On the second floor, after trying for a long time to retrieve something from beneath the door without success, Fu Cen had no choice but to return to his room to think of another way.
Just as he was starting to feel drowsy from waiting, the sound of footsteps approached from a distance. Fu Cen immediately snapped awake, hurriedly picked up the prepared glass of water on the table, opened the door, and quickly stepped out.
“Um…”
Shen Wufeng’s hand was just resting on the doorknob. Hearing the noise, he turned to look.
Under the gaze of those eyes, Fu Cen nearly lost his grip on the water glass. But when he imagined Shen Wufeng as the model standing quietly before his easel, his nervousness instantly vanished, and he found his voice again: “Would… would you like some water?”
Shen Wufeng withdrew his hand from the metal doorknob, turned around, and raised an eyebrow, signaling him to speak directly.
Fu Cen took a deep breath, silently cheering himself on, and finally spoke: “You haven’t been back for a long time, so your room needs tidying up before you can stay. Let me help you.”
After quickly saying this in one breath, Fu Cen caught a glimpse of the coldness in the other’s eyes, mixed with curiosity and amusement.
“Alright.”
Although Shen Wufeng wasn’t sure why Fu Cen wanted to get into his room—perhaps thinking there were company secrets inside, or perhaps planning to try climbing into his bed again—since his excuse was tidying up the room, Shen Wufeng didn’t mind letting him tidy to his heart’s content.
In Shen Wufeng’s eyes, Fu Cen’s performance was clumsy and unbearable to watch.
Confident that he had full control of the situation, Shen Wufeng pressed his fingerprint. Just as he was about to open the door, a tremendous force suddenly slammed into his back from behind. Caught off guard, Shen Wufeng stumbled forward a few steps, barely catching sight of a letter sweeping across the floor.
Seizing the opportunity, Fu Cen quickly snatched up the letter, turned around, and made a run for it.
However, the back of his collar was tightly grabbed by a hand.
My life is over.
Before his body was turned around, Fu Cen crumpled the letter into a ball and clenched it in his palm. Shen Wufeng lowered his gaze, glanced at the tightly clenched fist, and chuckled.
If Secretary Cai saw this smile, he would surely pack his bags and leave Earth overnight.
But the person at the center of the storm was completely unaware of the danger. Instead, he was momentarily dazed by that smile and began, once again, sketching in his mind that flawless face with not a single imperfection.
The wall lamps on either side of the hallway illuminated only half of Shen Wufeng’s face, casting dense shadows from his lowered lashes and deepening the color of his lips under the light. As Fu Cen committed this image to memory, he didn’t notice that he had already been pushed against the wall, with a robust body pressing against him, blocking all possible escape routes.
The water glass in his hand clattered to the floor.
“What are you hiding in your hand?”
Shen Wufeng leaned in, lowering his head until the tip of his nose brushed against Fu Cen’s sensitive ear. His deep, dark eyes stared directly into Fu Cen’s, mesmerizing like a siren’s call as he asked, “Who sent you? My father? Or my second uncle?”
Forced back to reality by the close proximity, Fu Cen’s exquisitely sculpted face was filled with confusion, unsure of what Shen Wufeng was talking about.
“That expression is quite convincing,” Shen Wufeng sneered, his warm hand slowly sliding down to rest on Fu Cen’s slender, firm waist. “You even fooled me into thinking you approached me just to survive. I never imagined you were also connected to the old mansion.”
Growing up in such an environment had made Shen Wufeng deeply suspicious. He despised betrayal intensely, even if the other person was merely his contractual partner.
Just as Shen Wufeng pressed his hand against Fu Cen’s tightly clenched fist, Fu Cen finally began to struggle. Yet, like a fish on a chopping board, he couldn’t budge the man’s formidable strength.
“I-I didn’t,” the socially anxious man stammered, trying to explain. The hand on his waist suddenly rubbed against a soft spot, sending a wave of numbness through Fu Cen’s body. His eyes grew misty, and he could no longer hold onto the crumpled letter in his hand. Reluctantly, he let go, and the next moment, the paper fell into Shen Wufeng’s grasp.
Shen Wufeng had imagined what the letter might contain—likely confidential information a spy from the old mansion was trying to pass to him.
However, as he unfolded the wrinkled paper and his cold eyes scanned it, they fixed on the heading: “Resignation Letter.”
Shen Wufeng froze.
His mind struggled to shift gears from the scheming of wealthy families.
The letter tactfully expressed dissatisfaction with the working hours, admitted to a lack of competence and experience in childcare, and subtly mocked that such a “contract of servitude” had only existed before the Qing Dynasty.
Fu Cen: (⊙﹏⊙)
Since he wasn’t resigning in person, the socially anxious Fu Cen had poured all his dissatisfaction with the job into the letter.
He never expected it would now become a face-to-face resignation.
“Maybe… you could let me explain?” Fu Cen gestured with his hands, but the words that came out didn’t match his current intentions. “Even though the job is 24/7 with no holidays, and the complex interpersonal relationships pose significant risks…”
Fu Cen racked his brains to think of the job’s benefits: “But…”
He couldn’t think of any. QAQ.
In his previous life, even though he was burdened with massive debt, Fu Cen had never felt the pinch of poverty. Even if his paintings depreciated, they still held value many could only dream of. So, at first, he never considered leaving this place, fearing he wouldn’t survive without money.
After stepping out into the cold wind, Fu Cen understood the sorrow of the working class.
Without money, even taking the little one to a high-end restaurant for a meal became a distant dream.
Without money, he couldn’t afford painting supplies, let alone earn an income.
He had to rely on this job to get through this difficult period. After that, Fu Cen still planned to resign.
This was also the first time Shen Wufeng had experienced someone resigning to his face. Shen Corporation was a place many dreamed of entering, though, in truth, Fu Cen was his personal hire.
The young man before him had shed his previous heavy makeup, appearing as fresh and tender as a sprout bathed in morning dew. Under his intense gaze, the boy’s eyes darted away, likely unaware that his soft, pink lips were slightly pouted. His expression of resistance to close contact only made one want to press even closer.
Seeing Fu Cen so reluctant about this job, Shen Wufeng’s eyes darkened slightly. “I can increase the pay.”
For now, he still needed Fu Cen to handle matters at the old estate.
Thinking he had messed things up, Fu Cen let out a surprised, “Huh?”
Shen Wufeng straightened up, adjusted his tie, and resumed a proper social distance from Fu Cen. “All reasonable daily expenses you incur will also be reimbursed.”
For a domineering CEO, there was no problem money couldn’t solve.
If there was, just throw another black card at it.
So, he tossed the black card to Fu Cen, but instead of the expected look of joy, the other furrowed his brows, his gaze toward the black card carrying a hint of…
Disdain?
Summoning his courage, Fu Cen whispered, “Could you transfer some emergency funds to me via messaging app?”
An ordinary person just wanted a simple, straightforward transfer. Black cards could only be used at high-end stores, far less convenient than having a balance in one’s account.
A vein throbbed on Shen Wufeng’s forehead. He took out his phone, opened the messaging app, and prepared to transfer 200,000 yuan, only to find the payment failed…
Insufficient balance.
Fu Cen held up his QR code, looking at the CEO with hopeful eyes.
Shen Wufeng put away his phone, maintaining his aloof demeanor. “For such trivial matters, just ask Secretary Cai to transfer it to you.”
With that, he didn’t linger any longer, turning back to his room and closing the door behind him.
How strange—he had come upstairs to catch a spy.
Yet, somehow, he was the one who ended up in an awkward situation.
As for the reimbursement aspect, Shen Wufeng’s image as a capitalist improved slightly in Fu Cen’s eyes.
A boss who pays is a good daddy!
Having accepted the black card, Fu Cen felt too embarrassed to bother Secretary Cai again. He knocked on the door and thanked his dad (crossed out), his boss. Naturally, there was no response from inside. Fu Cen turned to head back to his own room but paused midway, changing direction toward the children’s room.
He remembered that the little one had gotten a shot tonight and had been out playing for so long. He wondered if the child might develop a fever in the middle of the night.
Turning on the warm light, Fu Cen walked over and sat by the bed, reaching out to touch the child’s forehead. Confirming that the little one was in good health and not feverish, he tucked the child’s small, chubby little arms, which had slipped out of the blanket, back inside. Softly, he whispered to the sleeping child, “We have money now. Later, we’ll go have a feast!”
After smoothing the blanket, he stood up to leave but heard the child mumbling in his sleep.
Curious about what the little one was saying, Fu Cen leaned his ear closer.
“I’m gonna… gather evidence… expose the bad stepdad!” The child’s small fist, clenched tightly, even waved a little under the blanket.
Fu Cen: “…”
Take it back, take it back!
After a busy day, Fu Cen sneaked back to the garden to retrieve the suitcase he had hidden earlier and brought it to his room. Only after locking the door did he finally feel a sense of relaxation, both mentally and physically. Nothing was more reassuring for a socially anxious person than a closed, private space.
Now he finally had time to sort through his thoughts.
His previous life held no lingering attachments for him. Since he had come to this world from the book and replaced the original owner who had died unexpectedly, Fu Cen naturally intended to live well.
The top priority was to make money as soon as possible. Once he had a foundation for survival, he would resign and draw a clear line with Shen Wufeng.
No time like the present. Fu Cen opened Weibo, intending to register a secondary account to facilitate taking on commissions. However, a barrage of messages popped up, causing his phone to freeze for a full three minutes.
Huh?
Once the interface returned to normal, Fu Cen clicked on the comment notifications. Seeing the diverse array of insults, he sighed inwardly, thinking that the original owner’s reputation truly wasn’t great. After posting the announcement of his retirement from the industry, not a single fan seemed sad. Instead, the entire internet was celebrating.
Beyond that, he had no further thoughts. He swiftly logged out of the current Weibo account and chose to deactivate it, then created a new one.
When entering a username, Fu Cen hesitated for a moment before choosing the nickname from his previous life: “Yuanmu.”
From the chaotic and noisy main account to a secondary account so clean it was practically blank, from over a million followers to a lonely “1”—Weibo Assistant—Fu Cen only felt a wave of relief wash over him. He was determined to keep this alias well-hidden, ensuring no one would know that Yuanmu was him.
After all, the original owner’s reputation was truly too poor.
The remaining task was to buy a drawing tablet and a stylus.
Filled with anticipation, Fu Cen put down his phone and closed his eyes. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, his phone suddenly rang. He wearily opened his eyes—nothing was more anxiety-inducing for an introvert than a phone call just as they were about to fall asleep.
He didn’t want to answer…
Fu Cen really did mute the sound and closed his eyes again.
But this call persisted tirelessly, ringing over and over again, calling five or six times in a row. It seemed that if Fu Cen didn’t answer, the caller would keep trying until dawn.
“Hello?” Fu Cen answered weakly.
“Cen Cen, it’s your uncle. Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” The other side didn’t wait for Fu Cen to come up with a response before continuing, “Come over in a few days to sort through your parents’ belongings and such. See if there’s anything you still care about.”
Holding the phone, under the repeated urging of his wife, the uncle finally stated his purpose: “When we handled your family’s funeral, you know I put in a lot of effort and have always treated you well…”
Fu Cen replied, “Oh, thank you, Uncle.”
The uncle’s voice noticeably faltered before he continued, “Now, you’re still in college, and with what happened online… I’ll help you manage the assets under your parents’ names for now. Once you graduate, I’ll…”
Fu Cen finally became more alert.
“Uncle, I’m already an adult,” he said firmly, showing no mercy toward the rumored troublesome relative. “I’ll arrange for a lawyer to contact you, and I’ll make time to come back.”
Fu Cen was simply averse to social relationships, but that didn’t mean he lacked the will to be easily manipulated. Moreover, to Fu Cen, this uncle was nothing more than a stranger.
Ignoring the suddenly raised voice on the other end, Fu Cen hung up the phone and turned it off. As he was about to fall asleep, for some reason, the uncle’s words—”what happened online”—kept echoing in his mind. The bump on his head began to ache faintly, forcing Fu Cen to sit up again.
He retrieved the tablet from the sofa, turned on the screen, and searched for keywords related to “Fu Cen.” Immediately, a long list of headlines appeared.
#Fu Cen Throws Tantrum and Insults Senior#
#Fu Cen Involved in Drug Scandal#
#Fu Cen Marries into a Wealthy Family#
#Fu Cen Bullies Former Teammates#
#Fu Cen Announces Retirement with Hundreds of Millions in Compensation#
Among these, the topic with the “bullying” tag had the highest popularity. Judging by the staggering number of discussions, it must have dominated the trending charts when the incident first broke out.
At this stage, people were most disgusted by the issue of “bullying.”
However, after sorting through the chaotic memories in his mind, Fu Cen realized that the original host had never even paid attention to his former teammates. During his trainee days, he had ignored their existence, and after debuting as a group, aside from collective activities, there had been little interaction. Without any interaction, how could he have bullied them?
Fu Cen clicked into the topic and saw several blurry, edited videos pinned at the top of the related discussions, along with ambiguous revelations from anonymous accounts claiming to be staff members. Combined with vague evidence, people believed they had uncovered the truth and launched a collective attack.
The internet was filled with insults:
[How does someone like this deserve to be an idol? Shouldn’t they be nailed to the pillar of shame as a negative example?]
Some even played detective, editing clips showing bruises on the former teammates, which drove their fans into a frenzy to defend their idols.
[I always noticed bruises on Yaoyao before, and he explained it as accidental falls. Now it’s clear—it’s the spoiled rich kid being jealous of his teammates’ superior skills. Everything adds up.]
Even casual physical contact between the boys in variety shows was interpreted as pushing and hitting, and a cold expression was labeled as giving teammates attitude.
After reading through everything, Fu Cen lay on the bed, silently staring at the gilded ceiling.
So this was the legendary case of one person bullying the entire group.
Without hesitation, Fu Cen saved all the videos, images, and comments. Since he was already planning to hire a lawyer to handle the inheritance issue, he decided to let the legal team deal with this as well.
Barring any unexpected events, he would likely spend the rest of his life in this world. Fu Cen had no intention of carrying the original host’s baggage forever.
Author’s Note:
Fu Cen: Baggage?! No way!!