A Desperate Comeback, Starting in a Psychiatric Hospital

The day I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer, my husband, Lu Jingshen, was accompanying his first love to a prenatal checkup.

My mother-in-law accused me of faking an illness to scam them out of money. I smiled and signed the form declining treatment. When his first love came to provoke me, I requested the song "Good Days" for her. Lu Jingshen said he'd take me to a psychiatric hospital, so I turned around and booked an appointment with a psychiatric specialist.

Diagnosis: severe paranoid schizophrenia.

From that day on, everyone was afraid of me. A crazy person doesn't need a reason to do anything. Using perfectly legal means, I flushed my wicked mother-in-law's dentures down the toilet. Under the guise of madness, I scared my pregnant rival into fleeing in terror. I even checked myself into a psychiatric hospital, where I met the mysterious, cold-faced tycoon from Beijing's elite circles.

Later, the scumbag's company imploded, and he knelt before me, begging me to let him off. I stepped on the back of his hand. "Get lost. Don't dirty my shoes."

Later still, someone asked me, "Were you actually crazy back then?" I smiled.

I said, "Does it matter? What matters is that everyone who tried to drive me mad got what they deserved. And I got everything."