Reborn as Mr.CEO's Fat Wife-Chapter 907: Is It Luck or Concealed Talent?

Mary Scott came back, looked at the ice hole as big as a fist on their side, then glanced at Adam Piers’ basin-sized ice hole, and immediately felt like retreating into her shell.

To make matters worse, Duke Blue shot her an apologetic look. "Sorry, Mary. It’s my fault for not being strong enough. I’ll keep chiseling."

After saying that, Duke Blue picked up the ice chisel and exerted effort again, putting on a show for the camera in a way that was... well, frankly, angelic bitch-level behavior.

Mary Scott felt utterly disgusted and picked up another ice chisel to join in. Another ten minutes passed, and even James Jerome’s team broke into cheers—it seemed they had caught a fish.

But their hole was still only fist-sized, which was slightly easier due to the way the opening had been chiseled, but that was the extent of it—they couldn’t compare to the other two teams. Yet Mary Scott put down her chisel and looked at Duke Blue. "This size is fine. Let’s start fishing."

"This won’t work, right?" Duke Blue stared at the small ice hole, unable to figure out how to lower a net. But Mary Scott nodded at him.

Duke Blue was still skeptical when he saw Mary Scott walk over quickly, grab a fishing rod, and, somehow, even casually pull over two little stools. She plopped herself onto one with her butt. Duke Blue watched her posture and hesitated, asking uncertainly, "You’re going to fish?"

Mary Scott nodded. "Yes."

"What? Did you forget that Mr. Louise just said to use nets? How are you going to fish with this? And we need to compete! Please don’t be so willful, Mary." Duke Blue appeared to gently persuade her, but he knew full well the impact of his words on the fans, and the negative blowback would directly land on Mary Scott. When that happened, the backlash wouldn’t be limited to just verbal abuse.

And when she eventually needed him to clarify things, she’d inevitably have to ask for his help.

Duke Blue thought about pressing Mary Scott underfoot, his eyes burning with a twisted excitement. However, the distance between them wasn’t too far, and Mary Scott could clearly see the subtle emotions flickering in his eyes. She squelched her revulsion and calmly analyzed aloud, "Our ice hole is significantly smaller than Adam Piers’ and James Jerome’s. Using a net would be challenging, and whether we catch fish or not is a whole other matter. Why not try fishing with a rod? The results might surprise us."

"Why don’t we chisel the hole bigger?" Duke Blue’s greasy face bore a façade of sincere suggestion.

Mary Scott glanced at him. "The other two teams have already caught fish. At our current chiseling speed, by the time the hole’s big enough, we’d probably have lost the match. Might as well try fishing rods—I’m actually decent at fishing."

She took the fishing rod and bait she’d prepared beforehand and got to work, while Duke Blue stood there with a helpless look.

The livestream audience went wild.

Most of them were Duke Blue’s fans combined with passersby gawking at the drama, and they flooded the comments with profanity aimed at Mary Scott for insisting on her wayward idea, while Duke Blue played up his innocent and aggrieved image.

"Fuck, I don’t want to do it anymore. What’s up with this woman? She slacks off, making their ice hole smaller than the other teams’, and now she has the audacity to complain? What a piece of trash!"

"How does she manage to have zero shame? Total angelic bitch behavior!"

"Is she insane, trying to use a rod to fish? She thinks she’s better than Mr. Louise?"

"Exactly! While the other teams use nets, she’s trying a rod. Is this some kind of cosmic joke?"

"Angelic bitch dragging down Young Master Duke—I’m ready to throw down!"

"Ahhh, if Young Master Duke loses, it’s totally her fault!"

"I have no clue what punishment awaits the losing team, but I feel unworthy of Duke. Please, let this green tea angel get out of ’Wilderness’ for good."

"Suddenly, my opinion of Director Locke went downhill. Marrying someone this shady—it doesn’t bode well."

"Did anyone notice she prepared that rod ahead of time? So she already knew she’d drag the team down and prepared her own excuse? Confirmed schemer!"

"I’m just gonna focus on Master Piers to cleanse my eyes."

"Ugh, I came for Young Master Duke but ended up a fan of Master Piers. Anyone else feel the same way?"

"+1!"

"..."

The discussion in the livestream got more and more heated. Apart from the vicious verbal war triggered by Mary Scott and Duke Blue’s team, Adam Piers gained the most followers. Some fans also adored sweet Zoe Thatcher, while others found James Jerome’s witty banter amusing. Even Stella Murray garnered substantial praise.

Mary Scott alone stood as a conspicuous outlier, soaking up all the negative comments and bad vibes directed at the entire show.

Simon Baker glanced at the vitriolic comments hurled at Mary Scott in the livestream and then at the figure bundled in a sheepskin coat, calmly getting ready to fish on the ice. He suddenly felt a pang of guilt—would Director Locke slaughter him when he saw this?

"Director Baker, are we really just going to let them keep trashing her like this?" Assistant Director Ernest couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

Simon Baker felt guilty but, seeing the skyrocketing livestream popularity, he thought of finally having a promising career moment. "Let’s leave it for now. Only when the abuse has reached its peak, and we reveal the truth later, can we reverse it dramatically and have everyone regret what they said to Miss Scott."

"But the show won’t air for another five days..."

Meaning that Mary Scott would endure five whole days of verbal abuse.

Five days might not sound long, but being subjected to the cruelest invectives imaginable by hundreds of thousands, even millions, of people for that length of time is a different story. Assistant Director Ernest shivered involuntarily.

Simon Baker understood more than well how cyber violence could break someone, but having come this far, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and press on. "Keep going."

"Alright then." Assistant Director Ernest reluctantly agreed but couldn’t help casting his attention toward the camera focused on Mary Scott.

By now, Mary Scott had baited the hook, huddled like a quail on the little stool, staring at her fishing rod intently. Duke Blue watched her with a sneer, curious how long she intended to keep pretending. Seriously, as if she’d catch a fish!

"Young Master Duke, could you move? You’re casting a shadow over the ice hole!" Mary Scott politely reminded him upon noticing the dark shade.

Duke Blue felt annoyed but adjusted his position for the camera, feigning concern. "Mary, should I chisel another ice hole nearby? Two holes might make fishing faster."

Despite his offer, Duke Blue made no move to act on it, clearly intending to stir up more hate against Mary Scott.

Mary had experienced several rounds of this guy’s duplicitous tactics today and knew he was purposely agitating his fans to attack her. She smiled warmly at him. "Sure, that’d be great, Young Master Duke."

Not even planning to take action himself, Duke Blue froze, speechless. "..."

He expected Mary to politely decline. Her unabashed agreement caught him completely off guard, leaving his expression slightly contorted.

Mary Scott burst into laughter internally but maintained a look of innocent curiosity. "Is there some problem, Young Master Duke?"

"No problem." His earlier remark had been said clearly for the camera, meaning the livestream audience had already heard it. If he refused now, he’d be damaging his image. Reluctantly, he swallowed his irritation and awkwardly replied before grudgingly grabbing the ice chisel.

Mary called out behind him cheerfully, "Just make sure to chisel a bit further away—don’t scare off the fish here!"

Duke Blue, "..."

Seething inwardly, Duke Blue forced a smile and quipped sarcastically, "Of course! Otherwise, if you don’t catch anything, you might blame me."

"Don’t worry, I’ll catch something." Mary confidently reassured him.

Duke Blue laughed nervously, while his fans in the livestream relentlessly bashed Mary Scott. The sight of her casually ordering Duke Blue to keep chiseling enraged everyone all the more. They felt nothing but sympathy for the poor Duke.

"I bet she won’t even catch a single fish!"

"If she does, I’ll livestream myself eating shit!"

"If this angelic bitch manages to catch a fish, I’ll ascend to godhood..."

Comments swarmed with mockery. As viewers accused Mary Scott of putting on a laughable display, even the show’s staff doubted her chances and nervously anticipated a dramatic moment. But suddenly, Mary’s entire demeanor changed—she tightened her grip on the fishing line and started reeling it in sharply.

Everyone present, and viewers at home, instinctively held their breath. They watched as Mary abruptly stood, yanked the rod upward, and a lively, wriggling fish appeared on the ice.

She... caught one?

Everyone paused for a moment, stunned. The camera operator recovered first, quickly zooming in on the fish flopping on the ice. It was unmistakably alive, fresh, and cold from the icy water, with the hook still lodged in its mouth. She really had caught it!

For a split second, the comment section went dead silent—many who had made bold bets felt their faces stinging, particularly the person claiming they’d eat shit.

Of course, someone couldn’t resist piping up hesitantly, "Um, is the guy who said he’d stream themselves eating shit still around?"

The comment section exploded in roaring laughter.

On-screen, Mary Scott, a beat slower than the camera operator, rushed to the fish, removed the hook, and cheerfully plopped it into the bucket she had prepared. She promptly rebaited her rod.

After laughing their hearts out, viewers resumed mocking her, brushing off her feat as pure luck.

"Obviously just a lucky fluke. Does she really think she caught it herself?"

"No kidding—just a stroke of luck. If fishing rods were reliable, why wouldn’t Mr. Louise teach everyone to use them?"

"Mistaking luck for skill? That kind of life always ends up as a joke."

Another round of ridicule poured in. Even Duke Blue, after his initial shock, realized Mary’s catch was likely a coincidence. Otherwise, why wouldn’t the other teams opt for rods?

Adam Piers’ and James Jerome’s teams didn’t stoop to the level of vitriolic viewers but still weren’t optimistic about Mary Scott’s unconventional approach. Fishing nets were obviously faster, and by now, Adam Piers’ team had captured six fish while James Jerome and Zoe Thatcher’s team trailed slightly behind with three—still far ahead of Mary’s lone catch.

Mary Scott, meanwhile, paid no heed to these comparisons. In her younger days, she’d spent time in a small fishing village near Earlbind when her mother had abandoned her there, often accompanying her grandfather to fish. Naturally quiet and patient, the only skill she had picked up during that period was fishing expertise, which she had diligently honed under her grandfather’s guidance. This experience was why she had come to Earlbind so thoroughly prepared.

Initially, she had worried about losing her touch after so many years, but her success bolstered her confidence. With renewed focus, she eyed her fishing rod with intense concentration.

One minute later, the rod twitched again. Mary pulled it back steadily—another fish.

The site buzzed with astonishment, but in the livestream, the audience who were mocking her were momentarily stumped. Could pure luck really strike twice?

Mary soon reeled in a third fish, then a fourth, and a fifth...

Duke Blue clutched the ice chisel, visibly irritated as all attention shifted to Mary. His movements became increasingly careless, neglecting the fact that a camera was trained on him, documenting every action.

"Mary, you’re amazing! Watching you has made my hands itch to try it!" Zoe Thatcher ran over from her team’s side, excitement sparkling in her eyes.

"Should we give it a shot?" James Jerome also wandered close, eyeing Mary’s growing bucket of fish with a competitive edge.

"I’m getting a fishing rod!" Zoe Thatcher cried, darting off to ask the crew.

The crew’s cunning emerged at that moment. "You can get a rod, but you’ll have to trade fish for it."

"Huh? Why?" Zoe blinked in confusion.

A staff member smiled slyly, unveiling a signboard for the livestream. The audience saw that each team was allowed only one fishing tool and had to exchange their catches to obtain a second.

The price? Five fish per trade.

Zoe Thatcher glanced at the staff in grievance before turning to James Jerome with puppy-dog eyes. "Uncle Foster, should we exchange?"

James Jerome studied their bucket of six fish and then Mary’s now-overflowing container. Weighing his options, and thinking about how nets became increasingly inefficient as time wore on, he grit his teeth. "Exchange!"

Zoe turned pitifully to the bucket before glaring at the mischievous director holding the signboard. Watching one fish after another being scooped out for the exchange, both she and James Jerome clutched their chests in righteous agony.

"Director Baker, you have officially become my mortal enemy starting today!" James Jerome declared, pointing a dramatic finger.

"And mine too!" Zoe chimed in agreeably.

Simon Baker chuckled. "Wishing the two of you great success!"

James Jerome and Zoe, "..." Why did Simon’s cheer feel more like a curse?

Unfazed by their antics, Simon turned to Adam Piers and Stella Murray. "What about you two? Five fish for a set of fishing rods—quite worth it."

Stella eyed the other groups’ buckets and then Mary Scott’s swiftly overtaking count, tempted. "Should we trade?" she asked Adam.

"I’m not good at fishing. Do you know how?" Adam Piers countered politely.

Stella hesitated. "Is fishing even that hard?"

Adam gave her a long look, then turned back to Simon Baker. "We won’t trade."

Meanwhile, Zoe Thatcher gazed forlornly at James Jerome. "Uncle Foster, does fishing need skill?"

"How would I know? We’ve never done it either!" James Jerome threw up his hands.

Zoe blinked in slack-jawed disbelief, then slowly turned toward Mary Scott, who was currently tossing her latest catch into the bucket. So... was fishing a skill-dependent activity? And the audience was just as curious whether Mary was lucky or secretly talented!

"Should we fish?" James Jerome asked after a moment’s thought.

"I guess we should," Zoe replied hesitantly.

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