Volume One, Chapter Seven: The Terrifying Deception

Money!

The suitcase was filled entirely with cash.

Bundles of one hundred thousand each.

Stacked on the table like little mounds of earth, impossible for anyone who saw them to look away.

“What is all this for?” I asked Max, genuinely curious, as I was a complete novice to this world.

He looked excited, his eyes shining.

“It’s payday. Salaries are paid around the 15th of every month.”

“That much?”

I instinctively drew a sharp breath.

Max scoffed disdainfully. “That’s nothing. Last month we paid out over six hundred bundles in total. This time it’s probably just over three hundred. The more people in this line of work, the lower the profits. I heard last year it was eight or nine hundred bundles every month.”

Just thinking about it was terrifying.

I had made a mental calculation: if the staff commission averaged ten percent, paying out three million means total revenue was likely over thirty million. And that was just one company. I’d heard there were many such companies in Mengbo. It was unimaginable how many people were caught in this trap.

Earlier, watching the scripts and procedures—packaging identities to add people and chat, slowly luring them into playing lottery games—I had thought surely people weren’t that gullible these days, that no one would easily be fooled into investing their hard-earned savings into a lottery game.

Now it seemed I had overcomplicated things. In reality, there really were people that foolish.

Along with several other operators, A Long took the payroll and went to collect their wages.

Soon, he returned carrying more than three bundles of cash.

“Old Ma, you made over fifteen bundles last month. After deducting the fifteen percent kickback, you’re left with a bit over twelve. I rounded it up to thirteen for you—take it.”

Old Ma smiled cheerfully as he took the cash from A Long and returned to his seat.

The others gradually received their wages too. Depending on their performance, some earned more, some less, but even the lowest took home over twenty thousand.

Watching this scene, I felt a deep envy. For someone new here, it was a huge shock.

Before coming, A Long had told me one could earn tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands a month. At the time, I suspected he might be exaggerating.

But now, the facts proved that if you were willing to work hard and be ruthless, making money was not difficult at all.

After the wages were handed out, A Long nodded toward me and said, “See? I didn’t lie. If you’re willing to work, you’ll make money fast.”

“Don’t overthink it. We’re brothers here, and I want to help you. Work hard for two months, like Old Ma, make two or three hundred thousand, that’ll be enough for you to pay your debts. When you want to go back, I won’t stop you. How does that sound?”

The allure of money is hard for most to resist; it's easy to lose oneself. I was no different.

Seeing someone earn tens of thousands in a month, my mind narrowed down to one thought: get the money—damn conscience and danger.

Afterward, I began seriously planning the packaged identities and understanding the specific operational procedures.

The entire process wasn’t complicated: after creating a false identity, log into social media platforms with company-purchased accounts, modify the profile, post updates, and greet people nearby or those who seemed promising. This step was called fishing.

When someone responded, it meant the fish had bitten. Then, an excuse was made to move the conversation to a more commonly used chat app. Since social media accounts were bought and easily banned, switching platforms prevented losing contact.

Afterward, it was like an online romance—building emotional connections.

The script specified that the length of acquaintance dictated the pace of chatting. For instance, the first few days involved casual chats and sharing, then establishing a romantic relationship.

But the casual talk wasn’t aimless; it concealed ulterior motives—probing the other’s background.

This “background” meant checking if they owned a house or car, had savings, or maintained a good credit score, since good credit could lead to loans later.

When all the information was gathered and the relationship deepened, the operator began spinning dreams, painting big pictures: plans to earn enough money, then the two of them opening a shop somewhere and living a small life together.

Such simple dreams easily captivated the other person, especially since A Long and the others targeted men—gay relationships.

These people, marginalized and unaccepted by society, were, according to Max, deeply insecure inside but yearned for the “love” they sought. Escaping the ordinary world to find a quiet place to live was their greatest desire.

Of course, living that life required financial support.

No money? Then you had to make money.

But earning money by working a regular job was clearly unrealistic.

When the timing was right, the operator would introduce the project: a friend knew of a loophole in a lottery website that allowed one to see results in advance, enabling quick profits to live the life they wanted.

Back in 2019, public awareness of scams wasn’t strong in the country, so many people didn’t know the tricks involved.

Thanks to careful emotional grooming, the person on the other end—called the “pig”—had almost no doubts.

To convince the pig the system’s loophole was real, the operator wouldn’t ask them to invest much at first. Instead, they’d top up just five hundred on the site and reveal the results in advance.

After using five hundred to make another five hundred, the operator would prompt the pig to withdraw, proving the site’s legitimacy.

After this series of actions, all suspicion and caution would vanish. Then, the operator would brainwash the pig, warning that this method couldn’t be used often or the site would detect and close the loophole. To make a big profit, they had to invest heavily just once.

The higher the principal, the greater the gains.

Already trapped by the romance, the pig would be persuaded by their “boyfriend” to put all their savings into the site.

This process was called “butchering the pig.”

What awaited them was not happiness but an abyss without bottom.

Since it was a scam from the start, the money invested was never coming back, and many pigs, desperate to recover their losses, would throw in even more money, sinking deeper and deeper.

The script stated that once the pig was “slaughtered,” they could be mercilessly discarded.

But I saw that Max still kept someone like that in his phone—a white-collar worker earning just five thousand a month who had been drained of over two hundred thousand.

Even now, he still fantasized about living with the fabricated persona Max had created, constantly sending messages to comfort himself, blaming only himself for the losses, convincing himself the money could be earned again. Max responded only half-heartedly.

I asked Max, “After killing off the pig, don’t you delete them?”

Max said no, because for those who hadn’t woken up yet, deleting them outright would shock them awake and prompt them to report to the police. Keeping them hanging kept the risk low since the funds needed time to be laundered. The longer the delay before reporting, the less chance of funds being recovered.

For those who invested a lot but did wake up, their phones would be handed over to A Long and others, who would smash and burn the devices, erasing all traces.

The entire operation and subsequent handling chilled me to the bone. I couldn’t imagine who had devised such a trap—every step perfectly linked.

At dusk, after work, Max and the others went to the cafeteria with me.

Hungry, I piled my tray high with food, but the taste wasn’t as good as I imagined. After a few bites, I lost my appetite.

Just as I was about to get up and throw it away, Max suddenly grabbed me and glared, saying, “Finish it!”

“Why?” I asked, puzzled.

“Uh…”

Max was about to explain when a scream suddenly came from the doorway.

“If you don’t finish, that’ll be your fate!”