Chen Zemian lived a very happy life with the male protagonist of the cool novel, every single day.
There were all kinds of delicious food and drinks—whether it was trendy Internet-famous snacks that required standing in long queues, or high-end private chef delicacies that needed to be booked in advance—there was nothing he couldn’t eat.
Money really could do whatever you wanted.
Chen Zemian turned over on the sofa.
The villa was equipped with a constant-temperature system, and the temperature and humidity were as precisely regulated as those in a museum. Even in the bitter cold of winter with howling north winds, it was as warm as spring.
He wore only a T-shirt and sports shorts, a soft cashmere blanket draped over his belly. At hand were handmade pastries prepared by the private chef, and a bowl of yogurt cheese sprinkled with various fruit pulps and dried fruits.
It was so cool.
Chen Zemian swung his arm to pick up the spoon, scooped a mouthful of cheese, and glanced at Lu Zhuonian, who was sitting on the single-seater sofa.
Lu Zhuonian glanced back at him.
Chen Zemian flashed a flattering smile.
Lu Zhuonian couldn’t help but smile and curled his lips. “Come here.”
Chen Zemian didn’t move his butt, but sat up with the spoon still in his mouth, bent over toward Lu Zhuonian, and leaned on the armrest of the sofa. “What can I do for you?”
Lu Zhuonian had nothing in particular to say but wanted to call him over. However, if he didn’t come up with something, Chen Zemian would complain with something like, “Don’t call me if there’s nothing to do,” and next time he’d make Lu Zhuonian explain himself before moving. It wouldn’t be so easy to summon him again.
So, Lu Zhuonian casually asked, “Are the snacks good?”
“Delicious,” Chen Zemian said, stretching out his long arm to grab the snack box. “Try some.”
Lu Zhuonian’s left hand had been sutured, so he couldn’t use the excuse of being injured to get Chen Zemian to feed him. He could only raise his hand and pinch a piece of almond crisp to eat.
Chen Zemian placed the snack box next to Lu Zhuonian’s hand and flopped back down.
He took out his phone, clicked on an unread message, and blurted out, “Fuck!”—then jumped up again.
Lu Zhuonian looked over, eyes asking what was wrong.
“That Lloyd is at it again, forcing Yan Luo to compete with him in shooting,” Chen Zemian said as he sat up from the sofa. He turned to Lu Zhuonian. “How’s your hand? Can you go shoot him today?”
Lu Zhuonian answered calmly, “Yes, if you really want to.”
Chen Zemian immediately stood up, dragged Lu Zhuonian up to change clothes, and urged, “I miss him so much. I’ve been holding back for a long time!”
*****
Lloyd, son of the Gun King, had the same personality as those supporting characters who provoke the male lead in novels—
Tall, handsome, famous, arrogant, and conceited.
To use an idiom, he looked down on others, arrogant and rude.
To put it bluntly, he was just downright impolite.
“You’re the son of the Yan family, and you can’t even use a gun?”
Lloyd looked down at Yan Luo, who was working on a math test, and said in English, “No wonder the Yan family’s shooting range has been losing its reputation and hasn’t qualified to host international competitions for years.”
Yan Luo hated it most when people brought up his connection to the Yan family. He pursed his lips, and the hand holding his pen trembled slightly.
Lloyd sighed regretfully. “Alas, it seems like Lu Zhuonian’s AK Shooting Range doesn’t live up to its reputation either. There isn’t even one person here qualified to practice with me.”
Yan Luo took a deep breath and slammed his pen onto the table.
Liu Yuebo placed a hand on Yan Luo’s shoulder, stood up, and looked at Lloyd. “Don’t you just want someone to practice shooting with? I’ll play with you.”
Lloyd’s arrogance wasn’t just for show. He was a top-tier shooter who lived up to his title. Whether it was skeet shooting, rifle, pistol, or moving targets, he excelled at them all.
Liu Yuebo, on the other hand, was only average. It wasn’t even a hobby—just a way to socialize with other second-generation elites.
After more than half an hour of playing with Lloyd, he still didn’t understand the rules of skeet shooting and just played aimlessly.
The outcome was unsurprising. he lost, and lost badly.
The athletes and coaches watching were all professionals. They could tell right away that Liu Yuebo had no idea what he was doing. Everyone was puzzled. Why was Lloyd bothering to compete with such an amateur?
After some inquiry, the truth surfaced—Lloyd’s goal wasn’t just to play. He wanted to force the owner of the AK Shooting Range to come out.
Someone who knew the full story explained.
“Two years ago, Lloyd rose to fame in the U.S., sweeping every shooting competition. But then, he ran into a Chinese man buying guns at a range in Country L—Lu Zhuonian, the owner of AK Shooting Range.”
“Lu Zhuonian?! I’ve heard of him. He broke Lloyd’s undefeated streak. I thought he was a professional athlete!”
“He wasn’t. That day, Lloyd saw how knowledgeable Lu Zhuonian was about guns and challenged him to a friendly match after the event. It was informal, but lots of spectators came. And everyone saw just how badly Lloyd lost.”
“He had just won the championship the day before. The game was supposed to be a show of his skills, and the media were there too. Instead, he got crushed—by a complete unknown.”
“No wonder he was off his game after the Malibu Championship and kept losing. His mentality broke down.”
“So that’s why Lloyd insists on seeing Lu Zhuonian. He wants a rematch.”
“Exactly. Lu Zhuonian isn’t an athlete, so it’s rare to see him compete. This is Lloyd’s chance to redeem himself—at Lu Zhuonian’s own shooting range, no less!”
As the gossip continued, the competition was still underway.
Liu Yuebo had now lost ten times in a row.
The audience was growing restless. The match had no suspense.
“Is this the level of the AK Shooting Range?”
“Can someone real come out and play?”
“China bans guns. Most people have never even touched one. Honestly, this guy’s already doing great.”
The Chinese athletes in the audience grew increasingly grim. If their coaches hadn’t held them back, they might have rushed up to challenge Lloyd themselves. Even losing with dignity would be better than being humiliated like this.
Lloyd lowered his rifle. “There’s not even a single gun expert in this entire shooting range. I feel sorry for Lu Zhuonian.”
Liu Yuebo set down his gun too. “Why feel sorry? I’m not even from the AK Shooting Range.”
Everyone: “…”
Lloyd froze. “Then who are you?”
Liu Yuebo replied, “Just someone who came here to play and tutor my younger brother in math.”
Lloyd frowned. “You’re a math teacher?”
Liu Yuebo answered, “No, I’m just a passing college student.”
Silence fell over the scene.
So Lloyd—the gun king’s son, hired with a sky-high appearance fee—had just spent over half an hour competing with a random college student?
And not just any student—one who was terrible at shooting?
Lloyd was surprisingly easy to connect with passersby.
“You said you needed someone to practice with, and I happened to be free,” Liu Yuebo said innocently, like he was doing Lloyd a favor. He even took the bill and signed it generously. “Mr. Lloyd came all this way. I’ll cover the cost of the bullets today.”
Bullets?! That’s not the point!!!
Lloyd was furious but couldn’t even vent. The athletes from around the world had wasted a whole hour of training watching a—well, you couldn’t even call it a farce.
A farce, at least, had entertainment value. This? It was just boring and pointless.
If Lloyd had truly crushed the AK Shooting Range, it would’ve been impressive. But Liu Yuebo wasn’t even part of the shooting range. He was just a college student tutoring his brother.
Who exactly had Lloyd defeated—a college student?
Why would he do that? And why were they here in the first place?
Everyone felt like they’d been duped by Liu Yuebo and had wasted an hour of their lives—for nothing. But they had no one to blame.
They came here on their own.
A lesson learned: don’t get too excited to watch someone else’s drama—because if you do, you might just become part of it.
Liu Yuebo wouldn’t feel bad even if he lost twenty games in a row, let alone just ten.
He was thrilled—especially when he saw the expressions on everyone’s faces. The shift from indifference and cold detachment to confusion and existential doubt. It was so fucking cool. Mean? Maybe a little. But undeniably cool.
He definitely hadn’t been this mean before. He wouldn’t have done something so petty and devious. It had to be Chen Zhe’s influence. After spending two months with him, something had rubbed off. Although Chen Zhe wasn’t openly vicious, Liu Yuebo felt like what he’d just done was so Chen Zhe—that kind of attitude. “You want to laugh at me? Fine, go ahead. Just know you’ll end up being the joke.”
Of course, it wasn’t purely Chen Zhe’s style. Liu Yuebo had added his own touch. It was a blend—a personal twist. In the past, he would’ve just argued with Lloyd out of anger. That was such a low-level move.
His elder brother had been right—wise and forward-thinking. He’d said from the beginning that Liu Yuebo could learn something by following Chen Zhe, and he’d been right. A good teacher leads by example. Some lessons don’t need to be spoken. Just by observing, people around will pick them up.
That 600,000 yuan given to Chen Zhe? The best money ever spent.
Of course, none of this would have worked without Liu Yuebo’s own intelligence and wit.
Waving his hand, Liu Yuebo said goodbye to the stunned Lloyd. With everyone watching, he slung an arm around Yan Luo’s shoulders, picked up the math test paper, and swaggered out of the shooting range.
As soon as he walked out, he messaged his elder brother Liu Hao on WeChat.
[Liu Yuebo]: Big brother, are you coming back?
[Liu Hao]: As soon as I can. The earliest flight is next Wednesday.
[Liu Yuebo]: Don’t worry. Following Chen Zhe is the right move. He really has something. I’m ready to recognize him as my big brother.
[Liu Hao]: All right then. You can call me second brother from now on.
[Liu Yuebo]: Second brother, please transfer another 600,000 yuan to Chen Zhe when it’s convenient. I need to renew for two more months.
[Liu Hao]: Not convenient. Get lost.
*****
“This coffee is all ice.”
Chen Zemian was poking at his drink with a straw, trying hard to find actual coffee among the ice cubes when his phone suddenly buzzed. He glanced at the screen and frowned. “Hey? Why did Liu Hao transfer me another 600,000?”
Lu Zhuonian took the cup from his hands. “Don’t suck the ice. It’s noisy.”
Chen Zemian drove into the gate of the shooting range. “You should’ve bought another cup. The coffee from your range’s shop doesn’t taste as good as this.”
Lu Zhuonian opened the lid of his own cup and poured it into Chen Zemian’s. “The coffee shop’s outsourced. Is it that bad?”
Now that his cup had coffee again, Chen Zemian picked it up and continued sipping. “It’s bad and expensive.”
Lu Zhuonian noticed Chen Zemian’s phone vibrating nonstop. “Liu Hao transferred multiple payments to you again.”
Chen Zemian tapped through the flood of notification texts. “How much is this? 1.2 million… no, wait, there was a transfer before that. Why did he send me so much? Was his account hacked?”
In total, Liu Hao had sent Chen Zemian three payments.
The first: 600,000 yuan. The second: another 600,000. And the third—1.2 million yuan.
A brief note followed, almost like an afterthought: P.S. No need to return the deposit.
Chen Zemian put down the phone in confusion. “Isn’t Liu Hao supposed to be back next week? Why would he pay me now?”
Lu Zhuonian replied casually, “Renewing the contract.”
Chen Zemian frowned. “It doesn’t cost that much to renew. I’ll transfer it back to him.”
Lu Zhuonian immediately agreed. “Okay. It’s better not to renew an unclear contract anyway.”
That note saying “no need to return” was ambiguous. It didn’t specify whether the money didn’t need to be returned at all or just didn’t need to go back to Liu Yuebo. It was safer to return everything.
Lu Zhuonian took off his gloves and tapped a few things on his phone. Then, Chen Zemian’s phone buzzed again. He parked the car, picked it up—and blinked.
Another bank alert.
[ICBC]: A transfer of ¥6,000,000.00 has been credited to account ending in 7206 from Industrial and Commercial Bank of China (remitted from another bank) on XX/XX at XX:XX.
Remaining balance: ¥8,602,819.46
Sender: Lu Zhuonian
Account number: ****8999
Chen Zemian turned to look at Lu Zhuonian, utterly helpless. “Why are you joining in now—suddenly transferring money to me?”
Lu Zhuonian said, “I told you I’d give you more.”
“???”
Chen Zemian asked, baffled, “More of what? What do you mean?”
Lu Zhuonian replied, “You’ve been taking care of my meals and daily life. Liu Yuebo charges 10,000 yuan per day. I’m giving you 100,000.”
“…”
Let’s not even get into how that 100,000/day rate was calculated. Even if that were true, 6 million yuan would cover 60 days. But Lu Zhuonian’s left hand had just been sutured—it wouldn’t take nearly that long to heal.
And honestly, in terms of money, Chen Zemian had already drunk more than that amount of tea in Lu Zhuonian’s house lately.
He wasn’t taking care of Lu Zhuonian because of his status—as a boss, as a backer. He genuinely saw him as a friend, as a buddy.
It was normal for close friends to help each other out, especially when one of them was injured and didn’t want his family to find out. If it had been Xiao Kesong or Qian Jiawei in this situation, he would’ve done the same.
He thought he and Lu Zhuonian were already very good friends.
But clearly, Lu Zhuonian still saw him as a subordinate. As a junior. As hired help, paid to perform favors.
He’d thought they were friends.
Chen Zemian stared at the string of digits on his screen, but felt no joy. In fact, he was furious.
Liu Hao had renewed the contract without asking him. And now Lu Zhuonian had done the same.
Too arrogant. Too domineering.
It was plain disrespect.
Did Lu Zhuonian really think he was the type who could be bought? Someone greedy enough to be used and bossed around for money?
I help you because I think of you as a friend, Lu Zhuonian.
What do you think of me?
The more Chen Zemian thought about it, the angrier he became. He picked up his phone and hurled it at Lu Zhuonian.
His original plan was simple: throw the phone, open the passenger door, shove Lu Zhuonian out, and drive off in dramatic fashion.
But in his rage, he forgot how hard it was to exert force in a car—and forgot the obvious size difference between him and Lu Zhuonian.
He opened the door and pushed, but instead of ejecting Lu Zhuonian, he ended up falling into him.
Before Lu Zhuonian could even pick up the phone, an angry human cotton ball had flung himself into his arms.
Cotton Ball tried to push him again, but the angle made it impossible to use any real strength. The result? He just sat there, struggling.
Lu Zhuonian calmly held him by the collar. “Chen Zemian, don’t get so close to me all of a sudden.”
Chen Zemian straightened up, face tense, and shouted, “Lu Zhuonian! Do you consider me a friend?!”
Lu Zhuonian’s pupils dilated slightly. His Adam’s apple bobbed subtly. He was silent for two seconds before replying, “Of course.”
Chen Zemian narrowed his eyes, angry. “Then why the hesitation?”
“No hesitation,” Lu Zhuonian replied immediately this time. His tone was calm. “Can you tell me why you’re angry?”
Chen Zemian answered awkwardly, “Liu Hao transferred money to me, and now you did too.”
It wasn’t very coherent, but Lu Zhuonian got the gist. His fingertips twitched slightly.
“Are you angry with Liu Hao or with me?” he asked.
Chen Zemian didn’t know. Just thinking about it irritated him. He wrinkled his nose, shoved Lu Zhuonian again, and growled, “Why do you care who I’m angry with?”
Lu Zhuonian didn’t even budge. He simply analyzed. “Sounds like you’re more angry with me.”
“Does it matter?” Chen Zemian snapped. “You young masters are all the same. You act however you want and never ask what I think. It’s disrespectful.”
Lu Zhuonian replied at once. “I respect you, Chen Zemian. I respect you deeply. You must believe that. If I didn’t respect you, we wouldn’t be sitting here… talking.”
Chen Zemian blinked. He didn’t understand that last part. At all.
“If we weren’t sitting here talking… then what? Should we talk standing? Lying down? Mid-push-up? Spinning in the air like we’re doing a Thomas flair?”
Can this guy say things that normal humans can understand?
No wonder Xiao Kesong always said Lu Zhuonian was weird.
Honestly? He was right.
Lu Zhuonian was abstract.
*****
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Author: LazyHermitGal
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