Can't Hide My Love for You - Chapter 62

An anonymous forum post has rapidly climbed the “hot threads” list. The title alone was enough to draw massive attention:

The original poster (OP) claimed to be an avid livestream viewer who happened upon Cheng Yixin’s broadcast. Moved by her promotion of “rural assistance” to help farmers sell stagnant orange stock, the OP bought a box as an act of “charity.” However, they received rotten oranges, found no customer service response on the platform, and claimed that private messaging Cheng Yixin resulted only in malicious verbal abuse. Furious, the OP turned to the forum for help.

OP: I have never been this angry. If it weren’t for Cheng Yixin talking about helping farmers, I wouldn’t have bought it. Fine, I received rotten fruit, but do I have to be mocked for wanting an explanation? Celebrities are so “noble,” aren’t they? They rake in millions in minutes, and we are just “leeks” to be harvested! It’s truly heartbreaking!

The post included photos of rotten oranges, screenshots of a Weibo DM conversation with Cheng Yixin, and screenshots of complaints from her fan community. In the DM screenshot, the OP’s avatar was blurred, while “Cheng Yixin’s” name and avatar were clearly visible on the left. The OP had sent a photo of the fruit complaining about the quality and size. “Cheng Yixin” replied with only one sentence: If you think they’re small, buy the large ones.

“???!!” Cheng Yixin’s eyes widened, nearly jumping off her sofa. “Are they sick?! I’ve been dying of exhaustion these past few days, I haven’t had time to look at Weibo! Besides, how could I ever say that!”

“I know it wasn’t you. If you’d received a complaint like that, you would have told me immediately,” Li Wenjing said. “I had professionals compare the images; that DM screenshot is photoshopped.”

“And then?! What do they want?!” Yixin reached for her phone to check Weibo, but it was too late for Li Wenjing to stop her. She had hundreds of comment notifications and countless unread DMs. As she tried to see who sent the post, she was met with a wall of vile insults.

Because the incident started on an anonymous forum, it had already reached a fever pitch by the time PR teams noticed. Countless “justice warriors” from the forum swarmed her Weibo to hurl abuse. Unscrupulous “Big V” accounts chased the trend, using “Cheng Yixin’s Sales Crash” as a talking point, inciting even more people to join the condemnation.

Her agency’s official Weibo immediately issued a detailed statement, admitting to poor product selection and a failure to vet the partner properly. They noted that the orchard owner was unreachable and that Cheng Yixin’s team would refund consumers out of their own pocket. Regarding the fake screenshot, they posted technical details proving it was forged.

But the public no longer cared about the truth of the screenshot or the active refunds. They were swept away by the narrative that Cheng Yixin used “charity” to sell rotten fruit and cheat people for “black-hearted money.” Some marketing accounts even fabricated rumors that she took a 50% commission.

Ignorant netizens cursed her for taking such a high cut even from farmers, calling her a “tainted artist” who should be banned from the industry.

In the time Yixin was offline, the agency had issued two statements. The first explained the situation. The second informed the public that Cheng Yixin received zero fees for the stream, denying the 50% cut. It confirmed that the farmer, “Liu Min,” had disappeared, making this a premeditated act of fraud involving over a million yuan. Her team had already reported it to the police.

Liu Min was unreachable on WeChat. Li Wenjing sent people to the hospital, only to find his father had been discharged and their whereabouts were unknown. They went to the orchard, only to discover it didn’t belong to Liu Min at all! The “friend of Liu Min’s father” who had shown them around was the actual owner. Someone had approached the owner, claiming they wanted to do business but lacked a venue, and paid him to host the “inspectors.” The owner, thinking it was easy money with no loss to him, agreed.

Despite the police opening an investigation, netizens chose to ignore it and continued their assault.

@JustDontWantToWork: High commissions under the guise of charity—shouldn’t the tax department look into this? 50%, you really dared to take that! Now it seems the boss running away is a blessing for the people. I support giving this black-hearted Cheng Yixin a lesson she’ll never forget! Ban her!

@LKKsHeartTreasure: You didn’t say you were scammed when you were making money, only when things crashed? How pathetic. Where is Cheng Yixin? Why hasn’t she come out to take her beating? Can you even sleep at night earning this kind of money? If you’re this vile, why don’t you just go die?

@YuyusDimpleV: No good deeds in life, now the karma is coming back! I hope to see her retirement notice tomorrow. People like this only lower the standards for celebrities! Disgusting! Die!

“Yixin, stop looking.” Li Wenjing watched her scrolling through her comment section. Some comments were so low-class they showcased the worst of humanity. Li Wenjing didn’t dare look further, fearing she’d want to hunt these people down through the internet.

But Cheng Yixin kept scrolling for several minutes, her face expressionless.

“Don’t worry about those comments. Once the police find Liu Min, everything will be clear.”

Yixin put down her phone and took a very long, slow breath, trying to release the tension in her chest. But a wave of nausea hit her, and her hands began to tremble. She swallowed her grievances.

“It’s not like being cursed at is new to me,” she said. “My conscience is clear. Let them curse; they are cursing a ‘Cheng Yixin’ who earns dirty money, not me.” But the sheer volume and vileness this time was unprecedented. “Alright, you guys go back and rest. I want to be alone for a bit.”

“We’re worried,” Li Wenjing said. “Take this week to rest. I’ll handle everything. Treat it like a small vacation. In a week, I want to see you back at full strength.”

“Of course,” Yixin smiled. “I knew what I was getting into when I entered this industry. Once they’ve had their fun cursing me, it’ll pass.”

Yixin saw them out and closed the door. She stood there, gripping the handle tight. She heard a voice outside—it was Chi Yi. “Is Yixin back?”

“Just arrived.” “How is her mood?” “Stay with her.”

A few seconds later, the doorbell rang. Chi Yi was outside. After two rings with no response, Chi Yi began to enter her passcode. Cheng Yixin instinctively engaged the deadbolt from the inside. The passcode was correct, but the door didn’t open.

“…Yixin? Are you in there?”

It was Chi Yi. She hadn’t heard her voice in person for days. Hearing it now, the grievances she had suppressed came rushing back.

“I am,” she said, her voice shaking. She bit her lip hard. “I want to be alone for a while.”

“This isn’t your fault. The internet culture right now is what’s sick.”

“I know,” Yixin said. “I know. I’m not that fragile, don’t worry. I just want some space. Come back when I’m in a better mood.”

“But—” “Trust me, Chi Yi.”

The person outside faltered, slowly letting go of the handle. “Then… later, if I call you, will you pick up?” “I will.”

With that promise, Chi Yi reluctantly left, her head hanging low like a dejected little deer.

Cheng Yixin stood in the entryway, breathing deeply until she forced her emotions down. She walked back to the sofa and sat in a daze. When she closed her eyes, the insults replayed in her head like a soundtrack.

“It’ll pass, it’ll pass. Don’t listen to them… I’m not wrong, I’m not wrong…” She tried to brainwash herself, but it did little good. Her back, usually straight, was slightly hunched as she moved toward the yard. She pulled back the white curtains, but the sunlight felt strange, and the world seemed to spin. Standing in the sun, her limbs felt icy cold.

It felt as if thousands of eyes were watching her, reaching out to drag her into a dark abyss, screaming: Go die! Why are you still alive! Get out of the industry! You don’t deserve to be human!

Her stomach churned. A sudden wave of nausea sent her sprinting to the bathroom, where she gagged over the toilet until her eyes were red, though nothing came up.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” She looked at herself in the mirror and forced a perfect smile.

She returned to the living room and pulled the heavy blackout curtains shut, plunging the room into darkness. She curled into a ball on the sofa.

Ding—

A notification from a “Special Follow” on Weibo: Cheng Yixin Fan Support Club.

Are they announcing they’re leaving the fandom?

Her throat went dry; her heart hammered against her ribs. she was terrified to look, afraid of seeing the same words those strangers had used. But she desperately wanted to see it—these were fans who had supported her since she was a “nobody,” some of them like old friends. Would they believe her?

Her fingertips trembled as she picked up her phone. It was a private message from the Support Club admin—a very long paragraph.

“Yixin, don’t look at the things online and don’t overthink. We all believe you aren’t that kind of person. I told you before, I never followed celebrities until I saw you at the airport one day. You looked so beautiful, your smile was so sweet, and you gave off such a warm, sunny feeling.

That was what I aspired to be, so I slowly began to learn about you. Even though people online say all sorts of things, they’ve never known you. They just use their own imagination to release malice and vent their own frustrations.

So, don’t care about others. You just happened to be the unlucky one this time.

You are you, and no matter what, we will all support you.

Treat this time as a small vacation. Rest well. We will wait for you, and we believe in you.”

Without warning, two lines of tears fell down Cheng Yixin’s face. She wanted to hate everyone equally. But among them, there were still those who brought her warmth and kindness.