Chapter 44: Two-Faced Phoenix Man 3

Jiang Rang had deliberately sat down next to Ji Mingyu.

On the campus forum post, the two friends flanking Lu Xiang had also drawn considerable attention.

Take, for example, the young man seated at a safe distance from Young Master Lu, who kept sneaking glances backward with a cheerful, carefree air—that was Chen Ming, the young master of Huajing Pharmaceutical Group and Lu Xiang’s childhood buddy.

But the one beside Jiang Rang was even more famous.

Ji Mingyu lived up to his name, his features as finely sculpted as jade. Born into an established artistic dynasty, he had burst onto the scene as a teenager with a surrealist painting of bizarre, haunting colors that seized the viewer’s soul. He had truly carried the mantle of the Ji Family Art Aristocracy.

Yet, for reasons unknown, he hadn’t fully committed to the artistic path. Instead, in an unconventional move, he had majored in finance while minoring in art.

Jiang Rang hadn’t delved deeply into the man’s background. He had simply, on instinct, slotted him into the category of “useful.”

The young man was no fool. He could plainly see the impatience etched on Lu Xiang’s face. With a background like that, Lu Xiang’s admirers were undoubtedly legion.

Which meant Jiang Rang couldn’t come on too strong and risk a public smackdown. He had to circle around, approach indirectly.

Of course, he wasn’t entertaining any fantasies of a domineering CEO sweeping him off his feet. What Jiang Rang had truly mastered in this world was facing harsh realities—and mastering the art of duplicity.

Come to think of it, Jiang Rang had been in this world for several years now. Unlike his previous life, he had grown up gradually here.

Perhaps shaped inexorably by his core persona, family circumstances, and his parents’ ingrained attitudes, he had developed an obsessive fixation on material comforts.

When Jiang Rang had transmigrated into this young body, the mismatch between his adult mind and child physique had genuinely regressed his mentality to that of a toddler at first.

As the saying goes, a poor couple bickers over every little thing. His parents in this world put on a facade of amiability in public, but behind closed doors, they squabbled endlessly over petty household matters, hurling blame at each other until little Jiang Rang became their scapegoat—the “deadweight drag” or “jinx.”

While other kids flaunted fancy stationery and electronic gadgets, little Jiang Rang had to tote his books in a bulky plastic bag.

Only after the teacher reprimanded her several times did Jiang’s mother reluctantly buy him a dirt-cheap black backpack.

Black hid the dirt well, and that oversized, shoddy, threadbare pack stuck with him all through elementary and middle school.

Children raised in such conditions usually grew up painfully shy and withdrawn.

But Jiang Rang wasn’t a real child. His mind matured alongside his body.

Lacking proper guidance in the process, his dire material poverty had stoked base human greed, and with his persona subtly nudging him along, he had cultivated a shadowy disposition—full of pretense and ruthless opportunism.

That nature found full bloom in junior high, when he met Zhou Yichun.

At first, he had only hung around certain cliques for petty perks. But after tasting Zhou Yichun’s unwavering indulgence, Jiang Rang only grew more vicious.

He never acknowledged his wrongs, never even considered them. Blame was always someone else’s fault. Against those stronger, he could play the perfect innocent; against the weak, he turned tyrannical, pushing every inch he could grab.

There was a stretch once where he had stripped Zhou Yichun of every cent of allowance—not quite “stripped,” since Zhou Yichun handed it over gladly.

But Jiang Rang back then had no real notion of “bettering himself.” He took that loyal friend’s money and started dating classmates—girls and boys alike—who had confessed to him.

Somehow, the truth came out. Jiang Rang took a brutal beating, and his spineless neighbor cut off the cash flow for good.

He kept his head down for a good long while after that.

Jiang Rang wasn’t dumb. Bolstered by his persona, his grades were stellar—good enough to land him in S University’s cutthroat finance program.

Now, he forced his expression to soften, struggling to maintain a casual facade.

But Zhou Yichun’s pampering had left him too comfortable for too long. Having his face slapped in public like this, he froze for a moment, his pale cheeks burning crimson.

“Sorry, you’re the class monitor, right? I’m Zhou Yichun, Jiang Jiang’s… best friend. All these clothes, shoes, and daily essentials—I bought them for Jiang Jiang.”

A tall shadow fell over him from the back row. Zhou Yichun had arrived.

The one-eyed youth looked far from well. His face was flushed an eye-searing red, and tiny beads of sweat dotted his pale forehead. They trembled with his ragged breaths, merging into droplets that slowly rolled down from the corner of his eye.

As he spoke, he ignored the reactions around him and turned to the young man beside him, whose lips were pressed into a tight line. Softening his voice, he said, “Jiang Jiang, why didn’t you tell me you were short on cash? Whatever you want to buy, I’ll get it for you, okay?”

It was just like coaxing a child.

Jiang Rang wanted to curl his lip in a cold sneer and ask where the money was coming from, but there were too many people around. Zhou Yichun’s tardy arrival had already drawn attention, and as a half-blind disabled person, his words were subtly implying that Jiang Rang was a kept man. The prideful young man could only swallow his anger for now.

Drawing a deep breath, his face faintly greenish, Jiang Rang forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and murmured, “Yichun, your voice is too loud… Besides, I can’t keep relying on you forever.”

But Zhou Yichun seemed utterly oblivious, like he was missing a few marbles. Those gray-black, crystalline heterochromatic eyes showed no displeasure at being brushed off. His exquisite face, glistening with fine sweat, brimmed instead with foolish anticipation and tenderness. In a soft voice, he said, “Jiang Jiang can rely on me forever.”

He seemed about to say more, but his face was flushed too severely. He simply sat bolt upright beside the young man, like a faithful dog guarding its pet lamb.

To those who liked Zhou Yichun, this demeanor would appear beautiful and pure.

But to Jiang Rang, who despised him, it sent shivers of revulsion crawling over his skin.

Jiang Rang didn’t even want to exchange another word with him. He felt the other man had utterly humiliated him.

It was always like this, every single time.

Zhou Yichun’s blatant, context-blind confessions filled him with suffocating panic.

Jiang Rang could only fall silent and endure.

He managed to hold it together, but his oh-so-helpful neighbor wouldn’t let him off the hook.

Ever since sitting down, Zhou Yichun had ignored everything else around him. He kept quietly asking Jiang Rang what he’d eaten for breakfast, if he’d eaten enough, if he’d drunk any water, how much, and if he was thirsty now…

Jiang Rang kept his head down, unable to face the stares from the others—especially the ambiguous gaze he sensed from Ji Mingyu nearby, which only made his discomfort worse.

Just as the young man was on the verge of snapping, a harsh scraping of chair and desk legs rang out from the front row.

The entire class fell silent in an instant. Even the person introducing themselves on stage looked over in surprise.

Yet no one dared say a word or complain.

Because it was Lu Xiang.

The young man’s solid, powerful back was wrapped in a smooth, cloud-white shirt. When he leaned against the desk, it accentuated subtle curves of taut muscle.

He looked extremely unapproachable.

But Jiang Rang wasn’t drawn in the least by his impressive build. Those slightly downturned black eyes, sharp with intensity, fixed instead on the expensive watch adorning the slender wrist that tapped slowly against the desk.

Jiang Rang recognized the brand: Dabuni. The band alone cost over a million.

Add in the dial and other components, and it was enough to buy an apartment in the city center.

His eyes widened. After a long moment, realization seemed to dawn. His Adam’s apple bobbed with restraint as he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

Suddenly, he leaned in close to Lu Xiang’s desk—extremely close, close enough to catch the overpowering scent of disinfectant on the other man, close enough that his nose nearly brushed the subtle swell of muscle on that back.

Jiang Rang’s thick lashes quivered, casting grayish shadows on his eyelids. In a hushed, gentle tone, he said, “Sorry, classmate. Did we disturb you?”

No one responded.

Jiang Rang’s gaze darkened slightly. His clenched knuckles loosened for a moment, then tightened again.

He murmured once more, “Classmate, I’m really sorry…”

As he spoke, the space in front of him suddenly went dark. Then came the sting in his nose and a haze of dimness.

An overwhelming wave of disinfectant mingled with a faint, hazy masculine scent engulfed all of Jiang Rang’s senses.

Lu Xiang froze in place, as if possessed.

Behind him, faint trembling breaths. The young man’s nose tip pressed right into the center of his back, and with each soft, rhythmic exhale came an excessively sweet fragrance that teasingly invaded his nostrils and tongue in a misty allure.

Beside him, Chen Ming let out a shocked yelp. “Holy shit—no way, Brother Lu, don’t you need to rush off for a shower right now—”

Lu Xiang’s throat bobbed, faint blue veins bulging as it slid up and down. An indescribable, viscous craving wormed its way like threadworms from his nostrils straight into his brain.

So fragrant. Too fragrant.

The young man gulped saliva relentlessly. His handsome, roguish features twisted for an instant, his eyes flooding with a sickly crimson glow—like pools of blood misting over.

How could a man smell this good?

Lu Xiang sensed the flustered retreat at his back: soft cheeks brushing away, a nose tip withdrawing, warm breath fading. As that intimate, heady fragrance dissipated, a piercing thirst clawed at his heart.

So thirsty. So sweet. So feverish.

This bizarre surge of desire plunged him into a drunken haze, as if someone had dunked his head into a vat of spirits.

Unable to restrain himself, he twisted slightly sideways. His sharp, mortified gaze raked upward from the young man’s pale, exquisite jawline, inch by inch.

Lu Xiang saw the youth’s hands pressed lightly over his nose—likely bruised from the impact. His facial lines tensed, and even the rims of his eyes, fixed on Lu Xiang, gleamed with delicate red veins.

The Lu Family heir’s lips parted slightly, baring the tips of tiger teeth between them. They ground together with faint, uncontrollable chattering clicks. From those tiny sounds bubbled an endless itch, sprouting and swelling uncontrollably.