Li Ran’s life didn’t change much. During school terms, he studied at school; on days off, he either stayed home or went to the company to do homework.
High school senior year flew by—one day closer to the college entrance exam, leaving no room for these rowdy students to act recklessly. At first, Li Ran fretted over the lack of progress in his relationship with Chi Mo, but once twenty or so practice test papers piled up daily, there was no time for romantic daydreams. He buried himself in questions until he was dizzy and bleary-eyed.
Chi Mo had said, “Study hard. The exam is important. Romance can wait. I know I shouldn’t have confessed my feelings so early, but I couldn’t hold back. Sorry.”
“If this affects your grades, I’ll blame myself. Of course, your butt probably won’t get off easy either.”
True to his word, aside from that impulsive confession, Chi Mo’s attitude toward Li Ran remained unchanged. He made no further advances that would make Li Ran uncomfortable, yet he still managed every aspect of the boy’s food, clothing, shelter, and studies.
With the weather turning cold lately, he even checked daily if the kid was skipping long underwear just to look good.
That morning, Li Ran had forgotten to wear his. Young people were tough; he hadn’t felt too cold and overlooked the pair at the foot of his bed.
Chi Mo reached down and touched him, his face darkening as he moved to yank down the boy’s pants. His intention was to make him wear them himself as a lesson—so grown up and still needing parental help? How embarrassing. Teenagers in their rebellious phase needed their pride intact.
But Li Ran thought he was about to get spanked. He jumped up, one hand clutching his pants and the other covering his butt, pleading, “I’ll go put them on right now! I won’t forget again, bro. Don’t be mad!”
Chi Wei, with his early-to-bed-early-to-rise biological clock, walked in on the scene. Li Ran dashed into the bedroom without noticing him or the weird silence between Chi Mo and Chi Wei.
When Li Ran came out dressed, the hallway was empty. Chi Wei had probably gone back to check if his wife was dressed properly.
The two of them had been shamelessly staying there for half a month, like idle loafers—not working, not earning. Cheng Ai Mei welcomed them politely on the surface, but in reality, she was fed up with being bossed around by this beach-house-owning weirdo. She nearly ground her silver teeth to dust. Three times a day, she’d drag her biological son aside and whisper, “When are you leaving? Leave today! Haven’t booked tickets yet? Year-end break not over? Can’t the company run without Chi Wei?”
“Aren’t you afraid the company will go bankrupt? Don’t forget how it started. So hard-won, and you’re not managing it properly? What kind of talk is that? Chi Wei’s only thirty-seven—prime working age, not time to rest. Xiao Wan, hurry up and go. The company can’t run without Chi Wei.”
It made Ye Chengwan feel less like a son and more like an unwelcome guest. After returning home, he got less than a day’s worth of parental affection before facing daily eviction attempts and sighs that left him speechless.
He wanted to rein in Chi Wei, but he lacked the ability. Up early in the morning instead of sleeping, checking if he wore long underwear—what a nutcase.
Meanwhile, Li Ran lifted the hem of his sweater and pulled back his waistband to show Chi Mo the long underwear underneath, standing a bit away. “Bro… I really wore them this time.”
“Am I going to eat you?” Chi Mo pulled him into the safe half-meter space between them and smoothed down his sweater hem.
Seeing he wouldn’t yank his pants again and his tender butt was safe, Li Ran dared to sidle close. He grinned foolishly.
High School Class 3-10.
The goofy Li Ran at home transformed into a furiously scribbling machine the moment he entered the classroom. As long as he didn’t need the bathroom, he stayed glued to his seat.
The guys in front—Zhang Si and Zhang Youde—were goofing off one second, poking and prodding each other, wrestling and calling each other “daddy.” The next second, they glanced back at Li Ran, head down, brows furrowed one moment, gently biting his pen the next, fully immersed in the ocean of knowledge. Afraid his grades would pull even further ahead to unreachable heights, they stopped fooling around and turned on each other, yanking hair and stabbing thighs with pens.
But they only studied briefly before wailing over two-and-a-half out of three incomprehensible questions. About to goof off again, they caught sight of A’Dai still grinding through test papers. He’d already filled two sheets completely. The torment of wanting to slack but feeling too ashamed drove them to misery.
This rotten study vibe had gradually taken root in Class 3-10 about two months ago. Now it swept through like a hurricane. As long as Li Ran stayed seated, no one dared relax.
The former class mascot, always at the bottom, now steadily took second place in weekly quizzes. Who wouldn’t panic?
Qi Zhi’s near-perfect scores made him the top student school-wide—untouchable. Li Ran never aimed to compete with him. As long as he beat his own previous scores by a few points, he was thrilled. Who wouldn’t envy that mindset?
Li Ran, who arrived precisely on time for two years of classes and stuck to early arrivals and late departures, had ignited the homeroom teacher’s ambition. Now the teacher came early and stayed late too, occasionally craning back like a vigilant camera with those sharp eyes. Who wouldn’t resent that?
The brats of Class 3-10—rabbits and bunnies alike—channeled their frustration into study motivation, competing with Li Ran.
Subject teachers arrived daily assuming they weren’t teaching the worst senior class in the high school, but the best key class.
“A’Dai, study god, take a break! Zhang Youde the turtle grandson is yanking my hair bald, wuwuwu…” Zhang Si gripped his fist fiercely, hoisting Zhang Youde’s head to force the hair-hanging-pen-stabbing punishment, while his own head got hoisted too. They jabbed thighs with pen ends—whoever started holding the pen backward first had left black ink dots all over their blue-and-white school pants. They’d get beaten by Mom when they got home. “I’m gonna puke from writing!”
“For these exams, my mom keeps asking if Li Ran from your class is second again. I say yes, and she hates me for not being steel from iron, telling me to look at others like you—the good kid from someone else’s family—then look at me. Damn waste, in cahoots with my deskmate—ah, that’s what my mom said! Why the hell are you yanking my hair?” Zhang Si’s hair stuck up in all directions as he scratched back at his deskmate in fury.
Stumped by a big problem, Li Ran scribbled “Solution” in the box. He’d heard they used to give two points for effort back then, but not anymore.
Hearing Zhang Si’s words, Li Ran didn’t connect “the good kid from someone else’s family” to himself at first. Moments later, he realized Zhang Si’s mom was praising him—just like his own mom, Bai Qingqing, praised Qi Zhi.
It felt like shared misery.
Li Ran smiled with that classic A’Dai curve. “I’m not some kid from another family. I’m just Li Ran. Don’t listen to your mom.”
“Then stop writing.” Zhang Si said.
Li Ran pouted. “Can’t. Parents will check.”
Zhang Si got it. “You’re so pitiful.”
Li Ran said, “It’s okay.”
Back when he couldn’t do eight out of ten questions or recognize nine out of ten words, he really felt miserable, unable to find joy in studying. He’d even teared up secretly, wanting to cry.
Grades and rankings were the ultimate motivators in student life—like a gambler’s itch. Bad scores made you crave good ones; decent ones made you hunger for better.
Under Chi Mo’s ironclad discipline, Li Ran built study habits. With Chi Mo’s tailored plans targeting his weaknesses, he developed his own methods, tasted success, and got hooked.
He wasn’t stingy sharing his progress. Classmates asking questions got detailed explanations if he knew them. If not, he’d ask the teacher from the podium or office until he understood, or copy tough types into his “baffling cases” notebook to ask Chi Mo at home, then teach classmates the next day.
Sitting in the back row with no one behind, full-capable deskmate, and temporarily dumb front-seaters closest to him—they milked proximity, turning Li Ran into half a teacher.
But he held back some treasures. Recently, Chi Mo had made him Key Notes for every subject—sharp, on-point coverage. Chi Mo said mastering the textbook plus these would ensure peak exam performance.
Several equally sized B5 notebooks, each an inch thick. Black genuine leather covers, clearly from the company—Chi Mo had grabbed them casually.
At first, Li Ran kept them in his desk pouch, pulling them out only when needed. He didn’t refuse classmates peeking but worried about careless ones wrinkling or wrecking them.
Later, feeling too selfish, he quietly placed them on the desk corner to show off. If someone wanted to borrow with care, he’d agree.
But these rotten classmates “judged books by covers.” Li Ran’s high scores didn’t mean he summarized keys—they assumed he wrote the notes and shunned them, fearing deviation.
Damn classmates!
Even lazy Zhang Si, shoving Zhang Youde aside to sprawl on Li Ran’s desk and flip a notebook, exclaimed in surprise, “Holy crap, A’Dai, you grind tests all day and still practice calligraphy?”
When his studies sucked, Li Ran’s one pride was his neat, elegant handwriting—tidy and clean like his personality, some strokes curling like his wavy hair.
It screamed “student.” But the notebook Zhang Si opened was mature “adult” script.
Celebrities design signatures with flair for vibe and beauty. Every character here veered unconventionally, strokes bold and piercing the page.
Yet mindful Li Ran was a “kid,” Chi Mo adapted—making it rigid and clear.
Zhang Si: “Damn, this handwriting’s badass.”
Li Ran felt a mix of pride at discovery and urge to hide—slamming it shut. “Mm.”
Vigilant response.
“Looks like key knowledge. Definitely not your summary,” Zhang Si reached out. “Lemme see.”
Li Ran stuffed all notebooks back into his pouch. “Not lending.”
“…”
During evening self-study, when Chi Mo came to pick him up, Li Ran asked, “Bro, can I lend your Key Notes to classmates?”
Sharing your own stuff with friends differed from sharing others’. Some minded, some didn’t.
Chi Mo was the type who did. His own things? Fine for friends. But gifts from Li Ran—even if ruined—stayed his. No poaching.
Li Ran had handmade him many Bodhi Bracelets; everyone at the company knew. Once Shen Shu joked about getting two, or stealing since beads were cheap—dozens per string. Chi Mo shot him a cold look, upheld superior-subordinate amity by buying three hundred varied ones that day—wear a different one daily. But covet Li Ran’s gifts again? Dead.
Technically, Chi Mo’s gifts to Li Ran were the recipient’s to handle. But Chi Mo wasn’t reasonable. Ignorance was bliss until asked—then his rules.
If Li Ran easily gave away his gifts, it meant he didn’t matter. Chi Mo couldn’t quell the rising urge to destroy, to teach that he must be the most important.
Dark obsession swirled inside, but Chi Mo stayed gentlemanly, tossing a trap. “Honestly, I don’t want anyone touching what I gave you. But if you really want to share, I can accept your friends.”
If Li Ran dared say yes…
“I don’t really want to lend them.” Li Ran hung his head, mumbling.
Right answer.
Chi Mo tapped the steering wheel in pleasure.
Oddly, the destructive urge didn’t fade—it grew. He itched to test how deeply, heavily he mattered to Li Ran.
Li Ran didn’t look up. “Bro, does this make me… seem really selfish?”
“How could that be?” Chi Mo said, gazing ahead as he steadily and calmly drove the Cullinan into the garage at home. “Selfishness is one of the instincts of human nature. You must learn to accept it.”
Acceptance, accept… insertion style…
Chi Mo thought calmly to himself, I need to go see the psychologist again. I’ve really gone mad.
