Chapter 7: Hooking the Little Brother

Bai Yingchuan’s lips curved into a perfectly measured smile as he greeted his classmates warmly:
“Hi everyone, I’m Bai Yingchuan. I’m here, just like you, to prepare for the college entrance exam. Some of you may already recognize me from the movies I’ve acted in—that’s both an honor and a surprise. I hope you’ll treat me as a classmate rather than a celebrity. I’m here to study and improve together with you.”

Someone capable of charming millions on the big screen was bound to have striking features.

His smile was flawless—but there’s no such thing as a perfect person.

And the meaning behind Bai Yingchuan’s words was crystal clear: whether you’re an overexcited fan or someone brimming with teenage hormones wanting to date, don’t bother me. I’m here to study, not to keep entertaining you.

Teacher Wang studied the class for a while, her gaze finally landing on the student sitting next to Lin Lu—Cai Ji.

“Cai Ji, you look like you’ve grown a bit taller. Why don’t you move back a row? Bai Yingchuan, you can take that seat.”

Cai Ji paused for a moment, then silently lowered his head, pushed his textbooks and practice papers back, and moved to the second-to-last row.

Bai Yingchuan walked down, calmly facing the stares of his classmates as he sat on Lin Lu’s other side.

Meanwhile, Jiang Ruotang tilted his head—not to look at Bai Yingchuan, but at Cai Ji.

In his memory, Cai Ji was a decent student, though with heavily unbalanced grades. He nearly aced math, physics, and chemistry, but his Chinese and English were disastrous.

Teacher Wang taught Chinese. She had once tried to help Cai Ji, whose Chinese grades consistently dragged down the class ranking—but after two years of no progress, her patience had likely run dry.

Cai Ji had slightly brown hair with a bit of a natural wave that lifted in the wind. His eyes weren’t large, but they held a quiet warmth. Jiang Ruotang’s only remaining impression of him was that his smile was very sweet.

Ten years later, Jiang Ruotang could remember what most classmates were doing—except Cai Ji. It was as if he had vanished.

He frowned slightly at the thought.

Suddenly, Lin Lu leaned over and tapped Jiang Ruotang’s forehead, whispering, “Are you upset you didn’t get to sit next to Bai Yingchuan?”

“No… I just remember that Cai Ji was nearsighted. Moving him back a row—won’t that make it even harder for him to see?”

Although Jiang Ruotang kept his voice low, those nearby could still hear him.

Lin Lu tugged at his sleeve, hinting for him to stop talking.

But Cai Ji had heard him. He looked up and gave Jiang Ruotang a sweet, obedient smile.

So well-behaved… so sweet.

“Jiang Ruotang, you’ve got time to worry about others? If Cai Ji can’t see the blackboard, he can go get glasses. But if you haven’t finished your summer homework, that’s a whole different issue.” Teacher Wang’s voice came from behind him.

Jiang Ruotang’s shoulders jolted in fright—as if a ghost had appeared behind him.

Teacher Wang flipped through Jiang Ruotang’s ten-plus practice sheets—every essay section was blank. Veins bulged on her forehead. “Stand at the back.”

Without a word, Jiang Ruotang took his papers and walked to the back row.

Calm and composed, he looked so unbothered that it only made Teacher Wang angrier.

But Jiang Ruotang was only this unbothered because he knew he wouldn’t be the only one punished. If enough people got sent to the back, it stopped feeling like a punishment.

Sure enough—Zhao Changfeng hadn’t done his homework either.

This guy had tried to take the long way around to avoid trouble, but Jiang Ruotang pulled him back, and before he knew it, he was standing next to Jiang Ruotang.

“What the hell are you doing?” Zhao Changfeng snapped.

“Hey, a family should stick together,” Jiang Ruotang whispered.

“I’m not your family…” Zhao Changfeng cut himself off, feeling that Jiang Ruotang’s words were oddly suggestive.

This spoiled young master was always stirring trouble between his mom and Jiang Ruotang’s dad. Because of Jiang Ruotang, Zhao Changfeng had even learned a new English word—troublemaker.

“You don’t want to be family with me?” Jiang Ruotang asked, lowering his voice and barely moving his lips as he faced the front.

Zhao Changfeng ignored him, convinced Jiang Ruotang would soon say something snide like, “You just want to marry into my family for a shot at the good life.”

But when Jiang Ruotang glanced over at him, he was startled—Was this guy always this tall in high school?

He stood out like a crane among chickens.

Broad shoulders, long legs, and athletic from sports training, Zhao Changfeng looked nothing like the nerdy classmates buried in test papers. Even in a school uniform, his toned physique was obvious—a lean and defined musculature, just the right amount of muscle and body fat. In the entertainment industry, he’d be a “hot commodity.”

No, no, I haven’t been a talent agent for years—why is my professional instinct acting up again?

From Jiang Ruotang’s angle, he had a perfect view of Zhao Changfeng’s sharp jawline and neck. The sheer force of youthful testosterone was practically radiating from him.

Ah, youth. Back then I didn’t know the value of an athlete, and stupidly treasured some pretty boy instead!

While Teacher Wang lectured on the practice sheet, Jiang Ruotang whispered, “How tall are you now? Hit 187 cm yet?”

Zhao Changfeng stayed silent, ignoring him.

“I’ve got a signed Reggie Miller card. Talk to me and I’ll trade it.”

Zhao Changfeng blinked. This Bai Yingchuan fanboy knows who Reggie Miller is?

“Liar.”

“Fine, your loss.” Jiang Ruotang dropped the matter, putting on a serious face and pretending to focus.

He knew full well that after all the hurtful things he’d said in the past, the fact that Zhao Changfeng hadn’t dunked his head into a basketball hoop was already giving Jiang Huaiyuan face.

Now, if he wanted to make amends, he’d have to do it slowly.

To hook this “little brother,” you needed the right bait.

Zhao Changfeng’s likes and dislikes—he’d shared them all with Jiang Ruotang in his last life. No way he wouldn’t bite.

When Teacher Wang flipped the page and turned back to the front, Zhao Changfeng finally whispered, “…One-eighty-seven.”

Jiang Ruotang took a second to realize—Zhao Changfeng was replying!

“So… can you dunk?”

“You’ve never seen me play?” Zhao Changfeng frowned.

Seriously? I’ve dunked in front of you so many times and you didn’t notice?

“Well, I’ll start watching now. I’ll even make banners and bring you soda. Happy?”

“…Psycho…” Zhao Changfeng glanced at him again. Why does this guy sound different from before? What’s he up to?

“So are you any good at three-pointers now?”

You had to talk about things they liked. Like scoring points on an exam, targeting their interests.

Since Zhao Changfeng liked basketball, Jiang Ruotang would talk basketball.

They were in their final year—if Zhao Changfeng wanted to pursue this path, Jiang Ruotang needed to know where he stood, and plan accordingly.

Time couldn’t be wasted.

“Not bad. I can play both small forward and shooting guard,” Zhao Changfeng said, then gave a short laugh. “Not that you’d know what that means.”

“I do. Small forwards are mainly responsible for driving inside after receiving a pass. Shooting guards shoot from beyond the three-point line.”

Now Zhao Changfeng was really intrigued.

“I read some analysis that said the NBA has been tightening rules to reduce collisions under the basket. So teams need more players who can shoot from a distance. That’s why I asked how your threes were,” Jiang Ruotang whispered.

“You actually know that?”

“Yeah.”

Truth was, Zhao Changfeng had told him all this while they were taking walks near the hospital in their past life.

Just as Zhao Changfeng was about to say more, Teacher Wang turned around, and Jiang Ruotang quickly tugged him and held his papers up to his face.

“Shhh—”

Zhao Changfeng was stunned. He’d half expected Jiang Ruotang to bait him into talking so he’d get scolded—but instead, he was… protecting him?

What new game is this guy playing?

Twenty minutes of morning self-study passed. The bell rang for the first period, and the students sent to the back were finally allowed to return to their seats.

As soon as Jiang Ruotang sat down, Lin Lu leaned over, concerned. “You okay? I saw you standing next to Zhao Changfeng. He didn’t bully you, did he?”

Zhao Changfeng, now sitting behind them, instantly scowled. Me, bully him?

He couldn’t even be bothered to respond anymore. For the sake of that basketball card, he’d let Jiang Ruotang say whatever he wanted—even if he claimed the sun rose at night.

Jiang Ruotang glanced at Lin Lu. “Nah, we were just chatting.”

“What could you possibly have to talk about with him? Don’t you remember the other day he was at the internet café shaking down a first-year for money—”

Zhao Changfeng’s face turned ice-cold, but he said nothing.

Jiang Ruotang, however, knew the truth.

That day, Zhao Changfeng had left his backpack by the court while playing. A first-year had taken the Lakers keychain attached to it—last season’s limited-edition merch. Zhao had gone to get it back.

But because of his height and presence, he’d been mistaken as the aggressor—and the story had spread like wildfire.

People really were easily deceived by appearances.

Zhao Changfeng had never explained himself, but it had clearly bothered him.

And the gossip stuck with him throughout his final year. Even years later, someone still brought it up at a class reunion.

Jiang Ruotang leaned back slightly, resting against Zhao Changfeng’s desk.

“How did someone like you, living such a boring life, end up getting so many rumors started about you?”

Zhao Changfeng paused. “None of your business.”

“Well, don’t lose your stuff then. You’re built like a tank, and when you take something back, people act like you mugged someone.”

Jiang Ruotang didn’t speak too loudly, but just loud enough for others nearby to hear.

A student sitting on Jiang Ruotang’s other side leaned over. “Wait, he was just taking back his stuff? Everyone said he was bullying that kid!”

“Who said that? My Juan-Jie was buying groceries and passed by the café—she saw the whole thing. Zhao Changfeng just took back the keychain from the kid. It’s a Lakers souvenir from last season—my dad brought it back. Who else in this school has one? Who was that kid? If he’s got one too, let him show us the purchase receipt,” Jiang Ruotang replied coolly.