I Can’t Keep Being a Scumbag Anymore—What Should I Do? [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 3

Li Zhuo: “…”

He didn’t know who this person thought he was. Just a moment ago, he was making grand proclamations about “cleaning up and waiting,” yet now, being touched on a single finger made him puff up like a bristling cat.

Li Zhuo didn’t say anything more. He submissively withdrew his hand and lowered his eyelashes.

However, his mind wasn’t as well-behaved as his hands. He was thinking of the image of Ran Muqiu in the alley—the way he had cried so aggrievedly when kissed.

If I use force, he cries; if I’m gentle like this, he only seems to blush, Li Zhuo thought.

After dinner, Li Zhuo cleared the dishes.

As the “Sponsor,” Ran Muqiu naturally wouldn’t lift a finger to help. However, he was a little curious if the meal Li Zhuo had served was actually made by him.

There were precedents for this. In the Quick Transmigration worlds, if a performer’s skills differed too much from their established persona, they could ask the System for help during essential plot points. For example, if someone played a master chef but couldn’t actually cook, the System could generate food using data.

Since there could be multiple “players” in one world, if Li Zhuo was also played by a real person, that meal might very well have been a System-generated illusion. After all, it had been truly delicious.

Ran Muqiu followed behind him like a little tail, conducting a “curiosity inspection.”

Li Zhuo scrubbed the bowls and pots with practiced, steady movements. The calluses on his fingertips and the web of his thumb turned slightly pale from being soaked in water. He truly looked like someone who had grown up in poverty and was accustomed to hard labor.

It seemed Li Zhuo was indeed just a cluster of data belonging to this world, not a real person.

At 9:30 PM, Ran Muqiu emerged from the low-rent building.

Li Zhuo offered to walk him to the mouth of the alley, but Ran Muqiu rejected him twice with an air of high-and-mighty coldness.

“Qin Wei and the others live near here. What if we’re seen?” Ran Muqiu kept his face stern. “They’ll definitely misunderstand our relationship.”

The “School Bully” in the original script was a thick-skinned, unrepentant pervert who had forced the Protagonist into all sorts of public indecency. Unfortunately, Ran Muqiu shared none of those proclivities.

Forcing Li Zhuo to kiss him in a pitch-black alley was the absolute limit of what he could stomach; any more than that was out of the question.

While “letting the sponsorship be known to outsiders to ruin the Protagonist’s reputation” was a decent way to grind Heartbreak Value, Li Zhuo’s heart was apparently made of steel. Even when Ran Muqiu delivered the “clean yourself and wait” line earlier, the guy hadn’t even batted an eye.

Thus, Ran Muqiu didn’t want to waste energy on a useless tactic. Besides, if the school gossip mill started churning, it might not hurt Li Zhuo at all—instead, Ran Muqiu would be the one dying of embarrassment.

Ran Muqiu reached the foyer to change his shoes.

His limited-edition sneakers sat next to Li Zhuo’s old, worn ones—one white, one blue. The difference in shoe size was glaringly obvious.

Ran Muqiu choked for a moment, quickly kicked off the slippers, laced up his shoes, and fled out the door.

After walking a few steps, he suddenly sensed something and spun around, glaring at Li Zhuo. “Don’t follow me!”

Li Zhuo, who had been about to put on his shoes to follow: “…”

He looked at the slender finger the boy was pointing at his chest and finally stopped. “Fine. Then be careful on the way home.”

Having said that, he turned back to neatly put away the slippers Ran Muqiu had discarded and held the door open for him.

Ran Muqiu headed downstairs alone.

When he reached the mouth of the alley, he looked up and sighed at the moon.

[233, I don’t think I can finish this mission,] Ran Muqiu lamented. [I just observed him. Li Zhuo isn’t played by a real person.]

If he wasn’t a player, it meant Li Zhuo’s personality was exactly as the original script intended—unaltered by any other host’s traits. In other words, Li Zhuo was naturally this cold, resilient, and introverted. Ordinary tactics simply wouldn’t break his heart.

No wonder the reward is 1,000 points. This guy is impossible to crack.

[Don’t be too anxious,] 233 comforted him. [Let’s think of something else. If it really doesn’t work, I’ll submit an application to the Bureau to lower the difficulty or increase the reward.]

Ran Muqiu said gloomily, [Fine, I guess that’s the only way.]

For the entire weekend, Ran Muqiu didn’t leave his 200-square-meter luxury penthouse in the city center. He and 233 spent the time studying strategies.

233 exported a massive collection of books from the System library—this time, it even included old-school “Angst Novels.”

Ran Muqiu read them one by one. He saw bizarre plots involving organ harvesting, eye-gouging, and being whipped while hanging from the ceiling. It made his hair stand on end.

This is way worse than being tied up in an equipment room!

If he tied Li Zhuo up, the worst that could happen was failing to grind points and being hated. But if he actually dug out Li Zhuo’s kidney, the “Main Gong” who was supposed to appear later would surely skin Ran Muqiu alive!

After two days, Ran Muqiu’s remaining confidence was in tatters.

If things continued like this, he wouldn’t be able to finish the mission or leave this world. He’d be stuck here for decades until Li Zhuo and the Main Gong got their happily ever after, and he still wouldn’t have raised the Heartbreak Value to 20.

It’s just a little smutty novel. Why is the Protagonist’s mental fortitude so strong?

Shouldn’t he be turning red and crying pitiably after being bullied just a little?

Monday.

Ran Muqiu lay slumped on his desk, sleeping listlessly.

A few of his lackeys came over with sly grins to ask how his “homework” went over the weekend, but Ran Muqiu waved them away like bothersome mosquitoes.

By lunchtime, he still had no appetite. He rejected several invitations from his followers and stayed at his desk to catch up on sleep.

The classroom was quiet.

Before long, a set of footsteps approached, followed by a school uniform jacket being draped over Ran Muqiu’s shoulders.

His eyelids twitched. He opened them a crack and saw a familiar figure standing before him.

Ran Muqiu frowned, not wanting to move, but the person stayed there, showing no intention of leaving. He forced himself to sit up, rubbing his eyes and asking drowsily, “What is it?”

Li Zhuo looked at his clearly exhausted face and asked softly, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Ran Muqiu closed his eyes and rested his head on his arms, his pointed chin digging into his sleeves. He squeezed out a few words: “Don’t want to.”

Li Zhuo: “Should I go to the cafeteria and bring something back for you?”

Ran Muqiu was quiet for a bit. He lifted his long lashes, gave him a disinterested look, and said, “No need.”

Ordering the Protagonist to be a delivery boy was a basic tactic Ran Muqiu had used two months ago. Back then, in the classroom of the strictest math teacher, he had intentionally kicked Li Zhuo’s chair and made him ask for leave just to buy a drink from the convenience store outside.

Li Zhuo had gone without a word. He not only bought the drink but also brought back a snack Ran Muqiu liked.

The Heartbreak Value hadn’t risen at all.

Li Zhuo still stood there, looking like he wanted to say more.

Ran Muqiu frowned and looked up again. “I said I don’t need it.”

As if afraid Li Zhuo didn’t understand, he added, “I won’t need it in the future, either.”

What’s the point? It doesn’t work anyway.

After saying that, he ignored Li Zhuo’s expression and went back to sleep. He was dying of exhaustion after pulling two all-nighters reading those strategy guides.

Li Zhuo took his lunch box to the cafeteria alone.

Nancheng High was an average school with an average cafeteria. Lunch was stewed cabbage with tofu and stir-fried ham with peppers.

Li Zhuo swiped his card for a portion of rice but only ordered vegetarian side dishes.

Because he arrived late, there were few seats left. Li Zhuo found a spot in a corner. Not far from him sat Qin Wei and his gang.

They had been talking and laughing loudly, but when they saw Li Zhuo, they nudged each other and shut their mouths, though their eyes remained fixed on him with mocking glints.

Li Zhuo acted as if he hadn’t seen them and ate quickly.

He was a man of few words and wore old clothes; by all accounts, he was someone people found easy to dislike. But he was seventeen or eighteen, tall, and even with his gloomy aura, his face was striking enough to draw attention. Several younger girls stole glances at him as they walked by with their trays.

Qin Wei leaned back with his hands behind his head, watching Li Zhuo for a while. He then raised an eyebrow with a displeased expression and whispered something to the person next to him. That person immediately looked toward Li Zhuo, and both of their gazes were far from friendly.

Li Zhuo finished his meal and was one of the last to leave the cafeteria. He went to the sinks to wash his lunch box.

Behind the sinks was the base of a wall.

As the water splashed, voices drifted from behind the wall—voices that sounded familiar.

“Brother Wei, what you just said is that for real?” a male voice asked.

“Who knows,” Qin Wei’s voice sounded lazy. “It was too dark to see clearly, but based on the build and the voice, it probably was.”

“But doesn’t Li Zhuo live in the East District?” a raspy-voiced boy asked. “Remember when his mom came for the parent-teacher meeting? Tsk, his mom, looking like that.”

Li Zhuo kept his eyes down, rinsing the lid of his lunch box under the stream of water.

The conversation continued. After a while, a familiar name came up.

“But Brother Qiu’s family is rich,” the raspy voice continued after a pause. “If you saw the two of them going in together, you think Brother Qiu rented that place for him?”

“You think my Brother Qiu is running a charity?” Qin Wei sneered. “Why would he waste money on that? To keep him as a pet? What, can Li Zhuo even put out or something?”

The group of boys erupted into laughter.

“No way,” the raspy voice laughed lewdly. “I’m telling you, Brother Qiu might be arrogant, but his looks if you put him and Li Zhuo together, you can’t even tell who’s taking advantage of who.”

Li Zhuo’s movements stilled.

The people behind that wall were the very lackeys who usually followed Ran Muqiu around. The raspy-voiced one was the scrawny, noisy kid who was always the most eager to please Ran Muqiu, like a loyal guard dog.

Usually, these people happily called him “Brother Qiu” and acted like his devoted underlings. But now that Ran Muqiu wasn’t around, their tone held a strange, sickening excitement.

They didn’t sound like they were talking about the leader who took them out to cause trouble. They sounded like they were gossiping about the school’s prettiest girl.

As they got more fired up, the topic became impossible to stop.

“Right?” another boy chuckled. “Honestly, Brother Wei, that girlfriend of yours from the vocational school looks a bit like Brother Qiu, but she’s not as pretty, and her skin isn’t nearly as white.”

“Fuck!” Qin Wei took a long drag of a cigarette and cursed with a low laugh. “You bastards, stop making jokes about my Brother Qiu. I’m straight!”

The raspy-voiced one joked back, “So what if you’re straight? No one said you weren’t.”

Another chimed in, “Do you guys remember that sports recruit from tenth grade? When he first started school earlier this year, he didn’t have eyes and tried to flirt with Brother Qiu. He got beaten so badly. I heard his right leg still hasn’t fully healed. He limps.”

“Served him right. His mouth was too filthy. Forget Brother Qiu—even I was pissed listening to him,” the raspy voice said. “That leg, Brother Qiu hired people to do that, right?”

“I don’t know.” The speaker seemed to recall something, still nursing a lingering fear. “Probably. They were likely some thugs from off-campus. They hit way too hard—it looked like they were trying to kill the guy.”

With that, Raspy-Voice nudged Qin Wei’s shoulder and grinned. “That sports recruit was straight too, and I heard he went through girlfriends like water outside school. See? Being a straight guy and Brother Qiu being good-looking—there’s absolutely no conflict between the two.”

Another boy let out a long sigh, sounding deeply sentimental. “Yeah. If Brother Qiu were a girl, why the hell would I still be hopping the school wall every day to find ‘resources’? I’d just think of his face and—”

The sentence went unfinished.

First, there was a beat of silence.

Then, the group burst into raucous laughter.

“Dammit! How the hell did we get so far off-topic!” Qin Wei’s voice sounded frayed. He ground his cigarette butt against the wall, clearly done with the conversation. “As for what we talked about today, every single one of you keeps your mouth shut. Don’t let Brother Qiu hear a word of it.”

The group chimed in agreement. “Got it, got it.”

The sound of scattering footsteps rang out, gradually fading into the distance.

Nearby, at the sinks.

The water had long since stopped running. Li Zhuo stood there silently, clutching his lunch box. After a moment, he cast a cold, indifferent glance toward the direction where the group had vanished.

Having exhausted himself over the weekend, Ran Muqiu spent almost the entire Monday sleeping at his desk.

When the final bell rang, Qin Wei and the others walked over, shoulders draped over each other. One of them rapped on his desk. “Brother Qiu?”

Ran Muqiu lifted his head.

After sleeping all afternoon, several red marks were pressed into his soft cheeks. His earlobes were a milky white, and his eyelids were flushed a delicate pink.

“Hmm?”

Even his voice carried a thick, muzzy nasal quality from sleep.

Qin Wei: “…”

Qin Wei stared blankly for a few seconds. He suddenly found himself unable to remember: Has Brother Qiu always looked like this since tenth grade?

“Cough.” Likely because of their scandalous gossip at lunch, Qin Wei didn’t quite dare to look Ran Muqiu in the eye. He sat on the chair in front of him, his gaze drifting aimlessly. “Slim Monkey is treating tonight at Blue Sky International KTV. Xiaoya is coming, too. You should join us.”

Xiaoya was Qin Wei’s little girlfriend from the vocational school.

Ran Muqiu was about to shake his head, but then he remembered he usually tagged along. When Qin Wei came looking for him, the invitation was likely secondary—the real goal was for Ran Muqiu to foot the bill.

So, he patted Qin Wei on the shoulder. “I have things to do, so I won’t go. Have fun with Slim Monkey and the others. Just WeChat me the total and I’ll cover it.”

Qin Wei stiffened at the touch. He froze for a long moment before a dry “Oh” popped out of his mouth.

He looked somewhat disappointed.

Ran Muqiu didn’t pay him any mind and went back to packing his bag.

Midnight.

Several silhouettes of varying heights walked down the alley, laughing loudly and occasionally humming out-of-tune songs.

The one leading the pack was clearly half-drunk, whispering into the ear of a pretty girl dressed in revealing clothes. The girl wore a small camisole and high heels; she had likely been drinking too, as she swayed while walking, giggling every time she was teased.

The group was so busy playing around that none of them noticed the shadow leaning against the base of the wall nearby.

Consequently, when Slim Monkey took a brutal kick to the stomach, none of them had time to react.

It wasn’t until Slim Monkey was sent flying against the wall, letting out a scream like a slaughtered pig, that the group descended into panic.

Qin Wei’s reaction was relatively fast. He shoved his girlfriend aside and barked a curse. “Which son of a bitch is it? Get out here.”

Before he could finish, he was grabbed by the arm and jerked forward.

The person’s strength was terrifying; Qin Wei could barely budge. But having spent years getting into fights, Qin Wei was experienced. He used the momentum of the pull to throw a heavy punch at the stranger’s face.

The person tilted his head to dodge. Perhaps because he didn’t take Qin Wei seriously, he was a bit careless and didn’t avoid it completely; Qin Wei’s fist grazed him slightly.

The man covered his right cheek and let out a low, clicking “Tsk.” Immediately after, he looked up. Using the web of his hand to lock Qin Wei’s upper arm, he drove his knee into Qin Wei’s abdomen several times with ruthless precision.

Qin Wei was beaten until he nearly retched. His entire body went limp like a wet noodle.

The man grabbed him by the collar and tossed him forward like a bag of trash, piling him right on top of Slim Monkey.

Qin Wei’s vision swam with stars. He couldn’t catch his breath for a long time, clutching his stomach and groaning as cold sweat poured down his back.

Though they were a bit drunk, Qin Wei and his gang were seasoned delinquents. They were no strangers to brawls. Yet this youth was tearing through them like he was chopping vegetables—one strike per person, as if he were merely playing a game.

Where did a monster like this come from?

In an instant, the only one left standing in the alley was Qin Wei’s little girlfriend.

The youth adjusted the brim of his cap and looked toward her.

Xiaoya’s eyes went wide with terror. She let out a scream, scrambled up from the ground in her high heels, and tried to stumble away. In her panic, her foot slipped and she fell hard.

The youth stared at her for a few seconds. Suddenly, he stepped forward and crouched down in front of the girl.

The girl looked up, trembling.

The person before her wore a black baseball cap. With his back to the light, his face was obscured, leaving only the sharp, blade-like line of his jaw visible.

The youth raised his hand.

The girl flinched violently, certain he was going to hit her. She clutched her head, tears nearly bursting from her eyes.

But the youth only reached up to tilt the brim of his cap slightly higher, revealing a fraction of his features.

A high bridge of the nose, thin, pale lips, and a glimpse of amber eyes—his entire aura was as cold as a block of ice.

The girl was too terrified to speak.

The youth crouched there, one hand on his cap and the other resting on his knee. There was fresh blood on his knuckles from the scuffle. He studied her face from above for a long while before tilting his head slightly.

His voice held a hint of genuine confusion. “How is she ‘similar’?”

Qin Wei: “…”

Hearing those four words, Qin Wei—paralyzed on the ground—shuddered.

The voice was deep, and it felt hauntingly familiar, as if someone he knew was intentionally lowering their pitch.

Qin Wei widened his eyes, trying desperately to recognize the person.

But before he could figure it out, the man stood up, brushed off his pants, and walked away slowly, leaving behind a final, muttered remark:

“She doesn’t even compare.”