In the late-night fast-food joint, an odd pair sat in an inconspicuous corner.
One was an ethereally beautiful, coldly elegant noble young lady, and the other—her ravenous, deadbeat sidekick.
"Eat up, Miss. Why’re you staring at me? Weren’t you starving earlier?" Ye Cheng spoke through a mouthful of chicken drumstick.
"Miss, munch munch, who even invented this stuff, munch munch…?"
Shen Qinghan: "…"
"Has no one ever taught you not to talk with your mouth full?"
Ye Cheng shook his head. "Nope. Why? munch munch…"
Shen Qinghan: "…"
She had meant to subtly reprimand him, only to realize Ye Cheng was immune—because he was an orphan. No one had ever taught him anything.
The fact that Ye Cheng had grown up relatively normal, without severe moral distortions, was nothing short of a miracle.
Shen Qinghan sighed.
"Never mind. Just keep eating. But stop talking to me."
She lifted her chin, her snow-white neck arching like a disdainful swan’s, her icy aura practically radiating.
Ye Cheng nodded—then began signing to her.
Yes, he knew sign language.
He’d learned it in the orphanage, where most children had congenital disabilities. Healthy kids like him were the outliers. The majority had deformities; the "lucky" ones were just deaf or mute.
Sign language was practically a mandatory subject there.
At least, for Ye Cheng. He was quick to learn, mastering it fast enough to help with meals and communication.
And, of course, to sneak extra portions during food distribution.
Such was the survival strategy of a true opportunist—Ye Cheng never shortchanged himself. Learning new skills was all about securing better meals.
Ideally, landing a cushy government job someday.
Blissfully leaching off the system like a tiny parasite.
Now, with the drumstick still clamped between his teeth, his hands flew into motion.
"Miss, where are we staying tonight? Wanna just crash here at the fast-food place? (Sign language)"
Shen Qinghan: "…"
What the hell was he doing?
After a pause, she recognized it as sign language.
He even knew this?
Ye Cheng’s signing was fluid, professional, on par with certified instructors. But his speed was absurd—his hands moved like he was performing ninjutsu seals. At one point, he even signed two different phrases simultaneously.
Shen Qinghan was stunned. So was the nearby employee wiping tables.
She was no sheltered heiress; she spoke multiple languages, albeit with varying fluency. But Ye Cheng’s rapid-fire signing was utterly foreign to her.
Silently, Shen Qinghan reached for the ketchup packets on Ye Cheng’s tray.
She tore them open.
Squeezed them out.
One. Two. Three…
She didn’t stop. More and more met their demise, her frustration at this "mute" almost pushing her to vocal protest.
Finally, as she targeted the last packet, Ye Cheng broke.
"Spare that one! It’s just a kid!"
He shielded the final ketchup packet like a treasure—these were hard-earned freebies, after all.
Shen Qinghan’s face remained impassive, but a flicker of triumph glinted in her eyes.
She’d never admit she couldn’t understand sign language.
For young mistresses like her, conceding inferiority was unthinkable—especially for someone like Shen Qinghan, whose pride ran bone-deep.
But she was fair.
She wouldn’t force compliance through intimidation.
She had her own ways to win.
In this unspoken duel with Ye Cheng, she hadn’t lost.
She dropped the matter of his talking, quietly eating her burger while gazing at the street outside.
Then a sound made her frown. She turned to see Ye Cheng dunking his bun into the ketchup smears she’d left on the wrappers.
He glopped it on thick and took a bite.
"What are you doing?" Shen Qinghan demanded.
Ye Cheng blinked. "Eating? What’s up, Miss?"
"If you wanted more ketchup, why not just get some from the counter?"
Her tone carried an edge she hadn’t intended.
This wasn’t the outcome she’d wanted.
Her actions had, in essence, humiliated Ye Cheng—those ketchup packets were his spoils from sweet-talking the staff, and she’d wasted them. It felt like invalidating his effort.
Ye Cheng raised a brow. "Oh, I’ll grab more later when we leave. No way I’m wasting this, though."
He grinned, the picture of shameless thrift.
Shen Qinghan fell silent.
An odd discomfort settled in her chest.
"Something wrong, Miss?" Ye Cheng studied her sudden quiet.
She looked away.
"Stop nagging. I said no talking during meals."
"Yes, Miss! (Sign language)"
His hands resumed their frantic "seal-making."
Dinner ended swiftly. Despite devouring five burgers and ten drumsticks, Ye Cheng finished faster than Shen Qinghan, who’d only ordered one.
As the payer, she headed to the counter. With Ye Cheng’s support, she scanned the payment code. Meanwhile, he eyed the ketchup and gloves, ready to hustle.
Before he could speak, Shen Qinghan’s icy voice cut in.
"Give me ketchup."
"Um… ma’am, the ketchup is—"
"I said, give me ketchup. Now."
Her tone sharpened, her glare lethal.
The cashier flinched, hands flying to her chest as she retreated half a step, eyes welling up under Shen Qinghan’s intimidation.
Ye Cheng: "???"
This wasn’t the plan.
He’d intended to sweet-talk freebies—but the young mistress went straight to armed robbery!
No niceties whatsoever.
While Ye Cheng stood dumbfounded, Shen Qinghan doubled down.
"Are you deaf? I said ketchup!" Impatience laced her frosty demand.
"B-but ma’am…" The cashier’s lip trembled before she burst into tears.
Ye Cheng: "…"
Minutes later, he carried Shen Qinghan out of the store.
In her hands, alongside the smoking-rabbit plush, was a bulging bag of ketchup packets and disposable gloves.
"Here."
Shen Qinghan lay sprawled on Ye Cheng's back, swinging a plastic bag filled with ketchup packets and disposable gloves in her hand.
Ye Cheng froze.
"For me?"
"Yeah, for you." Shen Qinghan nodded.
Ye Cheng was stunned. So the ruthless young mistress had just "raided" the front desk for ketchup… for him?
She really—ugh, I could cry!
Ye Cheng was moved for exactly one second.
"Young Mistress, freeloading is an art—there’s a whole philosophy to it. If you want to learn, I can teach you."
Ye Cheng chuckled as he carried the scheming underworld princess on his back, strolling down the street.
Shen Qinghan neither refused nor agreed—because she didn’t say anything.
Luckily, Ye Cheng was already used to this dynamic. If the ruthless young mistress stayed silent, he’d just keep talking.
Ye Cheng: "By the way, Young Mistress, where are we staying tonight?"
Shen Qinghan: "Dunno. Any hotel nearby."
Ye Cheng: "Hotels are expensive. I know a few great spots—wanna hear?"
Shen Qinghan: "Talk."
Ye Cheng: "Under a bridge, a park bench, or the airport lobby—solid choices..."
Shen Qinghan: "..."
u Chenyuan transmigrated into a female-oriented novel about a real and fake heiress, becoming the CEO elder brother of both. Unfortunately, the entire Lu family—including himself, the CEO—were mere cannon fodder in the story. Determined to save himself, Lu Chenyuan took action. The spoiled, attention-seeking fake heiress? Thrown into the harsh realities of the working class to learn humility. The love-struck real heiress? Pushed toward academic excellence, so lofty goals would blind her to trivial romances. As for the betrayed, vengeful arranged marriage wife… the plot hadn’t even begun yet. There was still time—if he couldn’t handle her, he could at least avoid her. "CEO Lu, are you avoiding me?" Mo Qingli fixed her gaze on Lu Chenyuan. For the first time, the shrewd and calculating Lu Chenyuan felt a flicker of unease.
to panic—he has a system. As long as an investment target dies, he can claim a reward. And since he is immortal, the one thing he has plenty of is time. ... Countless years later. “Immortal Emperor of Longevity? I invested in him.” “Supreme Celestial Venerable? I invested in him.” “Undying Empress? I invested in her.” “...” “Heh. Once they’ve all died, even the Heavenly Dao will have to kneel and call me Dad.”
he colors of other people’s emotions. Light red meant anxiety. Gray meant exhaustion. Orange meant excitement. Yellow... meant repression. At the same time, he could gain unlimited control over one of those colors. Pale cyan: relaxation. Using this ability, he started offering “two-yuan hugs,” spending an afternoon exchanging emotional-color experiences with others. Then came his final female customer of the day— a girl whose emotional color was pure black... —— A week later, Xu Chuan had become skilled at using pale cyan—Relaxation—treating it like a bottle of menthol balm whenever he needed it. That was when he discovered he had unlocked another unlimited emotional color: Purple, the color of fear. So these emotional colors refresh every week? Fine, I take it back—I’ll never call you useless again... —— Much later, after Xu Chuan had accumulated countless emotional abilities, one night, he suddenly found himself inside someone else’s dream. There, he could use the emotional colors he possessed to paint. And in her dream, he painted her a shower of pink shooting stars, spreading across the depths of the night sky...
s the Eldest Princess, renowned for her cold and aloof detachment, became the most docile of lambs, obeying his every command without question. But when the final move was played on the chessboard, as Gu Chenghan seized everything and ascended on the verge of apotheosis, that very Princess suddenly embraced him from behind, her tone carrying a dependence never heard before: "Wait... you haven't yet... commanded me to love you forever." Gu Chenghan froze abruptly. She... hadn't been hypnotized?! ... [The Eldest Princess's Diary] [When my soul was extracted, becoming the sole spectator outside my own shell] [At first, there was overwhelming fury, until I saw] [How he used my sword to effortlessly shatter my inescapable doom] [How he wielded my authority to eradicate fatal conspiracies I had never even detected] [Like a deity, he rescued me from the deep mire I was trapped in] [If not for those annoying vixens, he and I would be a match made in heaven] [I think I am ill, gravely ill] [My deity should belong to me alone] ... "Hypnosis? Oh, it succeeded, my dear Master." "Only this time, it's my turn to hypnotize you."
