After the Bigshot Turned into a Gold-Digging Scumbag Alpha - Chapter 3

Jiang Shuiyun hurried forward and steadied Yi Jinbai. “Why did you come out? Your foot is still injured—you shouldn’t be walking around.”

“I went to buy groceries. I’m going to cook.”

Yi Jinbai lowered her head. Her resistance toward Jiang Shuiyun was no longer as sharp as yesterday.

Seeing the groceries in her hands, Jiang Shuiyun hesitated. She had originally planned to get by on bread and crackers again today. But now that Yi Jinbai had already bought vegetables, she couldn’t just let them rot, right?

And that led to a new problem:

Should she let this injured patient limp into the kitchen to cook?

Or should she do it herself?

On the short walk back inside while supporting Yi Jinbai, Jiang Shuiyun’s mind played out countless scenes of the kitchen exploding. She even felt a faint urge to convince Yi Jinbai to go plant these vegetables back into the soil.

When she saw Yi Jinbai move as if to start cooking, Jiang Shuiyun clenched her teeth and stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

“Huh?”

Yi Jinbai blinked at her, genuinely surprised—as though Jiang Shuiyun had just said something impossible.

“I don’t know how, but I can learn. You can teach me. It shouldn’t be that hard, right?”

She didn’t need to guess—her predecessor definitely hadn’t been the type who could cook. Jiang Shuiyun simply admitted it and tied on an apron, waiting for instructions.

Worry filled Yi Jinbai’s eyes—whether she was worried for Jiang Shuiyun or worried for the kitchen, who could say. Either way, her expression said enough.

Under Jiang Shuiyun’s relentless insistence, Yi Jinbai finally accepted the situation.

Picking vegetables. Washing. Chopping. Adding oil. Lighting the stove. Tossing in the vegetables. Adding salt. Stir-frying. Plating.

Just these simple steps, and Jiang Shuiyun somehow managed to make it feel like a full-blown chemistry experiment. By the time she clumsily switched off the stove, she stared at the barely recognizable dish in the wok. The two of them exhaled in unison—long and heavy.

Honestly, cooking felt harder than commanding an army.

Breakfast was still yesterday’s leftover bread and crackers. Jiang Shuiyun poured two glasses of water. Crude, yes—but filling enough.

After they finished eating, under Yi Jinbai’s hesitant gaze, Jiang Shuiyun carried her back to bed so she could continue resting.

“I still need to work,” Yi Jinbai murmured.

Her small face peeked out from under the blanket, fingers gripping the fabric tightly. Even if Jiang Shuiyun seemed to have changed, who knew how long this transformation would last? She had fought hard for this job—she couldn’t lose it.

“Work? Your task from yesterday is already done. Rest properly. From now on, I’ll take care of you.”

Jiang Shuiyun lightly patted the top of her head, speaking with full confidence.

Watching Yi Jinbai bite her lip and lower her gaze in clear disbelief, Jiang Shuiyun didn’t bother explaining further. She knew she didn’t have the credibility to make that promise right now. Once results came out, Yi Jinbai wouldn’t need convincing.

After settling her back into bed, Jiang Shuiyun curled up on the sofa and resumed climbing ranks.

After playing for so long, she had figured out the game’s ranking mechanics: as long as she chained together high-performance points every match, the final score would skyrocket.

With this realization, she played as though in her element. On the screen, her golden mech moved so quickly its actions almost blurred. Anything near her that could be farmed for points was eliminated without mercy. She even herded enemies into clusters so she could farm them in chains, producing terrifying endgame scores.

Her skyrocketing rank felt like a stability pill. At this pace, she didn’t need three days—she might break into the top 3,000 by the end of today.

As her rank shot up the global leaderboard, she naturally drew attention.

Because the original Jiang Shuiyun had always been flamboyant, all her matches were set to allow spectators. Jiang Shuiyun didn’t know this, so she never changed the settings. As she climbed at absurd speed, more and more players entered her spectator room.

The crowd grew. And online discussions on various platforms grew with it. People debated this suddenly-emerged prodigy. Many tried reporting her for cheating—only for the system to confirm she wasn’t.

Eventually, a new theory became mainstream.

Some said they’d seen this account before. It was a well-known whale account in the server—rich but not particularly skilled. So, this insane climb had to be the work of a hired booster.

This “paid booster” explanation convinced many. Soon people were begging for the booster’s contact info. With skills like that, wouldn’t ranking up be effortless? Even if they couldn’t be directly boosted, queueing with the booster and being carried would still work.

Busy ranking up, Jiang Shuiyun remained oblivious. Spectators were anxious, but the original account owner had only enabled viewing—not private messages. Friend requests were also auto-rejected. They had no way to reach her.

Some tried shouting in global chat, but Jiang Shuiyun immediately queued after every match and never saw it.

For once, the internet’s all-powerful sleuths were stumped. More posts popped up, more discussions, more speculation but no one unearthed this so-called “booster’s” contact information.

Jiang Shuiyun kept playing, spectators kept increasing, and the hype reached a boiling point—so much so that the news finally reached Shengguang Group.

Her gameplay was projected directly into Shengguang’s meeting room. Executives watched the graceful, fluid, almost elegant operations unfold on-screen, and murmurs rose.

“Not sure where the ‘paid booster’ rumor came from, but we checked the login IP. No signs of external access—it’s definitely the same person playing. Their skill is top-tier. And with all this attention, they’d be an incredible addition to our new team.”

The agent in charge of scouting players looked impressed. “We need to move fast. Many others must have noticed them already. If we act too late, someone else might snatch them first.”

“This person?”

Shengguang’s president, Shen Yunyi, glanced at the screen. Her gaze lingered on the ID for a long moment. Then she opened her own laptop, logged into her game account, and found the exact same ID in her friends list:

ID: Wo Nen Die

“Jiang Shuiyun.”

Propping her chin on one hand, Shen Yunyi looked at the screen. A glint flashed across her glasses.

“Long time no see.”

The room fell silent. The executives exchanged glances, unsure what their president meant by that.

“S-so, President, about this player, should we,”

The team manager paused for a moment.

“This is someone I know from the past. Help me track down their address—I’ll go in person.”

Shen Yunyi shut her laptop, having made up her mind.