The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 2

Li Rong gathered his meager personal belongings, completed the discharge paperwork, and hailed a cab home, carrying a small bag in hand.

The house was scheduled for judicial auction in a month. Since he was now the sole resident, the court turned a blind eye and let him stay for the month.

In his previous life, he had spent a month in a daze, hiding at home and tormenting himself to the brink of collapse, only to realize he couldn’t change anything in the end. 

Doing it all over again felt pointless.

Li Rong fished out his keys, opened the door, and stepped inside. The house was filled with a damp, musty odor from lack of ventilation.

Oddly enough, after spending so much time in Cen Xiao’s luxurious house, he now found his own modest home rather cozy.

Most of the valuable antiques and paintings had been removed, leaving behind only daily necessities. The dark brown wooden floor bore obvious marks where the piano had been dragged away. A fine layer of white dust covered the spot where the piano once stood.

The villa was eerily quiet, so much so that the faint sizzling sound of steak cooking next door seemed to seep through the brick walls.

Unperturbed, Li Rong plugged in his phone to charge, stripped off his clothes, and stepped into the bathroom with a towel.

As hot water cascaded down, washing away the medicinal scents and grime that had clung to him for a week, he meticulously cleaned every inch of his body. By the end, he was so exhausted that he had to lean against the toilet lid to catch his breath.

It was undeniable—his 17-year-old body couldn’t compare to the fitness he had at 23. 

If it hadn’t been for Cen Xiao’s relentless demands, he wouldn’t have taken up two years of combat training in an attempt to fight back.

Lost in thought, Li Rong eventually froze mid-wash. Staring into the misted full-length mirror in the bathroom, his gaze focused on his slightly youthful reflection.

With the mind and knowledge of a 23-year-old, couldn’t he outmaneuver an 18-year-old Cen Xiao?

“If I guide him properly now, he won’t end up as unhinged in four years, right?” Li Rong muttered, his fingers moving along his abdomen before pressing lightly on his waist.

After his shower, he dried his dripping hair and threw on an oversized T-shirt, then sat cross-legged in the corner of his bed and turned on his phone.

Phones from six years ago were much smaller, and the design of various apps had a distinctly retro aesthetic. It took him a while to adjust.

Over the past week, he had received numerous private messages—some expressing concern, others gossiping, and some from people who’d heard rumors of his death and came to offer their condolences.

Both the school group chat and his class group chat had banned any mention of him. Inside the chat, everything seemed peaceful. Teachers continued assigning homework, and even attendance seemed to have improved.

[Song Yuanyuan]: Li Rong, is it true that your family went bankrupt? Did your parents really commit suicide?

[Song Yuanyuan]: I wanted to visit you, but my mom won’t let me.

This was from his current girlfriend, his childhood sweetheart, who had sent two messages on the day everything happened and hadn’t followed up since.

Li Rong read the messages calmly, trying to recall what Song Yuanyuan had been like in high school. Unfortunately, all he could remember was how she dumped him and relentlessly pursued Cen Xiao.

It was truly an unpleasant memory.

The day Song Yuanyuan confessed to Cen Xiao was the same day as A University’s graduation ceremony. The scene caused quite a stir. Li Rong, caught in the background of a photo, wore a bitter, reminiscent expression. When Song Yuanyuan met his gaze, her panic was unmistakable.

Cen Xiao noticed everything.

That night, Li Rong had expected Cen Xiao to confront him, but he hadn’t anticipated the confrontation taking place in bed. Afterward, his entire worldview was shattered and rebuilt.

Back in his senior year, however, he and Cen Xiao hadn’t even exchanged social media contacts. Despite sitting next to each other for two months, their interactions had been minimal—like two parallel lines that never intersected.

Li Rong scrolled through the class group chat, locating Cen Xiao’s account marked by a blue-and-gold gradient avatar. He clicked on it several times but ultimately resisted the urge to add him.

Four years.

It had taken Cen Xiao four years of careful planning to seize control of Li Rong’s lifeline, forcing him into submission before revealing his true colors.

Li Rong exhaled, muttering under his breath, “Psycho. Such terrifying patience.”

As night fell, the bright yellow glow of streetlights filtered through the curtains, casting a faint light on the floor. The harsh brightness of his phone screen stung his eyes, so he set it aside. 

Running his fingers through his still-damp hair, he curled up in the corner of his bed and fell asleep.

He was utterly exhausted. The events of the day had drained him.

He thought he might dream of many things—why there had been hydrogen cyanide in the hazardous materials room, how he had returned to six years ago, or the GT201 project.

But he dreamt of nothing at all, enjoying an uncommonly restful sleep.

The next morning, Li Rong unexpectedly overslept.

He had always adhered to a strict schedule, especially after joining Jiang Weide’s team at the Hongsuo Research Institute. Even after nights of excess with Cen Xiao, he had never once missed a check-in.

Glancing at his phone, he saw it was already 8 a.m.—the first class of the day had started.

As he swung his legs off the bed to get up, a sharp pain in his stomach forced him to curl up again.

The pain twisted in waves, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Gritting his teeth, he endured ten minutes of agony before finally relaxing, his body drained. He laid flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he caught his breath.

Sweat-soaked hair clung to his pale face, and his slender neck glistened with perspiration. Warm, golden morning light pooled in his open palm.

Regaining some strength, Li Rong changed out of his oversized T-shirt and into A High’s uniform. He grabbed his empty backpack and left the house.

On the way, he bought a cup of oatmeal porridge, sipping only the liquid to ease his stomach before feeding the solids to a stray cat he encountered.

A High was affiliated with A University, renowned as a cradle for scientific talent. Attending A High meant you either had extraordinary abilities or came from a powerful family. Li Rong had once belonged to both categories.

The last time he came to A High, it was as a representative of the elite talent group from the Hongsuo Research Institute to give a talk.

With the Hongsuo name behind him, all the school administrators at A High hovered around him attentively. Yet, his mood had been sour the entire time—he had gotten into a fight with Cen Xiao the night before, leaving his body aching and feeling like it was about to fall apart.

“What time is it, and you’re just showing up for school? What are you staring at!” The gatekeeper grumbled as he pressed the button to open the iron gate, his face full of impatience. His eyes swept over Li Rong like a pair of scanners.

Working as a gatekeeper at A High required emotional intelligence. On one hand, you had to keep certain unruly students in check, but on the other, you couldn’t truly offend anyone. After all, who knew what kind of powerful family background some of these students might have and whether they’d retaliate.

Li Rong walked in with an unbothered expression, ignoring the unfriendly gaze.

“Wait, which class are you in? Write it down and sign.” The gatekeeper tossed a record book at Li Rong, used to log students who violated school rules by being late or leaving early.

Li Rong still remembered his class and homeroom teacher. He quickly filled in the details but paused momentarily when it came to the signature.

His handwriting now was probably different from when he was in high school.

But the hesitation only lasted a second before he swiftly signed his name.

“Done.” Li Rong handed the book back.

The gatekeeper glanced at it, then waved him off impatiently. “Hurry up and get to class! You’re a senior now, and still showing up late.”

Li Rong carried his deflated bag and, guided by his memory, found his old classroom. It was noisy inside, clearly unattended as the teacher was out for some reason.

“What’s the answer to the last multiple-choice question?”

“Do you think Li Rong will ever come back? Are we going to lose our class monitor?”

“Hey, does class flower Song Yuanyuan from the class next door know what’s going on?”

“Why did Old Yang call Brother Cen outside?”

Li Rong pushed the door open.

At that moment, he realized he carried more authority than the homeroom teacher. The room fell silent, as if all breathing had ceased.

Over forty pairs of eyes turned to him simultaneously. Everyone froze, their movements paused, their gazes filled with anticipation.

The anticipation wasn’t malicious, nor was it kind. It was simply human nature: waiting to see how someone who had fallen from great heights and was now almost shattered would react.

In that moment, it was as if everyone had become human behavior analysts, eager to record this once-cool, restrained, and self-disciplined class monitor’s dramatic entry into the annals of A High gossip.

Li Rong stood calmly at the door, accepting three minutes of silent observation, before asking in an ordinary tone, “What class?”

“Che… chemistry exam,” someone replied softly.

“Got it.” Li Rong’s gaze swept over the room. He couldn’t quite remember his seat but noticed that only the second row of the third column had an empty spot.

He wasn’t there. Neither was Cen Xiao.

The issue was that A High’s hygiene and discipline rules required desks to be cleared at the end of the day. Both his and Cen Xiao’s desks were spotless, leaving him unsure of which was his.

After all, in high school, nothing significant had happened between him and Cen Xiao. They barely had any interaction.

The chemistry class representative in the front row pointed to the podium. “Class monitor, there are test papers on the podium. The teacher said to collect them after class.”

“Thanks.” Li Rong retracted his gaze, walked to the podium, grabbed a test paper, and then headed to the empty desks.

Both were vacant, so it didn’t matter where he sat. After all, he and Cen Xiao had shared a bed; there was no need to draw such fine lines.

Before Li Rong’s return, the class had been abuzz with rumors about him, gossip spiraling out of control. Some were even convinced he had died alongside his parents.

But once he reappeared, it was as though nothing had changed. Young people were quick to adapt to new information. After a brief shock, they all lowered their heads to work on their tests.

Li Rong slung his bag down and glanced at the high school test paper, which now felt foreign to him.

Reading through it from beginning to end, he couldn’t help but think how much time he had wasted on such simple matters in high school.

He should have skipped grades back then.

“Cough…”

The weakness from his treatment hadn’t fully subsided. Just walking from home to school had left him drenched in cold sweat.

The thin school uniform clung to his slender back, and the wind seemed to penetrate straight to his bones.

He pushed the test paper to the corner of the desk, crossed his arms on the table, and rested his head sideways on them.

For the first time in his life, Li Rong brazenly laid down to sleep in class.

It felt oddly liberating.

As a staunch atheist, he had once believed he was destined to turn into nothing but ashes, decomposing as part of the ecological cycle.

He thought he’d never see his parents, who had died of gas poisoning, again—nor the depraved, intermittently beastly individual who had tormented him.

He had many regrets.

If given another chance, he’d rather become a lazy nobody and make up for all the experiences he had missed in his previous life.

Cen Xiao returned, his expression dark.

One hand in his pocket, his shirt half-open, he wore a black clavicle chain around his neck.

The first thing his eyes landed on was Li Rong, peacefully napping in his seat.

Li Rong’s sleeping posture was neat, his arms crossed, fingers slightly curled, and head tucked between his elbows. His soft, slightly long hair slipped down the sides of his ears. With his eyes shut tight, the thinness of his eyelids revealed faint blue veins. There was a small, unobtrusive mole between his left temple and eye.

Perhaps due to his recent pallor, the mole was particularly noticeable in the daylight.

Cen Xiao lowered his gaze and stared silently for a long moment.

Li Rong’s back was arched, and his school uniform jacket had slipped down to his shoulders, leaving his long, elegant neck completely exposed. The prominent line of his vertebrae was delicate and beautifully shaped—perfectly suited to fit under someone’s palm for toying.

After observing for a while, Cen Xiao lifted his leg and unceremoniously kicked the desk.

“Get up, that’s my seat.”

Perhaps because it was his first time sleeping during class, Li Rong actually had a dream this time.

In his dream, he was struggling in pitch-black seawater, unable to see the shore or any light.

He dreamt of a monstrous figure whose face was indiscernible, cackling eerily as it screeched, “Ungrateful wretch! You deserve to die!”

Just when he thought he was about to drown in that dark sea, the water began to violently quake.

The endless darkness seemed to dissipate, the bone-chilling cold gradually retreated, and he felt as if he were stepping onto soft clouds, basked in a warm, shimmering sunlight that made him reluctant to open his eyes.

It was incredibly comforting—except for one thing… his arm had gone numb.

The unbearable discomfort finally made Li Rong reluctantly open his eyes.

The first thing he saw was an exceptionally mesmerizing face.

He knew this face well. Every unspeakable night, that person would seize him by the neck and force him to stare at it, trembling.

Caught between sleep and wakefulness, Li Rong frowned, lazily lifting his eyelids. Annoyed, he rolled his eyes and muttered irritably, “Not doing it. My waist hurts.”