Seeing Lin Mo sauntering through the school gates, the man who had been covertly observing from the entrance finally let out a long sigh of relief. He rubbed his stiff thighs, then crossed the street with practiced ease and plopped onto a plastic stool at the noodle shop across the way—a place that still had ninety-seven years to go before earning its "century-old establishment" title.
"Boss, one three-delicacy noodle, no spice, and a fried egg," he said softly, his gaze never leaving the school entrance.
A steaming bowl of noodles soon arrived. The man grabbed a cola from the fridge, stabbed a straw into it, and took a deep, satisfying sip. Only then did he leisurely pick up the disposable chopsticks and dig in.
He was President Jiang’s assistant’s assistant.
Yes, the assistant to the assistant.
Normally, he was busy running around the company, but recently, his superior had assigned him to tail Lin Mo.
No 24/7 surveillance—just from morning drop-off to evening pickup.
At first, he’d treated it like some high-stakes spy mission, arriving early, cap pulled low, eyes sharp enough to pierce through walls, terrified of missing even the slightest clue.
He’d even prepared different jackets, swapping them daily to avoid detection.
But after a few days, he realized it wasn’t that serious.
After all, high schoolers were creatures of routine—home to school, school to home.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
So, naturally, he started slacking off.
From hyper-vigilance to barely making it on time, and now? As long as he saw Lin Mo enter the school gates, he could comfortably enjoy his leisure time.
Honestly, this assignment was a godsend.
No real work, no need to put on a diligent front like at the office, where one wrong move could cost him his job.
Now? Watch the target enter school, then stroll to a nearby shop for a hot meal. Later, he could even hit up the internet café around the corner for a few rounds of gaming—pure bliss.
Half an hour before dismissal, he’d return to his post, pretend to observe, and call it a day.
Best of all? A steady daily stipend of a few hundred bucks for "fieldwork."
With that thought, he wolfed down the noodles, slurped up the broth, and let out a contented burp.
He checked his phone—not even 1 PM yet.
Plenty of time. He could squeeze in a couple of League matches at the café before heading back for the end of school.
But the moment he settled into his seat at the internet café, the police showed up.
--System: So, professional work should be left to professionals. Want to cultivate immortality? Come to me--
"You mean to tell me you couldn’t just deliver the meal inside when the young lady didn’t come out to get it?!"
Jiang Chengshan roared into the phone, veins bulging at his temples.
On the other end, the female assistant’s voice wavered with unease.
"President Jiang, I tried, but the school security wouldn’t let me in. I even contacted the homeroom teacher, who said the young lady was aware… but she just refused to come down."
So the crux of the matter was simple: Jiang Yunlu didn’t want to fetch her lunch.
The line fell silent for a few seconds, save for the assistant’s nervous breathing.
Jiang Chengshan exhaled sharply, forcing down his irritation.
"Fine. If she doesn’t want it, forget it. Keep an eye on things and report any developments."
Hanging up, the office plunged into dead silence. Jiang Chengshan tugged at his tie, frustration simmering.
He knew exactly why his daughter was upset with him.
It all came down to his refusal to let her attend evening self-study sessions.
What an idiot he’d been. Just when his relationship with Yunlu had thawed enough for casual conversation, he’d gone and ruined it again.
Now they were probably back to square one.
He hadn’t expected such a strong reaction, though.
Sinking into his executive chair, his mind raced for solutions.
But no matter how he twisted it, he couldn’t think of a way to fix this.
They’d been so close to reconciliation, and then he’d gotten cocky.
What now?
At this moment, Jiang Chengshan felt as helpless as a child who’d messed up.
Wait—reinforcements!
He immediately dialed Jiang Chengyue’s number, but the call was declined.
Busy, apparently.
A text came through:
"?"
"Good sister, dear sister, save your brother! This is an emergency!"
Jiang Chengshan’s tone was uncharacteristically humble, a far cry from his usual CEO demeanor.
After a pause, the reply arrived:
"Well, well. The sun rises in the west today? The great President Jiang actually begging for help?
Let me guess—did you ban our little Yunlu from school again, or did you finally stuff that Lin Mo kid into a sack?"
The message dripped with undisguised schadenfreude.
But it was eerily close to the truth.
Not allowing evening self-study wasn’t far off from banning school altogether.
Jiang Chengshan’s cheek twitched. His sister never minced words, always stripping him of dignity.
Still, he laid out the full story in his reply.
A long while later, the response came:
"Bravo, dear brother. Another masterpiece of parental failure. You already know how to make amends, but my advice? Come clean with Yunlu. Beg for mercy.
Let Yunlu handle her own affairs. She’s independent and sharp-minded. Have some faith in your own genes."
Setting down his phone, Jiang Chengshan sighed.
Talk to Yunlu directly, huh?
Just then, his male secretary entered.
"President Jiang, that Lin Mo boy is sharp. He noticed the tail and called the police."
Jiang Chengshan frowned. "He got caught? What kind of idiots did we hire?!"
"I had the guy take the fall. Should we hire a professional investigator? They’re more discreet."
Suddenly, Jiang Chengshan waved a hand, his voice laced with exhaustion—and a hint of relief.
"Never mind. Drop it."
The secretary blinked. "President Jiang?"
"I said, stop investigating Lin Mo," Jiang Chengshan repeated, enunciating each word.
"And cancel the class reassignment I asked you to arrange earlier."
"Yes, sir."
"One more thing." Jiang Chengshan looked up. "Get me Lin Mo’s contact details."
Though bewildered, the secretary nodded swiftly and retreated without another word.
Alone again, Jiang Chengshan leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
He needed to have a proper conversation. No matter what, he wouldn’t let his daughter get hurt.
If money could solve this, then money it would be.
ions, keeping it grounded and realistic】 After quitting his job, office worker Su Yang accidentally binds with the "Enjoy Life System." As the name suggests, simply by indulging in life's pleasures, he can earn random rewards from the system—no need to spend money on beautiful women or grovel before anyone. Just enjoy, and the money follows, making it all about effortless fun. The system comes with a scanning feature, allowing him to establish a favorability bond with women rated 85 points or above. Every 20-point increase in favorability unlocks additional rewards. After suffering through over twenty years of hardship, Su Yang trembles with excitement, his dull eyes suddenly gleaming with newfound hope. "Enjoy life? How hard could that be?"
grated, and just when he finally managed to get into an elite academy, he discovered that he actually had a system, and the way to earn rewards was extremely ridiculous. So for the sake of rewards, he had no choice but to start acting ridiculous as well. Su Cheng: "It's nothing but system quests after all." But later, what confused Su Cheng was that while he was already quite ridiculous, he never expected those serious characters to gradually become ridiculous too. And the way they looked at him became increasingly strange... (This synopsis doesn't do it justice, please read the full story)
uld barely embark on the path to immortality. Just as he was on the verge of death, his golden finger awakened. No matter whether it was poison, drained blood and vital energy, diminished lifespan, or any other physical debuff caused by paying a price—once midnight passed, everything would be refreshed. From then on, whenever someone asked what kind of person Chu Ran was, the answer was simple: Forbidden arts that other cultivators dared not learn? Chu Ran would learn them. Prices that even demonic cultivators dared not pay? Chu Ran would pay them. Lifespan that even righteous cultivators dared not burn? Chu Ran would burn it. All the blood essence in his body? Take it. Want both his hands and feet? He would cut them off and send them to you. You say he’s finished? He wasn’t built to sit idle. You think he’s gone mad? No—he was simply waiting for midnight. From that day onward, Chu Ran would respect neither Heaven nor Earth, bow to neither gods nor ghosts. He had only one wish: For midnight to arrive a little sooner.
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
