Chapter 3 — Calling Off the Engagement with the Master Surgeon

Lam Van Van suddenly reached out, her hands clawing blindly at the air while her empty gaze remained fixed on the ceiling.

"Senior brother... senior brother, where are you?"

Co Canh Tham hurried to clasp her hand. "Van Van, I am right here."

Great, heavy tears spilled from Lam Van Van’s eyes as her voice trembled. "Senior brother, why is it so dark? I cannot see... I cannot see anything anymore! Senior brother, I am so afraid. Am I blind?"

Co Canh Tham’s heart constricted in his chest. He frantically waved his hand in front of her eyes. Lam Van Van darted her pupils, deliberately feigning a lack of response. Co Canh Tham felt a pain as sharp as a knife slicing through his soul. "Van Van, do not be afraid. It might be the tumor pressing on your optic nerve. I will call the specialists immediately!"

Just as he turned to leave, Lam Van Van let out a piercing, shrill scream. "Ah! My eyes!"

She clutched her face tightly, fresh blood oozing between her fingers. Co Canh Tham was terrified out of his wits, forcibly prying her hands away. He saw that her eyeballs had turned a sickly, cloudy gray. Her pupils were dilated, and the optic nerves had withered in an instant. The head of the ophthalmology department rushed over to examine her, only to shake his head in helplessness. "Doctor Co, the optic nerves have completely atrophied. She is truly blind, and it is irreversible."

Upon hearing this, Lam Van Van froze. She had initially intended to fake blindness to garner sympathy. Why had it become reality? She shrieked in horror, struggling violently on the hospital bed. Co Canh Tham held her tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was completely shattered.

Lam Van Van was truly blind. The news rippled through the hospital, leaving all the doctors in disbelief. Co Canh Tham descended into a state of profound despair and fury. He became convinced that I was the one behind it all. If the law could not punish me, he would use public opinion to ruin me. Utilizing his status as a rising star in the medical field, he posted a lengthy manifesto on social media. In it, he painted himself as a devoted doctor forced to break off his engagement to save his terminally ill junior sister, while casting me as a cruel, jealous heiress who had poisoned her romantic rival. He included photos of Lam Van Van suffering on her hospital bed alongside her medical reports. The post went viral instantly. With Co Canh Tham’s existing fan base, combined with the sensational tropes of "wealthy family vendettas" and a "dying maiden," it rocketed to the top of the trending charts. Countless netizens swarmed my profiles, subjecting me to relentless cyber-violence.

"To Thien Thien, go die! How can someone with such a venomous heart not have cancer themselves?"

"Just because you have money, you treat lives like dirt! We demand a thorough investigation!"

"Poor Doctor Co, being latched onto by such a wicked woman."

My private messages were flooded with death threats and funeral portraits. The stock price of my family’s company began to plummet. My mother was pacing in a panic, begging me to find a way to suppress the public outcry. But I remained calm. I applied exquisite makeup, donned a red dress, and started a livestream. As soon as the broadcast began, hundreds of thousands of people flooded in. The comments were a torrent of abuse. I leaned back into my gaming chair, sipping coffee, and watching the screen with indifference.

"Have you all cursed enough? If not, please continue."

My defiant attitude infuriated the netizens. An anti-fan sporting a "loyal fan of Co Canh Tham" badge began spamming aggressively. "Looking at your ugly face makes me want to vomit three liters of blood! How do you even have the nerve to keep living?"

I set down my coffee and stared at the screen, reading their username aloud. "So, you are 'Doctor Co’s Little Wife', right? You want to vomit three liters of blood? As you wish."

The viewers in the livestream mocked me, claiming I was just putting on a superstitious act. But only three minutes later, that same anti-fan account sent a request for a joint broadcast. I clicked accept. The screen split into two. On the other side was a cluttered bedroom. A plump woman was collapsed in front of her computer, blood gushing violently from her mouth. It was a literal fountain of red, staining the keyboard and the monitor. A man beside her was panicking, shouting as he dialed for emergency services.

"Honey! Honey, what is happening to you? Stop vomiting!"

The woman coughed up more blood, looking at the camera in sheer terror, unable to utter a single coherent word. The chat went silent. The comments stalled for ten full seconds. Then, the entire internet exploded.

"Holy cow! She is actually vomiting blood!"

"Is this a script? This must be a script!"

"Script my foot! Don't you see the blood clots? She is dying!"

Just then, another anti-fan, refusing to believe the supernatural, jumped in. "Stop faking! You disgusted me so much that my own gut is turning green! If you're so capable, make my gut turn green!"

I smiled. "Very well. Intestinal obstruction leading to necrosis. Consider it scheduled."

Less than five minutes later, a verified emergency response account for the city posted an update.