Chapter 40: These Are What You Deserve

Lin Lu gave Jiang Ruotang another little shove, pretending to be annoyed. “You’re the good little baby here! Your whole family is full of good babies! I don’t care, you have to buy me yogurt during break.”

At that moment, Bai Yingchuan, who was sitting on Lin Lu’s other side, spoke lazily. “Why do I feel like I just got hit in the knee with an arrow?”

“Huh?”

“Hit with what arrow?”

Lin Lu and Jiang Ruotang both turned to look at Bai Yingchuan.

“Didn’t Jiang Ruotang just say that only good-looking guys can pull off scumbag lines and make them sound charming?”

Bai Yingchuan’s gaze slid past Lin Lu and landed straight into Jiang Ruotang’s eyes.

“So… Jiang Ruotang, do you think I’m a scumbag in your eyes?”

What the hell? Does my opinion really matter that much?

Hearing this, Jiang Ruotang actually became a little intrigued.

In his past life, Jiang Ruotang had gotten Bai Yingchuan a scumbag villain role in a film. Back then, he felt this type of character was a breakthrough—a role that, if played well, could make a honey-tongued villain exude deadly charm. Plus, it was directed by a famous director, which could have helped Bai Yingchuan move up a tier in his career.

But Lin Lu didn’t have such foresight. He thought this kind of role would harm Bai Yingchuan’s image. Even if the role was well-acted, it could get him criticized and would hurt future luxury brand endorsements.

In their last life, they didn’t let Bai Yingchuan take that role. In this life, just hearing him say some scumbag lines was already enough of a guilty pleasure.

“Sure, go ahead, let’s see if you can charm me to death!” Jiang Ruotang stroked his chin, clearly interested, the slight hint of provocation in his eyes caught perfectly by Bai Yingchuan.

The entire class turned to watch; they didn’t expect Bai Yingchuan to actually improvise on the spot. A few even couldn’t resist and scooted from the back rows to the front.

Someone poked Jiang Ruotang’s back with a pen. It was Zhao Changfeng’s voice, low and disdainful: “Showing off.”

In Jiang Ruotang’s mind, the little version of himself almost burst into laughter, pounding the table. Zhao Changfeng clearly wanted to remind him not to get charmed by Bai Yingchuan, but why did he sound so sour?

“Alright, here I go.”

“Bring it on.”

Bai Yingchuan stood up, bracing one hand on the desk as he leaned toward Jiang Ruotang—straight out of the classic idol drama move of “bending for you.”

No doubt about it—Bai Yingchuan was born to be an actor.

Even without saying a word, his deep gaze and the emotion in his eyes instantly created an atmosphere of tender affection.

“Ruotang…”

Just those two words, and the whole class, which had been giggling softly, fell into complete silence as if on cue.

It was also the first time Jiang Ruotang felt that his own name carried such weight.

“Out of everyone here, I only see you. You’re truly special.”

That line was corny as hell, but somehow Bai Yingchuan made it sound so natural, so sincere.

His pleasant voice, the suppressed yearning in his tone—it made Jiang Ruotang momentarily believe that he really was the only unique presence in Bai Yingchuan’s world.

The corners of Bai Yingchuan’s lips curled up slightly, the emotions in his eyes shifting subtly, like a villain out of place in the world, but lowering his head just for Jiang Ruotang. “I know I’m not a good person, but for you… I can try.”

Jiang Ruotang wanted to clap and praise Bai Yingchuan’s acting, but the plea hidden in the other’s gaze stopped him—as if silently saying: I’m not a bad guy, please let me stay in your world. Even if… I can only be your audience.

Bai Yingchuan’s fingertips tapped lightly on the desk as he leaned in further. Lin Lu, who sat between them, had to lean back to make room.

“I want to treat you seriously. So… please, don’t walk away. Okay?”

If the first two lines sounded like scumbag PUA talk, trying to make the victim feel ‘special,’ then this third line sounded almost like a confession.

The classroom was utterly quiet. Everyone could sense that Bai Yingchuan saw Jiang Ruotang as someone different—but they couldn’t quite put into words how he was different.

Just then, Lu Guifan came in, holding a stack of corrected practice sheets. He ignored the weird vibe of the room and mechanically began handing out the papers.

And with that, time, which had frozen, suddenly moved again.

Jiang Ruotang wanted to avert his gaze, but Bai Yingchuan’s intense look made him feel a bit at a loss.

The class monitor’s here, and you’re still not done with your scumbag script?

Bai Yingchuan caught Jiang Ruotang’s eye-rolling complaint and gave a faint, self-deprecating smile before sitting back down.

Lu Guifan, holding the papers, rarely paused. He put Jiang Ruotang’s paper on his desk, tapping it gently with his knuckle. “We went over this a few days ago. Didn’t you get it?”

Jiang Ruotang craned his neck to peek at it, scratching his head. “My eyes understood it; my brain’s still lagging a bit.”

Lu Guifan’s face didn’t show much emotion, but his voice subtly softened. “This is a key problem type for the college entrance exam. Since you didn’t fully grasp it last time, I’ll figure out another way to explain it to you.”

Jiang Ruotang never expected that the one racking his brain over a solution was Lu Guifan—not himself.

“Uh, class monitor… do you think I could make it into the top 30 of the grade with enough hard work?”

Lu Guifan frowned slightly. “I thought your goal was to escape from the third-to-last exam room…”

“You’ve crushed my motivation,” Jiang Ruotang said deliberately, flopping onto the desk with a pitiful look, staring at the wrong answer on his paper.

Lu Guifan raised his hand, almost ruffling Jiang Ruotang’s hair—but in front of so many watching eyes, he let it fall.

“But if you keep working hard, I think you can get into the university you dream of. So does being in the top 30 really matter?”

Jiang Ruotang tilted his head with a smile, eyes curved into crescents. Lu Guifan used to think Jiang Ruotang was like a little fox, scheming in his own way—but now he just looked like a dumb cat.

But to Jiang Ruotang, this was Lu Guifan’s unique way of comforting him—plain, practical, without pretty dreams or hot air. Yet to someone who’d lived a second life like Jiang Ruotang, it felt deeply precious.

Just as Lu Guifan was about to leave, Jiang Ruotang suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand, looking up at him earnestly.

“Class monitor, you’re the only one in the world who truly wants to teach me. You’re really special.”

“Hmm?” Lu Guifan tilted his head, quickly catching on from the many eyes staring at him and the muffled giggles from Jian Sha and Zhao Changfeng—clearly aware that Jiang Ruotang was messing around.

So he looked at Jiang Ruotang flatly, as if to say: Go on, keep performing.

“Even though I’m not a study genius, for you… I can try.”

The moment Jiang Ruotang finished saying this, Bai Yingchuan’s face darkened—he realized Jiang Ruotang had just parroted his own three lines.

“I’ll seriously do every single question. So please, don’t walk away. Okay?”

Jiang Ruotang’s eyes were round and bright as Lu Guifan lowered his gaze to look at him. He set the other stack of papers down on Zhao Changfeng’s desk behind them, then reached out and gently brushed aside the messy fringe on Jiang Ruotang’s forehead.

This scene left everyone around them stunned. It felt like the first time they’d seen him clearly again—like when he first wore contact lenses. It had been ages since they last got just how handsome Lu Guifan was.

The moment was like something out of a school idol drama—the classic scene where the top student bends down for the class dunce.

But the next second, Lu Guifan’s finger flicked Jiang Ruotang’s forehead.

“Ow—! That hurt!” Jiang Ruotang glared at him.

“Had enough fun? Let go.”

Jiang Ruotang let go reluctantly, and Lu Guifan picked up the papers to continue handing them out.

Jian Sha and Zhao Changfeng ducked their heads, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“My acting wasn’t that bad, was it? What are you laughing at!” Jiang Ruotang shot them an angry look.

Jian Sha encouraged him, “Your acting was great—but our class monitor isn’t falling for that routine.”

Only Lu Guifan knew that the feeling of his heartstrings being plucked into chaos had returned.

After distributing the papers, he returned to his seat and exhaled quietly, as if nothing had happened.

Even after class ended, Huang Tengyue’s scandal was still fermenting. From elderly folks in their eighties to students with smartphones, everyone was condemning the scumbag. Public opinion was overwhelmingly one-sided, and even the entrance to Huanyu Entertainment was swarmed with paparazzi, much to the frustration of employees and executives trying to come and go.

The original wife had handed over a pile of damning evidence—documents that proved Huang Tengyue had helped Lin Chengdong approve under-the-table contracts, falsify financial reports, and conceal income. She boldly sent everything straight to the board of Huanyu Entertainment, threatening that if they didn’t deal with this scumbag, she’d deliver it all to the authorities.

In an instant, every department head rushed to distance themselves from Huang Tengyue. His father-in-law almost dropped dead from shock, utterly disappointed in the worthless son-in-law. Since his daughter was already filing for divorce, the family wanted to clear the shady financial accounts to avoid complications during asset division. The father-in-law was the first to wholeheartedly support Zhao Yunshu’s internal audit.

Suddenly, the tide turned—every senior manager leapt to obey Zhao Yunshu, afraid that even a hint of reluctance would brand them as Huang Tengyue’s accomplice.

Even Zhao Yunshu herself, seeing the “top-secret documents” handed over by Mrs. Huang—no, former Mrs. Huang—felt she must have been absurdly lucky.

Before, without this evidence, catching Huang Tengyue would have been like finding a needle in a haystack. But now, it was a clear shot—one that would save them a ton of effort.

When Zhao Yunshu led the audit team and security to retrieve the documents and ran into her former colleagues, she felt a complex mix of emotions.

Back when she was in that department, she was just another workhorse—forever the “employee of the month” who never got promoted. She never dreamed the tables would turn this dramatically, making her the investigator with imperial authority.

The same deputy supervisors and specialists who used to look down on her now crowded around, fawning and swearing they knew nothing about Huang Tengyue’s dirty dealings.

Meanwhile, Huang Tengyue’s secretary frantically tried to wipe all the computer data, even trying to pry out the hard drive to stuff it in his bag. But the security team arrived too quickly. In panic, he nearly hurled the hard drive out the window—only to be stopped in time.

Zhao Yunshu sighed, wondering what the hell this idiot was thinking. A hard drive, from the tenth floor—if it hit someone and caused a fatal accident, wouldn’t that crime be worse than anything on the computer?

What kind of fool did Huang Tengyue trust as his confidant?

Thankfully, Zhao Yunshu’s audit department had just hired a computer science major. Right in front of the secretary, the student restored every last file from the computer. The secretary turned ashen, and Zhao Yunshu, without mercy, called the police and had him taken away.

Sitting in the art studio, Jiang Ruotang glanced at his phone as another headline notification popped up: #Phoenix Man Executive on the Run, Huanyu Entertainment Undergoing Major Reshuffle#

He curled his lips into a smile. He could imagine how frantic Lin Chengdong must be now, terrified the fire would spread to him.

Be afraid. Be terrified.

This is what you deserve—and there will be plenty more big surprises on the way.

That night, just as the driver dropped Lin Lu off at home after evening study hall, before he could open the car door, he saw Huang Tengyue blocked outside their iron gate, cursing at Lin Chengdong non-stop. He was yelling about how if his shady bookkeeping ever got exposed, he’d be the first to rat Lin Chengdong out.

Lin Lu was terrified.

Everything he had now came from his father. If Lin Chengdong’s fortune turned out to be tainted, would he lose everything too?

The moment Huang Tengyue spotted Lin Lu, his eyes widened like a wolf seeing fresh meat. When he slapped the car window with his palm, Lin Lu almost jumped out of his skin.

“You… what do you want?!”

“Listen up, you little brat! Go tell your dad—after everything I did for him, if he dares to turn his back on me, I’ll show no mercy! If the sky’s falling, we’ll all use it as a blanket! I’ve got recordings of him giving me orders—every last one!”

Lin Lu nodded like mad, grateful for the driver shielding him. In a panic, he shoved open the door and scrambled away from Huang Tengyue. His legs turned to jelly, and when he reached the door, he stumbled hard, nearly kneeling on the steps—his back drenched in cold sweat from fear.

Inside, Lin Chengdong sat on the sofa, face twisted like he’d swallowed something vile. When he heard Lin Lu come in, he asked coldly, “That mad dog’s still out there?”

Lin Lu swallowed hard and nodded. Then, in one breath, he told Lin Chengdong everything Huang Tengyue had just said.

Lin Chengdong’s gaze was terrifying—like he wanted to tear Lin Lu to pieces, making Lin Lu stammer out, “H-he… he said… he’s got r-recordings…”

As if expecting this, Lin Chengdong snorted coldly. “That’s all it took to make you stutter like this? Useless! Get to your room. Don’t come out unless I call you.”

This time, Lin Lu really was like a frightened deer, staggering upstairs and locking his door behind him, heart pounding wildly.

Then he heard Huang Tengyue come in. There wasn’t much talking—just crashing sounds as things smashed in the living room—tables, chairs—each noise making Lin Lu shrink with fear.

He worried deeply. Was the Lin family finished?

Huang Tengyue had made off with tons of money. If this dragged his father down, would he lose everything he had now?

His room, his rides to school, his clothes, his life of luxury—gone. Would the other students mock him, point fingers in class?

Even Bai Yingchuan might shun him like the plague.

From childhood, Lin Lu had always envied Jiang Ruotang.

Back then, Grandpa Jiang Zhenhai was still alive—his authority absolute in the industry and the company.

The first time Lin Lu saw Jiang Ruotang—so full of life, so proud and fearless, never lowering himself to please anyone—he looked just like a little prince born with a golden key in his mouth. Lin Lu had been filled with envy, jealousy so sharp it almost choked him.

So he approached him, flattered him, while secretly dreaming of replacing him. When his father wanted Jiang Ruotang ruined, Lin Lu had gladly used all the little tricks his father taught him—keeping Jiang Ruotang away from those who truly cared for him, fueling his own foolish fantasies of romance, stoking that fire higher and higher.

But after spending more than ten years building this special relationship with Jiang Ruotang, everything had inexplicably been wiped clean after just one summer break.

And now, if something were to happen to his father as well… Lin Lu didn’t dare imagine what kind of life awaited him in the future.

What on earth was happening?

Where had things gone wrong—whether for him or for his father?

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but the argument downstairs gradually quieted. Somehow, his father must have said something, because Huang Tengyue actually left of his own accord.

Just as Lin Lu cracked his door open to peek at the situation, he heard Lin Chengdong’s furious roar. He was smashing the crystal ashtray—already cracked by Huang Tengyue—against the coffee table as if to vent all his anger. The sound made Lin Lu’s heart leap into his throat.

His mind spun in a daze, and he hardly slept a wink that entire night.

In contrast, Zhao Yunshu’s audit work was progressing at lightning speed. Qin Hao, the department head of auditing, arrived at Zhao Yunshu’s office, leaning on a cane.

“Elder Qin, you’re here!” Zhao Yunshu quickly poured him tea.

Qin Hao smiled and said, “You’re busy. I just came to see you.”

“Elder Qin, don’t you have any instructions for me?” Zhao Yunshu asked.

“If I have to advise you on anything… it’s not to rush. In my experience, Lin Chengdong will most likely cut off his tail to survive. Being able to take down Huang Tengyue is an achievement in itself. Without his money-making tool, Lin Chengdong will get desperate and make more mistakes. You’ll have more chances to catch him then.”

“I understand. And if this situation spreads too far, it’ll damage the company’s image and ongoing projects. Even a painful surgery requires steadiness. We’ll cut off his wings little by little. When we kick him out, we’ll make sure the company suffers as little as possible in the process,” Zhao Yunshu nodded.

“Never thought it… Yunshu, you’ve become much more smooth and thoughtful than before. I even suspect that Huang Tengyue’s wife getting such detailed evidence—were you the one secretly guiding her?” Qin Hao gave her a meaningful look.

Zhao Yunshu smiled faintly. She remembered Jiang Ruotang’s instructions—not to tell anyone that he’d given her the idea, not to let anyone know she’d been involved.

“You flatter me. How could I have come up with something like that? This was pure luck—like a pie falling from the sky,” Zhao Yunshu replied.

Qin Hao believed her—after all, Zhao Yunshu’s style was always straightforward and open. “You’ve always been direct and above-board. But when dealing with petty men, some underhanded means are necessary.”

Zhao Yunshu nodded humbly, but she kept Jiang Ruotang’s reminder in mind: that such tactics only worked when everyone around you believed you had none.

If they knew she was capable of scheming, their guard would go up, and so would their distance. It was best for her to keep playing the role of the “open and direct” person.

“I always wondered why you insisted Human Resources recruit an IT student. Now I get it. He’s not only good at data recovery—I hear he even made you a little program that tracks the accounts way faster than before?”

“That’s from my time in finance—talking with colleagues gave me the idea.”

In truth, this was something Jiang Ruotang had specially reminded her: to “modernize auditing with information technology.”

Soon, Huang Tengyue was transferred to the judicial system. The money he’d moved to his mistress was recovered. He took all the blame himself, dragging down implicated celebrities and agencies with him. Even the entire entertainment industry went through a shake-up.

The finance department was completely overhauled. The new director was someone Elder Qin had personally invited from abroad—a former executive of a Fortune 500 company.

That weekend, at the Jiang family dinner table, Jiang Huaiyuan couldn’t help but sigh, “When did everything change so completely?”

Zhao Yunshu and Jiang Ruotang exchanged a knowing glance, causing Zhao Changfeng to grumble jealously.

“Mom, you keep giving Jiang Ruotang these secret looks… I feel like he’s more your son than me.”

That made Zhao Yunshu nearly choke. “You brat! That’s not what ‘secret looks’ means! Your language skills are absolutely terrible!”

Jiang Ruotang propped his chin on his hand, smiling happily. “Hahaha, I think you’re the one who looks more like my dad’s real son—you’ve got the same silly clueless vibe.”

“Who are you calling clueless?” Zhao Changfeng pretended to be angry.

Jiang Huaiyuan immediately gave Zhao Changfeng a big chicken drumstick. “He meant me—said I have no brains. Don’t argue with your big brother. His only problem is his sharp tongue.”

Zhao Changfeng grunted, taking a bite of the drumstick while glaring at Jiang Ruotang. “Of course I know that.”

“Know what? That Dad’s clueless? Or that your big brother only has a sharp tongue?”

Zhao Changfeng stuffed a rib into Jiang Ruotang’s mouth. “If this can’t shut you up, next time I’ll shove the whole bowl in there!”

Laughter rang out around the table.

Having broken Lin Chengdong’s right-hand man, Jiang Ruotang felt genuinely delighted.

And the happier he felt, the more he wanted to see Lu Guifan. So he found an excuse, saying he didn’t understand a problem and wanted to ask him.

Lu Guifan had been studying the weekend practice problems and had already guessed which parts Jiang Ruotang would struggle with—he’d been thinking about how to explain them.

But as he set down his phone, something came to mind. He got up and quickly headed out the door.

His mother was reading the newspaper, looking for job ads. Seeing Lu Guifan putting on his shoes at the door, she asked, “Guifan, where are you going?”

“Out to buy some snacks.”

“Snacks…” She was about to say more when Father Lu gently tugged her sleeve.

“Guifan knows what he’s doing. If he suddenly wants snacks, let him have some.”