The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 24

The aroma of cafeteria food wafted through the air, persistent and tempting. The sizzle of stir-fry from one of the stalls reached their ears even from several tables away.

The stir-fried rice noodles Li Rong wanted came from a stall with a long line. Through the uneven queue, one could faintly see the muscular arm of the chef wielding a shiny iron wok, flipping ingredients skillfully.

Underneath the wok, sparks crackled as flames danced.

Li Rong had asked for it on a whim, drawn in by the sight of the bustling stall.

Only now, seeing the single chef working tirelessly, did he feel a twinge of guilt. Judging by the line, it would take a long time. Cen Xiao probably wasn’t used to waiting in line.

His gaze shifted back to Cen Xiao, waiting for the “Crown Prince of District Three” to show disdain and order him to switch his lunch choice to the stewed noodle dish at the adjacent stall.

To be fair, the stewed noodles looked decent, and fewer people were in line for it. Since he hadn’t tried any of the stalls in the cafeteria, it didn’t matter much where he started.

However, Cen Xiao only glanced at the line without any change in his expression and walked straight to the stir-fried rice noodle stall.

Jian Fu quickly leaped from his chair with one hand on the table, catching up to Cen Xiao in a few brisk steps. “Hey, wait for me!”

He slung an arm around Cen Xiao’s shoulders, grinning. “Bro, are you dumb? Why not let Lin Zhen handle this queue nonsense? He’s dying to curry favor with Li Rong anyway, while we don’t need to suck up to anyone.”

Cen Xiao shrugged his shoulder, shaking off Jian Fu’s arm, and gave him a long, meaningful look. “Doesn’t matter. I’m in a good mood today.”

Jian Fu was puzzled. “Today? What’s special about today? What’s there to be happy about?”

It was the first day of the school term, with a grueling four days ahead—how could that not be utterly depressing?

Cen Xiao replied calmly, “Delivered the notice to Old Yang.”

“Huh?” Jian Fu frowned, his confusion etched all over his face. “Did Old Yang pay you money?”

Cen Xiao didn’t bother to explain and smoothly changed the subject. “Feel like having spicy hotpot? I could go for some. Help me grab some.”

Jian Fu, easily distracted, nodded eagerly. “Sure, I’m good with that. I was considering grilled fish, but hotpot works too. I’ll get some.”

He immediately darted toward the hotpot stall.

Now only Lin Zhen and Li Rong were left at the small square table.

Lin Zhen glanced at the retreating backs of Cen Xiao and Jian Fu before leaning over to Li Rong and whispering, “The line’s so long. From my experience, it’ll take at least forty minutes.”

Li Rong raised an eyebrow. “That long?”

Lin Zhen nodded vigorously and pointed at the stall. “The chef used to work at a popular fried noodle restaurant in South City. The lines there were even longer, and we had to sneak out of class five minutes early just to eat here. They also limit the daily portions of noodles.”

“I’ve never eaten it,” Li Rong muttered softly.

He meant he’d never eaten at the cafeteria before, so he had no idea how long it would take to prepare the dish.

But Lin Zhen misunderstood.

After glancing around to ensure no one was listening, Lin Zhen leaned closer and whispered, “Class Rep, do you have some dirt on Brother Cen?”

Otherwise, why would he willingly stand in line just because you wanted to eat noodles? This had to be more than mere coincidence.

Li Rong lazily twirled a peanut milk bottle in his hand, a faint smile playing on his lips. “What dirt could I possibly have on him? It’s enough that he hasn’t caught any on me.”

Lin Zhen’s observational skills were sharp—he noted Li Rong’s casual tone, but there was an unmistakable glint in his eyes, as though he wouldn’t mind getting leverage over Cen Xiao if the opportunity arose.

Lin Zhen: “…”

“I’ll go grab something to eat too. If you want anything else, let me know.” Lin Zhen stood and half-hopped to the farthest corner stall, clutching his meal card.

Jian Fu returned first, balancing a tray with a steaming pot of spicy hotpot. He set it down between himself and Cen Xiao’s side.

Li Rong leaned over for a look. 

Jian Fu had ordered a medium-spicy version, with bright red chilies spread across the top. The little broth at the bottom sizzled and bubbled, releasing a tantalizing aroma.

It looked tempting, and Li Rong felt a twinge of hunger. Gu Nong had always warned him against eating such things, citing too many additives in the meatballs and their potential health risks.

Jian Fu drooled over the hotpot but still found time to grumble. “You just had to want fried noodles. If not for you, my brother and I would’ve eaten ages ago.”

Li Rong rested his chin on one hand, stomach growling faintly, and dismissed Jian Fu’s complaints with a nonchalant hum. “My bad.”

Lin Zhen soon returned as well.

He carefully balanced a clay pot of soup. It’s clear broth swayed dangerously close to spilling as he maneuvered through the crowd to reach their table.

“Almost collided with someone,” he sighed in relief, finally setting the pot down.

Jian Fu leaned back, scrutinizing Lin Zhen’s food: shrimp, tofu, bok choy, and konjac noodles. That was all.

“Plain and boring, zero appeal,” Jian Fu sniffed disdainfully.

Lin Zhen eyed Jian Fu’s vibrant hotpot with envy but shook his head. “The arts exams are coming up soon. I need to keep my figure. Can’t afford high-calorie stuff.”

Jian Fu, still focused on his hotpot, asked casually, “Oh? Planning to star in movies someday?”

The entertainment world was an unfamiliar realm to him, but the idea of someone he knew becoming a star seemed intriguing.

Lin Zhen’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he looked upward, his face lighting up with hope and longing. “I want to perform on stage. I want to hold a concert—one with tens of thousands of fans!”

Li Rong’s fingers, idly fiddling with his bottle cap, froze briefly. His lips moved slightly, though he said nothing aloud, only allowing a fleeting self-deprecating smile.

People often tread carefully around reality, fearing its weight. Because the dreams they once believed were inevitable in youth often crumble into bubbles in the most laughable ways.

No one knew who did it, but someone manually switched the cafeteria TV channel. The superhero movie, full of explosive action, was abruptly cut off, and the screen flipped to a news broadcast.

“After investigative reporting, we discovered that Li Qingli and Gu Nong consistently donate 100,000 yuan annually to the Zhiguang Special School in G City, supporting medical care and rehabilitation for children with disabilities. We also interviewed local residents around the school…”

The reporter’s camera panned to ordinary, kind-looking city residents who were being interviewed.

“Donations? If they’re giving this much, they must be embezzling even more. I saw online they live in a villa and drive luxury cars.”

“I don’t believe someone like that would actually donate. It’s probably just for publicity. People like them wouldn’t really give money away.”

“Why do they donate the same amount at the same time every year? Don’t you think that’s suspicious? Could it be money laundering?”

“They must be repenting for their sins, trying to build good karma. Lots of rich people believe in that. But hey, better they donate than keep it all to themselves.”

“I think scientists shouldn’t run companies. What kind of scientist lives in a villa and acts so high-profile? Scientists should stay grounded and closer to the people.”

“Li Qingli? Who’s that? I don’t watch the news. I don’t care what’s going on with him. I need to go pick up my kid from school.”

…

The volume on the TV was loud enough for at least ten tables around it to hear clearly.

Li Rong happened to be sitting squarely within earshot.

The moment Li Qingli’s name was mentioned, Jian Fu and Lin Zhen fell silent.

Along with the students from other classes sitting at nearby tables, they all turned to look at Li Rong in near-perfect unison. However, the emotions in their gazes varied.

Lin Zhen’s eyes held sympathy, Jian Fu’s were full of curiosity, and others—students who had little to no interaction with Li Rong—looked on with surprise and excitement.

“Li Rong is sitting right there. Look!”

“The news is about his parents. What do you think he’s feeling right now?”

“Didn’t think this would still be on the school TV. I thought no one cared anymore.”

“Is he crying? Can anyone tell if he’s crying?”

…

Li Rong, of course, wasn’t crying.

He remained as he was, leaning lazily on his hand, idly fiddling with a bottle cap with his thumb.

He had heard all of this in his past life; the news no longer carried the same impact as it did the first time.

Right now, he was far more concerned with satisfying his hunger.

On the TV, the reporter was about to continue their spiel when they barely got the word Li out before the screen abruptly went black, cutting off all sound and images.

Cen Xiao, holding the remote control, glanced at the group who had switched the channel earlier, saying nothing.

The group stopped eating and looked back at him nervously, fear written all over their faces.

Cen Xiao’s gaze darkened. He let out a derisive laugh, flipped his wrist, and tossed the remote onto their table.

The cafeteria tables were hollow, and the remote landed with a loud bang, startling everyone at the surrounding tables.

Without paying attention to the commotion, Cen Xiao picked up his plate of freshly made stir-fried noodles and steamed egg custard and returned to his seat.

After he left, no one dared to turn the TV back on. The cafeteria quieted down, with everyone silently focusing on their food, avoiding even a glance in Li Rong’s direction.

Lin Zhen was indignant. “That reporter is deliberately stirring up trouble. Isn’t donating money a good deed? And donating every year should only prove they’re good people. Instead, he interviews a bunch of people who look honest and sincere to push conspiracy theories, completely skewing the narrative.”

Just then, Cen Xiao returned, placing a plate of stir-fried noodles and a bowl of steamed egg custard in front of Li Rong.

The egg custard was a pale yellow, soft and smooth, topped with a sprinkling of scallions. The stir-fried noodles, glistening with oil, were packed with every ingredient imaginable, piled high on the plate.

Li Rong had seen Cen Xiao turn off the TV and throw the remote. He could tell that Cen Xiao was annoyed.

Cen Xiao had gone out of his way, queuing for forty minutes to lower Li Rong’s visibility, only for it to be all for nothing. Now, Li Rong was once again the center of attention.

Rubbing his empty stomach, Li Rong glanced at the noodles and muttered, “I’m starving.” After grumbling, he looked up, peach blossom eyes sparkling with a smile, and asked in a soft voice, “Are you starving too?”

Cen Xiao was clearly still a little upset. Hearing Li Rong’s gentle tone, he merely frowned slightly, sitting down across from him. “I’m not hungry.”

Lin Zhen couldn’t stand how calm Li Rong seemed, and huffed, “The logic is ridiculous. According to them, donating is wrong—so what, not donating is right? I’d really like to ask those people if they’ve ever donated 100,000.”

Li Rong inhaled the aroma of the noodles with satisfaction but sighed inwardly.

Lin Zhen was still young, too easily provoked. No wonder he later suffered significant losses in his battles with unscrupulous companies.

By contrast, Jian Fu, who didn’t particularly like Li Rong, was the calmest about the news.

Chewing on the end of his chopsticks, Jian Fu furrowed his brows in thought and murmured to himself, “Why does the name of this media outlet seem so familiar? I’ve definitely seen it somewhere—probably during one of my trips to District One. What did they report on again?”

Unlike Cen Xiao, Jian Fu didn’t have a clear boundary between himself and his parents. He had a harmonious family and had always liked visiting District One. Since he was just a kid back then, the adults in District One rarely avoided discussing things around him. Occasionally, he caught glimpses of some documents. After securing a special admission spot, the restrictions on him in District One loosened further, and he spent his free time nosing through gossip.

This media outlet must have been something he came across idly. Since he didn’t have a strong impression of it, its backers likely weren’t people he knew.

Unable to recall anything specific, Jian Fu didn’t stress over it. He snorted, “It’s obvious they’re trying to manipulate public opinion and distort the truth. They’re desperate to tear Li Qingli and Gu Nong down, leaving them with no positive image at all.”

Cen Xiao tapped his chopsticks against the table, interrupting Jian Fu. “Eat.”

He knew that while Li Rong might act indifferent on the surface, he probably didn’t want to hear about these things.

Li Rong quietly observed Cen Xiao, surprised to realize that Cen Xiao was trying to gauge his emotions.

Only someone who cared deeply would bother to understand what the other person was feeling, even when they hadn’t shown anything outwardly.

This realization left Li Rong feeling conflicted. In his past life, this was something that would never have happened.

Still, he wasn’t upset.

Wasting emotions when there were no clear answers was a pointless effort.

He didn’t want Cen Xiao to overthink things either.

Li Rong picked up a chopstickful of noodles, frowned slightly, and murmured, “There’s so much. I don’t think I can finish it. Can one of you help me eat some?”

He asked who could help him eat some, but without waiting for a response, he directly dropped the chopsticks full of noodles into Cen Xiao’s bowl—almost half a bowl, complete with squid and peanuts.

Jian Fu glanced at the noodles in front of Cen Xiao and quickly pushed his fragrant hotpot dish toward him with a look of disdain. “My bro just said he wasn’t hungry. We’ve got plenty of hotpot here. You eat your own food. Why order if you can’t finish it?”

Cen Xiao shot Jian Fu a cold glare. “I’m hungry now.”

Jian Fu, unbothered, replied confidently, “If you’re hungry, eat hotpot. I ordered enough for two. The cafeteria is strict about their clean-plate policy. Why should we help him finish his food?”

Lin Zhen covered his mouth dramatically, pretending to cough. “Ahem, ahem…”

Li Rong tightened his grip on his chopsticks, took a deep breath, and smiled faintly as he bit down on a peanut with a loud crunch.