There was one week left before the start of his senior year of high school, so Li Ran wanted to have some fun. He pushed all the mountain bikes out of the storage room and wiped them shiny with a towel.
High school seniors had short winter breaks anyway, and the school hadn’t assigned any holiday homework. With nothing to do, Li Ran was at a loss.
Then, he was punished by the cold and heartless Chi Mo.
“What time is it? Still playing? I bought you several sets of practice papers. Do them.” When Chi Mo went to work, he grabbed Li Ran by the collar and dragged him along, just like during last summer vacation. Chi Mo worked at his desk while Li Ran had to sit right next to him and do the papers. “The time limit is two hours. No continuing after that. Hand it over when you’re done, and I’ll grade it.”
“If the score is too low…” His eyes scanned oppressively over Li Ran’s face as he said, “You know the consequences, right? Hm?”
Li Ran: “…”
Back then, Li Ran had been blinded by the joy of improving his grades and hadn’t considered that when his studies were terribly poor, his brother knew he was a dunce. Even if he got fifteen out of twenty questions wrong, Chi Mo could tolerate it, veins bulging on his forehead but still indulging him time and again.
Not anymore. Li Ran had been taught step by step, hand in hand by Chi Mo, who knew his capabilities better than he did himself. Whether he was slacking off was obvious at a glance. Li Ran hated studying, and the moment his brother mentioned buying practice papers, he wanted to throw a tantrum. But he didn’t dare, afraid of getting beaten, so he secretly decided to just half-ass it. Little did he know Chi Mo would be so ruthless.
“Oh…” Li Ran pouted, looking miserable as he slowly flipped open the paper, trying to sit as far from Chi Mo as possible. “I know.”
Chi Mo tapped the desk with his finger, eyes fixed on the computer screen without lifting them. “Come over here.”
“…” Li Ran grumbled as he dragged the bench closer. “Oh.”
As soon as he started on the questions, Li Ran was dumbfounded.
He was familiar with every question, but not quite familiar enough. He propped his cheek on his hand in a daze, starting to doubt whether he was familiar or not, whether he’d gotten smarter, whether he’d actually improved.
He’d only slacked off for a few days—who studied over New Year’s? So it was just a few days, why had he already started forgetting the vast ocean of knowledge?
Didn’t others forget only months after the college entrance exam? Why had he forgotten so quickly?
Li Ran broke out in a sweat.
“…Bro.”
Chi Mo: “You can’t do it?”
“I…”
“No beating.”
“I will! Who said I won’t…” Li Ran hurriedly hugged his head, glaring at the paper as he racked his brains, trying to connect with his knowledge base.
He muttered to himself: “How could I not know this? Of course I can do it…”
Silently praying he could grasp knowledge’s little hand and make a love connection.
He loved it so much and hoped it would love him back.
Chi Mo silently held back a laugh beside him.
He hadn’t told Li Ran that these were the hardest question types—even top students aiming for 985 or 211 universities had to treat them with utmost seriousness, no room for sloppiness.
Watching the kid fret was pretty amusing.
Chi Mo thought to himself that he really wasn’t a good person, then contentedly worked while admiring Li Ran.
Truly grasping career and love with both hands.
After more than half an hour, Li Ran had worked up a sweat. He’d filled several sheets of scratch paper, and he still hadn’t finished the first page of multiple-choice questions.
Chi Mo’s conscience, half-eaten by a dog, resurfaced. After Li Ran finished the seventh multiple-choice question—which grew progressively harder—Chi Mo mercifully pressed down on his hand. “Stop writing.”
“I’ll grade these first.” He took the paper away and pretended to check it.
Li Ran didn’t even dare breathe.
In the end, six out of seven questions were correct. Chi Mo subtly raised an eyebrow, thinking that people really had no limits.
Because limits could be pushed out.
“You did exceptionally well.” Chi Mo decided to withhold the fact that this set was the hardest type and praised him generously.
With every question graded, Li Ran’s heart leaped into his throat. Hearing the praise, he let out a heavy sigh of relief.
A brilliant smile curved his lips.
“It’s because Bro teaches well.” He said loyally.
Devilish training would start tomorrow. Chi Mo said amiably, “It’s just the beginning; no need to rush. Go play downstairs.”
Li Ran happily went.
Half the company employees lived far away and had gone home for the New Year. Normally, they resumed work after the fifteenth.
The other half lived nearby, mostly young unmarried people. After the New Year, they didn’t want to hear nagging from aunts and uncles about marriage, so they claimed the company was too busy, the capitalist too evil, forcing them back to work. They had no choice.
Every New Year, Chi Mo’s image among employees’ families was that of a money-grubbing capitalist who treated people like machines. Li Ran had laughed about it for ages after learning that.
Hua Xue Fan was one who lived nearby. He’d heard she didn’t want to marry and was into “four loves” or something. Li Ran had heard the term from these game developers who spouted wild stories all day, but his brother was strict and wouldn’t let him search random stuff online, so he still didn’t know what it meant.
Hua Xue Fan, who had come to work early, saw Li Ran and smiled, saying he’d gained a bit of weight and looked especially radiant, well-nourished.
She credited President Chi, saying he was amazing.
To raise a kid this well.
Then she stuffed him a festive red envelope. “Big Sis is giving you this for good luck. May the new year bring you smooth sailing and peace.”
Why did everyone who saw him this year give him a red envelope? Li Ran felt guilty and tried to refuse, but Hua Xue Fan said, “Elders always give juniors red envelopes. We’re peers, but since you call me Sis, I have to give you one. President Chi must have given you one too, right? You can’t be biased and take only his, not mine. I’m not poor either. I wanted to transfer money on New Year’s, but everyone knows when you come to work, President Chi gives you cash alone. You obviously prefer red bills.”
At that, Hua Xue Fan laughed heartily several times, finding Li Ran’s straight-laced seriousness adorable. “New Year only comes once a year, not every day. Take it, take it.”
To avoid homework, Li Ran had bolted downstairs the moment his brother said to play. He really had come down intending to wish his brother and sisters a happy New Year.
Unexpectedly, after wandering around, when he went back upstairs, his hands and pockets were stuffed with twenty or thirty red envelopes full of cash. He felt dizzy.
“Bro…” Li Ran’s steps felt floaty as he pulled out all the envelopes like offerings and placed them on the desk. “I got so much money.”
Chi Mo glanced over. “They’re all bribing you. Don’t remember their favors.”
President Chi was cold and unapproachable; no one dared bribe him. But President Chi’s little brother was like a charming snow vixen—everyone dared to tease him.
They took all the money out and counted: the smallest was six hundred, totaling 18,800 altogether.
Li Ran was dazed by the pie from the sky, scratching his head in disbelief. “Money’s this easy to make?”
On New Year’s, Mom had transferred him two thousand in lucky money, Dad five thousand.
Little Uncle had given him and his brother each a cash envelope with two thousand five hundred.
…Chi Wei had probably wanted to give 250, cursing Li Ran or Chi Mo. But without a 50-yuan bill, he reluctantly multiplied by ten and gave them five thousand each—in fact, now all to Li Ran.
Uncle Wan also gave two thousand five, surely coordinated with Little Uncle, now all Li Ran’s. The envelopes were piling up.
Grandpa and Grandma, after returning home, exchanged cash to top up the envelopes. Li Ran already had plenty and waved them off saying no need, but they threw a fit: “Why not take your old lady/old man’s money?”
Each a thousand, and Chi Mo’s went to Li Ran too.
Chi Mo had given Li Ran 5,200.
Plus now…
Li Ran couldn’t tally it up; his head felt unreal. In the new year, he was practically lying in a pile of red bills. He showered all the money on his brother, directing lavishly: “Invest it all. It’s yours.”
Two bills actually fluttered to the floor; Li Ran hurriedly scrambled to pick them up, dusted off imaginary dirt, and offered them reverently to Chi Mo with both hands.
At that moment, Chi Mo really wanted to ask his kid: do you know how much principal is already in my hands?
If he could figure it out, Chi Mo would take his surname Li. No hesitation.
But the kid was adorably dumb, so Chi Mo didn’t remind him.
The devilish training truly began.
With only five or six days of winter break left, Li Ran stared down the practice papers Chi Mo had bought, filled with tricky problems, day after day. He was full of grievances, utterly miserable.
At first, Li Ran thought since his brother had only made him do half an hour the first time, he could half-ass it, and even if not, Chi Mo wouldn’t make him do too much.
Unexpectedly, whatever time the paper specified, Chi Mo enforced—no early submission, and at time’s end, pen down immediately, not a single extra stroke, or the paper was void, zero score.
Just like school simulations of the gaokao.
If monthly exams went poorly, they’d get scolded by the homeroom teacher. Us senior-year students had long trained ourselves to stuff our ears with donkey hair— it didn’t hurt, didn’t itch, didn’t matter. But Chi Mo was different; he actually laid hands on Li Ran.
Sure enough, with his fluke mindset, Li Ran thought he could get away with slacking, assuming Chi Mo wouldn’t make him do too long.
With his brother working beside him, he couldn’t help thinking about Parallel World.
Parallel World gave people a chance at regret—to do in the parallel world what they couldn’t in reality.
To see what would be different if they’d chosen another path back then.
Chi Mo had a game account. Li Ran sneaked glances at his brother’s hand on the mouse, wondering what Chi Mo couldn’t accomplish that needed simulating in Parallel World.
He had no reverence for the paper, knowing it wasn’t a real exam, so he slacked off unconsciously, doing a mess.
Red X’s dominated the math paper; English choices were a sea of red, X’s stabbing through the page.
“How could you do this poorly? I know the paper’s hard; it’s this year’s toughest type, I picked it on purpose—I’m bad. But some questions you clearly didn’t take seriously. Why were you distracted? Thinking about who? The gaokao and college are all yours; I can’t take it or attend for you.” Chi Mo’s vision went black. He knew kids this age loved to play, but Li Ran had to get serious. “Senior year has half a semester left. You need 100% focus on every exam. This time I made you do the full two hours, no early or late submission, to prove it’s a serious exam.”
“Bro, sorry…” Li Ran hung his head, standing dejectedly before Chi Mo, clothes brushing the desk edge, shamefully telling the truth. “I was distracted thinking about you…”
“…Actually, the paper wasn’t that bad.” Chi Mo said lowly, nearly choking, unable to continue lecturing.
“Bro… are you gonna hit me?” Li Ran asked cautiously. Having realized his mistake didn’t stop him from pitifully adding, “…Should I bend over the desk?”
He was a bit scared: “If you wanna hit me, then I… I’ll bend over.”
Chi Mo: “…”
A straight guy’s casual words could set his desires ablaze.
And this unlucky kid—if you didn’t break it down and throw it in his face telling him not to spout nonsense, he’d never know he’d said something filthy yellow to Chi Mo’s ears.
Chi Mo’s temple vein throbbed as he good-naturedly tapped the desk. “No hitting. Come sit properly. I’ll explain every wrong question. Listen well.”
“Okay!” Li Ran sat with a thud, fearing Chi Mo would change his mind. Arms on the desk, he sat ramrod straight, listening to Teacher Chi’s lesson.
