The bathroom light flickered once, humming like a dying insect.
Hao Hao didn't speak immediately. The phone pressed to his ear felt heavier than it should. On the other end of the line, the silence curdled into impatience.
Then—
"Oh, so you even forget how to greet your sister now, huh?"
That voice—sharp, feminine, husky with a trace of condescension—snapped like a whip through his spine. His body reacted before his mind did, as if muscle memory had kicked in from this vessel's previous owner.
"...Sorry, Sister Wang," he muttered quickly, the words tumbling out like coins from a broken purse. "Why... are you calling?"
The breath she let out was short. Not quite a scoff, but close.
"I'm graduating soon."
The words weren't warm. They weren't shared for celebration. It was a fact, dropped like an administrative update.
"Two to three weeks, give or take, I'll be back in City A. Permanently."
Hao Hao's throat bobbed. "You're coming back… home?"
He regretted asking. She continued as if she hadn't heard him.
"I need you to do a few things before I arrive. One—find me a bigger apartment or condo. Downtown. Somewhere decent. Close to A Entertainment Industries."
She paused—briefly.
"I got transferred. General Manager, City A Branch."
That name rang out like a thunderclap in his brain. A Entertainment Industries. One of the three biggest entertainment conglomerates in the prefecture. Top ten nationally. In this matriarchal world where women controlled the media landscape, it was an empire of glamor and influence.
He opened his mouth. "That's... amazing, Sister, congratulations—"
"I already sent you the deposit. It should be more than enough. Use whatever's leftover to pay your rent or whatever you've been surviving on."
Ding.
Almost reflexively, Hao Hao pulled the phone away from his ear and checked the bank app.
His soul nearly left his body.
He wasn't sure how many zeroes he expected. But definitely not that many.
Six digits. In yuan.
He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Looked again.
Still there.
The app even glittered cheerfully as if trying to mock his financial illiteracy.
"So much money… and she says 'whatever's leftover' like it's pocket change?"
A quiet smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. For the first time in this life, he didn't feel a pang of bitterness toward her. He just… laughed inwardly.
She's a tsundere.
That was the only explanation that made sense to him now. An aloof CEO type tsundere. Tall, arrogant, and hell-bent on pretending she didn't care—while throwing cash and expectations like bricks.
"Second," she continued, not waiting for him to breathe. "Fix your appearance."
There it was.
"Lose weight. Shave properly. Do something about your skin. Plastic surgery, gym—your choice."
He almost laughed out loud.
"I won't be returning alone," she added. "Some of my colleagues are coming with me. I don't want their eyes to be troubled by your figure."
Troubled. That was the word she used.
Hao Hao didn't even flinch.
"Okay," he said blandly.
Internally, he was already making decisions. I'll pocket the gym money. Let Striking Beauty do the work. He could already see the changes beginning around his cheekbones. By the time she landed at City A Airport, he'd be unrecognizably radiant—and it wouldn't cost him a dime.
"If you manage to do both properly," she said, tone stiff, "I'll give you a reward. Something decent."
Reward?
"Sure," he replied.
"Good."
And just like that, the call ended.
No goodbye. No take care. Not even a mechanical "talk later."
Hao Hao lowered the phone and placed it on the sink. The screen dimmed. The bathroom returned to stillness, broken only by the drip-drip of a leaky pipe.
He stood there for a moment, towel still around his shoulders, hair damp and slowly cooling his skin.
"Really does everything at her own pace…" he muttered, half-smiling.
It was strange.
Yes, she'd never celebrated his birthdays. Never replied to his diary entries. She probably hadn't said a single kind word to him in years. But that money... That promotion... The way she still gave him instructions like he was part of her life, even if barely—
She hadn't forgotten him.
She hadn't cut him off.
No, she fed him from the shadows. Sent rent just in time. Never warm. Never kind. But always watching, like a storm cloud hovering just beyond the mountains, guarding a village that never saw her face.
He closed his eyes.
In this world, this Hao Hao had tried to die with no one around. No one but the silence.
And even then… the last person he regretted was her.
"Sister…"
His voice was quiet.
"You really don't know how terrifying you are, huh?"
But this time, there was no resentment in his words.
Just… a faint kind of gratitude.
And maybe—just maybe—a longing to make things right.
Even if she'd never let him say it out loud.
+
The sea breeze always felt best in the morning.
Salted wind carried whispers from the tide, brushing softly over the boardwalk where waves rolled in lazy cadence. The air was still cool enough to kiss his cheeks rather than bite, and Hao Hao sat with a quiet satisfaction on his usual bench beneath the half-blooming shade of an old palm tree, towel draped over his neck, sweat clinging faintly to his skin like a second layer.
He had just finished his morning run and basic bodyweight set—squats, push-ups, planks—and for the first time in a long while, his body didn't feel like a lump of rotting dough. His breath had steadied, and his skin felt flushed with warmth instead of sluggish exhaustion.
"Progress," he murmured, tapping his cheek once. Still soft. Still bloated. But his legs felt firmer today. And he didn't feel like collapsing on the stairs anymore.
Small wins.
The same beach, the same path. But now, when he sat here, he didn't feel like a leftover. He felt… awake.
His phone buzzed, and he opened his browser app, aimlessly scrolling.
The first tab? T*obao.
It started innocent enough: a new pair of joggers. Something breathable. Then came a shirt—nothing fancy, just one that didn't stick to his stomach like plastic wrap. Before long, his wishlist looked like a man in the middle of a rebranding.
Shirts with adjustable drawstrings. Soft cream cardigans that flared slightly at the waist. Oversized hoodies that would flatter his shape in the meantime.
Shoes… definitely need shoes.
Click. Add to cart.
Maybe that tote bag too. Something gender-neutral but cute.
Another click.
And then he paused—brows lowering slightly.
Even with his sister's leftover funds, watching the total chip away at the corner of his account stung in a way he hadn't expected.
He stared at the number.
"…I need money."
He didn't say it dramatically. It wasn't a vow. Just a truth that settled deep in his stomach like a swallowed stone.
He hated the idea of eating soft rice. Hated it more than being ugly. He didn't want to be someone who lived off leftover affection. Especially not from Wang Hao.
"Let's get a job," he muttered.
Back to the browser.
He opened up a job board—City A Local, a community hub. The results were… bleak.
—"Personal Assistant to an Elite Lady. Flexible schedule. Live-in preferred. Must be obedient." (Flagged)
—"Luxury Massage Studio Seeking Pretty Boys. No experience needed." (Flagged twice)
—"Modeling agency scouting new talent! DM your body measurements and a full-body selfie!" (Flagged with prejudice)
Click. Click. Click.
He scrolled, fingers twitching with increasing irritation. Between sleazy offers and dead-end leads, nothing seemed real. And even if they were real, he wasn't—he couldn't—apply.
I look like a before photo in a tragic plastic surgery ad. Who'd hire me for anything that involved being seen?
Ding.
A new message popped up in his inbox.
He opened it without thinking.
"Hello there, little brother. I saw your post on W*chat, looking for a job. Would you like to apply for a vacant server job at our dining establishment?"
No sketchy emojis. No suspicious photos attached. Just text. Short, polite. Clean.
Huh…
He hovered over the reply button.
And that was when he heard it.
"Hello, Hao Hao."
He looked up.
Standing there, framed by the soft glow of midmorning light, was Li Yuan.
But not the Li Yuan he had first met—broken, bitter, dressed in grief like armor.
Today, she wore a pale, off-shoulder blouse that hugged her collarbone, paired with black slacks that cinched her waist and flared at the heels. Her long black hair had been tied loosely behind her, and her skin had a clarity now that hinted at sleep, at food, at something closer to peace.
But most striking of all were her eyes.
They no longer looked empty.
There was fire there now—small, yes, but undeniably burning.
Like a woman with a reason to wake up today.
Like a woman who'd stopped looking at the edge of the cliff and started looking toward the road instead.
Hao Hao blinked, then stood up slowly, towel still around his neck. "Sister Li?"
She smiled. Just a little.
"You're early today," she said.
He scratched the back of his neck. "You too."
They both stood there, quietly, the sea humming behind them.
And Hao Hao thought to himself—
Damn. She really is a tall beauty when she cleans up.