Within his line of sight, everything seemed like a joke.
Others saw him as a joke, but to him, they were all jokes too.
Li Rong tilted his neck back and leisurely finished the red wine in his glass. Afterward, he casually grabbed a small cake from the seat beside him and began eating it without a care for those around him.
As he ate, his mind wandered back to events from his past life.
Back then, his health had been even worse. After waking up in the hospital, it felt as though his spirit had already died.
He spent nearly a month in a haze, living in the villa the court had begrudgingly granted him. He couldn’t eat or sleep and was plagued by endless confusion. He didn’t understand how an ordinary pharmaceutical research failure could spiral into such a disaster. He couldn’t understand why his parents chose the most extreme way to prove their innocence instead of explaining themselves publicly.
Each matter was tangled in a web of complexity, and he couldn’t find a single loose thread to unravel it.
In just three weeks, he had driven himself to the brink, physically and mentally. When he received the invitation to Song Yuanyuan’s birthday party, it felt like the only gesture of acknowledgment from someone around him.
He had been utterly drained, his soul practically detached from his body. Yet he went anyway.
That day was important to Song Yuanyuan. Every girl deserved a perfect coming-of-age celebration, with her family, friends, and loved ones by her side.
At least, that’s how Song Yuanyuan had put it to him.
In hindsight, she had likely feared he wouldn’t attend.
On that day, he hadn’t worn a proper suit or tidied his hair. Pale and exhausted, he looked like a condemned prisoner. In the midst of a lavishly adorned and extravagant birthday party, his disheveled appearance was nothing short of a spectacle.
He was mocked, ridiculed, scrutinized, and pitied. A blur of figures surrounded him, voices blending into chaotic noise.
Even so, he understood the delicacy of his position. He didn’t approach Song Yuanyuan, didn’t plead his case about his parents, and didn’t beg old family acquaintances for help.
He simply sat quietly in the corner of the sofa in the main hall, his eyes downcast, numbly listening to the laughter around him as he stared at the intricate diamond-shaped patterns on the floor.
Song Yuanyuan didn’t come close to him either. As the star of the evening, she was surrounded by blessings and well-wishers.
With her elaborate makeup and luxurious gown, she blushed amid the endless compliments. On her index finger was a sparkling rose-gold ring.
The air was thick with sweet aromas, a blend of cheese, cream, and various perfumes that pervaded every corner, including the inconspicuous spot where Li Rong sat.
When the champagne bottle popped, the low-alcohol mist sprayed out, cascading down like rain.
Song Yuanyuan let out a coquettish cry, “Oh no, you got my dress wet!”
“A beauty in the rain! Stunning!”
“Happy birthday, Yuanyuan! Look at the camera!”
“Wow, you’re so mindful of your image—trying to impress someone, huh?”
“Well, it’s definitely not… Haha! Don’t shove me; I didn’t say anything!”
…
Time ticked on. To Li Rong, the party dragged on endlessly, boring him to the point of sleepiness.
Emotionally, he felt no waves. After all, anyone who had endured such immense pain and upheaval would find romance utterly insignificant.
Suddenly, Song Yuanyuan, wearing high heels, walked step by step in his direction.
But she passed right by him and went to Cen Xiao.
Her sweet, refined voice carried a playful lilt: “Cen Xiao, the dance floor is open. Would you honor me with the opening dance?”
Li Rong didn’t even lift his eyes. His hair had grown long enough to fall over his eyelids, creating a barrier in front of his pupils.
He didn’t know much about Cen Xiao beyond the basics: a classmate, a desk mate, and someone whose family was a high-ranking force in Blue Pivot. They were complete opposites and didn’t get along well.
He had always sensed that Cen Xiao disliked him, though whether it was due to the longstanding feud between Blue Pivot and Hongsuo or some other grievance, he wasn’t sure.
Then he heard Cen Xiao’s cheerful, unhesitating reply: “Sure.”
…
Sure.
Li Rong focused on finishing an entire slice of strawberry mousse cake. He dusted off the crumbs on his fingertips, and his tongue instinctively swept over the smear of cream on the corner of his lips.
He ate with such relish, such vividness, that it left the other guests at a loss for words.
Song Yuanyuan’s mother forced a smile. “Kids and their jokes. There’s no such thing as boyfriend and girlfriend here. Let’s all head inside to dance and have some food.”
After she spoke, Song Yuanyuan stepped down from the miniature castle.
Dragging her gown behind her, she circled around it and followed the guests’ gazes, glancing over her shoulder in confusion.
Song Yuanyuan faltered for a moment.
Li Rong had always been cold and serious, much like any scientist devoted to their work, never paying much attention to his appearance.
Her deepest impression of him was his cleanliness and simplicity—like snowflakes under a microscope: intricate and beautiful but impossible to grasp.
Now, though, he seemed like an entirely different person.
She saw someone with radiant smiles and animated expressions, far more captivating than before.
Her mother gave her a gentle nudge on the waist and teased, “What are you staring at? Don’t forget to ask Cen Xiao for a dance.”
Snapping back to reality, Song Yuanyuan’s gaze swept the room and landed on Cen Xiao. She noted, with some surprise, that his outfit was unusually understated today.
Despite having the most dominant family background, he dressed in a way that seemed to avoid attracting attention or controversy.
Interestingly, Cen Xiao was one of the few people not looking at Li Rong.
Instead, his eyes were fixed on the Disney-like miniature castle, his interest evident.
Song Yuanyuan felt her cheeks warm.
Just now, she had been the only one standing atop that little castle, so Cen Xiao must have been looking at her.
She had indeed dressed beautifully today. It was only natural for Cen Xiao to take notice.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her posture and pursed her lips, enhancing the shine of her gloss.
She had a strong feeling Cen Xiao would agree to dance with her.
The guests on the lawn outside, hearing Mother Song’s words, returned to the hall one after another.
Inside, the decorations were even more elaborate. The walls were newly adorned with impressionist paintings. At first glance, the colors seemed casual, almost unrestrained, but from a distance, the flowing and scattered lines came together to form Song Yuanyuan’s name in English. Clearly, the Song family had spared no expense.
Behind the only two milky-white, wave-shaped columns in the room, the band members were already in position.
Servers passed around freshly pan-seared foie gras prepared by a five-star hotel chef. Beyond the heart-shaped, white, elongated dining tables laid the dance floor, already set up for the evening.
The conductor flipped open the playlist, and the opening dance was Song Yuanyuan’s favorite—courtly waltz.
Li Rong rose from his white wooden chair and walked indoors without glancing sideways. His expression was cheerful, relaxed, and natural, as if everything happening at his home were merely a shared dream among the guests.
But for one fleeting moment, as he passed Cen Xiao, his expression collapsed.
He bit his lip, his eyelids slightly furrowed, clutching his stomach with his left hand. In a low voice, he said, “Stomach ache.”
Cen Xiao instinctively lowered his champagne glass, frowning as he replied softly, “Who told you to eat cake out in the wind?”
Li Rong’s stomach was, without a doubt, the most fragile thing Cen Xiao had encountered over the past month. Cold food caused pain, wind exposure caused pain, irregular meals caused pain, overeating caused pain, and even stomach medicine either made him nauseous or left him with acid reflux if he skipped it.
At school, the action Li Rong repeated most often was leaning over his desk, clutching his stomach in pain until his lips turned pale.
But Cen Xiao was powerless to help.
Li Rong exhaled lightly, rubbing his stomach to ease the discomfort. With a faint smile, he lifted his gaze and said softly to Cen Xiao, “If someone upsets me, the pain might get worse—maybe an ulcer, or a perforation. I might never drink those bold spirits that let people take advantage of a weak moment again.”
Cen Xiao let out a sharp laugh, his worried expression easing. Retracting his gaze from Li Rong’s stomach, he said lightly, “Thanks for the warning.”
Li Rong smiled meaningfully. “You’re welcome.”
He entered the hall and, just as in a previous life, headed straight for the sofa he had once favored.
It was a light-yellow fabric sofa with soft cushions at both ends. Beside one armrest stood a small round table, holding a steaming coffee pot, sugar cubes, and cream.
The spot he chose was comfortable; even when acting unconsciously, he hadn’t treated himself poorly.
At this moment, there weren’t many people near the sofa. Most guests were mingling, finding dance partners, and preparing for the waltz.
Lounging lazily against the cushions, Li Rong crossed his legs, resting most of his weight on his left arm. If his stomach weren’t genuinely uncomfortable, he might have grabbed a piece of foie gras to eat.
He saw Song Yuanyuan whisper a few words to Mother Song, then carefully smooth the slightly wrinkled fabric at her waist before walking toward Cen Xiao.
Li Rong added five or six sugar cubes to his coffee, blowing on the steaming liquid as he watched the scene unfold before him.
Song Yuanyuan approached Cen Xiao with her hands behind her back, exuding a youthful charm. Lowering her head, she asked softly, “Cen Xiao, the dance floor is open. Would you dance the opening waltz with me?”
Before Cen Xiao could reply, Li Rong scalded himself on the coffee, his face scrunching up in pain as he clumsily set the cup down, tongue sticking out in a panicked attempt to cool the burn.
Cen Xiao’s gaze was immediately drawn to him, and for a moment, he forgot to respond to Song Yuanyuan.
Not receiving an immediate answer, Song Yuanyuan’s expression grew stiff. Reluctantly, she followed Cen Xiao’s gaze to Li Rong.
Li Rong lowered his almond-shaped eyes, his brow lightly furrowed. His tongue, bright red from the burn, flicked out as he focused on letting the cool air ease the sting.
This wasn’t something he had expected.
The coffee cup had excellent insulation. While stirring the sugar, his attention had been elsewhere, and he hadn’t noticed how hot the coffee was. Taking a large sip, he nearly spat it out but managed to hold on for the sake of appearances.
Song Yuanyuan felt extremely awkward.
Li Rong was still her nominal boyfriend. She wasn’t entirely indifferent toward him, but the current circumstances required her to connect with Cen Xiao. Yet Cen Xiao’s attention had shifted entirely to Li Rong.
Forcing herself to maintain composure, she attempted to pull Cen Xiao’s attention back.
“Cen Xiao, you…”
“He can’t dance that,” Li Rong said, his tongue still sore, making his words slightly slurred.
He had, in fact, shown her some consideration. After all, Song Yuanyuan had just turned eighteen, while he was already twenty-three.
In his future plans, Song Yuanyuan was an inconsequential figure.
Song Yuanyuan immediately refuted the idea in her heart. Impossible!
Children from families like theirs couldn’t possibly lack basic skills like courtly waltz.
She suspected Li Rong was jealous, trying to stop her from dancing with Cen Xiao.
But surely Cen Xiao wouldn’t…
Cen Xiao looked at Li Rong deeply, his expression calm, and said deliberately, “Mm, I can’t dance.”
Song Yuanyuan: “…”
She couldn’t believe it. Cen Xiao had rejected her.
Although he had done so gracefully, everyone who saw knew what had happened.
Li Rong didn’t even glance up. Leaning back against the sofa, he focused on cooling his coffee as if completely indifferent to Cen Xiao’s response.
“Well, I’ll ask someone else then,” Song Yuanyuan said with a forced smile. Clenching the hem of her dress tightly, she tried to maintain her poise as she ran back to Mother Song.
Mother Song, standing some distance away, hadn’t heard their conversation. Seeing Song Yuanyuan return alone, she frowned. “What happened?”
Song Yuanyuan bit her lip, finally letting her emotions show before her mother. In a low voice, she complained, “Cen Xiao said he can’t dance. It’s all your fault for making me ask him—it’s so embarrassing!”
Mother Song grabbed Song Yuanyuan’s arm, her brows furrowing as she lowered her voice. “How could he not know how to dance?”
Song Yuanyuan shook her arm free, turned away, and huffed, “I don’t know.”
Mother Song took a deep breath and cast a meaningful glance in Cen Xiao’s direction.
Her peripheral vision swept across the sofa, where Li Rong was focused on his coffee.
Li Rong sat in an inconspicuous corner, leaning against a cushion, head lowered, sipping in small, measured gulps, his expression unreadable.
Mother Song sighed. “I see why he said that. Officially, you and Li Rong are still a couple. Cen Xiao probably doesn’t want to get involved. And you—couldn’t you have picked a spot farther away from Li Rong?”
Song Yuanyuan, already upset from being rejected, couldn’t hold back her frustration when her mother started to scold her. She raised her voice. “What was I supposed to do? He was the one standing so close to Li Rong!”
Mother Song shot her a warning look. “Enough. Stop yelling. It’s not a big deal. We were planning to officially sever ties with the Li family anyway. Once that’s done, you won’t have to feel guilty anymore.”
Li Rong finished his overly sweet coffee and pulled out his phone to check the time.
When exactly did Mother Song humiliate him in public?
It felt like ages ago—long enough that his legs had started to go numb from sitting too long on the sofa.
In hindsight, he had been surprisingly patient back then.
When Song Yuanyuan and Cen Xiao danced together, he had been completely indifferent. He didn’t remember how close they were or what they might have said. All he remembered was how low his eyelids drooped, limiting his view to the legs of the people around him.
To him, they were nothing more than breathing beings. As for Song Yuanyuan’s deliberate cold shoulder, he couldn’t even muster the curiosity to question it.
His mind had been a complete blank.
When he finally managed to extract himself from the safety cocoon he had mentally constructed, the first thing he heard was someone blaming him.
“Chairman Song was talking to you. How could you act like you didn’t hear them?”
“This child is so disrespectful—look at the way he’s dressed for Yuanyuan’s birthday party.”
“Everyone here is so happy, and he’s sitting there sulking, as if the world owes him something.”
“Not everyone is his parents, you know. No one’s obligated to pamper him.”
“I’ve been saying it—he’s been spoiled rotten. His parents embezzled research funds, and what did they do with it? Saved it all for him!”
“He’ll figure it out eventually. The real world isn’t so kind.”
…
At that time, Li Rong hadn’t eaten properly for days. His face was pale as paper, his lips cracked and peeling. His stomach churned unpredictably, sending sharp stabs of pain through his body. Cold sweat drenched his back, and his temples were damp and sticky, leaving him looking utterly disheveled.
The mocking voices felt like a harsh winter wind tearing through a narrow alley, cutting into his skin with the sharpness of a blade. He was like a bird trapped in a cage, its wings bruised and battered from countless attempts to break free, only to collapse into a heap, the metal bars piercing deeper each time.
He thought of a line by Gustave Le Bon: “…Once they become part of a crowd, scholars and the ignorant alike lose the ability to observe clearly.”
Many of these people had been his parents’ friends, colleagues, clients, or casual acquaintances.
They had once been polite, warm, and kind. They were well-educated and held respectable social positions. People like them should have been the least likely to kick someone when they were down.
Yet reality proved otherwise. Life, a cruel teacher, had imparted this truth not through timeless literature but through the harsh chapters of his own existence.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cen Xiao sitting directly across from him.
He didn’t lift his head to look at Cen Xiao’s face, but he knew that Cen Xiao wasn’t speaking up.
Silence was its own form of complicity.
Li Rong’s frustration surged, and he gritted his teeth, stifling a cough.
The suppressed pain brought a flush to his pale complexion, and his reddened eyes brimmed with unshed tears. His once-charming almond-shaped eyes now drooped with an air of melancholy, every blink and movement weighed down by exhaustion and an unmistakable frailty.
Suddenly, Mother Song clasped his hand with feigned kindness, patting his thin back. Her tone was a blend of condescension and superficial benevolence.
“Li Rong—”
“Li Rong.”
The voices of dream and reality intertwined, pulling Li Rong upright. He lazily opened his eyes, blinking against the bright lights of the hall, and focused on Mother Song’s face in front of him.
Mother Song bore little resemblance to Song Yuanyuan. Her high forehead and slightly receding hairline were paired with dark red, sharply defined brows. Her eyes, slanted upward like a phoenix’s, sat above prominent cheekbones. Her thin lips had a harsh, critical edge.
When she smiled, she reeked of sycophancy. When her face tightened, it became the epitome of spite.
Pressing his fingers to his brow, Li Rong cast a puzzled glance at Cen Xiao, who was seated across from him, and casually asked, “How long was I out?”
He couldn’t recall when exactly he had dozed off. The cacophony of sounds around him had blended into a low-quality lullaby, lulling him to sleep despite the sweetness of the coffee.
The sky had darkened noticeably.
Outside, the deep indigo sky framed shadows of trees and the castle, all cast in stark black silhouettes. The crisp air of the suburbs lent the night an almost surreal clarity, the crescent moon hanging like a golden hook.
He had to admit, Song Yuanyuan’s sofa was surprisingly comfortable.
Mother Song’s tone grew heavy. “Li Rong, is this what you came here for? To sleep through Yuanyuan’s birthday?”
“Exactly. He’s been napping over there for ages. I didn’t even want to bring it up.”
“Not even the decency to stand and greet people. So rude.”
“Why did the Song family even invite him? After what happened with his family… such bad luck.”
“Four and a half hours,” Cen Xiao interrupted, silencing the relentless criticism. He glanced at his watch and repeated, “You’ve been asleep for four and a half hours.”
Li Rong straightened up, his dazed expression vanishing without a trace.
With a sincere look of remorse, he tilted his head up at Mother Song, his face innocent and sincere. “I’m sorry. I was just so tired. You know how exhausting senior year can be.”
Mother Song, however, wasn’t planning to let it slide.
She curled her lips into a sharp smile. “Li Rong, I know your family has been going through some troubles. But out of respect for you and Yuanyuan’s childhood friendship, I still invited you. And yet, you didn’t even bring a birthday gift.”
She only referred to him and Song Yuanyuan as childhood friends, deliberately avoiding any mention of their romantic relationship.
Li Rong’s gaze lowered slightly, his head tilting in faint amusement. The corners of his lips twitched in a fleeting sneer.
“My bad. I forgot.”
He spoke with such confidence that, despite her determination to sever ties with the Li family, Mother Song was left fuming.
Forgot?
Her daughter’s birthday gift, and he simply forgot?
Mother Song sneered. “Li Rong, I understand that you might not be able to afford a gift right now,” she said, lifting her arm to remove a jade bracelet from her wrist. Holding it up under the light, she let the piece glint as she spoke in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “This bracelet isn’t worth much, but if you sell it, it might fetch around five hundred thousand yuan. Take the money and stay away from Yuan Yuan. She deserves a better match.”
She tossed the bracelet carelessly onto Li Rong’s lap. It bounced twice, nearly tumbling to the ground.
Song Yuanyuan immediately lowered her head, clutching her mother’s arm in silence. She felt a pang of guilt but no regret—this moment had been inevitable, the entire reason she’d insisted on Li Rong coming.
The atmosphere around Li Rong suddenly became oppressively tense. Pitying, mocking, and icy gazes circled him like vultures.
In this small, stifling space, only Cen Xiao, sitting across from him, was smiling.
Cen Xiao had somehow acquired a lighter, idly flicking it open and closed as though it were a toy. Leaning back lazily on the sofa with his legs crossed, he toyed with the metal lid, creating rhythmic “click-clack” sounds that synchronized with the ticking of the clock.
His gaze rested on Li Rong, watching with curiosity to see how he would react.
This time, Cen Xiao was entirely an observer. He ignored Mother Song’s insinuations and dismissed Song Yuanyuan’s invitation as beneath him.
He only wanted to see what Li Rong intended to do—to understand the trick up his sleeve and how he planned to retaliate against this entire room of people.
Everyone here believed they were standing on moral high ground, looking down on Li Rong with condescension, judging him harshly, and pushing him out.
Surrounded and isolated, Li Rong was like a lone bird of prey trapped in a cage, wounded and alone. Yet, to Cen Xiao, freshly awakened, his face still flushed from sleep, Li Rong had never looked more endearing.
In truth, all Li Rong had to do was ask, and Cen Xiao would help him.
He always would.
Li Rong lowered his gaze, staring at the floor. His long lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks.
His frame looked frail, his shirt collar shifting as he bowed his head, exposing a pale neck under the bright lights. His profile exuded an air of loneliness and melancholy.
He remained silent for a long time. Just as Mother Song assumed he was clinging to some lingering affection for Song Yuanyuan, Li Rong suddenly chuckled softly.
The laugh was so lighthearted that it curved his brows and lifted the corners of his lips. From Cen Xiao’s angle, Li Rong’s long lashes framed his sparkling eyes, and his apple cheeks puffed slightly. His tongue pressed lightly against his teeth, revealing an unusual playfulness.
Yet, no matter how pleasant the sound, it felt utterly out of place in the current atmosphere.
Mother Song assumed Li Rong had been pushed to a breaking point and lost his sanity.
Glancing at the silent Cen Xiao, she prepared to speak again, but Li Rong’s sudden sigh stopped her.
He leaned back against the sofa, lazily picking up the bracelet Mother Song had thrown at him. He held it up to the light, examining it closely.
The jade was translucent, smooth, and of exceptional quality—a rare treasure.
After verifying its authenticity, Li Rong’s smile faded. His fingers traced the edges of the bracelet as he spoke, his voice calm and sincere:
“Thank you. Guess it’s time for Laozi to start liking men.”
His words, spoken clearly and with conviction, echoed in the room. Everyone heard them distinctly, and they struck like a thunderclap, leaving the crowd stunned, their faces pale with shock.
The lighter froze in Cen Xiao’s hand mid-click.
Li Rong was bolder than he had imagined.
Mother Song stared at him, wide-eyed and paralyzed, unable to comprehend how someone could say something so shameless.
Beside her, Song Yuanyuan wore the same shell-shocked expression, as if struck by lightning.
Li Rong liked men after their relationship? It felt like a direct insult to her.
But she told herself he was just talking nonsense—because from what she knew of Li Rong, there was no way he could genuinely like men.
Li Rong, however, acted as though he didn’t notice their stunned faces. Supporting himself on the armrest, he stood up casually, walking straight toward Cen Xiao.
When he reached him, Li Rong tilted his head, frowning as he glanced at Cen Xiao’s crossed legs.
Without hesitation, he pushed Cen Xiao’s hand aside and leaned into his lap.
He brazenly brushed Cen Xiao’s hand aside and turned to lean into his arms. In that brief moment of turning, the piercing coldness and searing anger in his eyes intertwined, eventually melting into a ripple of spring-like gentleness.
Li Rong gave a faint smile, his voice tinged with ambiguity: “Hurry up, I don’t want to work hard anymore.”