Chapter 5: Youth Is Still Young, Nothing’s a Big Deal

“You knew…
You knew her feet were hurting, and you didn’t even care?”

“You’re right about everything. What else?”

“And… that whole set of SPA essential oil massages. Her shoulders and back often ache. Take her there to relax. She’ll be hungry after the massage—bring her to that new revolving restaurant. There’s a night view, and the food is light and refined.”

“Alright, alright!”

“Remember to book a table,” Jiang Ruotang reminded, still a bit worried.

In the past life, Zhao Yunshu once mentioned he wanted a pair of soft leather shoes. But all the money had gone to Jiang Ruotang’s medical treatment, and Zhao Yunshu’s shoes had split open at the toes without being replaced. To earn more money for her targeted therapy, Zhao Yunshu took on extra jobs at two more companies. The pain in his shoulders and neck never eased.

Back then, Jiang Ruotang had done nothing filial. Now, in this life, he had to make it up to him.

Finally… Jiang Huaiyuan noticed Jiang Ruotang doing worksheets.

“Tangtang… are you studying?”

“You just noticed? I’m your son, you know. I didn’t do any homework the entire summer, and you didn’t even try to intervene?”

“I did mention it. Then you got mad and ignored me. You always said if you couldn’t get into a domestic art school, you’d just go abroad…”

Jiang Ruotang pinched the bridge of his nose. “And if I went abroad, I’d just be an international student failure. Dad, you can’t keep indulging me so unconditionally.”

“It’s not entirely unconditional.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not hurting anyone.”

Jiang Ruotang looked at his father’s wide, innocent eyes: Dad, that actually makes a lot of sense… I’ve got nothing to say to that.

“Do you think that even if I fail at everything, you’ll still support me?”

“More or less. The outside world is too intense. If you just want to stay home, that’s fine too.”

Jiang Ruotang really didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but his eyes burned and swelled with emotion.

He hugged Jiang Huaiyuan tightly. “In that case, you have to stay strong no matter what happens. You must never abandon me.”

Jiang Huaiyuan froze for a moment. He could feel his son’s shoulders trembling.

What was going on? Was he afraid that if he started a new family, he’d be forgotten?

“No matter what happens, I’ll never abandon you,” he said gently.

“Okay, now go. I’ve still got homework to finish.”

Jiang Ruotang waved the back of his hand in a mock-ceremonial gesture of dismissal.

Jiang Huaiyuan left his son’s room, quietly closing the door behind him.

As he passed the room next door, he noticed the door wide open. He walked in and turned on the light, staring blankly at the now-empty space.

Aunt Juan came up with a plate of fruit, about to bring it to Jiang Ruotang when Jiang Huaiyuan stopped her.

“This… what happened to Tangtang’s treasure trove?”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Ruotang’s been acting strange all day. He had sweet tofu pudding for breakfast, chatted with me during lunch, and then in the afternoon, he asked me to help him pack up everything in this room into boxes. A delivery truck came and took it all away!”

“Where did it go? Did he run out of room here and buy another house to store it?”

“No,” Aunt Juan leaned in and whispered, “he sold everything. Ruotang said he made a few thousand yuan and could now buy a bed and wardrobe for Zhao Changfeng.”

“What? For Zhao Changfeng?” Jiang Huaiyuan was utterly confused.

Aunt Juan pointed at the now-empty room and said quietly, “Ruotang also said this room is going to be Zhao Changfeng’s in the future.”

Jiang Huaiyuan stood there, deep in thought, tempted to go back and talk to his son again. But Aunt Juan had already put the fruit down and signaled with her eyes not to disturb him—he was seriously studying.

So Jiang Huaiyuan pulled out his phone and stepped outside to call Zhao Yunshu, telling her that he thought something was wrong with their son.

Zhao Yunshu’s verdict: “Your son’s becoming more sensible and mature, and you’re saying he’s not normal? Who’s the weird one here?”

Three days flew by in a flash.

School started. It was time to face the firing squad.

Jiang Ruotang used to not understand why so many students would rush to finish their homework on the subway, but as he sat in the backseat of a private car, hurriedly scribbling his English essay, he finally got it.

—Finish whatever you can. Even if the ending is death, there’s still a difference between being drawn and quartered versus one swift chop from the executioner’s blade.

The gate of Guangyao High School in North City was just ahead. A sense of melancholy rose in his chest.

All those youthful faces untouched by the world, acne, ponytails, earbuds playing English audio, voices chiming in unison with “Good morning, teacher” as they entered the gates—it all felt like a lifetime ago.

Youth was still early. The sun was shining just right. Nothing really mattered that much.

Jiang Ruotang took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The teacher on duty at the gate that day was Song Qinghe, the math teacher—also the one who had been hardest on Jiang Ruotang in his past life.

Back then, many people advised Mr. Song to give up on Jiang Ruotang. They said he was headed to art school anyway, and even if his academics flopped, his famous director father would find him a university spot. But Song Qinghe still kept pushing him to study.

What happened afterward? It seemed that halfway through senior year, Mr. Song was transferred for some reason…

Jiang Ruotang hadn’t liked him back then. He’d even cheered when the teacher left. But now, he felt grateful. After all, Mr. Song had truly cared.

As Jiang Ruotang passed through the school gate, Song Qinghe gave him a critical once-over, just about to look away when he heard:

“Good morning, Mr. Song.”

“…Mm.” Song Qinghe nodded.

The English teacher next to him said curiously, “Wow, is the sky about to rain blood? Jiang Ruotang actually greeted you? Is he buttering you up because he didn’t do his summer homework?”

“Isn’t it basic manners for a student to greet their teacher?” Song Qinghe said coolly.

Jiang Ruotang entered the academic building, taking a deep breath—he was facing a real problem.

He didn’t remember which senior class he was in. He didn’t even remember which floor.

…Maybe he should go back and ask Mr. Song?

Or wait around to see if he recognized any classmates?

Suddenly, an arm slung around his shoulders and a cheerful voice rang out beside his ear.

“Ruotang! What are you standing here zoning out for?”

In that instant, Jiang Ruotang froze like he’d been jabbed with a needle. His whole body went rigid from shoulders to heart.

—It was Lin Lu!

He turned his head and met Lin Lu’s round, sparkling eyes.

Those eyes were beautiful—clear and bright, seemingly without a trace of calculation.

And Lin Lu’s smile was like a little sun, warming everything around him, making people feel inexplicably happy.

When he was younger, Jiang Ruotang didn’t understand why he trusted Lin Lu so much.

Later, he realized it was because Lin Lu had a rare gift—whether speaking or smiling, he always gave the other person emotional value. And in human relationships, that was even more powerful than intelligence.

“Ruotang, what’s wrong?” Lin Lu looked at him with concern.

“Nothing. Just a stiff neck. When you suddenly threw your arm over me, it hurt a little,” Jiang Ruotang said smoothly.

“Oh, I see.” Lin Lu smiled. “Come on, let’s go to class. You brought my summer worksheets, right?”

“I did. Don’t worry.”

Jiang Ruotang remembered that his desk mate in senior year had been Lin Lu. Thinking that he’d be sitting next to him for another whole year… well, he could treat it as PUA resistance training.

They entered the classroom and Lin Lu led him to the third-to-last row.

The room was bright and clean. On the back blackboard were bold words—280 Days Until the College Entrance Exam.

As a teenager, that countdown had felt like a looming sword. Looking back now, he realized: life was so long… the college entrance exam wasn’t that big a deal.

Still… even if it wasn’t a big deal, he still had to cross that rickety bridge himself.

After sitting down, Jiang Ruotang returned the borrowed worksheets to Lin Lu.

Lin Lu glanced at them and said in surprise, “Ruotang, why didn’t you do the long-answer questions? If you didn’t have time, you should’ve told me—I would’ve helped! The class monitor will be collecting them soon!”

The word “class monitor” made Jiang Ruotang’s heart jolt violently.

As he sat in a daze, another student came by to borrow Lin Lu’s worksheet to copy from.

“Lin Lu! If he’s not gonna use it, let us copy first!”

The early arrivals were all hunched over their desks, furiously writing—it was the final sprint.

Lin Lu tried to take Jiang Ruotang’s worksheet. “I’ll help you write it!”

“No need. Our handwriting’s different,” Jiang Ruotang pressed down on Lin Lu’s hand.

Having him do it would be even worse than not doing it at all.

Because Jiang Ruotang had been an obvious fangirl in the past—his focus clearly wasn’t on studying.

Just last semester, he even sponsored a school fan club to support Bai Yingchuan, causing parents to complain to the school.

The homeroom teacher, Mr. Wang—aka “Confucius Wang”—was so furious his voice shook. He pointed at Jiang Ruotang and shouted, “You’re nothing but a shit-stirrer!”

Back then, Jiang Ruotang had snapped right back: “If I’m the stick, then all the students are the shit? Including you?”

After that, he and Mr. Wang were sworn enemies.

In his past life, Lin Lu had indeed helped him copy homework, and they’d both been caught. Their parents were called in.

Later, Jiang Huaiyuan said the teacher suspected Jiang Ruotang had forced Lin Lu to do it, and even called it school bullying.

At the time, Jiang Ruotang thought the school was overreacting. But now, he wondered just how much Lin Lu’s mother had smeared his name behind closed doors.

Lin Lu’s worried voice broke through his thoughts. “But there’s so much blank space… you’ll get punished and made to stand at the back.”

“Isn’t that great? Keeps me awake and alert.” Jiang Ruotang smiled.

And helps me stay away from you.

As a kid, getting punished to stand felt like a huge humiliation. Now? So what—it wasn’t like getting docked your year-end bonus or paycheck. Who cared?

Just then, a tall figure entered, carrying a black, slouchy canvas backpack.

In that instant, Jiang Ruotang felt like his heart was being squeezed. His eyes were glued to that person.

So this… was what eighteen-year-old Lu Guifan looked like.

So thin. Skin pale as snow. Heavy black-rimmed glasses that hid his emotions.

Maybe it was because he’d grown taller, or maybe his uniform had shrunk from too much washing, but the sleeves and pant legs were a bit short. Under the cuffs were slender-looking wrists, with sharp bones. Fair ankles peeked through faintly. His canvas shoes were washed so white they seemed out of place among all the branded sneakers around him.

It was this very person who had carried Jiang Ruotang through the final stretch of his life.

And Jiang Ruotang’s throat tightened with nervousness—so much so it almost stung.