She's a Passerby, But Can See the Protagonist's Halo

Last night, Zheng Yi showed a text message to her team members, asking if there was something wrong with it.

She had initially thought the young couple was simply loyal to the Special Case Unit and deleted the recruitment message upon seeing it. To her surprise, her subordinate grimaced and said, "Zheng-jie, doesn’t this message look a bit like a scam ad?"

Zheng Yi’s first reaction was—

"I’ve always sent messages like this."

In the past, whenever she took a liking to someone during local investigations, she would send them a straightforward invitation via WeChat. Those she approached would usually respond quickly, eagerly agreeing to join her team.

Over the years, except for two cases where family circumstances prevented transfers and her early days when her reputation wasn’t established yet, this method had never failed her.

This was the first time Zheng Yi had ever been blocked.

Hearing Zheng Yi’s matter-of-fact tone, her subordinate hesitated before speaking honestly, "Zheng-jie, don’t you think the wording of this message sounds a bit… scammy?"

Zheng Yi: Me? A scammer?

For the first time, she clearly realized that her recruitment strategy might be flawed.

She fell silent.

She had always believed her job offers were genuine and appealing.

Part-time work for civilians—referring to undercover informants.

Directly under the ministry—of course, the Ministry of Public Security’s Cold Case Investigation Unit.

Professional colleagues—all elite talents she handpicked from various regions.

Excellent benefits—the unit had ample funding, dedicated housing, a canteen, and generous travel allowances nationwide.

Every word was true!

But when her subordinates pulled up actual scam ads with eerily similar phrasing and formatting, Zheng Yi stared at the two exclamation marks on her phone for a long time.

This was indeed her mistake. The couple had sharp instincts and strong anti-scam awareness—definitely promising candidates.

Yan and Zhu Jue sat on chairs, listening to Chu Shen’s howls of agony, which sounded like a pig being slaughtered.

Yan whispered to Zhu Jue, "Did he always scream like this in the dorm?"

Zhu Jue nodded solemnly. "The walls were thin, so he usually bit a towel."

Here, in the private acupuncture room of the traditional clinic, with no outsiders around, Chu Shen let loose with full, robust yelps.

After fifteen minutes of bone-cracking adjustments, Chu Shen reluctantly got up, his body buzzing with relief.

"That’s it? No more?"

Xiao Qingnang sighed. "I cut it short because you were screaming so much."

And now the guy looked disappointed?

"It’s the good kind of pain—so satisfying," Chu Shen said, stretching. "Don’t even get me started. Two straight weeks of holiday shifts at the shop wrecked me. No wonder I was so stiff."

He rotated his shoulders, feeling reborn.

"Oh, and remember how Boss Lady’s family fruit farm stopped taking orders a while back? They still shipped to my shop, though. Customers went nuts."

He launched into a rant.

"People weren’t even coming for the food—just the fruit! Lines out the door at dawn, in winter. Like, stay home under your blankets, you maniacs!"

"Almost had fistfights between regular diners and the fruit fanatics."

"I'm scared of getting reported again because of the fruit. It's been open for half a month—time to make a quick escape."

Chu Shen wore an expression of lingering fear, leaving Yan and the others utterly bewildered.

Good grief, the fruit-craving mob had actually lined up at the Chu family’s little restaurant again just to get their hands on some fruit. What was this called? The drinker’s heart is not in the cup—but those who went for the fruit would inevitably be conquered by Chu Shen’s culinary skills too.

"Thank goodness the farm recently reopened fruit preorders. My phone’s the latest model, but even WeChat lags like crazy when I open it now."

Chu Shen had long grown numb to the "red dot" notifications. 9999+? Whatever. He couldn’t be bothered to check anymore. After all, his school and dorm group chats were already pinned at the top.

The third reason he’d come to Ningcheng was simply to avoid work.

The winter was cold, and people naturally grew lazier. It was the Lunar New Year—whatever needed doing could wait till next year.

After Chu Shen’s massage and bone-setting session, the four of them headed into Xiao Qingnang’s room.

"Pengpeng~~~" The moment Yan saw the little cat, her gaze instantly softened.

It had been less than a week since Xiao and Gu Jiasui last visited, but somehow, it felt like ages.

"This salted fish is hilarious," Chu Shen remarked, eyeing the salted fish plushie by the cat bed.

Xiao Qingnang’s room had clearly been cleared out to make space for the kitten Pengpeng. Shelves were packed with colorful cans of food, plush toys, and little trinkets. Yan even spotted a tiny clothes rack with a row of miniature outfits hanging neatly.

Compared to Xiao’s otherwise minimalist and traditional room, the cat corner was a burst of adorable chaos, overflowing with all sorts of cute little things.

Right now, Yan was wielding a cat teaser, coaxing Pengpeng to stretch her paws and get some exercise.

She swayed the toy back and forth, thoroughly engrossed in the game.

Now that her allergies were cured, she had nothing to fear! No longer was she doomed to live vicariously through online cat videos.

As she played, Yan casually remarked, "Gu Jiasui’s only been gone for two days. I wonder when she’ll be back. Isn’t that show—what was it called, 'National Treasure'—about to air?"

Gu Jiasui had returned to Bincheng on the 23rd of the lunar month, occasionally popping up in the group chat in the mornings or evenings. Yan guessed she was probably busy with the Lu family these past couple of days and hadn’t reached out privately.

"‘Treasures of Time.’ It premieres on the first night of the New Year," Xiao Qingnang explained.

"She’s guest-starring at the film studio these days, so she probably won’t be back until the second or third."

Yan turned to look at Xiao, letting out an "Oh" before exchanging a silent glance with Zhu Jue. Meanwhile, Chu Shen was blinking at them like mad.

Faced with his near-spasmodic eyelid workout, Yan wordlessly handed him the cat teaser.

"You’re obviously dying to play—here, entertain Pengpeng."

With someone else now on cat duty, Xiao Qingnang struck up a conversation with Zhu Jue.

Yan wandered over to Xiao’s bookshelf, eager to see what kind of books the "Medical Sage" read in his spare time.

Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her pocket to find a message from Chu Shen.

[Chu Shen]: What’s going on that I don’t know about?

[Chu Shen]: !!! Spill it! Now!

Yan: …

She was certain Chu Shen had sent the same frantic texts to both her and Zhu Jue. But Zhu Jue, mid-conversation with Xiao, had merely glanced at his phone before tucking it away without reply.

Who would’ve thought Chu Shen, for all his "straight guy" vibes, could be so perceptive?

[Yan]: shrug We know nothing.

[Chu Shen]: NO!!! You absolutely do!

Internally, Yan sighed. They knew these two were time travelers—one a princess, the other a legendary physician—but that was absolutely not something they could reveal.

[Yan]: What do you think? We really don’t know anything!

Chu Shen, half-heartedly playing with the cat while sneaking glances at his phone, groaned inwardly. Could Yan please stop going in circles?

The moment Xiao had spoken earlier, combined with the sight of all these decidedly un-Xiao-like purchases, Chu Shen had instantly sensed the sweet, juicy aroma of gossip among friends.

Especially when those two had exchanged that look—utterly unsurprised, as if everything was going exactly as expected—it had nearly sent him into a frenzy.

He ached to ask. It was torture. But no, he had to hold it in. Not getting the tea was pure agony.

Yan’s replies were infuriatingly tight-lipped, and Zhu Jue wasn’t even responding. Chu Shen felt metaphorical tears streaming down his face.

Women. Men. Your collective name is heartless.

Then, suddenly, inspiration struck.

[Chu Shen]: I’ve been working on a new dish lately.

[Yan]: ! What dish? You’re adding to the menu?

She knew it was bait. She knew. And yet—

[Chu Shen]: Been practicing my knife skills. Finally nailed ‘Wensi Tofu.’ Might put it on the menu.

[Chu Shen]: Still debating, though. Maybe needs more refinement.

Yan’s reaction to this: Wow. Really?

This was absolutely a bribe. Chu Shen, you snake!

[Yan]: Seriously, we know nothing. Weren’t you there when they came over for dinner the other day?

Her heart wept. She was telling the truth!

She’d only noticed the shift in atmosphere between Xiao and Gu Jiasui during their last visit. Had they figured out each other’s identities?

That’d be wild! Were they even from the same era?

Plus, after co-parenting this kitten for so long—practically raising it like a child—it was no surprise if something had blossomed. Talented, good-looking, seeing each other daily at school, even video-calling for cat updates… Shared struggles forged strong bonds. If something had developed, Yan wouldn’t bat an eye.

Yet between them, it was all unspoken—quiet as still water, subtle as spring rain. Outsiders had no place prying.

[Chu Shen]: Fine! I get it.

Yan stared at the message. She had no idea what he’d "gotten," but at least the interrogation had stopped.

Her heart sighed. Wensi Tofu… How much longer must I wait for you?

Just as she finished replying, her phone buzzed again—a Weibo notification. Her special follow, CC123, had posted.

Chu Bingbing’s alt account!

New post? A follow-up about the livestream donations? Or—?

She tapped in, watching as the comments surged by the hundreds in mere minutes.

[CC123]: New Year’s giveaway, first round! Daily draws for 2,000 winners. From the 26th to New Year’s Eve, 7–9 AM each day, Ningcheng Global Paradise will be open exclusively for winners—free entry, 2-hour playtime. Ningcheng folks, try your luck! Enter via the official mini-program. (Note: 2,000 slots/day. Winners announced at noon the prior day. One win per person.)

Holy—! Yan’s eyes widened. Chu Bingbing worked fast!

They’d just talked yesterday about how to spend money meaningfully, and already she’d negotiated this, even had the mini-program ready.

Five days, two hours each, 2,000 people daily—10,000 winners total.

And right now, the post’s likes, comments, and reposts were skyrocketing.

"No way?? CC’s giving away 10,000 slots?!"

"It's true! Just go to the Universal app—there's already an early bird private event lottery. If you enter 'CC123' as the referrer, you'll automatically qualify. Holy crap, what kind of flex is this?! Sis, CC, you’re my real sister—please, I’m begging you! [screenshot.jpg]"

"Is this what a real sugar mommy looks like?! I need to know—how much does it cost to rent out the park for two hours a day? Five days in a row must be in the millions, right?"

The sourc𝗲 of this content is frёeωebɳovel.com.

"Bro, you’re seriously underestimating this. This is Universal we’re talking about. My company once booked an early bird slot for two hours for our annual party—minimum 2,000 people, and it cost four million. Five days would be twenty million… CC’s giving away private access to 10,000 random internet strangers. Twenty million just like that. What kind of gorgeous, kind-hearted queen is this?!"

"You’re wrong, actually. Yesterday, CC tipped seven small streamers seven million in total. So in two days, she’s already spent twenty-seven million. I can’t even imagine having that kind of money in my lifetime."

"Wait—what ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‍do you mean 'first wave'? Does that mean there’s a second wave of giveaways coming? This is next-level insane generosity."

At that moment, Yan scrolled through the comments under Chu Bingbing’s post—people calling her "sis," "gorgeous sugar mommy," bowing down to the "legendary tycoon," along with endless blessings and heart emojis.

#CC123 Treats 10,000 Netizens to Private Universal Access

#CC123 Giveaway

#CC123 Next-Level Generosity

Hashtags referencing Chu Bingbing’s username shot up in trending. Meanwhile, in related discussions, some questioned who this random username belonged to, others called it a publicity stunt, and a few even argued that a two-hour private slot didn’t count as a real "private event."

"Are you dumb? Universal tickets sell out weeks in advance. These days are already fully booked for regular visitors. Getting two hours of private access is insane enough."

Yan wasn’t surprised at all that Chu Bingbing’s post had gone viral.

When people with the "halo effect" do anything, isn’t it normal for them to trend?

Counting back, Chu Bingbing had trended when picking up her car at Extreme Auto, at the comic convention, and when the "Zhou Dynasty Imperial Scroll" was unveiled (though she’d kept her identity hidden then). This time made it the fourth.

Yan did a quick mental tally—the two dorm groups’ halo figures had trended at least ten times combined, more than some actual celebrities.

Big-name stars had to pay for promo hashtags during drama releases, but these halo figures just naturally drew attention, like they were born under a spotlight.

Just as Yan closed the app, she saw her name mentioned in the two dorms’ group chat.

[Chu Bingbing]: @Yan, help me tag everyone. Friends, anyone free to come to Ningcheng? I got a Universal VIP private pass—good for ten people, includes guided tours, gifts, brunch, and unlimited Fast Passes… all free!

Yan: !

She remembered this exclusive Universal service cost around 5,000 per person, with a minimum booking of five. It came with all kinds of premium perks.

Had Chu Bingbing bought it herself, or was it a corporate gift for high-profile clients?

Yan quietly appeared as the group admin and @’ed everyone.

Looks like she and Zhu Jue were about to benefit again.

What was the saying? "The moon favors those nearest." While 10,000 netizens were fighting over a two-hour lottery, being friends with a halo figure meant instant VIP treatment. Sure, it came with its share of headaches sometimes… but damn, the perks were sweet. Sugar mommy, please adopt me!