The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 60: My Mom Thinks You’re Making This Up Too Poorly

Xiao Li was intimidated by Mother Jiang’s look of someone ready to fight tooth and nail, but a streak of melodramatic teenage passion lived in her bones.

She nodded immediately, as if accepting a noble and arduous mission.

“Auntie, you tell me what to type!”

With Xiao Li’s help, Mother Jiang’s first long Weibo post began to take shape.

She didn’t roar in anger, nor did she launch into vehement denials.

She simply, in the warm, everyday tone of a parent recounting their child’s embarrassing moments, slowly told a completely different story.

“Hello everyone, I’m Jiang Ci’s mother. I’ve seen a lot of things online about my son, and there are some words I’d like to say.”

“When he was little he was mischievous, he wasn’t some silent, sullen kid. To get him to eat more vegetables his dad would chase him three blocks with a feather duster.”

“He also had no musical talent. To buy a game console he secretly saved up his allowance for half a year, eating the cheapest white steamed buns every day. I found out, gave him a beating, and confiscated the money.”

“The first time he brought home a ‘Three Good Student’ certificate he was so proud his tail was practically in the air. He insisted I put the certificate in the most conspicuous place at home and would point it out whenever guests came.”

Every word carried the warmth and mundane texture of daily life.

Those trivial, slightly silly details were things no PR copy could invent; they were saturated with an undeniable authenticity.

At the end of the Weibo post, Mother Jiang had Xiao Li attach a photo she’d taken from an old album.

The photo was a little yellowed with age.

A boy with a crew cut and sun-darkened skin, wearing a blue-and-white school tracksuit faded from many washes, grinned foolishly at the camera.

Cradled in his arms was a large red certificate with the four clear characters “Three Good Student.”

The boy’s smile was dazzlingly simple, as if he owned the whole world.

That face faintly echoed the contours of the man he had become, but the temperament was worlds apart.

One was a cold, fragile moon in the sky.

The other was a freshly dug, earth-scented... big sweet potato.

At the end of the Weibo, Mother Jiang wrote earnestly:

“He is my son, not the poor person you wrote about. He’s fine, well fed and warmly clothed. He has teachers and classmates looking after him at school, and seniors who care for him on set. Please stop making up those stories. Thank you, everyone.”

When that Weibo went out, it was like a drop of water into the sea, initially causing no ripples.

But the internet never lacks users wielding magnifiers and ready to surf for spectacle.

Minutes later, a fan who had been camped under the #JiangCi’sTragicWorld hashtag stumbled upon this oddly toned Weibo.

She froze for three seconds.

Then, when her eyes landed on that “two-hundred-pound fool” level radiant smile,

“Pwahahahahaha!”

She burst into earth-shaking laughter.

Trembling, she took a screenshot, reposted the Weibo, and added a line of text.

“Sorry, I know I should feel sorry for brother right now, but... but I can’t help it with this photo hahahaha! What raw, real-life gold is this?!”

That repost instantly churned up a thousand-layered wave.

“No way! Is that really Jiang Ci?!”

“Hahahahahaha oh my god! That dark skin! That honest smile! That down-to-earth crew cut! My Broken Feeling idol filter just shattered!”

“I declare this photo my happiness source today! Isn’t this better than those melodramatic primetime dramas?!”

“Auntie! Auntie, post more! We want to see! We truly love Brother Jiang (black history)!”

The comment section’s tone flipped at an astonishing speed, from “sob sob brother is so pitiful” to “hahahaha auntie did great.”

The #JiangCi’sTragicWorld tag stayed on trending, but when people tapped in it had become a giant funny-photo viewing party.

The carefully crafted image that a marketing account had built — a lonely, tragic genius abandoned by the world — was smashed to pieces in front of a plain, unpretentious old photo posted by his real mother.

Fans didn’t abandon him; on the contrary, this huge contrast only strengthened their cohesion through sheer adorableness.

Amid the ocean of “hahaha” in the comments, a verified Gold V user’s comment was automatically floated to the top by the system.

The ID was: Su Qingying.

Her comment was extremely simple, only two words and a tiny flower.

“Hello Auntie. [Rose]”

Su Qingying’s comment sent Mother Jiang’s Weibo soaring even higher.

“What the—? Did I just see that? Su Qingying?!”

“It’s her in person! Gold V verified! She actually commented on Jiang Ci’s mother’s post!”

“‘Hello Auntie’? [Rose]? That tone... this doesn’t sound like a senior talking to a junior’s mother, this sounds like a daughter-in-law meeting her future mother-in-law!”

“Calm down upstairs! But... I kind of agree!”

“I’m losing my mind, I really am. So those likes from Gu Huai and Su Qingying earlier weren’t capital backing, they were... family support?!”

The term #JiangCiMom’sWeibo# was followed by a huge purple-red “EXPLODE” mark.

It bulldozed its way to number one on the trending list.

The once glamorous #JiangCi’sTragicWorld# was nailed to the pillar of shame.

If you clicked it now there was no sadness or tears.

Only a massive public roasting.

Under the ten-thousand-word exposé posted by the “Senior Industry Melon Farmer,” the comment section had completely caved in. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

The tone was unified.

“We demand retribution!”

“@Senior Industry Melon Farmer, come out and take a beating!”

“Before you made up that story, didn’t you think the real person’s mother might step in?!”

In a dim, shabby rented room,

the “Senior Industry Melon Farmer” himself was trembling.

His phone buzzed nonstop.

Watching his follower count plunge and the private messages overflowing with 99+ greetings, his vision darkened and he nearly collapsed.

He only wanted to ride a wave of attention!

In Spark Media’s CEO office,

Lin Wan and her PR team still held the taut posture of soldiers on the eve of battle.

The table was strewn with contingency plans.

“Plan A: steer public opinion, emphasize art comes from life but transcends life.”

“Plan B: contact the platform, demand takedown on grounds of false information harming reputation.”

“Plan C: issue an official refutation, attach Jiang Ci’s lifelong awards to present the upright, academically excellent route.”

Yet now,

all those plans, the product of countless brain cells, were scrap paper.

The PR director stared at his phone with his mouth forming a perfect “O.”

“Wan... Sister Wan...”

His voice trembled like a dream.

“We... we won?”

Lin Wan didn’t speak.

She just quietly stared at the phone screen,

at that rustic-as-can-be “Three Good Student” photo,

and Su Qingying’s loaded little comment.

The absurd trending topic #JiangCiMom’sWeibo#.

A small-town aunt from a thousand miles away, with an old boxed-away photo and a few plain, heartfelt words,

had turned an incoming tidal wave of negative press into a nationwide comedic carnival.

The corner of Lin Wan’s mouth twitched slowly.

For the first time she realized:

the world’s top-tier PR skill wasn’t quoting classics, lawyer warnings, or paid comment manipulation.

It was — “My mom thinks your story doesn’t ring true.”