Ashley came prepared, having done her homework beforehand.
The top-selling local newspapers were the Source Morning Post, The World, and the Explorer.
Fountain News, on the other hand, wasn’t well-known, with each issue printing only a few hundred copies.
Logically speaking, a small paper like theirs had no business interviewing a case as controversial, hotly debated, and sensational as this one.
Yet the Dunlop mother and daughter had somehow secured the interview rights.
This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for the little paper to turn things around—possibly the only one they’d ever get.
Because once they latched onto a massive story and sold a blockbuster issue, they could attract investors. With funding, they could hire top columnists, cartoonists, and well-connected veteran reporters, buy exclusive poems from renowned writers worth a fortune per character, and run serialized novels. That could catapult them into the big leagues.
Ashley understood it all too well—these two reporters were man-eaters, ravenous and feral, their eyes gleaming green with hunger, ready to devour her and Flora alive, chew them over in their mouths, and squeeze out every last drop of news value.
Ashley felt utterly pissed off. These vultures were feeding off her and Flora’s misfortune, twisting and fabricating their stories into sensational, eye-grabbing mental junk food to sell to society at large, turning their suffering into idle chit-chat over tea and earning money, status, and fame in the process…
The interview began. The daughter chattered nonstop, while the mother asked few questions. She rested her notebook on her plump thighs, gripping a steel pen tightly as fluid words flowed from its tip. Occasionally, she’d pause to rub her temples, her face showing signs of exhaustion.
Beside her, Chloe stared at Flora with eyes curved into crescent moons from her grin, camera at the ready, thumb caressing the shutter like she might “pull the trigger” at any moment and blast out a blinding flash.
Flora squinted in fear and half-turned away from the lens.
“Lean on me,” Ashley said.
She formed a small, safe haven with her arm and chest, letting Flora bury her face there.
Then, she faced them squarely and asked calmly, “Are you planning to use that flash on my eyes?”
Ashley’s pupils were wide as full moons, staring fearlessly at the lens, radiating an aura of unassailable dignity.
This mental force cowed Chloe; her finger tensed several times but never pressed down.
Shishi’s so awesome…
Flora buried her little head in the warm, cozy space like an ostrich, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Ashley’s chest. A faint, alluring fragrance wafted at her nose, rising through her nostrils with each breath, blooming in her brain and bringing immense satisfaction.
She sipped it in carefully, as discreetly as possible, not wanting Ashley to notice this shameful “perverted” behavior.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?”
Ashley suddenly leaned down and teased.
The little ostrich in her arms was breathing hotter and hotter—how could she not notice?
“Wu…”
Flora shuddered, too scared to breathe. She froze with her face buried, her uncovered little ears burning red-hot, betraying her panic and embarrassment.
Ashley reached out and pinched her earlobe, kneading it playfully, her fingers twirling the soft hair draped over Flora’s shoulder like she was toying with a cat.
Unlike her resounding words and icy-sharp presence, Ashley’s chest was flat and meager.
Flora used her face and hands like calipers to measure it—barely ten centimeters across, so skinny it was heartbreaking.
“Ew, hugging and petting each other… so gross…”
Chloe’s eyes flickered, unsure if it was jealousy or disgust burning inside her, leaving her irritable and restless.
“It’s the love between friends.”
Ashley’s tone was deep and measured. She tilted her head to rest against Flora’s, forming a beautiful, harmonious picture.
“Friends? Dorothy’s friends!” Chloe gritted her little teeth.
“Friends of Dorothy” was code for “too close for comfort.”
Ashley said nothing, neither confirming nor denying.
“Tch-tch-tch, no wonder you two teamed up to murder someone. Your perverted minds and twisted orientations match perfectly for killing! That’s how I’ll write the report—they’re as warped and freakish in personality and sexuality as they are in love, watered with souls and blood to bloom a beautiful, evil flower…”
The words got to Ashley too—no wonder Flora had broken down from this crap.
Snap!
Chloe suddenly hit the shutter.
In an instant, Ashley’s vision went white, dizziness swirling in her skull, ears ringing. Her only thought: Damn, that’s bright…
But before her sight fully blurred, she noticed something odd—something alive in Chloe’s pocket had twitched at the shutter sound.
The entire interview was pure agony. Ashley saw through it: this awful reporter loli wasn’t interviewing; she was fabricating a bestseller, using her news-spreading power to warp facts and build an information cocoon.
A sense of powerlessness welled up in Ashley.
In a world with backward media tech, radio and papers held absolute discourse power.
She couldn’t clarify things online like in her past life, nipping the fallout in the bud.
She’d have to wait for the story to explode, then issue a rebuttal in another paper. But once the masses had their fill of the drama, who cared about the truth?
…
The interview ended, and Chloe’s little head brimmed with stories, inspiration flowing like a fountain. She itched to grab a quill and scribble furiously.
She let out her tch-tch-tch laugh while eyeing the huddled lolis with malicious glee, her little tongue darting over her lips, savoring the aftertaste.
“Sure, we’re all lolis, but I’m a genius loli! I’ll become a legendary reporter, then go into politics or finance. Meeting a brilliant star like me is the highlight of your dull, empty lives! Worship me as your idol!”
With that, she helped the woman to her feet and left.
“I’m so useless, hiding in your arms the whole time,” Flora said dejectedly.
“It’s fine. No response is the best response,” Ashley comforted her.
–
In the next room, Chloe poured her mother a cup of warm water, setting a folded paper packet of medicine on the table.
Charlotte slowly unfolded the packet with her fingers, stirring the powder into the water before downing it with a grimace.
Chloe pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped her mother’s mouth.
Seeing her mother’s sickly face ignited rage in the loli’s heart—all because of that heartless bastard who’d abandoned them for the daughter of media mogul, financier, and investor Dulles Woolf. Overnight, he’d skyrocketed, entering high society and parachuting into The World—one of the top three papers—as editor-in-chief.
She vowed to revive the paper, make Fountain News a household name, and slap that guy’s face hard.
Then earn a fortune to hire Union City’s best doctor for her mom. Once cured, they’d move to the famous hot spring city of Tixiang for recovery.
To that end, Chloe would stop at nothing. From the dark underbelly of the lower city, seedy bars teeming with riffraff, theater backstages, to political salons behind the scenes—you name it, she was there.
For a big scoop, she’d do anything vile: sell her soul to the devil, bribe, frame, incite, provoke… whatever it took.
Her writing was still a bit raw, but Chloe’s talent shone, polished by her editor-mother’s guidance. She improved rapidly.
Her editorials were sharp and ruthless, accessible and punchy, hammering the eye-catching bits. She loved ending with a tantalizing hint, sparking suspicion and conspiracy theories.
Soon, Chloe made waves in journalism but turned down fat offers from big papers, dead set on taking down her father’s The World.
“Mom, go rest. I’ll book Dr. Zimmerman for a house call. I can handle the afternoon interview alone.”
The woman nodded silently, reaching out to straighten Chloe’s collar, her gaze tinged with worry.
Chloe turned and left, eyes narrowed to slits hiding cunning malice. Her next stop: a new restaurant. She’d brought an opening gift—a rat!
“These places always pull tech tricks later, pumping customers full of junk that fools the taste buds. Better they flop from the start and give me a huge story. Headline’s ready: ‘New dining trend sweeps the scene—grand opening, instant shutdown!'”
If Mom were here, she’d stop her—this was straight-up crime. But alone, Chloe was a wild horse off the reins, unstoppable.
She exited the complex, rousing the paper’s driver napping under a newspaper for shade, then boarded the rickety compact carriage.
The lanterns hanging from its corners swayed on copper chains, clinking. The Steam-Snout Horse pulling it snorted white mist from its tapir-like stubby nostrils, its broad hooves padding silently over the ground. Half an hour later, they arrived at a restaurant draped in red ribbons, ready for the ribbon-cutting.
The scene buzzed with pomp: local celebs invited, followed by food critics and VIPs strolling the red carpet into the restaurant to sample the fare.
Chloe was on the guest list. She patted the rat in her pocket—the poor thing trapped in a bag with a slipknot. One tug, and it’d scramble free.
“Seeing a big rat scamper across the table—oh, the gentlemen and ladies’ faces will be priceless! Gotta snap those shots. Tch-tch-tch, it’ll be huge news. Compared to this garbage food even dogs won’t touch, a live rat will grab way more attention!” Chloe’s eyes curved into involuntary crescents.
