RHITICSG 06

Chapter 6

The call was on speaker. As soon as it connected, the woman began asking if Jiang Zhiyuan had seen the video, then launched into a tearful explanation. She said she hadn’t pushed Jiang Jian, that his leg injury was obviously fake, that she’d gone to see him out of kindness…

Jiang Jian leaned against the table, listening as she rambled on and on.

“Are you done yet?” came Jiang Zhiyuan’s voice at last — cold, sharp, and uncharacteristically harsh.

The woman froze.

Jiang Jian gave a short, derisive laugh, wondering whether that stern tone was meant for her… or for him.

Jiang Zhiyuan was usually the picture of polished elegance, but even he couldn’t keep up that refined façade now.

“Didn’t I tell you not to go near Xiao Jian again?”

“I just wanted to prove that he wasn’t actually—” the woman stammered.

“Enough,” Jiang Zhiyuan cut her off. “If you can’t follow simple instructions, there’s nothing more to say. Take care of yourself.”

He didn’t give her a chance to reply — the line went dead.

And no matter how many times she tried calling back, it wouldn’t go through.

Tsk. Like father, like son — lightning-fast at blocking people.

Just then, Jiang Jian’s new phone rang — the one with the freshly replaced SIM card.

The woman’s hand froze mid-motion, the call she’d been about to make forgotten. She stared at Jiang Jian’s phone, dazed.

She wasn’t crying, but her expression looked even sadder than tears could make it.

And suddenly, Jiang Jian found the whole thing… utterly dull.

Really, completely meaningless.

It was pointless — pretending to have a broken leg together with Uncle Pei, and it was just as pointless that woman still clung desperately to Jiang Zhiyuan, trying to win him back.

They were all idiots, really.

Jiang Jian rejected Jiang Zhiyuan’s call, blocked him, then picked up the empty milk tea cup from the table and handed it to the woman.

She froze for a moment, staring blankly as she took it.

Jiang Jian said evenly, “Throw it away. Don’t leave it here. There’s a trash bin not far outside.”

It wasn’t clear whether he was talking about the cup or her.

Without another word, Jiang Jian turned and went inside alone.

The moment the door shut behind him, the woman suddenly burst into loud sobs. She cried that she really loved Jiang Zhiyuan, that she truly wanted to be Jiang Jian’s stepmother, that she’d never meant to hurt him that day, and that she wasn’t after the Jiang family’s money.

She was so wronged — her parents didn’t approve of her dating a divorced middle-aged man, she’d fought with them constantly, begging them to understand. She thought her love was genuine, and that he’d return it… she never expected it to end like this.

Her wailing made Jiang Jian’s head pound. He opened a drawer, pulled out his noise-canceling headphones, and put them on.

In the end, it was the housekeeper who persuaded the woman to leave.

The auntie’s surname was Zhou. She didn’t live in the house full-time, only came by at fixed times to cook and clean.

She’d been helping there since the days when Jiang Jian’s mother was still alive, and she knew exactly where everything belonged — never moved or rearranged anything. That was the main reason Jiang Jian had kept her on.

After she finished cooking, Aunt Zhou went upstairs to knock on Jiang Jian’s door, as usual, to tell him dinner was ready.

She knocked twice and got no response, so she pushed the door open a little.

Jiang Jian was slumped over his desk, fast asleep, his headphones still on.

Aunt Zhou sighed softly, closed the door again, and went downstairs to keep the food warm. She left a note on the table — at first writing “Don’t be sad.” But after thinking about it, she crossed that out and changed it to “Remember to eat dinner and go to bed early. Don’t stay up late.”

Jiang Jian slept straight through until eight or nine that night.

He hadn’t closed the window, and the cool evening breeze blew directly onto his head as he lay slumped over the desk.

Half-asleep, he felt someone shake his shoulder twice. Drowsy, he opened his eyes — and saw Jiang Zhiyuan standing beside his desk. The lights were on; he must’ve turned them on after coming in.

Still groggy, Jiang Jian took a moment to realize why his father was there.

“You weren’t supposed to be busy today?” he mumbled.

Jiang Zhiyuan was in his forties but kept himself in excellent shape — he often went to the gym, dressed in that refined, gentlemanly style, and still had the same handsome face that once captivated Jiang Jian’s mother.

All in all, a rich, good-looking man in his forties — it was no mystery why so many young women flocked to him.

Jiang Zhiyuan reached out to touch Jiang Jian’s head, checking that he wasn’t feverish. Only then did his expression relax slightly.

Jiang Jian turned his head away, brushing his father’s hand off.

“I’m fine. You can go do whatever you need to do.”

It wasn’t that he was really fine, or that he’d accepted the situation, or that he forgave his father for breaking things off with the woman.

He was just… numb.

Ever since the first time he’d realized how many women surrounded Jiang Zhiyuan, he’d gone through every possible reaction. There was nothing new left to do.

And frankly, he was just tired of it. His mother was gone — what, was he supposed to expect this rich, handsome playboy to stay faithful to her memory forever?

The very thought made Jiang Jian’s stomach twist in disgust.

His mother’s family had been well-educated and prestigious. Back then, she had defied them completely to be with Jiang Zhiyuan — a pampered woman who’d never done a day’s hard work in her life, following him through years of struggle, poverty, and hardship, raising their son.

Jiang Jian thought bitterly, If someone stood by me at my lowest point — willing to lose everything, to endure every kind of suffering with me — I’d never want anyone else, whether they were alive or dead.

The more he thought about it, the more suffocated he felt. Outwardly, that came out as cold impatience.

“Alright, alright, just leave already. I’m really fine.”

“How do you talk to your father like that?” Jiang Zhiyuan ruffled his hair again.

Jiang Jian looked up at him, practically bristling. “Then how do you want me to talk to you?”

Jiang Zhiyuan: “…”

He knew his son too well. Jiang Jian was soft-hearted — the more he cared about someone, the less he could stay mad at them. As long as he was still arguing, still talking, there was hope.

Jiang Zhiyuan dragged a chair over and sat down opposite his son, so they were eye to eye.

He was quiet for a moment, then spoke in that practiced, heartfelt tone he used whenever he wanted to make peace.

His apologies were different from Jiang Jian’s.

Jiang Jian’s version was always short and simple: “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I won’t do it again.”

Jiang Zhiyuan’s, on the other hand, was elaborate. He’d take every single thing you thought he’d done wrong, dissect it in perfect detail, and reflect on it so precisely that you’d start to believe he truly understood. That he was genuinely remorseful.

And then, at the very end, he’d say, “Dad won’t do that again. I swear.”

The problem was, both father and son shared one trait: they apologized, but never changed.

This wasn’t the first time Jiang Zhiyuan had said, “Dad won’t do it again.”

Jiang Jian forced himself to stay patient. “You done talking?”

Jiang Zhiyuan sighed. “I broke my own rule this time. I deserve to be punished. Double, okay?”

“Triple,” Jiang Jian said flatly.

“Alright. Triple it is.”

Jiang Jian didn’t actually care about the number — he just wanted the conversation to end.

Thinking the matter settled, Jiang Zhiyuan started fussing again, saying he’d seen the reheated dishes and the note downstairs, reminding his son to eat properly.

Jiang Jian responded half-heartedly. After a few more minutes of lecturing, Jiang Zhiyuan’s phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID, expression unchanged, but stepped outside to take the call.

The way he avoided answering in front of him said it all. Probably another “close friend.” Even if it wasn’t the woman from earlier, there were always others.

Including Jiang Jian’s mother, all those girls really picked a rotten man.

After finishing the phone call, Jiang Zhiyuan didn’t stay long. He reminded Jiang Jian a few more times to go downstairs for dinner and then left.

Jiang Jian wobbled to his feet and threw himself into bed, listening to the sound of Jiang Zhiyuan’s car driving away outside.

He turned over and hugged his blanket.

In the past, Jiang Zhiyuan hadn’t been like this. Back then, even though he was busy, their home had still been filled with laughter because his mother was there.

Jiang Jian thought to himself that after his mother died, he had changed from bad to good — maybe Jiang Zhiyuan had changed from good to bad.

Half-asleep, his head still pounding, he couldn’t sleep soundly. One moment he thought he should get up and take some cold medicine before sleeping again; the next, he just wanted a bowl of his mom’s porridge because his stomach hurt with hunger…

The next morning, Aunt Zhou made breakfast and went to wake him, only to get a fright.

Jiang Jian’s eyes were bloodshot from fever, his whole body swaying as he stood, and when he left the house, he was still pretending to limp — adding insult to injury.

Anyway, Jiang Zhiyuan already knew about the “injury.” For a moment, Jiang Jian wanted to just drop the act.

But then he remembered — the lie was already out there. If he suddenly stopped pretending now, the “Crown Princess” (their strict homeroom teacher) would definitely think the broken leg story was a made-up excuse to skip summer tutoring, and she’d punish him to death.

While Aunt Zhou was searching for medicine, she said worriedly,
“Are you really going to class like this? Why not take a sick day? I can call your teacher for you. Oh, dear, with such a high fever, how are you supposed to pay attention in class? You’re just torturing yourself!”

Jiang Jian was actually hesitating about whether to skip school. But then he opened WeChat — and nearly fainted from anger.

Any other day, maybe he could have stayed home. But not today.

His message list was full of unread notifications — some from Shao Xing and Xia Yiming, who were checking on him, and others from curious classmates asking, “Is it true you confessed and got rejected?”

And that was all because of Yin Ying.

Yin Ying, another member of their “Earth Peace Defenders” group, had heard the full story yesterday. Later, during self-study, she ran into her own best friend who’d just been rejected after confessing to her crush and was crying.

Trying to comfort her, Yin Ying had casually said, “Hey, even Jian-ge got rejected after confessing. What’s the big deal about us being turned down?”

She’d meant it kindly — to say that if even the school heartthrob could get rejected, it was no shame.

But once that little “pep talk” spread, everyone started gossiping. Now the entire school knew that Jiang Jian had confessed to a mysterious girl and gotten rejected.

His inbox was full of speculation — some people laughing, others dying to know who the “heartless” girl could be.

Originally, Jiang Jian could’ve stayed home today.

But if he skipped school now, the rumor would evolve into “The school’s top heartthrob and notorious bad boy is so lovesick after being rejected that he can’t face anyone.”

Grinding his teeth, Jiang Jian wanted to drag every one of his “Earth Peace Defender” friends out and beat them senseless. How could not a single one of them be reliable?

After downing the medicine Aunt Zhou handed him, he noticed a new friend request on WeChat.

The profile picture was Crayon Shin-chan.

The request note said: “I’m Luo Shuxin.”

Jiang Jian: “?”

Where the hell did this guy get his WeChat ID?