The Scum Gong Refuses the Crematorium [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 3

In the bathroom.

Lu Mingyue lowered his head and splashed cold water on his face. After washing away the exhaustion, he closed his eyes.

Since the day Sheng Yan told him they would discuss the contract “later,” Lu Mingyue had received news the very next day that the project team established for this deal had been disbanded.

With no other choice, he had to start from scratch and look for new investors.

However, a week had passed, and every investor he met demanded a 67% absolute controlling stake right off the bat. No matter how he campaigned—explaining that he didn’t want operational decision-making power, only a 51% relative controlling stake—it was no use.

This project was the culmination of five years of hard work. If he gave up absolute control, he wouldn’t even have a voice. Beyond receiving stock dividends, the future direction of the project would have nothing to do with him.

It was like giving birth to a child with great effort, only to sell that child away. Whether the child grew up tall or short, well-fed or starving, he would only be able to watch from the sidelines without any right to intervene.

What mother who truly loves her child could be so heartless?

Although this project was just a string of cold numbers. An innovative but imperfect algorithm—Lu Mingyue, who created them, loved them as deeply as a mother loves her child. He couldn’t bear to hand them over to others to be butchered, castrated, and turned into mere tools for profit.

Knowing these investors were difficult, he finally gritted his teeth and made a concession: he gave up the 51% relative control and asked only for a 34% veto power.

This way, while the investor wouldn’t have absolute control, they would still hold the largest share of relative control. With so many investors out there, surely one would be tempted to talk?

But no one was willing to budge even for that 1% concession.

It was as if they had all coordinated their stories, dead set on taking that extra 1% for absolute control. For that 1%, they were even willing to invest significantly more money.

Lu Mingyue was no fool. It’s normal for investors to want more equity; investment is about returns. But to fix a price so rigidly that there was absolutely no room for negotiation?

There was definitely something wrong.

Once he realized where the crux of the problem lay, he used a new round of negotiations to probe a particularly talkative investor. “Brother Wang, everyone’s pricing is quite consistent. Are you all certain that I’ll eventually cave?”

This carried a hint of backing down. President Wang, thinking he was finally relenting, relaxed and laughed. “Brother Lu, look at what you’re saying. Don’t you just want investment for your project without caring about control? Since that’s the case, what does it matter if you hold that extra 1% or not?”

Lu Mingyue kept his expression light, but his heart sank. “Whoever spread that rumor so accurately really put me in a tight spot.”

President Wang patted his shoulder and laughed loudly. “It’s fine, Brother Lu. Look, because of the fight for that 1%, your investment valuation has doubled several times over. With all this money, are you still worried about not being able to develop your project?”

Lu Mingyue smiled back. “Then Brother Wang, tell me who spread it? I’ll have to settle the score with them later.”

President Wang said cheerfully, “Then you really have to thank President Sheng of Shengshi Group. To help you raise your price, he really went through a lot of trouble.”

There are no walls that don’t leak wind. As soon as Lu Mingyue started looking for investment, someone leaked his bottom line. Subsequently, President Sheng of Shengshi began appearing with Lu Mingyue in social circles. Crucially, rumors were flying last week that Shengshi was about to sign with Lu Mingyue. This week, Lu Mingyue was back on the market looking for investors.

The industry insiders, all of whom were as sharp as tacks, could see right through it: that initial information was leaked by Sheng Yan.

Lu Mingyue opened his eyes.

The person Wang mentioned was both a surprise and not a surprise.

Back when Sheng Yan appeared at the Yanjing University lecture and asked if he was looking for investors, Lu Mingyue had suspected the timing was too perfect.

At that time, his bottom line hadn’t dropped to 34% yet. Although other investors were lowballing him, he thought it was just their usual style. At that moment, Sheng Yan’s displayed generosity prevented him from thinking deeper. After all, who would pass up a great profit and intentionally offer such loose terms?

Looking at it now…

Sheng Yan first leaked information to make others intentionally suppress his price. Then, he approached him with terms better than anyone else’s, leaving Lu Mingyue with no choice but to choose him.

And it worked. He truly had no other choice.

And now—

Lu Mingyue thought about how a mutually beneficial cooperation was tossed aside simply because of Sheng Yan’s “love-brain” whims.

Truly, he succeeded because of that love-brain, and he failed because of it.

Lu Mingyue didn’t feel much resentment toward Sheng Yan for leaking the price—it was just a capitalist tactic. If not Sheng Yan, someone else would have done it; the only difference would be the ultimate goal.

He wasn’t some “Sweet White Silly” (naive) protagonist. He wouldn’t cling to a grudge just because someone did him a bit of wrong. “To forge iron, one must be strong oneself.” As long as he held his ground, a suppressed price could also be framed as an inflated valuation.

Perspective changes everything.

Lu Mingyue didn’t wallow in self-pity. His mind was focused on how to solve the problem. He had contacted every investor he could. Given the current situation, it was unlikely they would make concessions. The valuation was already inflated; pushing further would make him look greedy. He didn’t want to ruin his reputation in the circle before the deal was even done.

Go back and talk to Sheng Yan?

At the thought of that man, Lu Mingyue shook his head. Sheng Yan was a pure “love-brain” who acted on impulse. He used to avoid him at all costs, let alone now that Sheng Yan had a substitute who looked just like him.

He had no time to waste on their “love and passion” drama.

Suddenly, Lu Mingyue paused.

Wait. Something is wrong.

He stepped out of the bathroom, went to the study next door, logged into the Yanjing University campus forum on his computer, found a specific post, and began browsing it seriously from start to finish.

He began re-evaluating his line of thought.

Before returning to the country, he hadn’t told anyone. Even when looking for investment, he only contacted a few professors at Yanjing University who had looked after him, asking them to pull some strings. Because they were professors at Yanjing and knew about his history with Sheng Yan, he specifically asked them not to contact anyone related to Sheng Yan.

Logically, Sheng Yan shouldn’t have known he was back. Even if he did, given his impulsive personality, why wait until the lecture to approach him?

Unless he knew about the lecture first, and then found out he was back.

The reason Lu Mingyue attended the lecture was that his mentor told him: “It’s rare for the students to be this enthusiastic. Xiao Lu, you have no connections right now. Many students admire you. Use this chance to show your face and build relationships with your juniors; they will be part of your network in the future.”

At that time, the professors had introduced some decent investors, and they were in the negotiation stage. He thought the deal would be finalized by the time the lecture came around. Even if he ran into Sheng Yan, it wouldn’t matter. Moreover, after so many years, he wasn’t sure if Sheng Yan even remembered him, so he didn’t put up his guard.

Now that he thought about it, he was too naive.

How could it be such a coincidence? He just returns, and suddenly the school is full of juniors who “admire” him?

Sure enough, after reading the post titled “Shouldn’t the school consider inviting back the outstanding seniors who graduated in recent years for a seminar? I really want to learn from them!”, his heart sank.

Several IDs in the thread had pointedly posted his photos and hyped up his time at Yanjing and his research abroad with top mentors. His name as a “genius senior” instantly became famous on the forum. Combined with the fact that Yanjing had indeed produced many elite graduates recently, the crowd joined in, and the event was set in motion.

Lu Mingyue compared the IDs of the people hyping him up and looked at the tone of the Original Poster. Though the IDs were different, their speech patterns were identical.

He didn’t even need to check IP addresses to know they were all the same person.

So, the question was: who would go through so much trouble to put him and Sheng Yan in the same room?

1. This person doesn’t want to be exposed.
2. They know both me and Sheng Yan very well.
3. They know Sheng Yan is still obsessed with me.

Lu Mingyue wrote these points on a whiteboard with a marker and listed the people who met these criteria.

He quickly crossed off mutual classmates and friends; they didn’t fit the “wanting to stay hidden” criteria. Finally, only one person met all three: the substitute he had only seen twice, the one who seemed to have no presence—Song Liguang.

Lu Mingyue put himself in those shoes. If he were a substitute, would he be content being one forever?

The answer was obvious: No. You either become the “official” partner or you leave the sugar daddy.

If he wanted to leave, he wouldn’t do all this extra work. But what if he wanted to become the official partner?

He would monitor the “Original” at all times, track his movements, and understand his goals. Upon hearing the Original was back, what would a social-climbing substitute feel?

Panic. Fear.

Even if the Original had no interest in the sugar daddy, the substitute would fear them meeting without his knowledge. So, instead of waiting to be replaced, he took the initiative.

After being a substitute for years, he would know the sugar daddy’s personality inside out. He would know exactly how to make the sugar daddy lose his temper with the Original. All he needed was one weak point to exploit.

Lu Mingyue thought for a moment and wrote three big words on the board: “FIVE MILLION!”

The substitute lived in the sugar daddy’s house and likely had contact with the mother. Getting dirt on the “Original” wouldn’t be hard.

The logic of the whole incident was now clear.

The substitute feared the Original’s return would get him dumped. So, he self-directed a play: first, let the sugar daddy and the Original interact, then make the sugar daddy despise the Original so the substitute could swoop in and secure his position.

And in this process, the sugar daddy was very “helpful”—first blocking the Original’s path forward, then pulling the rug out from under him. If the Original couldn’t get investment in the country or became hated by other capitalists, he would likely go abroad again.

From then on, the substitute’s path to the top would be clear of obstacles. Even if there were lingering issues, the “despised” Original could be brought up occasionally as a negative comparison to highlight the substitute’s “goodness.”

“Brilliant. Truly brilliant.” Lu Mingyue finished his analysis, looking at the whiteboard filled with the substitute’s scheme. He almost wanted to applaud Song Liguang.

It was too perfect.

The best part was that throughout the event, Song Liguang remained detached. When the sugar daddy and the Original were together, he could find an excuse to leave. After the sugar daddy grew to hate the “White Moonlight,” he could come out to comfort him.

He is the most innocent. He is the most kind and beautiful.

When the sugar daddy sees someone who is devoted, kind, and looks almost like the person he loves, how could he not fall head over heels?

However, the substitute miscalculated one thing: the more you do, the more mistakes you make. If he hadn’t posted on the forum, if he hadn’t forced the meeting at the lecture, and if Sheng Yan hadn’t unnecessarily manipulated the market before the meeting, Lu Mingyue might have actually overlooked it.

Lu Mingyue was so angry he laughed.

What did they take him for? A stepping stone for a social climber?

“What a pity.” Lu Mingyue loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt to reveal his pale, elegant collarbones, and gave a light laugh.

“I know how to seduce people too.”

Song Liguang wants to secure his position?

He’s going to make sure that never happens.