Suburban Tea Estate.
Amidst the swirling aroma of tea, numerous guests were engaged in business discussions.
Walking past the tea rooms and through a tranquil garden, one would reach a bustling hall deep within.
Ji Zhouye sat at a table, several playing cards laid out before him. He silently prayed to all his ancestors before lifting a corner of his cards to peek—only to curse inwardly at yet another terrible hand.
"Stay calm," whispered the man beside him, Lan Zigang, younger brother of Lan Rouxue. "The guy across looks like he’s got a bad hand too. Let’s crush him with sheer confidence. Time to put on an act."
Ji Zhouye glanced up.
Sure enough, the opponent looked murderous, as if ready to throw his cards away.
Bolstered, Ji Zhouye pushed some of his chips forward.
Just then, his phone vibrated.
Before he could check it, Lan Zigang snatched it and slammed it face-down on the table.
"Mr. Ji, bold as ever," the opponent said, tossing his cards back into the pile. "I fold."
Ji Zhouye won the round, his confidence soaring.
But from then on, it was as if he’d been cursed—loss after loss after loss. The thrill of winning had been intoxicating, and he couldn’t stop himself from chasing that high, sinking deeper into the game. His pile of chips dwindled before his eyes.
"Zigang, go get me more chips," he said.
Lan Zigang handed back his card. "Out of money."
Ji Zhouye stared in disbelief. "How?"
This was hush money he’d squeezed from his second brother—five million! Not a small sum, even for him. How could it be gone after just a few rounds?
"Seriously, it’s all gone," Lan Zigang murmured, leaning closer. "Zhouye, we have to turn this around. Ask your brother for more cash."
Ji Zhouye pressed his lips together.
His eldest brother’s funds had been frozen.
He’d just extorted five million from his second brother.
His third brother was perpetually unreachable.
And his fourth brother was still a student—no money there either.
"Forget it," he said. "I’m done."
"No way, Zhouye!" Lan Zigang grabbed his arm. "Think about it—after so many losses, you’re due for a win. The next round could turn everything around! If you quit now, that five million is just gone!"
Ji Zhouye stayed silent.
Lan Zigang lowered his voice. "You drove a luxury car here, right? Pawn it for chips. Win it back later—easy."
Ji Zhouye shook his head. "Not my car."
"Then what about that villa under your name?" Lan Zigang’s voice brimmed with excitement. "A place that big must be worth twenty or thirty million. You could get a ton of chips for it. Come on, let’s go!"
Ji Zhouye’s instincts screamed at him to refuse.
But the clatter of chips filled his ears, his head swimming as if he were floating on clouds. The only way back to reality, it seemed, was to win.
He let Lan Zigang lead him to the counter.
Without needing instructions, Lan Zigang rattled off the villa’s address. The staff would process the mortgage as soon as ownership was confirmed.
The clerk frowned. "This property belongs to Rong Yu."
Ji Zhouye froze.
He’d personally picked out and purchased that villa over two years ago—under his name. When had it become his great-grandmother’s asset?
"Wait, you own two percent of Ji Group’s shares, right?" Lan Zigang cut in. "Can those be mortgaged?"
The clerk smiled. "Absolutely. At market value, two percent of Ji Group shares could secure at least—"
Before she could finish, Ji Zhouye snapped, "No."
Those shares—two percent for each descendant—were a birthright, a symbol of their place in the Ji family.
Mortgaging them would be a betrayal of his grandfather’s legacy.
"You can always buy them back," Lan Zigang coaxed. "Don’t you want to recover your losses?"
Ji Zhouye clenched his jaw. "I’m not touching the shares."
"Fine, then online loans." Lan Zigang shoved Ji Zhouye’s phone at him. "Every platform offers quick cash. Borrow 100K here, 100K there—you’ll have a million in no time. Here, I’ll show you how."
Ji Zhouye took the phone.
Missed calls—all from Rong Yu.
His stomach dropped.
And a single WeChat message:
"Fans tracked me to campus. A whole mob’s cornering me. If you don’t come now, start planning my funeral."
He called back. No answer.
Ji Zhouye bolted for the door.
Online, those fans had spewed endless vitriol at Rong Yu.
In person? Their aggression would be tenfold. The thought of her facing them alone—
"Zhouye! Where are you going?" Lan Zigang chased after him. "What about winning it back? You’re just gonna walk away from five million?"
Ji Zhouye yanked the car door open. "So I lose it. Since when can’t I afford a loss?"
The door slammed. Tires screeched. The car vanished down the road.
Lan Zigang smirked.
Bringing Ji Zhouye here had earned him a 10% cut of the losses—500K gone, 50K in his pocket.
His fingers itched to gamble too.
With a thoughtful hum, he turned and strode back inside…
Ji Zhouye sped through a red light, screeching to a halt at the campus gates. He grabbed the first student he saw. "Where’s Rong Yu? Where is she?"
Rong Yu was a public figure, but not everyone tracked her movements. After several fruitless inquiries, he was still empty-handed.
Rong Ruoyao had just returned from lunch with friends when she spotted Ji Zhouye in a frenzy.
His eyes were bloodshot, hands shaking as he shouted Rong Yu’s name.
To her, he looked like a man desperately in love…
A sour taste filled her mouth. She approached. "Ji Zhouye, what’s wrong? Did you two fight?"
He shoved her aside.
Rong Ruoyao’s fans were the worst—spewing hate at Rong Yu nonstop. Right now, he couldn’t stand the sight of her.
"Zhouye!" Chen Nian sprinted over, panting. "Rong Yu’s at the milk tea shop on Back Street. She’s fine. Totally unharmed."
Ji Zhouye sprinted to the shop.
Through the window, he saw Rong Yu sitting with another girl—Su Tian, another contestant from the show. They sipped their drinks, chatting. At something Su Tian said, she laughed so hard she slapped her thigh. Rong Yu’s lips curved into a quiet smile.
The scene was peaceful. No mob. No danger.
The realization hit him like ice water.
He remembered—Rong Yu could overpower him and his friends single-handedly.
A bunch of fans? Hardly a threat.
He’d been played.
Ji Zhouye stormed inside, slamming his palms on their table. "You think this is funny?"
