Chapter 32: Worth Thousands of Gold 

Jiang Huaiyuan smiled and said, “Changfeng, your room has been ready for a while. Your mom even packed some fresh clothes for you. Stay here tonight and see how it feels—if you need anything else, just let Dad know. We’ll bring the rest over this weekend when your mom and I help you settle in properly.”

“Ah? Oh…” Zhao Changfeng still wasn’t used to Jiang Huaiyuan calling himself “Dad.”

But truthfully, Zhao Changfeng did have expectations for this kind of father—gentle, refined, talented, emotionally stable. Definitely not the kind of man who would raise a hand against his wife and child.

He still remembered the last time he glimpsed Jiang Ruotang’s room—so big and spacious, the kind of room he could only dream of.

It sparked a quiet sense of anticipation in his heart.

After dinner, Jiang Ruotang clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you your room!”

“Ah? Oh.”

Watching the two kids head upstairs, Zhao Yunshu leaned against Jiang Huaiyuan’s shoulder. “Ruotang is so good to both me and Changfeng… it feels like a dream.”

“What dream? This is real! From now on, we’re going to live happily together as a family.”

Jiang Ruotang walked ahead, pushing open a door with a flourish. “Ta-da—what do you think?”

When the light came on, Zhao Changfeng was stunned.

A spacious room with a solid wood bed, a desk, a cabinet—all the furniture he had secretly liked when he and Jiang Ruotang had gone shopping.

Only now did Zhao Changfeng realize that Jiang Ruotang had already planned for him to move in that day.

He’d secretly observed Changfeng’s tastes all along—just to prepare this surprise?

On the bookshelf sat the sports magazines and that star player card he had once noticed in Jiang Ruotang’s room.

So… Jiang Ruotang had given these to him?

“The bed linen and covers were laid by Sister Juan. You and I will share a bathroom—since you’re taller, you can put your stuff on the top shelf. Sound okay?”

“No problem,” Zhao Changfeng shook his head instinctively.

This room was a thousand times better than the tiny one he used to live in.

“This is your turf now. Put up posters of any players you like, collect any team or player merchandise you want. There’s also a community basketball court nearby—you can play with friends.”

Jiang Ruotang leaned against the window and pointed outside. Zhao Changfeng followed his gaze—there really was a basketball court not far away.

“Thanks.” Zhao Changfeng mumbled. His heart felt warm, swelling with an unfamiliar emotion.

That “thanks” wasn’t just for the room. It was for accepting and respecting his mom.

Jiang Ruotang smiled with his eyes crinkling. He patted Zhao Changfeng on the shoulder. “No need to be polite.”

That night, Zhao Changfeng took a shower, but couldn’t fall asleep in his new room. He got up, wanting to check out the basketball court, and ran into Sister Juan in the hallway.

Remembering the lunches she’d prepared lately, he hurried to thank her.

Sister Juan smiled. “It was nothing! Your meals are easy to make. Actually, it was Ruotang who came to me with the diet plan and instructions.”

“Jiang Ruotang?”

Zhao Changfeng didn’t expect that Jiang Ruotang even cared about what he ate every day.

“Yes. He said you want to be an athlete, and athletes need to build muscle and eat clean.”

“Oh…”

So all this time, it was Jiang Ruotang making arrangements—but he’d credited Sister Juan, probably to avoid making Changfeng uncomfortable or indebted.

Thinking about how he’d been like a hedgehog around him before, Zhao Changfeng felt a surge of guilt.

He really couldn’t understand why such a good person like Jiang Ruotang used to act like such a jerk last semester.

It had to be bad company, surely!

The grown-ups were right: “He who stays near vermilion turns red; near ink turns black.” Now that Jiang Ruotang was no longer close to Lin Lu, he’d become normal again.

Meanwhile, Jiang Ruotang was wrestling with math, Lu Guifan’s voice coming through his earphones.

It was lower than usual, with a magnetic edge, carrying a faint electric buzz. Jiang Ruotang secretly thought—this must be what they mean by ‘ear-pregnant’.

Lu Guifan: “Got it figured out?”

Jiang Ruotang scratched his head. “N-no…”

Lu Guifan: “Take a ten-minute break. I’ll think of another way.”

Jiang Ruotang: “Class Rep, am I troubling you too much?”

Lu Guifan: “Not at all.”

Jiang Ruotang: “Really? Maybe I’ve got some math talent after all?”

Lu Guifan: “High school math is dull. Teaching you feels more rewarding than winning an Olympiad medal.”

Jiang Ruotang: I shouldn’t have asked.

He really didn’t want to feel this IQ gap. Lu Guifan was Everest; he was the Mariana Trench… no, not that bad—maybe just a shallow pit. Average growth was still improvement, like GDP per capita.

Slumping over his desk, Jiang Ruotang sniffed. Since Lu Guifan needed a few minutes to think, he might as well clear his head.

He pulled out a sketchbook, tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and chased a memory—capturing Lu Guifan leaning against the bus window that night of the proposal, pencil flying furiously across the page.

Though his hand moved fast, the lines came out soft and warm. Even the streetlamp glow brushing across Lu Guifan’s brows was delicate and handsome.

A mere sketch, yet the scent of osmanthus and the night breeze seemed to seep from the paper.

Just as he put his pencil down, Lu Guifan messaged—he’d found a clumsy new solution.

Under Lu Guifan’s guidance, Jiang Ruotang carefully finished the problem.

A rare sense of accomplishment filled him—what once seemed impossible had become doable.

But the joy lasted only three seconds before Lu Guifan sent:
[The road ahead is long; I will seek it without turning back.]

Jiang Ruotang’s face fell.
[Class Rep… are you saying teaching me is a painful journey?]

You dislike me now? Even so, I’ll cling to your thigh!

Lu Guifan:
[I mean: the path may be hard, but since you’ve taken the first step, don’t give up easily.]

Jiang Ruotang stared at the message, slowly understanding Lu Guifan’s hope—that his efforts wouldn’t be fleeting, but lasting to the end.

In other words: no matter how tough life’s right choices were, Jiang Ruotang should persist.

Had this been his past self, he’d have blocked his ears at such preachy words.

But now, he felt the quiet joy of not being alone on this path.

He took a photo of the sketch, adjusted the angle several times, and nearly sent it to Lu Guifan—but paused. He didn’t want to waste his class rep’s data.

So he carefully tore out the sketch, sealed it in a watercolor pouch, and decided to bring it to school tomorrow.

Giving it in person would be better.

—

The next morning, Lu Guifan sat at his desk, sliding his lunch bag into the drawer—his fingers brushed something odd.

A strange yet faintly anticipated feeling rose in him.

He pinched the edge and pulled out the sketch—on top, a familiar sticky note read:
[If I become famous, this drawing will be worth thousands someday!]

For some reason, those bold, cheeky words made his heart soften.

Around him, classmates were sitting down, waiting for him to collect homework like usual.

Without changing his expression, Lu Guifan slid the sketch into his physics workbook, then stood to gather the papers.

Only at lunch, after the classroom emptied, did he quietly take out the book again.

Peeling away the sticky note, he saw—drawn with care beneath the faint lamplight—a portrait of himself.

So that line “I stood under the window watching you” wasn’t just teasing. Jiang Ruotang had truly watched him with such attention.

Lu Guifan propped his chin on his hand, hiding his smile—even though no one was around, he tucked the curve of his lips behind his fingers.

—

On the way back to class with lunch, Jiang Ruotang got a call from Mu Xianqing—just as he’d bragged on the sticky note that this sketch was “worth thousands.”

“Hello? Brother Mu—state your business or hang up. I’m a precious third-year student—every second counts.”

Mu Xianqing chuckled. “Your ‘Little Sparrow’ painting got a buyer. Five thousand euro. After a 30% agent fee, you’ll get 3,500.”

Jiang Ruotang froze for a while, tilting his head. “You serious? Or scamming me?”

“Scam? It’s all in the contract—30% agent fee, clear as day.” Mu Xianqing laughed.

“I meant—are you scamming them? Did you hype me up as some rising art prodigy? Art students sell pieces for maybe 2,000 to 5,000—but you priced mine at 5,000 euro?! False advertising?”

“You’d think so. But I didn’t expect the buyer to accept 5,000 euro either. Should’ve asked more, since I never planned to sell it.”

Jiang Ruotang nearly choked on his own saliva. “W-what? Not fifty thousand RMB, but fifty thousand euros?!”

“That’s right. Go check the contract we signed earlier—you agreed to let your works be exhibited and sold in Europe, remember?”

“Who the heck would want to buy it?” Jiang Ruotang thought to himself. This guy must have money to burn and got sweet-talked by Mu Xianqing!

“A very famous collector—Mr. Wendel. The moment he saw your ‘Little Sparrow,’ he said it reminded him of the joy of catching sparrows in the yard with his three-year-old daughter using a dustpan. Sadly, his daughter grew distant from him after growing up. So collecting this painting probably feels like preserving those father-daughter memories to him.”

“Oh… then I could just give it to him—”

Before Jiang Ruotang could finish, Mu Xianqing cut him off.

“Ruotang, I know you’re kind, full of emotions, easily able to empathize with strangers—that’s a great trait for an artist. But to many collectors, a piece of art that stirs their emotions is priceless. You don’t need to give it away. Doing so would imply pity, and disrespect his social status. After all, his wealth is something you can only dream of.”

“Oh…” Jiang Ruotang scratched the back of his head.

“Also, after hearing that your ‘Roche’s Law’ is not for sale, Mr. Wendel privately asked me if offering €100,000 might persuade you.”

For any young painter new to the field, this was an astronomical price.

It showed that Mr. Wendel truly loved Jiang Ruotang’s work and was willing to spare no expense.

Jiang Ruotang lowered his eyes and softly said, “Please thank Mr. Wendel for me… but I really can’t part with it.”

Mu Xianqing understood. “That’s fine. If you create any new pieces—not the ones assigned in art class, but your own original works—promise you’ll show them to me first. Don’t let anyone else see them.”

“Okay, I will.” Jiang Ruotang nodded.

To Mu Xianqing, there was plenty of time.

Jiang Ruotang would grow up, and some of the things he now held precious would one day fade. He was still young. When he met someone even more captivating than the figure in the painting, this “non-sale” work would probably be unlocked—and fetch an even more surprising price.

Perhaps afraid Jiang Ruotang would change his mind, Mr. Wendel had immediately paid in full and even expressed great interest in collecting more of Jiang Ruotang’s works.

Almost at noon the very next day, while Jiang Ruotang was napping on his desk, he received a bank transfer notification. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at his phone—over 200,000 RMB had been deposited after tax deductions.

Oh my god… I actually made real money with my own skills.

On top of that, when FAIRY and Nifeng had gone public not long ago, Jiang Ruotang had invested all his pocket money.

It seemed he was pretty lucky at getting initial public offerings.

FAIRY’s market performance had far exceeded analysts’ predictions. Its share price kept climbing, earning Jiang Ruotang a good return.

As for Nifeng, though it was mediocre for now, once the big foreign brands stumbled, it was bound to surge. Jiang Ruotang planned to reinvest once he had more cash.

With this fresh 200,000+ RMB, his available funds now totaled about 500,000—approaching the comfort level of a middle-class household.

But what to do with this money? Leaving it in the bank seemed boring. He figured he could spread his eggs into more baskets.

While thinking, he carried his lunch back to the classroom and instinctively glanced at Lu Guifan’s seat—seeing him read a book while scooping food from his lunchbox.

As someone passed Lu Guifan’s desk, their arm accidentally brushed against his phone, knocking it off the edge.

Lu Guifan reacted instantly—bending down and catching the phone before it hit the ground.

Jiang Ruotang was stunned. So cool… Like real-life Mission Impossible. No edits needed.

“Oops, sorry… But Class Rep—what kind of phone is that? Is it smart?”

That apology didn’t sound sincere. Jiang Ruotang shot the person a chilly look.

“Yes.” Lu Guifan calmly answered, slipping the phone into his drawer.

That classmate felt Jiang Ruotang’s icy gaze and hurried back to their seat.

Jiang Ruotang glanced at his own phone, thoughtful.

The latest smartphones from Country M had already entered their fourth generation—but they were expensive. Not a problem for students like Jiang Ruotang or Lin Lu; they were always early adopters.

Other classmates, like Jian Sha and Zhao Changfeng, used top brands from neighboring Country K.

As for Lu Guifan… Jiang Ruotang guessed he valued cost-efficiency—just basic messaging and research functions.

Damn… all this time I’ve been wasting his data for tutoring… I’m such a leech, Jiang Ruotang thought guiltily.

He walked over, lunch tray in hand, and sat opposite Lu Guifan, straddling the front of the chair. About to place his food on Lu Guifan’s desk, he paused when Lu Guifan glanced up.

Lu Guifan slid his own lunchbox inward—allowing Jiang Ruotang to share his desk.

Grinning, Jiang Ruotang sat down, eyeing Lu Guifan’s meal.

“What?” Lu Guifan asked.

“Your braised beancurd skin smells amazing.”

Without even looking up, Lu Guifan muttered, “Help yourself.”

Delighted, Jiang Ruotang took one piece, then another, then a third. Simple home-style cooking—but with the perfect wok aroma he loved.

Within a minute, Lu Guifan’s lunchbox held only rice and veggies.

“Your mom cooks so well,” Jiang Ruotang said, grinning. Then he quickly moved his own beef slices onto Lu Guifan’s rice. “Don’t be mad. I’ll trade you.”

Lu Guifan gave him a sidelong glance. “Why are you buttering me up? You’re not just here to swap food, are you?”

Ah… busted. He probably thought Jiang Ruotang came just to share his beef slices.

“I want to see your phone. Is that okay?”

Lu Guifan, surprisingly, handed him the phone from the drawer.

“Password?”

Jiang Ruotang was about to return it when Lu Guifan said, “Four ones.”

…That’s such a lazy password.

But still—being given the code so casually made Jiang Ruotang feel strangely happy.

He checked the logo on the back.

Xiaolan?

The very same brand that would, in five—no, ten years—be the king of domestic smartphones. Known for its sweeping success in smart tech—vacuum robots, TVs, even computers. But now, just a small player. The phone’s design and interface looked cheap and rough—but its operation was surprisingly smooth.

Like a little sparrow—ordinary, but fully capable.

“Why is the back cracked? Did it fall just now?” Jiang Ruotang asked.

“It belonged to the corner shop owner. Said foreign brands were better—this one broke, so he sold it to me for 200 yuan since I help out at the store sometimes.”

“Oh.” Jiang Ruotang nodded, pulling out his own phone. “Let’s see if Xiaolan has gone public yet…”

“No need. It hasn’t. These obscure brands flood the market—quality varies. Xiaolan tries hard, but imported brands overshadow them in performance and design. I think… in two years, they’ll fold.”

In Lu Guifan’s eyes, Jiang Ruotang glimpsed cold rationality—and faint regret.

Regret, probably, because the phone had served him well.

“Oh…” Jiang Ruotang silently wished Xiaolan success and better funding.

“Got extra pocket money lately?” Lu Guifan asked offhandedly.

“Yeah.” Jiang Ruotang nodded honestly, leaning closer with shining eyes. “I sold a painting.”

Lu Guifan paused, head lowered. “Congrats.”

But the flicker of regret in his gaze didn’t escape Jiang Ruotang.

He leaned closer. “Not ‘Roche’s Law.’ That’s not for sale. It was my oil painting ‘Little Sparrow’ that sold.”

Lu Guifan’s fingertips trembled slightly—a strange sensation. No classmate had ever read his emotions like Jiang Ruotang.

This explanation was deliberate—so Lu Guifan wouldn’t be upset. Jiang Ruotang was saying: I care about ‘Roche’s Law’ as much as you do.

Lu Guifan tapped Jiang Ruotang’s forehead, gently pushing him back.

“If you’re itching to spend, why not invest in distributed computing?”

“Hmm?” Jiang Ruotang brushed away Lu Guifan’s finger, leaning in again.

“Cloud computing.” Lu Guifan paused, as if choosing words carefully.

“Ohhh—” Jiang Ruotang lit up in understanding.

From the back row, Cai Ji suddenly chimed in mid-bite, excitedly: “Don’t underestimate cloud tech! Big sites like Qilin Video, Yunfeng Video, and even our favorite free anime site, SweetFruit, will rely on cloud computing. Search engines, too! As smartphones get more popular, everyone will need cloud tech to run their apps!”

Jiang Ruotang stared blankly at Cai Ji.