The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 8

A few days later, Li Rong could finally eat something other than congee.

After taking his first bite of shrimp dipped in sauce, he was almost moved to tears.

Once he could freely replenish his protein intake, it wouldn’t take long to rebuild his muscles.

Knock knock.

There were a few knocks on the door.

At first, Li Rong didn’t pay it any mind. After all, it wasn’t unusual for someone to scribble graffiti or toss trash at his door these days.

He didn’t particularly care—it was just unfortunate for the building’s maintenance crew, who had to clean up while grumbling about his parents.

The knocks persisted, insistent and unrelenting, until Li Rong realized someone might actually be looking for him.

For a brief moment, he wondered if an angry mob had shown up to beat him. Could he fight back? Would he have time to escape?

Then he remembered—nothing like this had happened in his previous life.

Wiping his hands clean of shrimp juice, Li Rong walked to the door and pulled it open.

Standing there was a face he didn’t recognize now but would later become all too familiar with: Li Baishou.

In the Hongsuo Research Institute, Li Baishou held a high position but was often ridiculed by students for being unworthy of his reputation.

When Li Rong first joined the institute, Li Baishou had gone out of his way to make trouble for him. It wasn’t until Li Rong joined Jiang Weide’s team that things improved.

Li Rong smiled faintly, his expression unreadable. “And you are?”

Li Baishou, with a few stray gray hairs sticking out awkwardly near his temples, looked at him with a kind expression, his tone heavy with sentimentality. “Li Rong, you’ve grown so much. I used to work with your father in the same research group.”

Li Rong tilted his head thoughtfully, then lightly kicked a pair of slippers lying near the door. The slippers toppled over and rolled toward Li Baishou.

“Come in and sit?”

In Hongsuo, Li Baishou’s title outranked Li Rong’s—at least for now. Once the results of the GT201 experiment were out, everything would change.

Unfortunately, in his previous life, Li Rong had been killed before he could open the email that would confirm his promotion.

Li Baishou, seeing Li Rong’s rough and casual demeanor, frowned slightly in disapproval. But he still bent down, steadying himself on the doorframe, to put on the slippers.

“Uncle was heartbroken to hear about your father,” Li Baishou said as he walked into the apartment, his tone both sympathetic and condescending. “I’ve only just finished dealing with the investigation team’s questions and finally had time to come see you. Stay strong, child.”

As he spoke, his eyes landed on the dining table.

On it sat a feast: poached shrimp with dipping sauce, steamed grouper, chicken egg rolls with meat floss—and a bottle of red wine.

The wine bottle was partially empty, and a wineglass sat nearby, faintly stained with residue. Clearly, someone had been leisurely sipping wine while enjoying the meal.

Li Baishou: “…”

His attempt at consolation felt weak and ineffectual.

Li Rong pulled out a chair and sat down casually. Picking up a shrimp, he began to peel it slowly. As he removed the head, he paused and looked up at Li Baishou with feigned innocence. “Would you like to sit down and have some?”

Li Baishou forced a stiff smile. “No need. I’ve already eaten. It’s good to see you’re recovering well. Your father used to tell me how you were always reserved, strong-willed, and bottled everything up.”

Li Rong dipped the plump shrimp meat into a flavorful sauce and replied nonchalantly, “He was right. Still the same now.”

Li Baishou: “…”

Reserved? That didn’t seem apparent. Reckless and carefree, on the other hand, was more fitting.

Li Rong smeared his fingers with the sauce as he lifted a glass of red wine, holding it between his pinky and ring fingers, and took a sip. The crisp and rich flavor slid down his throat as he licked his lips in satisfaction.

“My stomach isn’t great. I should be drinking Puer tea to help, but seafood pairs better with red wine, don’t you think?”

Li Baishou laughed dryly. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t drink much. In our line of work, drinking too much can lead to mistakes.”

Li Rong pretended not to hear the explanation, his lips forming an exaggerated “O.” “Oh, you only drink Moutai, huh?”

And it has to be aged Moutai, no less. The younger batches wouldn’t interest you.

The muscles on Li Baishou’s face twitched as his forced smile faltered.

“Little Rong,” Li Baishou began, changing the subject, “I came today to talk about your father. The project we were working on together has been stalled since his passing. The investigation team has taken and sealed all the materials from his office, but this was his life’s work. It can’t just be buried with him. I wanted to ask if he left behind any hard drives at home.”

Li Rong’s gaze sharpened momentarily, a flash of coldness crossing his eyes.

But it was fleeting—so brief it seemed like an illusion.

Li Rong feigned confusion. “Weren’t you working on the project with my father? Don’t you know he preferred the old-fashioned way—handwritten notes?”

Li Baishou froze for a second before recovering, smiling faintly. “He did mention that. Do you know where your father kept those notes?”

Li Rong leaned back in his chair, finishing the wine in his glass. Shrimp sauce dripped down his fingers, trailing along his skin to his wrist.

“The court investigators already went through everything and left a mess behind. Which notes are you looking for, exactly?”

Li Baishou hesitated.

He scrutinized Li Rong again, noting the clueless expression on the boy’s face. His heart eased. Then he saw Li Rong’s messy, sauce-covered hands, and relaxed further. Finally, looking at his carefree, defeatist attitude, Li Baishou felt completely at ease.

Li Qingli had always bragged about his son, calling him a prodigy with exceptional talent—intelligent, calm, and highly sensitive to scientific research. A perfect candidate for the field.

Now it seemed that was nothing more than self-flattery.

Li Baishou spoke up again. “Some notes related to CAR-T optimization and CRS mitigation. Your father… and I proposed a hypothesis about it.”

Li Rong fell silent for a moment. The bright yellow chandelier above cast its light directly on him, illuminating him while the rest of the room seemed to dim.

“Oh, that.”

In his past life, Li Rong hadn’t learned about these topics yet. He had no idea what Li Baishou was talking about and hadn’t paid much attention. It was years later, after joining the Hongsuo Research Institute, that he became familiar with Li Baishou and his work, including the papers he published. Only then did he realize how pivotal the CAR-T optimization hypothesis was to Li Baishou’s career.

But back then, it was just a vague memory—he vaguely remembered someone talking about it before but couldn’t recall the details.

Even so, the hypothesis was so advanced that even six years later, the technology couldn’t fully achieve it. Li Baishou’s research remained stuck, neither progressing nor entirely failing.

Li Rong tilted his head and smiled faintly. “Since it was a joint hypothesis, any materials my father had, you should have too. My house is a mess; it’d be hard to find anything.”

Li Baishou glanced around at the chaotic home, with shattered glass and an air of desolation. Feeling reassured by Li Rong’s apparent obliviousness to the hypothesis’s value, he let go of the topic.

“That’s fine. I won’t trouble you further. You take care of yourself. If you’re doing well, your father can rest easy.” Li Baishou patted Li Rong’s shoulder heavily, the faint smile in his eyes failing to conceal his true intentions.

“My father will be at peace,” Li Rong replied, his gaze trailing from the hand on his shoulder to Li Baishou’s face. He smiled harmlessly.

Once Li Baishou left, Li Rong rushed to the bathroom and meticulously washed off the shrimp sauce from his hands. He scrubbed with soap several times, ensuring no residue remained before drying his hands completely.

The Li Rong of the past hadn’t understood CAR-T or CRS. But the Li Rong of today understood them all too well.

He grabbed a flashlight and entered the study that had been sealed off for two weeks. The fluorescent light no longer worked, leaving the room dim. In a pile of disorganized items that had been rummaged through and hastily stuffed back, he found several opened manila envelopes. Inside were Li Qingli’s handwritten notes.

Scientific terms, acronyms, cell structures, protein models—all jumbled together, revised, and annotated. In some places, his father had even doodled a smiling pig face, as though in a moment of inspiration.

To a 17-year-old Li Rong, these notes would have been incomprehensible gibberish.

But for the 23-year-old Li Rong, sitting cross-legged on the dusty study floor with a flashlight, they were everything. He read them from start to finish, trembling with rage and his eyes bloodshot.

The paper Li Baishou was about to publish, the hypothesis he planned to use for accolades and career advancement, was wholly and completely Li Qingli’s work.

The results of Li Qingli’s work, however, had been sealed away in an unremarkable cardboard box after his death. On the day Li Rong was forced to move, they were treated as trash and carelessly thrown into an unknown garbage bin.

Li Rong rubbed his eyes, patted the dust off his pants, and stood up, only to realize he’d foolishly forgotten to bring the manuscripts out with him to review.

“I’m way better than Cui Mingyang. His father writes papers for him, while I have to write them for my father,” he muttered under his breath, dragging his numbed legs back to the living room.

The night wind had picked up; the two shattered windowpanes howled with gusts of chilly air. Autumn’s temperature difference between day and night made the wind even harsher after sunset.

As Li Rong passed through the draft, he shivered, then looked at the dining table. The shrimp, fish, and omelets had all gone cold.

“Yeah, it’s definitely chilly,” he remarked with some regret, glancing at the pile of half-peeled shrimp before quickly retreating to the warmth of his bedroom and burrowing into his blanket.

He really needed to deal with the broken windows. The forecast suggested a drop in temperature in the coming days, but he was out of spare money.

Li Rong tightened the blanket around him, contemplated for a moment, then picked up his phone.

[Li Rong]: Cen Xiao, the first mock exam is the day after tomorrow. Want to cram at my place? Paid tutoring available.

Of course, Li Rong knew Cen Xiao didn’t need tutoring. Those unimpressive grades he’d once received had all been deliberate.

[Cen Xiao]: No.

Li Rong had expected the rejection. At this stage, Cen Xiao wasn’t yet fully in control and remained cautious in his actions.

But Li Rong wasn’t in a rush.

He switched to the class group chat.

[Li Rong]: @everyone, the first mock exam is coming up. Want to cram at my place? Paid tutoring, everyone welcome!

[Cui Mingyang]: …

[He Lu]: This… did someone hack the class monitor’s account?

[Tang Ran]: A new path to riches, noted.

[Jian Fu]: … The homeroom teacher is in this group, you know.

[Lin Zhen]: Is it okay if I come? I’m bad at every subject, but I can afford it!

About thirty seconds later, Li Rong received the private message he’d been waiting for.

[Cen Xiao]: .

Li Rong’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. He sniffed and nestled his chin deeper into the blanket but remembered to return to the group chat for an update.

[Li Rong]: @everyone, the 1-on-1 tutoring has been claimed. See you all at the second mock exam!

[Cui Mingyang]: …

[Jian Fu]: Who’s the idiot?

[Lin Zhen]: Ah! What a pity. I hadn’t even asked my parents for leave yet.

Author’s Note:

Cen Xiao: Can I lose my mind yet?