses of netizens. I apologize to Director Jiang here, begging for your forgiveness. I promise I will never speak carelessly again. Also, actually, I’m part of a ‘water army.’ Someone paid me to guide public opinion. Everyone, don’t be misled.]
Other netizens who saw this: [Is this guy crazy?]
[Werewolf self-destruct? Is this another marketing tactic?]
…
The same thing happened to dozens of other people. In one night, many witnessed an extreme reversal: people cursing one second and groveling in apology the next.
Confused netizens jumped around like badgers in a melon field. [What exactly happened? Did Jiang Si pay them off? How much did he give them to make them lose all dignity?]
[Be honest, are you guys trolling in reverse?]
[I really am a paid troll. Here are the chat logs, look if you don’t believe me. Someone paid money to blacklist Jiang Si!] To prove his identity, he even posted the confidential chat logs.
[??? What? There’s more to the story?]
The netizens were stunned, at a loss.
…
Little Phoenix led her crew to tidy up people via their internet cables one by one, putting her in a great mood. When she saw Jiang Si again, she was incredibly confident, sitting in the chair with a swagger. “Jiang Si, your good days are coming! Remember to repay me later!”
Jiang Si: “Did you go fight someone?”
“This was way more fun than fighting…” Little Phoenix triumphantly recounted the events. “How was it? I’m smart, right? To deal with wicked people, you have to scare them to death!”
Hearing this, Jiang Si felt honored. It seemed the incense and spirit money he burned earlier hadn’t gone to waste.
But in the next sentence, Little Phoenix said, “Settle the wages for the ghosts who went with me, okay? We did the work; the money can’t be short.”
“…?” The smile Jiang Si hadn’t even fully formed was immediately retracted.
He knew it.
“Actually, I’m already contacting people to find a lawyer and organizing the evidence. It should be handled in a couple of days,” Jiang Si said quietly. “Those who took the lead will receive my lawyer’s letters. They have to pay the price for their words.”
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