Negative Times Negative Equals Positive The Trapped Little Boy in the Washing Machine Starts Filming

Nighttime.

Ye Cheng emerged from the cafeteria yet again, his belly protruding, his face brimming with satisfaction.

This time, it wasn’t chicken legs—it was chicken wings. Still, his appetite was as monstrous as ever.

A toothpick dangling from his lips, Ye Cheng patted his full stomach and strolled leisurely across the school field.

Eating so much during the day had left him lying in his apartment with indigestion. It took countless squats and sit-ups before he finally felt better.

With this kind of eating habit—stuffing himself and then immediately crashing—he might very well die from obesity before cancer ever got him.

To prolong his life and extend his blissful, lazy existence, Ye Cheng decided to take a walk.

Naturally, the field was his first choice.

Look at this field—so vast and wide. Look at this grass—so lush and even. Look at…

Because it was nighttime, even under the glow of the lights, visibility wasn’t as clear as during the day.

Most people around didn’t recognize Ye Cheng as the “Iced Tea” guy who had confessed to the student council president earlier. At most, he looked vaguely familiar.

Ye Cheng had changed into normal clothes—still the school-issued uniform—but his outfit remained eye-catching on the field.

Because he was wearing bright red boxers and a pair of garishly colorful fruit-patterned sandals.

A classic case of dressing well from the waist up but completely neglecting the lower half.

“Why is everyone staring at me?” Ye Cheng frowned.

Remembering his earlier “glorious” deed, he decided to lay low and make a swift exit before anyone could identify him.

Clink.

A coin rolled toward Ye Cheng.

Snap!

With his fruit-patterned sandals, he stomped on it, whistled innocently, and glanced around.

After confirming no one was watching, he gleefully picked up the one-yuan coin beneath his foot.

“Hahaha, what luck!”

Now he had tomorrow’s lunch money sorted.

A wicked grin spread across Ye Cheng’s face as he mentally planned his next meal. He’d already had chicken legs and wings—tomorrow, it’d be pork knuckle…

As he pondered, clink—another coin rolled toward him.

Snap!

Now he had dinner money too!

Clink…

Yet another coin came his way.

This time, Ye Cheng didn’t budge.

A mocking smirk curled on his lips, as if he’d seen through some grand scheme.

“Heh. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. You think I’m stupid enough to fall for this obvious trap?”

Ye Cheng scoffed, muttering to the air before turning and walking away without a second glance.

Thirty seconds later.

Snap!

“If I see it, it’s mine. If I grab it fast enough, I won’t get tricked!” Ye Cheng flashed a smug, devil-may-care grin.

No sooner had he picked up that coin than another one rolled out. And so, step by step, Ye Cheng strayed further from the crowd, lured deeper into a small grove.

A few minutes later.

Ye Cheng picked up the last coin on the ground, cheerfully blowing off the dirt.

“Heh. Thought you could escape me, huh?”

With a “charming” villainous smirk—as if channeling some domineering CEO—he looked up… only to find himself surrounded. A wall of burly bodyguards, their skin a healthy tan, their presence steady—likely ex-military.

Ye Cheng narrowed his eyes, scanning the scene before wiping cold sweat from his brow.

“Whew, scared me for a second. At least there’s no washing machine.”

Everyone: “???”

Utterly baffled, the group had no idea what Ye Cheng was talking about. Why, in this situation, would he suddenly mention a washing machine?

What Ye Cheng feared was a reenactment of “the boy stuck in the washing machine.” All the necessary elements were here—except the washing machine. So the real question was: who was the “boy”?

Gee, such a tough mystery… Damn it!!!

How sneaky. Someone had actually used such a devious trick to lure him here. This mastermind must be a genius!

Just as Ye Cheng was lost in thought, clink—another coin rolled toward him. His gaze followed it until it landed on a petite secretary, who was casually tossing coins from a small jar.

The secretary’s eyes sparkled with an unmistakable “brilliance.” One look, and Ye Cheng knew—this woman was extraordinary!

“Who would’ve thought… such a prodigy existed in this school. Miscalculated…” Ye Cheng shook his head, sighing like a man outsmarted by fate.

The secretary’s pupils dilated with excitement. “Ehehe, Young Miss! He called me a prodigy!”

Overjoyed, she hugged her mistress and bounced up and down, her “useless fat” jiggling against the coin jar, producing a cheerful jingle.

The scene was absurdly comical.

Dongfang Zhixia: “……”

Dongfang Zhixia was questioning her life choices. One oddball was bad enough, but now two big-brained individuals had collided.

Indeed, the coin trap had been the secretary’s idea. Dongfang Zhixia never expected it to work—hence the backup squad of bodyguards, ready for brute force.

Yet… the secretary succeeded. And not only that—Ye Cheng had dubbed her a “prodigy.”

Dongfang Zhixia’s silence was deafening. She glanced at her giggly, airheaded secretary, then at Ye Cheng, who wore the expression of a “misunderstood genius.” Was this the legendary case of two negatives making a positive?

“You—”

“I, Ye Cheng, would rather die on my feet than live on my knees!”

Before Dongfang Zhixia could finish, Ye Cheng struck a dramatic “facing death with dignity” pose—then immediately dropped to his knees with a thud.

Dongfang Zhixia: “……”

Everyone: “……”

……

Factory.

Dongfang Zhixia sat across from Ye Cheng, clad in black stockings and the school’s standard-issue black leather shoes, one leg crossed over the other. She studied Ye Cheng—now tightly bound—with amused interest.

“Beautiful, kind, domineering, wealthy, fair-skinned, and stunning… President, you really didn’t have to go through all this trouble. A simple call would’ve sufficed. I’d have come running without you lifting a finger.”

Ye Cheng batted his Kardashian-level eyelashes.

Dongfang Zhixia: “……”

Now, the intel she’d received earlier seemed increasingly accurate.

Just as the report stated—his thought process was… unique.

Taking a deep breath, Dongfang Zhixia narrowed her eyes.

“So, you said you wanted to be my dog?”

Her voice dripped with mockery.

She recrossed her legs, her black designer shoe swaying lightly at the tip…

“I’m giving you that chance now,” Dongfang Zhixia said, looking down at him with a smirk. “But you’ll have to impress me. How? Well, that’s up to you.”

Ye Cheng: “……”

Damn, these rich young mistresses are seriously messed up!

Ye Cheng never expected that his casual brotherhood with Da Huang would one day turn into an actual familial bond.

Just as he was about to refuse and think of another solution, the mission prompt appeared again.

[Host must either comply or firmly reject, teaching the arrogant young mistress before you a lesson.]

[Reward: Photographic memory!]

[Penalty: Beaten into minced meat.]

Ye Cheng: "???"

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