Chapter 1 — The Ten-Yuan Donation

On the night my younger brother’s heart suddenly stopped, I called Thinh Canh Xuyen twenty-seven times. It was only on the final call that he finally answered.

“One hundred thirty-six thousand? The funds of the Thinh family are meant for business value, not to be thrown into the bottomless pit that is your maternal family.”

“Why don’t you use a crowdfunding platform? Send me the link, and I will share it for you.”

“Adults must learn to be responsible for themselves. Stop thinking about relying on others all the time.”

I crouched before the emergency room doors, my entire body numbed by a glacial cold. At dawn, I returned home to retrieve some documents, only to hear him speaking with tender care to his assistant:

“Order a pink Porsche Panamera for Little Ha, four million, and list it under the company’s books.”

“She tripped on a public bicycle today and scraped her knee a little.”

“Girls shouldn't be left with scars, so from now on, this car will be used exclusively to transport her.”

Little Ha was an intern who had joined his company seventeen days ago. He turned around, saw me, and nodded with satisfaction.

“This is how it should be. Adults should solve their own problems.”

“I’ve already donated ten units of currency to your crowdfunding post. After all, you are my wife; I still have to support you.”

I offered a calm “understood” and walked into my office. In that moment, I finally understood. It was not that he lacked the money; it was that I was not worthy of it. I pulled the divorce papers from my drawer and signed my name, stroke by measured stroke. From this day forward, our paths would be forever separate.

When the ten units from Thinh Canh Xuyen arrived, my brother Du An’s heart rate had dropped below twenty for the third time. The nurse stood before me, speaking with urgent haste.

“Ms. Tang, the patient must be transferred to the hybrid operating room immediately. You need to pay a deposit of one hundred thirty-six thousand.”

I stared at my phone screen. Donor: Thinh Canh Xuyen. Amount: 10 units. Note: “Adults must learn to take responsibility.”

Finally, the phone connected, his voice brimming with impatience.

“Tang Van Ngung, how much longer do you intend to stir up this trouble?”

My voice was hoarse as I spoke.

“Du An has gone from ventricular tachycardia to ventricular fibrillation. The doctor says if we delay any longer, there will be brain oxygen deprivation. Please, advance me the one hundred thirty-six thousand. I will sign a promissory note.”

He let out a cold laugh.

“Do you have any idea how much money your brother has already wasted over the years? The Thinh family’s money is for capital investment, not to sustain the life of your maternal family.”

From within the operating theater, someone shouted, “Prepare the defibrillator.”

My knees buckled.

“He is only twenty-two. I am begging you.”

“Begging is useless. People must learn to face the consequences; you cannot simply offload your risks onto others every time something happens.”

The line went dead. A few seconds later, he sent me a link to a charity registration form, followed by that pathetic ten-unit donation.

At two-thirty in the morning, I returned to the Thinh household to gather Du An’s old medical records. The living room was dark. Thinh Canh Xuyen stood outside his study, his voice so gentle it felt alien.

“There is no need to queue at the rehabilitation center in Switzerland. Pay the extra fee for the VIP lane. Thanh Le scraped her ankle; girls shouldn't have scars, so include the full scar-recovery treatment as well.”

He hung up, noticed me, and frowned.

“Why are you back again?”

“To get medical records.”

He reached out, trying to take the paper from my hand.

“How is the situation at the hospital?”

“Still in emergency care.”

He froze.

“I already donated.”

I stared at him.

“Ten units?”

His face darkened instantly.

“The amount is not important; it is the attitude that counts.”

So, ten units was the measure of his attitude. I asked quietly, “And what about Ha Thanh Le? Her ankle is only a scratch, yet you bought her a Swiss rehabilitation package.”

Thinh Canh Xuyen’s eyes turned cold.

“Thanh Le is not like you. Her older sister saved my life once. The Ha family has a debt of gratitude.”

“So, Du An’s life must be sacrificed for hers?”

He interrupted me, his voice stern.

“Do not drag everything back to your brother! Ha Niem Tu died in that fire! Can your family stop using illness to erode me?”

The words struck my chest like a blunt object. Perhaps realizing he had gone too far, he pulled out a medical kit and applied a bandage to my cracked fingernail.

“If it hurts, endure it. Do not turn your pain into an excuse to make demands.”

Years ago, when the Thinh Group’s capital chain snapped and he was hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer, I stayed by his side for three days and three nights. Every night, my phone vibrated incessantly with calls from creditors. I would press my temples, calling everyone I could think of to beg for help while watching over his bed, afraid to close my eyes. Every cent came from my pleas; every night was survived by my sheer will. When he woke up, he held my hand and said, “Van Ngung, I owe you for the rest of my life.”

Later, he poured his guilt onto the Ha family and his patience into Ha Thanh Le. For me, he left only righteous-sounding lectures. I pulled my hand away and returned to the bedroom to retrieve the divorce papers. I had revised this agreement many times—starting from the first time he abandoned me for Ha Thanh Le’s birthday, and from the first time he labeled Du An a “long-term risk.”

Tonight, the final thread snapped. I signed my name: Tang Van Ngung. As the characters were etched onto the page, my hand did not tremble.

The next day, I did not go to the civil registry. I went to the law firm beneath the Thinh Group office. Lawyer Ha looked over the documents and asked, “Are you certain you want to file for divorce?”

I nodded. “Certain. Mediation is fine, but do not drag this out.”

At ten-forty, Thinh Canh Xuyen sent a message.

“Thanh Le has to have her ankle joint evaluated today, and she is in a bad mood. Stop acting out; we will talk when I get home tonight.”

I stared at the screen for a long time before replying: “If you want to discuss the divorce, speak to my lawyer.”

He called immediately. I hung up, turned off the phone, and went to the hospital. Du An was awake, wearing an oxygen mask. Seeing me, his eyes brightened.

“Sister.”

I leaned down and asked, “Are you in pain?”

He shook his head. “Did brother-in-law come?”

I pulled the blanket up for him. “He is busy.”

The light in Du An’s eyes dimmed, but he soon managed a smile. “Brother-in-law is a big figure. It is normal for him to be busy.”

My throat tightened. Du An had always liked Thinh Canh Xuyen. He used to say that Thinh Canh Xuyen was like a lighthouse—that one only needed to see a flicker of light to endure through the darkness. But now I knew. It wasn’t a lighthouse; it was a searchlight. It could illuminate the Ha family, the company, and everyone with status. The only thing it never illuminated was us.

In the afternoon, the hospital notified me that the full balance was due. I went to a pawn shop and placed my mother’s jade bracelet, my father’s old pocket watch, and the diamond ring Thinh Canh Xuyen had given me for our wedding on the counter. The owner looked at me. “Are you in urgent need of money?”

I said, “It’s for a life.”

He offered a pitifully low price. I did not bargain. When I swiped the card, I received a bank notification. The supplementary card linked to our marriage had its transactions restricted. The restricted categories: medical facilities, pawn shops, and large transfers.

Minutes later, Thinh Canh Xuyen’s assistant called. “Madam, the General Manager says that your emotional state has been unstable lately and you may be prone to impulsive spending, so he has temporarily implemented risk-control restrictions. He says you must learn to plan your assets.”

I gripped the phone tightly. “Tell him I will be handing this recording to my lawyer.”

Half an hour later, my crowdfunding link also encountered issues. The platform notified me: “Your project is suspected of exaggerating the medical condition and utilizing the reputation of a corporate figure to attract attention. It requires suspension for review.”

The customer service representative explained that a corporate account with verified identity had filed a complaint. The reason: I was using my status as the wife of the General Manager of Thinh Group to intentionally seek pity, causing damage to the company’s reputation.

I stared at that ten-unit donation in the management page and suddenly laughed. Even my plea for help was something Thinh Canh Xuyen felt the need to control. He would not save me, nor would he allow others to do so.

In the evening, he arrived at the hospital carrying a stack of medical financing installment forms.

“The limit is not low; sign this and the funds will be released today. Also, delete the crowdfunding link.”

I asked, “Why?”

“You are the wife of the Thinh family. Publicly begging for donations affects the image of the Thinh Group.”

“My brother is dying, and you are concerned about your image?”

He lowered his voice. “I am concerned that you are forcing yourself to become a beggar. Pawn shops, loans, charity assistance—what way is there that you haven't tried? Why must you insist on begging from me?”

I replied, “Because you are my husband.”

He laughed coldly. “A husband is not an ATM.”

“And a wife is not a project for you to manage for risk.”

His face turned cold instantly. “Tang Van Ngung, you are becoming increasingly bitter!”

I said softly, “I used to think that if I only remained patient, you would eventually feel for me. Later, I realized that the more patient I was, the more at ease you felt.”

I picked up the installment documents and tore them, page by page.

“I will find another way.”

Thinh Canh Xuyen stared at me. “Then you better remember your words. Do not call me in the middle of the night crying for help again.”

After he left, Du An woke up. He looked at the torn papers in the trash bin and spoke.

“Sister... the person who saved brother-in-law in that fire was not Ha Niem Tu. It was me.”

The cup of water in my hand fell to the floor. “What did you say?”

Du An’s voice was barely a whisper. “Six years ago, the one who rushed into the flames to save him was me.”

I went rigid. After that fire, everyone claimed Ha Niem Tu had saved Thinh Canh Xuyen. Ha Niem Tu had died. Thinh Canh Xuyen treated the Ha family as his own responsibility. After returning, Du An had a high fever and coughed up blood, his heart muscle damaged. He had told me it was just smoke inhalation. He had also told me never to let his brother-in-law know. I gripped his hand. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He smiled faintly. “Sister, you had just married into that family. If I had spoken up, it would have felt like I was blackmailing him. Ha Niem Tu was already dead; the dead cannot defend themselves.”

My throat was constricted. “So you hid this for six years?”

“I never intended to hide it forever.” He looked at the ceiling. “It’s just that now, it seems too late to say it.”

I covered his mouth. “Be quiet.”

He squinted his eyes. “Sister, I want to drink some pear juice.”

I went to the nurse’s station to ask for hot water. Just as I turned the corner of the hallway, I heard someone call me.

“Ms. Tang.”

Ha Thanh Le stood before the elevator, a small bandage on her ankle, holding the check-up bag from the VIP rehabilitation center. Looking at that bandage, I suddenly felt a profound sense of mockery. Du An lay in a standard ward, waiting for medical supplies, while she played at recovery for a superficial scratch.