Chapter 4: It’s Probably Hereditary

Jiang Ruotang leaned on Juan-jie’s shoulder as they headed downstairs, saying, “Let’s go eat dinner. Tomorrow, ask He-jie to help clean up that room—sweep the dust, wipe the windows.”

That room was for Zhao Changfeng.

In his past life, his “treasures” had hogged the room with the best lighting. After Jiang Huaiyuan and Zhao Yunshu got married, Zhao Changfeng had to settle for the guest bedroom on the first floor, where a tree outside blocked the sunlight.

Once, as Zhao Changfeng passed the second-floor “treasure vault,” he grumbled, “This junk lives better than people.” Jiang Ruotang overheard and nearly started a fight. Luckily, Jiang Huaiyuan and Zhao Yunshu intervened—because Jiang Ruotang wouldn’t stand a chance against Zhao Changfeng in a million years. Despite those big, round eyes sparkling with Pokémon-like innocence, Zhao Changfeng’s near-six-foot-three frame could pin Jiang Ruotang to the wall with one arm.

In Jiang Ruotang’s mind, Zhao Changfeng was just a freeloading stepbrother, always sniping at his best friend, Lin Lu. Jiang Ruotang never truly saw him as family.

Yet it was this guy he looked down on who, in his past life, worked late-night rideshare gigs to help cover Jiang Ruotang’s medical bills.

That’s when Jiang Ruotang realized blood wasn’t the only measure of closeness—heart mattered too.

That was his brother.

He’d poured his heart into securing resources for Bai Yingchuan, but at the end of his life, one of Jiang Ruotang’s biggest regrets was not helping Zhao Changfeng find a better path.

After dinner, Jiang Ruotang brewed himself a coffee.

It was crunch time. He spread out his practice tests—a full-blown construction site.

With so many tasks ahead, Jiang Ruotang didn’t know where to start.

In his past life, he’d taken the art student track, aiming for an art academy, where cultural course requirements were lax. From middle school to his sophomore year, his grades were above average, but once the subjects got tougher in his junior year, he’d given up.

Now, Jiang Ruotang’s mind was ten years in the future. Those academic basics? Long gone. Even if he pulled 72-hour all-nighters, he couldn’t build a skyscraper from scratch!

Taking a deep breath, he told himself: Being alive is already a win. Could a living person be defeated by practice tests?

With a “dead pig fears no boiling water” attitude, he glanced at the first math question.

Huh, he understood it—a sequence problem. The answer should be B!

The second question, a function problem, seemed like C!

About half an hour later, flipping through textbooks to find key concepts, he managed to muddle through most of it. Some questions stumped him no matter how he tried, but Jiang Ruotang couldn’t help but marvel: “Reborn once, and my brain’s actually developed!”

Gradually, he realized… it was because he’d been so bored in the hospital that he’d binged Lu Guifan’s lecture videos.

Lu Guifan’s research institute had teaching duties, and he taught college math. The elegant, intellectual math professor was a total heartthrob among students, with plenty of his lectures online. When Jiang Ruotang couldn’t see Lu Guifan in person, he’d rewatch those videos obsessively.

Sure, Lu Guifan’s expression was robotic during lectures, but his explanations were clear and intuitive, perfectly suited to Jiang Ruotang’s thinking. Subtly, those lessons had lodged in his brain.

Jiang Ruotang patted his head. Truly, “interest” was the best teacher.

But interest had its limits. The multiple-choice questions got trickier, and the big problems? He recognized every word, but together, they mocked him as if he were illiterate.

His phone buzzed on the desk. It was a message from Lin Lu: [Ruotang, finished your summer homework? Want to reference mine?]

“Reference” was code for “copy.”

That was Lin Lu—always tactful, always giving others face.

Unlike Jiang Ruotang, Lin Lu had clear goals: at least a 211 university, then study abroad. His family hired tutors, and his summer homework, completed with their help, was highly accurate.

In his past life, Jiang Ruotang thought Lin Lu was a lifesaver, solving his urgent problem. Logically, unfinished homework wasn’t a big deal since he was aiming for art school… Wait, where did that idea come from?

Jiang Ruotang’s eyes narrowed, and he replied slowly: [But if I copy your homework, I still won’t understand these questions.]

Lin Lu’s reply came fast: [You’re going to art school anyway. It’s just Teacher Song being too strict, hounding you.]

Jiang Ruotang’s lips curled slightly. What a “good friend” you are.

These days, even average art schools require nearly 400 points on cultural exams, and top ones demand 70% of the first-tier university cutoff.

Lin Lu’s subtle undermining had made Jiang Ruotang increasingly careless about academics. If he kept this up, he’d be doomed.

He’d shine at a 985 or 211 university, while Lin Lu’s flattery turned him into an idiot—a stark contrast.

Jiang Ruotang wasn’t foolish enough to confront Lin Lu now. Since you’ve finished your homework, let me learn from it.

[Thanks! Have your driver drop it off? I’ll bring it to school when we start.]

Lin Lu sent a few cheerful emojis, circling back: [Your morning message freaked me out. Why’d you suddenly stop liking Bai Yingchuan? Did something happen?]

Jiang Ruotang gave a faint smile. What, still trying to control me with Bai Yingchuan?

Time for a new game—I’m done with that one.

[Nothing much. There are thousands of idols out there. I saw a hotter one, so I switched.]

[No big TV shows or movies lately, right? Tell me! Who’s hotter than Bai Yingchuan?]

In that moment, Jiang Ruotang pictured a man in a black trench coat, his face stern but his eyes warm with kindness.

He could still recall the warmth from that man’s back.

It was snowing when Jiang Ruotang left, and Lu Guifan had given him his coat. Was he cold?

[I’m into intellectual types now.]

[Hahaha, no way! You said those ‘intellectual’ types are just plain water pretending to be Yakult.]

Did I really talk like that?

[Maybe I was too dumb and want to pour some knowledge into my brain.]

Lin Lu didn’t buy it, assuming Jiang Ruotang was joking because of homework stress.

Plus, with Bai Yingchuan transferring to their school, the young master was probably putting on airs.

But Lin Lu was efficient. Before Jiang Ruotang could drown in the sea of knowledge, Lin Lu’s driver delivered the homework.

Jiang Ruotang copied while reading, leaving blank anything he couldn’t understand.

Past 11 p.m., Jiang Huaiyuan returned, his footsteps betraying a great mood.

Seeing light under Jiang Ruotang’s door, he knew his son was still up and knocked.

“Tangtang, can Dad come in?”

“Yeah, come in.” Jiang Ruotang was frowning, wrestling with a big problem.

The door opened, and Jiang Huaiyuan’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Tangtang, I took Yunshu to Mingyue Pavilion, and she loved their Lotus Pond Moonlight! How did you know something even I didn’t?”

Jiang Ruotang glanced at his father.

“I know a lot.”

Jiang Huaiyuan, just past 45, had no bald spot or beer belly. He didn’t work out much but played golf and fished, keeping a fair, refined look. His big eyes and long lashes gave him a touch of Bambi-like charm.

On set, Jiang Huaiyuan was commanding and in control, but off set, his charisma plummeted to zero.

Raised on his grandfather’s film sets, Jiang Huaiyuan had inherited about 70% of his grandfather’s directorial prowess. But his inherent softness was unchangeable. Without the director’s armor, he lacked his grandmother’s knack for handling relationships, making him too sentimental and easily manipulated by fake friends like Lin Chengdong.

Fortunately, his grandfather’s old connections held firm. Jiang Huaiyuan played the respectful figurehead at the company, while the elders kept Lin Chengdong’s ambitions in check, allowing them to scrape by all these years.

Jiang Ruotang mentally teased his dad: Good looks, keep it up.

“How’d you know she likes blockbuster movies? I thought she’d be into artsy films,” Jiang Huaiyuan asked.

“Zhao Changfeng mentioned it once.”

“…Is my cardigan really that bad?” Jiang Huaiyuan asked.

“It makes you look like a bureaucrat. Fine for intimidating the crew on set, but wearing it on a date? You trying to be Zhao’s boss?”

“Oh.”

Rarely did father and son chat like this, and Jiang Huaiyuan lingered.

“What if I take Yunshu fishing at Enxi Reservoir next time? The scenery’s nice…”

Jiang Ruotang’s forehead veins throbbed. This oblivious dad—couldn’t he see his son was studying? Shouldn’t he be tearfully grateful, saying, “Thank heavens my son’s actually studying,” and leave?

“Dad, Enxi’s scenery is great, but while you’re fishing, what’s Aunt Zhao doing? Breathing air or napping on a folding chair?”

“Then… give me some ideas! Your suggestions today were spot-on…”

Jiang Ruotang tapped his pen against his head. From memory, Zhao Yunshu was practical and probably exhausted from managing multiple companies’ accounts. “First, take her to that custom shoe shop you frequent to order soft leather shoes. She travels for work, and hard shoes hurt her heels.”

“Yeah, she mentioned her feet hurt a couple days ago.”

If this weren’t his own father, Jiang Ruotang would’ve grabbed his collar and shaken him.

She told you her shoes hurt, and you didn’t follow up?

You’re handed the answer and don’t write it down? Truly my dad!

If Jiang Ruotang’s head was an ocean in his past life, Jiang Huaiyuan wasn’t far behind. It’s probably hereditary.