“No need to try… Got it… I know, bro, I know, I know, no need to try it out.” The two pillows under his arms had all rolled onto the floor, fleeing faster than Li Ran. None of them wanted to be grabbed by Chi Mo. Li Ran haphazardly snatched another one and blurted it out in panic.
He didn’t even know what good grabbing a floppy pillow would do. Could he knock himself out with it or something? He’d just cleverly followed up on the “for example” and immediately regretted it. How had he gotten bold enough to joke around with Chi Mo like that?
And Chi Mo too—how had he shed his steady image to play around with him?
A few seconds later, Chi Mo mercifully released Li Ran. His clothes weren’t even that messed up.
Turns out his bro had just been scaring him.
But Chi Mo simply knew better than to rush things. He restrained himself, straightened Li Ran’s clothes, and didn’t insist on trying it out, even though he really wanted to.
Chi Mo pinched his cheek and said, “Remember what I said earlier?”
“Got it.” Li Ran nodded, not daring to get cheeky again.
Chi Mo wasn’t fully letting him off the hook. “What did I say? Repeat it.”
“My… body rights belong to you. My hair isn’t even that long yet. I’ll cut it when you tell me to.” Li Ran parroted it back smartly.
Chi Mo ruffled his hair, fingers fully buried in it, satisfied. “Mm. Good boy.”
With Chi Mo’s brand-new “100 yuan” incentive, Li Ran went downstairs every day to talk to others in the company.
At first, he only spoke to Hua Xue Fan—the pretty older sister who often delivered files to the top floor, her high heels clicking on the floor: da-da-da. Li Ran loved that sound.
Later, he started chatting with Hua Xue Fan’s friends too, just a few sentences each time—short and sweet.
He’d go back, collect his pay on the spot.
All in red bills.
Li Ran was thrilled.
“Five hundred today,” Li Ran said as he stuffed the money Chi Mo had just given him, along with the twelve hundred he’d earned the past few days, into his wallet. “These next couple days, I’ll go buy groceries. When I get home, I’ll tell Auntie to take a break. She doesn’t need to go anymore. I’ll handle it.”
His tone brimmed with enthusiasm, generous and carried away.
The rewards had already matched a month’s wages for him.
Li Ran was young and couldn’t hide his excitement.
Chi Mo watched with amusement.
Once Li Ran’s glee had peaked, Chi Mo said mischievously, “Time for homework. You can only do it right next to me. Come here.”
Li Ran’s face fell instantly.
“…Oh. Fine.”
Age-appropriate chores: no matter how much he earned, he was still a high schooler who hadn’t graduated yet—he had to do homework. He dragged his feet over reluctantly and sat down.
The desk was a standard rectangle of top-quality walnut wood. When Chi Mo had ordered it, he’d probably prioritized office comfort and size, not caring if it felt too spacious for one person.
Dominating such a massive desk, working with a blank expression—it was like a lonely peacock king.
Now, with two people, it fit perfectly.
After brewing coffee, delivering files, and chatting downstairs, Li Ran’s main job at the company was to be the mascot doing his summer homework.
Before, he’d sat by the floor-to-ceiling window on a comfy single sofa. The desk had been bought to fit his height—Chi Mo had it delivered, perfectly adjusted.
Everything was just right.
Facing the window, a glance up revealed skyscrapers and bustling intersections. Li Ran, who had never climbed a tall building or seen the world as a kid, was mesmerized. When math problems stumped him, he’d just gaze at the view.
His imagination often wandered off.
Chi Mo was efficient, treating time like money. The first time he caught Li Ran slacking, he knocked on the desk to snap him out of it with a warning.
There was no second time. Chi Mo immediately decreed that Li Ran had to do his homework right beside him.
Li Ran didn’t dare defy the order.
One worked, one studied, each on their side—live and let live.
If Li Ran really wanted to zone out, he’d sneak peeks at Chi Mo’s computer.
Curious how he made games, to glimpse high-IQ genius at work. And to reassess the intellect gap between people.
It was all dense English—he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Li Ran, whose English scores hovered around 30 through blind guessing, sighed in defeat.
Propping his cheek on one hand, he questioned his existence.
Later, when Li Ran finally spotted a game model on Chi Mo’s screen—in Chinese, with data running smoothly—he realized Chi Mo hadn’t been working these past couple days. He’d been writing a paper.
Writing a paper…
Knock knock knock.
Hua Xue Fan pushed the door open and placed files on Chi Mo’s desk.
Li Ran quickly pulled his gaze from Chi Mo’s screen, feigning diligent study just as she glanced over. She couldn’t help but smile.
The desk no longer held just the solitary boss—now there was a pretty little brother too.
They matched.
Pah! They were real brothers.
…Even more perfect.
She’d keep her delusions to herself. As long as she stayed quiet, no one would know she was a deviant.
Hua Xue Fan stared at her white diamond-encrusted high heels, inwardly scolding her brain for such outrageous, taboo nonsense while failing to suppress her grin.
After she left, Chi Mo said, “Any intel? Spill.”
Li Ran went “oh oh,” face serious.
He slid his arm—homework under it—toward Chi Mo. Half an hour, two problems done. Afraid Chi Mo would see too clearly, he shoved it back and whispered his report: “Bro, the big brothers and sisters downstairs all say you’re super scary, like the King of Hell.”
Li Ran had one more task.
Being a spy.
At first, when he reported, he called them brothers and sisters. Chi Mo tsked—he didn’t like it.
He made him change the terms.
With money flowing in hand over fist these days, Li Ran’s heart was clouded by greed. No longer innocent, he fluently relayed their “trash talk” about Chi Mo verbatim to his benefactor, President Chi.
Every floor had cameras—the employees knew it, and Chi Mo knew it better.
One side just skipped the rules; the other skipped checking.
Chi Mo just wanted to tease Li Ran.
He was so obedient when he listened.
Like Chi Mo was his whole world.
“What’re you looking at?” Chi Mo noticed he wasn’t acting anymore. To get a better view, Li Ran even stretched his neck toward Chi Mo’s screen.
A curly lock fell over his forehead. Li Ran stared blankly.
Chi Mo really wanted to pat his head.
“Bro, you’re writing a paper, right?”
“What else?”
Li Ran could hardly believe it. “You… you’re not graduated yet?”
The question made it sound like Chi Mo was some old-timer who’d been out for a decade or two. Chi Mo shot back, “Doesn’t seem like it?”
“…No, it doesn’t.” Li Ran said.
Chi Mo chuckled. “Oh, then what now?” He finally reached out and patted Li Ran’s head. “I just haven’t graduated yet. That’s not illegal, is it?”
“That’s not what I meant…” Li Ran’s mind reeled. He eyed the office, the company with its hundreds of employees, the stunning Parallel World lobby when they’d entered. Broke out of a game framework at 13, recommended abroad for university at 15, full game lineup launched at 17, billionaire now—and still not graduated.
If he started uni at 15, he was probably a grad student now…
“Bro, how old are you?” Li Ran’s voice trembled. He didn’t want to confront his own loser life, but curiosity burned.
Chi Mo: “What do you think?”
Li Ran guessed grad student age… but couldn’t, since Chi Mo started at 15.
Then he suddenly recalled their meeting five years ago. Chi Mo’s parents had flanked him like door gods, pressuring him to study abroad with firm persuasion.
The current Chi Mo wouldn’t spare even meal time for anyone—how could he have listened? Only as a minor would a guardian’s word bind him.
That year, Chi Mo had just turned 15.
Prime age for studying abroad.
“Early twenties, right?” Li Ran guessed despairingly.
Chi Mo nodded. “About that.”
“How old exactly?”
“Twenty.”
“…” Li Ran wanted to cry. “You’re only three years older than me?”
Chi Mo laughed. “Did you think I was thirty years older?”
“Well, no…” Li Ran pulled Chi Mo’s hand from his hair, then suddenly buried his face into that broad palm, unwilling to accept they were basically peers. “How can people be so different? Can I even go on living…?”
Chi Mo stopped laughing.
Li Ran’s face was small; Chi Mo’s palm was large—nearly covering it entirely.
Most of Li Ran’s face buried into Chi Mo’s palm, eyes half-open like normal blinking, not closed.
His long, thick lashes brushed lightly over Chi Mo’s palm lines.
Chi Mo froze, not daring to move.
“I really am a dummy…” Li Ran said worriedly. “My finals total was only 380 points.”
Chi Mo snapped out of it at the mention of 380.
“That low?”
“…” Li Ran felt even worse.
Their homeroom teacher had posted totals in the class group yesterday, declaring their average dead last in the school again. Furious, she’d threatened to “shark” anyone who showed up opening day!
Classmates spammed kneeling Tom Cat memes begging mercy. Amid the emoji storm, Li Ran checked the rankings: top twenty irrelevant, mid-list no sign of him.
He was first in the lower half—41st—with his hard-earned 380 total.
Chi Mo had asked if finals were out and what he scored.
Li Ran had stayed mum.
“I’ve never seen a score as disastrously low as 380,” Chi Mo said. He shifted his big hand to cup Li Ran’s chin, tilting it up to scrutinize his face and eyes—smart-looking all around. “And I’ve never seen a dummy as dumb as you.”
Li Ran wanted to boil himself in lukewarm water. Boiling hot might kill him.
“Never mind, not talking about you anymore.” Chi Mo scratched under Li Ran’s chin smoothly, then withdrew his hand. “You’re not dumb. Next month when I fly abroad for my defense, I’ll make a study plan for you.”
“Can I skip studying…?”
“No.”
“Oh. Fine.”
Not even a month in, and Chi Mo had pushed Li Ran to talk to company staff, so now when he went out, he no longer resisted chatting with people.
The change crept up gradually, hard to spot at first.
When Li Ran bought groceries and, drawing on years of experience, haggled the price down—knowledge surging like a current through his brain—it felt electric and wondrous.
These days, Chi Mo hadn’t made a full study plan yet, but he’d circle Li Ran’s wrong or unsolved problems, explaining them repeatedly with variations.
Flipping them every which way patiently.
Li Ran, the listener, grew impatient at times, thinking he got it—but Chi Mo made him keep hearing it, to memorize better.
Now, his blank spaces outnumbered answers, but it was progress.
Li Ran snitched diligently too.
Chi Mo learned of his many nicknames around the company: “ironfisted,” “cold-hearted,” “ferocious demon king.”
Then, at month-end when payroll hit accounts, Chi Mo pettily had finance deduct 100 yuan from everyone.
A reminder to watch their words.
But the cut was so tiny—among tens of thousands including overtime, who noticed?
Chi Mo had to send a company-wide memo.
[Slandering the boss? -100 yuan.]
Staff went eerily silent at lunch, then it dawned: Li Ran, that little traitor!
Chi Mo’s spy!
Next time Li Ran went down with a message, the big brothers and sisters mobbed him, shaking his shoulders wildly: no conscience!
They’d trusted him, and he snitched.
Acting like they cared about 100 yuan.
At first, Li Ran panicked being surrounded; hearing he’d cost them money made it worse.
After they shook him dizzy, he thought: Deduct another 50 from them!
Strangely, early on when Li Ran relayed messages, they liked it but held back, polite to not scare him.
Keeping a courteous line.
Now, that line was gone.
Li Ran goofed around with them.
He stopped snitching to Chi Mo. “Brothers and sisters are all great.”
Next payday, everyone found 200 yuan deducted.
