The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 17

Li Rong was someone who valued rituals and ceremony.

Since Song Yuanyuan had insisted on inviting him to her coming-of-age ceremony, he thought it only fitting to rent a formal suit for the occasion.

Yes, rent. It sounded a bit shabby, but while he used to be able to afford one, every penny now had to be carefully accounted for.

“What kind of price range would be appropriate for renting a suit, considering the relationship between me and my girlfriend?” he mused, absentmindedly voicing the thought.

The classroom was filled with the rhythmic sound of pen tips scratching against paper. Even the “financial backer” seated beside him remained silent.

Li Rong glanced sideways at Cen Xiao, taking his time as he hinted, “As my heavenly benefactor and investor, shouldn’t Mr. Cen offer his opinion?”

Cen Xiao, who had grown adept at tuning out any mention of “girlfriend,” nonetheless found himself irritated by Li Rong’s subtle provocations. He unscrewed his water bottle, took a deliberate sip, and coolly retorted, “Is it appropriate to discuss your girlfriend with your investor?”

Li Rong, sharp-tongued as ever, showed no fear. “And isn’t it inappropriate for the investor to attend, knowing full well he’s being sized up as a potential suitor?”

He would never forget the scene from his previous life where Cen Xiao and Song Yuanyuan danced together, looking every bit the perfect pair. A fitting match, even. But how laughable—in the last life, he had Song Yuanyuan’s jealousy. This time, reflecting back, he felt a touch of jealousy from Cen Xiao instead.

Just a little. Enough to spice up an otherwise dull existence.

In the row ahead, Jian Fu couldn’t resist his idle nature. Having secured early admission to a prestigious university, he was free from the pressures of college entrance exams. While others were busy cramming, he often found himself glancing around in boredom, drawing the occasional glare from his classmates.

Spotting Li Rong and Cen Xiao deep in whispered conversation, Jian Fu crouched low and stealthily approached. Timing it just as the biology teacher dozed off at the lectern, he caught the tail end of their exchange and couldn’t help but comment, “You’re seriously going? I’ll be blunt—you won’t win Song Yuanyuan back.”

He placed both paws on Li Rong’s desk, casually swinging Li Rong’s insulated cup back and forth. These words were also directed at Li Rong.

Jian Fu was particularly sharp when it came to relationships between men and women. He could tell that Li Rong didn’t seem to like Song Yuanyuan much anymore.

That was great. Li Rong, the ever-popular, straight-A student who had been surrounded by admirers since childhood, could finally experience the free and single life that he and Cen Xiao enjoyed.

Li Rong nodded in agreement, his expression tinged with a trace of melancholy. “I just can’t swallow this,” he said. “Every time I think about my girlfriend being all lovey-dovey with…” He deliberately paused, glancing sidelong at Cen Xiao. “…her new flame, it makes my chest ache.”

As he spoke, he even placed a hand over his chest, furrowed his brows slightly, and coughed a few times, feigning discomfort.

With his perpetually frail appearance, he was getting quite skilled at pretending to be ill.

“New flame? My Bro Xiao?” Jian Fu’s gaze darted between Li Rong and Cen Xiao. He couldn’t help but conjure an image in his mind. The sheer drama of it all was so absurd yet thrilling that he couldn’t suppress his glee. “Da*mn, now I kind of want to see the show. How about you two throw hands right now?”

Li Rong slowly withdrew his hand from his chest, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “It would be quite a spectacle. But you know, my finances are tight these days, and I’m a bit lacking in confidence standing next to your towering and wealthy Bro Xiao. How about you sponsor my outfit? I’ll even tutor you before the next mock exams.”

Jian Fu, always eager for drama, didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”

Finally, Cen Xiao had heard enough. He shot Jian Fu a frosty glare. “If you’ve got so much free time, go take out the trash at the door.”

Jian Fu looked aggrieved. “D*mn, he’s the one stirring things up. Why aren’t you glaring at him?”

Li Rong lowered his gaze slightly, his eyes falling on the faint scar on the inside of his wrist. He tugged at the corner of his lips, his expression somewhere between a smile and not. “He’s feeling guilty. After all, he resorted to underhanded means to… well.”

Jian Fu protested, “Don’t talk nonsense. My bro didn’t steal Song Yuanyuan.”

Cen Xiao cast a deep look at Li Rong, but Li Rong had no intention of explaining himself, and neither did he.

Li Rong wasn’t just joking about wanting to dress up.

He used to own two custom-made suits, crafted by a designer friend of Gu Nong’s. They were expensive and exceptionally flattering.

But someone on the team that searched his house, likely an expert, had taken those valuable suits.

On Thursday, Li Rong hurriedly rented a suit online. He didn’t have time to try it on, and it probably wouldn’t arrive until the day of the coming-of-age ceremony.

Given his current frail and thin frame, it likely wouldn’t fit perfectly unless it was custom-made.

“I’ll need a haircut too,” he murmured to himself, tugging lightly at the ends of his hair in front of the mirror with a faint frown.

Since waking up from the hospital, he hadn’t had his hair trimmed. He used to be meticulous, getting it styled every month without fail.

Song Yuanyuan’s coming-of-age ceremony would bring together many of his parents’ old acquaintances. He had no intention of appearing as disheveled and defeated as he had in his previous life.

Li Rong found a hair salon with a good reputation and chose the most skilled stylist in the shop.

“What style are you looking for, young man?” asked the female stylist, likely in her thirties, slim, with gray-dyed curly hair and a somewhat punk outfit.

Li Rong took off his coat, revealing a loose white crewneck sweater. While folding his coat and placing it on the sofa, he replied, “I’m attending my girlfriend’s coming-of-age ceremony.”

The stylist raised an eyebrow, her face lighting up with a smile. “Got it. I’ll give you a dashing look so your girlfriend will be completely smitten with you.”

Li Rong chuckled. “Sounds good.”

He sat obediently in the chair while the stylist draped a towel around his neck and snugly fastened the cape over him.

The shop was playing soft, elegant blues music. Warm air flowed from the heater, and the fading sunlight cast a slow-moving glow across the floor, like an orange carpet stretching out.

The stylist skillfully held the comb between her fingers, gently brushing through Li Rong’s hair as she spritzed it with water.

“How old are you?” she asked casually.

Li Rong hesitated for a moment, looking at his reflection in the mirror before softly answering, “Twenty-three.”

Perhaps it was the unfamiliar warmth of the environment that made him feel a fleeting sense of security. He didn’t bother hiding anything.

The stylist paused briefly, glancing at him through the mirror in surprise. “Graduated from college already? You look so young! Have you found a job yet?”

It was light, casual chit-chat—questions anyone might ask, the kind of unimportant details most would be curious about.

For once, Li Rong felt his long-tightened nerves relax slightly.

The world is vast, and people are many. Not everyone is glued to the internet, not everyone knows who Li Qingli and Gu Nong are.

Most people are simply trying to live their own lives, quietly unaware of the undercurrents around them, brimming with hope for the future.

“I’ve found a job,” Li Rong replied.

“Where are you working?”

“At a research institute.”

The scissors clicked rhythmically, strands of hair occasionally slipping off the cape and landing on his face, leaving him slightly itchy.

Scrunching his nose and contorting his cheeks, Li Rong tried to shake the hair off.

The stylist, clearly impressed, commented, “Wow, that’s a great job—a real secure position. Your parents must be so proud. You’ve got the looks, the career, and a girlfriend who’s probably just as amazing. In a few years, you’ll get married, and life will be perfect.”

Li Rong froze mid-motion, no longer shaking his head. He wasn’t sure if it was an eyelash irritating his eye, but he suddenly felt a faint stinging sensation.

He let out a soft laugh and murmured, “…Yeah, it’s pretty great.”

He used to think his life would play out just like that: inheriting his parents’ legacy, making groundbreaking achievements at the Hongsuo Research Institute, and soon surpassing their accomplishments.

Being a devoted person, he wouldn’t have strayed or fallen for anyone else. Perhaps before long, he and Song Yuanyuan would have been married.

Li Qingli and Gu Nong would have been there, of course.

Li Qingli, the scholarly old academic, always had a penchant for lecturing. Even with his good temper, Li Rong would often grow weary of the constant advice.

He tried not to dwell on those nagging, heartfelt words, nor on the intricate, ever-present love that once filled every corner of his life—it would only wound him all over again.

Gu Nong, on the other hand, had a classic self-reflective personality, frequently espousing phrases like “suffering is a blessing” and “good deeds are always rewarded.”

Li Rong wasn’t quite like her. Cool-headed and assertive, he disliked wasting words with people who didn’t share his values, which often gave him an aloof, distant aura. His approach to life was the complete opposite of Gu Nong’s principles.

Yet Gu Nong had never pressured him to change. She believed her child could afford to be willful, didn’t need to please everyone, and shouldn’t have to bow to every rule.

Time had passed, and now he really wished he could give those two parents a piece of advice:

If you’d known things would end this way, maybe next time don’t leave me all alone, okay?

“All done! Your sideburns look great, so I didn’t trim them,” the stylist announced, finishing with a blow dryer to remove the last traces of moisture.

Li Rong raised his eyes to the mirror.

His hair hadn’t been cut much shorter, but it now looked much neater. The stylist had also styled it lightly, giving the soft ends a bit of a wave—layered, fluffy, and full of volume.

“Thank you.” It really did look good.

He paid, retrieved his coat from the locker, and checked his phone, only to see that Cen Xiao had sent him a message and even called him.

[Cen Xiao: Where are you?]

Li Rong wrapped himself in his coat and called him back.

Li Rong: “I went out to get a haircut. What’s up?”

Cen Xiao, seated on a couch, had already refilled his glass of lemon water three times; the third one had gone cold.

Nobody else could keep him waiting like this.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the time. “Come to Sara Z. We’re getting you a suit.”

Sara Z was a renowned high-end bespoke clothing brand. Anyone notable in A City likely owned a custom piece from there, though most people had to wait a year or two for the privilege. With family backgrounds like theirs, though, getting in was much easier.

But his parents had never ordered anything from Sara Z. he recalled an instance when a staff member had proactively offered their services, only to be sternly turned away by Li Qingli.

Li Rong: “Oh?”

He was a little surprised.

He hadn’t asked Cen Xiao for help with this, only made an offhand remark to Jian Fu, not expecting Cen Xiao to take it seriously.

Ordering a custom suit here, especially with a rush order, would cost more than the total living expenses Cen Xiao had lent him.

Cen Xiao’s gaze swept across the store’s display of elegant, tailored suits. In a flat tone, he said, “Didn’t you say you wanted to outshine the new flame at the birthday party? Here’s your chance.”

Li Rong didn’t refuse, smiling as he replied, “I won’t pass it up.”

Sara Z wasn’t in the bustling downtown area but rather in a slightly more secluded location. By the time Li Rong arrived by cab, the sun had melted into a splash of crimson ink across the sky.

Walking beneath the bold, golden-red glow that bathed the world, he let the shimmer at the tips of his lashes fall away, his steps unhurried as he appeared at the entrance.

Through the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, Li Rong tilted his head slightly upward. His freshly trimmed hair was innocently touched with a honeyed orange hue, and his pale profile—sickly yet delicate—seemed as if it were glazed with a layer of fine, smooth white porcelain.

He parted his lips slightly, the small Adam’s apple just above his white collar moving faintly.

“Cen Xiao,” he called.

Cen Xiao’s eyes darkened. He remained silent for a long while before chuckling softly, almost in self-mockery.

It seemed that no matter how much he restrained himself, he would always fall for this person at first sight.

The tailor, with a measuring tape slung around their neck, approached Li Rong warmly. “Please come this way for your measurements.”

“Thank you,” Li Rong responded with practiced ease, following the tailor inside.

The tailoring process was meticulous. The measuring tape was lightly wrapped around his slender neck, drawn in inch by inch to record the exact measurements. The cool surface of the tape pressed against his warm, delicate skin, as the tailor’s finger rested briefly in the hollow of his neck to read the precise mark.

This was just the beginning. The tape moved downward, gliding along the slope of his shoulders, tracing the elegant shape of his shoulder blades, and crossing his taut chest. It wrapped around his supple waist, curved over the fullness of his hips, and measured the straight lines of his lean legs, the fine contours of his wrists, and the delicate shape of his ankles.

Before the curtain could fully close, Cen Xiao abruptly stood up. With one sweep, he parted the heavy brown drapery and stepped into the fitting room.

Li Rong had already removed his coat and sweater, leaving him in only a thin, close-fitting undershirt.

The light material clung tightly to his waist and abdomen, faintly revealing the tone of his skin beneath.

Cen Xiao took the measuring tape from the tailor’s hands, wrapping it around his palm. “I’ll measure him myself,” he said in a low voice.