Compared to Ruan Zhao’s laid-back attitude, the system was far more diligent. Its electronic eye instantly locked onto the protagonist’s figure, and in a blink, the entire system buzzed with excitement.
[Host!]
Ruan Zhao pulled his phone from his pocket, effortlessly unlocking it with his fingerprint, and began scrolling through his feed, engrossed.
Thinking he hadn’t heard, the system increased its volume, calling out twice more: [Host! Host!]
Ruan Zhao slipped in his earbuds and turned on his music.
The system hesitated, its tone becoming uncertain: [Zhaozhao… did you hear me?]
Ruan Zhao sighed softly and responded lazily, “Yeah.”
The system whispered, [I just saw Gu Xingyan.]
“Yeah, me too,” Ruan Zhao replied. “But we already bullied him enough today, right? No need to overdo it.”
The system paused, as if in serious thought. [You might be right…]
Its holographic form flickered into existence, floating beside Ruan Zhao—circling him first to the left, then the right, brushing his arm one moment, nudging his back the next.
Ruan Zhao began to feel dizzy from the constant circling. Seeing that no one was watching, he reached out, cupped the little system in his hands, and playfully pinched its ear.
The system’s cat ears weren’t soft and fluffy but rather had a slightly firm texture. When pinched, though, they twitched like a real kitten’s.
[Walk properly, you’re making me dizzy.]
The system’s visual display showed a smiling face. Perhaps knowing its host’s fondness for cats, two tiny cat ears had sprouted on its simple, line-drawn expression.
（>ヮ<）→（^>ヮ<^？）
It flapped its tiny wings, lifting itself slightly into the air, then cautiously landed on Ruan Zhao’s shoulder.
Seeing no reaction, the system finally relaxed, curling up against his shoulder and remaining still. It was light as a feather, barely noticeable, so Ruan Zhao let it be.
Waiting outside the school gates was the Ruan family’s car. A black Porsche Cayenne sat parked near the entrance, surrounded by a ten-meter radius of empty space—untouched by other vehicles. A few students glanced at it with fleeting curiosity, then quickly looked away.
Ruan Zhao opened the door and slid inside. The air conditioning was set to a perfect temperature, lightly scented with a subtle floral-fruity fragrance—refreshing, not overwhelming. He sank into the plush seat, stretched out an arm, and pulled an ice-cold Coke from the car’s mini-fridge.
Taking a long sip, the chilled liquid spread through his mouth, washing away the lingering exhaustion. The first sip of an ice-cold Coke was always the best. No matter how much remained in the bottle, nothing compared to that initial taste.
Ruan Zhao held the bottle, sipping slowly. He even poured a little into the cap and offered it to 0606.
The system took a tiny sip but clearly couldn’t handle the flavor. Its digital screen scrunched up in distaste, eyebrows and eyes furrowed, letting out a tiny disapproving tsk—as if it hadn’t been begging Ruan Zhao for a taste moments before.
The driver knew his place. Aside from a brief greeting when Ruan Zhao got in, he remained silent, concentrating on driving.
The car glided smoothly down the road. Ruan Zhao leaned back, listening to soft, soothing music through his earbuds. His dark, curled lashes fluttered, occasionally opening and closing as he drifted into drowsiness.
Then, suddenly—a sharp horn blared, shattering the calm. The driver yanked the wheel, and the car lurched violently as he slammed on the brakes.
The sudden stop threw Ruan Zhao forward, his forehead colliding with the seat in front of him. The sharp pain jolted him awake.
“Young Master, are you okay?” The driver’s anxious voice came from the front.
Ruan Zhao rubbed his aching forehead and mumbled that he was fine. He asked the driver what had happened, why he’d braked so abruptly.
The driver, a middle-aged man in his forties, wore a gray vest over a button-up shirt. He had a trustworthy, honest face, but at that moment, his complexion was ashen. A sheen of cold sweat coated his forehead, and the back of his shirt was damp from the near-accident.
The driver rubbed the calluses on his palm, composed himself, then slowly pulled the car over to the side of the road. He took a deep, shaky breath. “When I was turning the corner, someone suddenly appeared in front of the car… I-I almost hit them.”
Ruan Zhao: “…?”
A tight, suffocating sensation gripped his chest. It felt like unseen hands were clamping down on his heart, squeezing until fear flooded his body.
An accident. A car crash. Just like before.
His blood ran cold, his breathing became stiff and labored, as if the air had thickened. A haunting flash of red flickered in his mind.
He quickly rolled down the window, craning his neck to look behind them.
And there—a boy stood in the middle of the road, wearing the same blue-and-white school uniform. The dark skid marks from the emergency brake stopped barely half an inch from his feet.
If the driver had reacted a second later—if the boy had taken one more step—he would have been hit.
A wave of relief washed over Ruan Zhao. Thank God. If something had happened, his trauma would have worsened. He might never have dared to step into a car again.
Just as he reached for the window button, he saw the boy sway suddenly, his body lurching unsteadily.
And then—with a dull thud, he collapsed.
The sound of a body hitting the ground was loud and distinct, clearly audible even inside the car.
Driver: “!!!”
“Young Master, I swear, I didn’t hit him! The car was at least half a meter away!” The driver, who’d been watching carefully in the rearview mirror, practically jumped in his seat, his voice panicked. “He’s definitely faking it—a scam!”
Ruan Zhao’s gaze flickered. “…Yeah, we can’t encourage that kind of behavior.”
But—when the boy fell, his face was turned directly toward Ruan Zhao. It was a flawless face—unquestionably handsome. Deep-set eyes. A sharp, well-defined nose. Yet, the dark circles beneath his lower eyelids were unmistakable, lending a touch of melancholy to his striking features.
Gu Xingyan…
Was this some kind of karmic debt between supporting characters and the male lead? Why did he keep running into him everywhere?
Ruan Zhao pressed his lips together, watching the car window slowly rise.
Seeing someone you disliked collapse in the street should be cause for celebration, at least for a villainous supporting character like him. The “Ruan Zhao” in the original story couldn’t wait for Gu Xingyan to be in trouble. If he were to die somewhere, alone and unnoticed, erased from Ruan Zhao’s world forever—he’d probably pop open a bottle of champagne.
The hatred a villainous supporting character harbors for the male lead is both subtle and blatant.
Ruan Zhao’s fingers hovered over the door’s sensor button, his fingertips paling slightly with tension. And yet—he didn’t press it. Getting out to help now… wouldn’t align with his character.
So… Ruan Zhao lowered his long lashes, concealing the emotions flickering in his eyes. His voice was indifferent as he said, “Drive. Just ignore him.”
The driver hesitated briefly before nodding. “…Understood.”
With a touch of the accelerator, the car surged forward, leaving the scene behind in seconds. Outside the window, the scenery blurred—trees, buildings, city streets—each detail pausing for a fleeting moment before vanishing into the distance.
Yet, no matter how fast the car moved, the image replayed in Ruan Zhao’s mind. Gu Xingyan, collapsed on the pavement. Over and over, the scene flickered before his eyes, a film stuck on repeat.
When he fell, his forehead had struck the ground hard, leaving a faint streak of crimson on the rough asphalt.
For a male lead, this kind of injury shouldn’t be significant. A single fall wouldn’t turn him into an idiot. But… if the bleeding didn’t stop—it could become a problem.
He vaguely recalled the system mentioning Gu Xingyan’s anemia before. If the head wound was deep and the bleeding didn’t stop—that could become serious.
Ruan Zhao’s thoughts were in turmoil. One moment, he reassured himself that the male lead’s plot armor was strong enough—he’d be fine. The next, worst-case scenarios flooded his mind.
What if Gu Xingyan didn’t wake up? What if no one passed by to help? What if, later that night, a car sped down the road—and didn’t see him lying there until it was too late?
Slowly, worry crept into his dark eyes. He grew restless, glancing back over his shoulder every few seconds.
“…Uncle Zhao.”
The driver eased off the gas. “What is it, Young Master?”
Ruan Zhao hesitated, struggling with himself. But finally, he sighed in resignation. “…Turn around at the next intersection. We’re going back.”
“To check on that faker?” The driver sounded skeptical. “He’s probably gone by now.”
Ruan Zhao shook his head. “It wasn’t a scam. I saw him bleeding.”
“…He was bleeding?” The driver’s expression changed. After confirming Ruan Zhao wasn’t mistaken, his face grew serious. “Then we should go back.”
—
The black Cayenne screeched to a halt in a temporary parking zone by the roadside.
Ruan Zhao rushed out of the car, sprinting to Gu Xingyan’s side.
A small pool of blood had already coagulated on the pavement. Gu Xingyan’s face was ashen.
Ruan Zhao crouched down, lightly shook his arm, and called his name twice. No response.
Just then, the driver arrived, slightly winded. Seeing Gu Xingyan lying in a pool of blood, he gasped. With trembling fingers, he checked Gu Xingyan’s pulse. Feeling a faint beat, he visibly relaxed.
“Thank God… He’s still alive.”
Ruan Zhao: “…Yeah, like he’d actually die.”
The driver, realizing he’d overreacted, chuckled awkwardly. “This kid took a nasty fall… Lost a lot of blood. We need to get him to a hospital, fast.”
Ruan Zhao pulled out his phone and dialed 120.
A gentle female voice answered. She requested a brief description of the situation before responding calmly, “I’ve dispatched the nearest ambulance to your location. It should arrive in about twenty minutes.”
Ruan Zhao’s brows furrowed instinctively. Twenty minutes? Too long. With Gu Xingyan’s condition… would he even last that long?
Sensing his hesitation, the dispatcher offered an alternative. “If it’s just a head injury without other physical trauma, you might consider driving him to the hospital yourselves—it’ll be much faster.”
Ruan Zhao exhaled lightly. “Got it. Thank you.”
Hanging up, he turned to the driver. “Uncle Zhao, how long to the nearest hospital?”
The driver, familiar with every road in the area, replied without hesitation, “A little over ten minutes, maybe fifteen at most. Definitely less than twenty.”
Alright. If he was going to help, he might as well see it through.
The driver carefully hoisted Gu Xingyan onto his back and placed him in the back seat. Ruan Zhao followed, sliding in beside him.
Worried about bloodstains on the seat, Ruan Zhao pulled out a wet wipe and carefully cleaned Gu Xingyan’s face. His cool fingertips brushed against the boy’s forehead, and he recoiled from the heat.
Startled, Ruan Zhao placed his palm against it. Scorching. [So hot, so hot—he’s burning up!]
The system scanned Gu Xingyan quickly. [39.8 degrees. Yep, definitely a fever.]
[Almost 40°C?! That’s practically cooking him alive.]
The system hesitated. [Uh… probably not?] It tried to sound confident. [He’s the protagonist, after all—he wouldn’t just drop dead that easily.]
Ruan Zhao’s gaze drifted out the window, landing on a dark, deserted alley.
[If I just leave him there… and no one finds him until morning… would he turn into a cold, lifeless corpse?]
The system ran an emergency simulation. It calculated a 0.27% chance of Gu Xingyan bleeding out and a 0.76% chance of his brain turning to mush from the fever. Its CPU nearly crashed trying to process the results.
The system’s “let the protagonist fend for himself” strategy only worked if his survival was guaranteed. If things went south, it had no choice but to intervene. It frantically fluttered above Gu Xingyan’s head, its usually perky little wings drooping in despair.
[No, no, Zhaozhao, don’t dump him in the alley! If something happens to him, we’re in serious trouble!]
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