Chapter 6

Jiaojiang mornings were usually rushed.

Just past five o’clock, the streets on both sides of the “CBD” area on the North Shore filled up one after another with small stalls. This was the best-developed spot in the entire North Shore, boasting large shopping malls along with supporting residential areas, hospitals, schools, and more.

Hardworking housewives or elderly folks finishing their morning exercises tucked reusable eco-friendly bags into their pockets and hurried to the morning market to buy fish, meat, vegetables, and eggs for the whole family’s day.

Here, there were fish and shrimp freshly transported from the docks in the early hours, vegetables still glistening with dew, bustling breakfast stalls—and that rare human touch of everyday life in a big city.

“Young boss, one glutinous cake, extra meat and egg, the rest as usual!” A taxi driver who had run night shifts pulled his car to the roadside and stretched two bills out from the window.

“Coming right up!” Lu Ping set down the vocabulary book he had been memorizing halfway through, deftly lifted the cloth cover from the wooden bucket, and cut a fist-sized piece from the steaming glutinous rice cake base.

The cut piece slapped onto the cutting board, and Lu Mom pressed down with both hands, flattening the chewy base into a round, thin pancake. Neatly arranged on the workbench in front of her were several stainless steel basins, each filled with pre-mixed vegetarian fillings: glass noodles, crushed fried dough sticks, shredded potatoes, carrots, bean sprouts, cabbage… She precisely picked out the favorites of her regular customer, while Lu Ping used extended wooden chopsticks to fish out pork belly and marbled eggs from the braising liquid, quickly diced them, and placed them in the center of the cake base.

The marbled eggs and pork belly had been braised ahead of time, soaking overnight in the thick, dark old broth, glossy and succulent. The knife barely needed pressure—just a light touch, and they crumbled into pieces, releasing a rich meaty aroma.

Lu Mom folded her hands around it, gathering the thin, tough cake skin into a dumpling shape. She cradled the bottom with one hand and pinched the edges with the other. In just a few deft motions, the sides sealed tight with a neat row of “person” character pleats. A small opening remained at the top, revealing the plump filling inside.

Lu Ping had already prepared a plastic bag. He took the supersized dumpling from his mom, bagged it, and ladled a spoonful of braising juice through the opening—thus completing a classic Jiaojiang nested cake.

Don’t underestimate this nested cake; it weighed nearly a pound, packed with diverse fillings and rich textures. The skin, made from japonica rice instead of glutinous rice, was bouncy and chewy without sticking to the teeth.

Even a heavy laborer could fill up on one of these hefty beauties.

Lu Ping quickly packed it and dashed to the roadside taxi.

“Uncle Yang, your nested cake!” Lu Ping politely added a smile.

This was a regular customer who came two or three times a week, and Lu Mom always made his extra big and hearty.

Uncle Yang took the nested cake but didn’t drive off right away. Instead, he asked, “Xiao Ping, what time do you usually head to school?”

Lu Ping: “Six.”

“Isn’t that almost time?” Uncle Yang glanced at the dashboard clock. “I snagged a fare last night to pick someone up on the South Shore. It’s on the way—I’ll drop you off.”

“This, this is too much trouble for you.”

“Trouble? Nonsense,” Uncle Yang said. “I still owe you for giving my little girl your middle school notes.”

Unable to refuse, Lu Ping got his mom’s okay, grabbed his backpack, and hopped into Uncle Yang’s car.

…

Riding in a taxi across the Cross-River Bridge felt worlds apart from the bus.

Lu Ping leaned curiously against the passenger window, peering out. Uncle Yang rolled down the window, letting the crisp morning breeze blow onto the boy’s face.

In his brief seventeen years, Lu Ping could count on one hand the times he’d ridden in a taxi. For far places, the bus; for nearby, Dad’s tricycle; for in-between, the family’s cargo van…

Local taxis in Jiaojiang weren’t pricey, but for the thrifty Lu family, it was still a rare luxury.

Lu Ping sneaked a glance at Uncle Yang, pulled out his phone, and logged into his Partner account.

@fake-diaond: I didn’t want to stand out too much, but Mom insisted the driver bring me to school today. Sigh.

After sneakily posting the update, Lu Ping could already imagine his fans flooding the comments with envy. He pocketed his phone and closed his eyes to savor the clear morning wind on his face.

He let himself fantasize: In his daydream, the taxi became a stretch luxury limo straight out of TV, with passengers and driver that far apart; Uncle Yang turned into a uniformed chauffeur with white gloves; he lounged in the back row, swirling a glass of red wine—er, no alcohol for minors, so a cola instead—sipping it slowly…

…But that sip of cola hadn’t even gone down when the taxi slammed on the brakes!

Lu Ping lurched forward; if not for the seatbelt, his head would’ve smacked the windshield.

“Hiss…” The seatbelt dug in, making him cough. He opened his eyes and looked at Uncle Yang in alarm. “Uncle Yang, what happened??”

Uncle Yang pointed ahead: “Red light.”

Red light?

Lu Ping looked up. Sure enough, it was red, but Uncle Yang had braked a good ten meters from the car in front! Even for a red light, no need to stop that early. Good thing no one was behind, or it’d be a rear-end.

Bewildered, Lu Ping asked, “Why so far from the car ahead?”

“Because it’s a Cayenne.”

“Cay… what?”

Uncle Yang said gravely, “Xiao Ping, car names don’t matter. Just know that thing costs over two million. If your Uncle Yang so much as scratches it, I’d have to sell my taxi to cover the repaint.”

Lu Ping: “…”

Jiaojiang might be a small city, but it never lacked the wealthy. Lu Ping stared wide-eyed at the luxury car, memorizing its logo, vowing to steer clear for life!!

Sigh. So many rich people in the world—why not one more like him? He didn’t even dream of Tsinghua or Peking U. Such an ordinary wish, yet so hard to achieve.

Only when the light turned green and the car turned did Uncle Yang cautiously accelerate.

But then the weirdness started… No matter which way Uncle Yang’s taxi went, that pricey luxury car was there!

Uncle Yang muttered, “Strange, is it heading to Jiaojiang No. 1 Middle School too?”

Lu Ping: “…”

He had a thought, but wasn’t sure if he should voice it.

…

Many things in this world didn’t bend to human will.

Fifteen minutes later, that priceless luxury sedan pulled up at the gates of Jiaojiang No. 1 Middle School. At the same moment, a taxi with North Shore plates stopped… fifty meters away.

Uncle Yang: “Can’t afford to bump it. Better keep my distance.”

Lu Ping: “…”

He thanked Uncle Yang, shouldered his backpack, and got out.

It was peak arrival time; the school gate buzzed with students, all eyes drawn to the flashy luxury car. They all knew each other’s family backgrounds. Jiaojiang No. 1 had its share of kids admitted via hefty sponsorship fees, but even those rich second-gen types didn’t roll up in rides like this!

Under everyone’s gaze, the driver’s side door opened.

Surprisingly, the person who stepped out wore a crisp uniform and white gloves—a dedicated chauffeur straight out of a drama!

The stares intensified.

The driver went to the rear, opened the door with one hand while hovering the other below the frame to shield the VIP inside.

The next second, a foot emerged, followed by a tall, slender figure in the spotlight.

The young man seemed accustomed to the attention. He stood there calmly, features exquisitely sculpted; deep amber eyes swept over the gawkers with innate arrogance and poise.

—It was Shen Yuze. Of course it was Shen Yuze.

This legendary transfer student had only joined High School Year 2 Class 8 last week, but tales about him had already spread to every corner of the school at lightning speed.

They gossiped endlessly: Southeast Asian royalty bloodline, family rich enough to rival nations… High schoolers loved their fantasies, and teachers let harmless rumors slide.

But today, Shen Yuze arrived in a luxury car with a chauffeur… Were the stories true?

Shen Yuze paid no mind to the chatter. He murmured something to the driver, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and strode into campus.

No one dared approach under that overwhelming aura.

Suddenly, he spotted a familiar figure darting past at top speed, head down, taking tiny steps toward the Teaching Building.

Shen Yuze: “…”

Shen Yuze: “Lu Ping?”

The figure skidded to a halt.

A few seconds later, Shen Yuze’s new deskmate turned slowly, raised a stiff hand in greeting.

Lu Ping: “Hey… what a coincidence.”

Tears streamed in Lu Ping’s heart: He’d hugged the wall to avoid Shen Yuze’s notice! How did he still get spotted?!

Shen Yuze, as stingy with words as ever: “Walk together.”

Lu Ping couldn’t refuse and reluctantly fell in step beside him.

Since becoming deskmates, they’d barely spoken. Shen Yuze was terse; Lu Ping, used to being invisible, wanted to minimize his presence, fearing the real deal god’s attention.

A week in, aside from moving desks on day one, Lu Ping had hardly heard Shen Yuze speak.

Silence.

Silence.

They entered the Teaching Building in silence.

Up the stairs in silence.

The heavy atmosphere nearly suffocated Lu Ping. In his tension, he forced small talk: “Uh… Shen Yuze, you came by car today, huh?”

“Mm.” Shen Yuze replied. “I didn’t want to stand out too much, but my mother insisted the driver bring me.”

Lu Ping: “…”

Lu Ping: “???”

If Shen Yuze hadn’t admitted to no social media, Lu Ping would’ve sworn he’d seen @fake-diaond’s post?!!

Thinking of that two-million-yuan luxury car and uniformed chauffeur, jealousy twisted Lu Ping.

In a weird impulse, he blurted, “I came by car today too!”

Shen Yuze: “Oh.”

Lu Ping: “…”

Lu Ping: “…………”

Lu Ping: “………………….”

That casual “oh” effortlessly shattered Lu Ping’s fragile wall of dignity.

Unknowingly, Lu Ping’s footsteps slowed, lagging two steps behind Shen Yuze. The overhead lights fell on them—Shen Yuze was so tall and handsome, his shadow stretched long enough to completely envelop Lu Ping.

Lu Ping hid in Shen Yuze’s shadow. He strained his eyes, desperately trying to find himself, but he couldn’t see himself. All he saw was a clumsy imitator lurking in the darkness.

Lu Ping’s steps grew heavier and heavier. The excitement from riding the free taxi across the river that morning to watch the dawn had completely dissipated in that moment.

—What the hell was he so smug about? The legendary experiences he’d racked his brains to fabricate were just Shen Yuze’s ordinary daily routine.

Lu Ping’s shoulders slumped in dejection. He climbed the stairs purely on instinct, becoming so quiet that, for a moment, only two sets of footsteps echoed in the stairwell.

Suddenly, Shen Yuze, walking ahead, stopped for some reason. Lu Ping, caught off guard, bumped headfirst into his back.

“?” Fortunately, the collision jolted Lu Ping back to his senses. “Eh? Why’d you stop?”

Shen Yuze turned around and looked down at him.

Shen Yuze spoke, his voice clear and cold. “Lu Ping, we’ve been desk mates for a week now.”

Lu Ping was even more baffled. “Uh… yeah.”

“You always have a scent on you.”

“？？？！！！” The moment he processed the words, Lu Ping’s eyes bulged wide.

He… Shen Yuze had actually said he had a smell???

When he’d first entered Jiaojiang No. 1 Middle School, some classmates had said Lu Ping had a smell too. They mocked his mom who made glutinous cakes and his dad who sold crispy shrimp balls, claiming his hair was soaked in oil and even the air he breathed carried the aroma of a cheap breakfast stall.

Back then, Lu Ping had thin skin and didn’t know how to face such naked malice. All he could do was shower desperately after school and buy three sets of school uniforms to rotate, fearing his classmates would disdain him.

But his desperate pandering hadn’t earned anyone’s goodwill. They called him the Niangao Prince and ostracized him from the class.

Later, Lu Ping had let it go—he was the Niangao Prince, so what? He’d been raised on the glutinous cakes his mom shaped one by one, so what?

He just hadn’t expected even Shen Yuze to say he had a smell…

Lu Ping wondered if, so quickly, his new desk mate was starting to isolate him too.

With that thought, Lu Ping stiffened his face, stubbornly looked up at Shen Yuze, and asked bluntly, “What smell?”

“—The scent of glutinous rice,” Shen Yuze replied unexpectedly. “You smell like an extra-large rice cake.”

Lu Ping: “…”

Damn, now he was really blushing!