The Sickly Double Doesn't Want to Be Spoiled - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: June 21st

It was an ordinary day in June, the Summer Solstice.

It was a solar term, and it was also Meng Yuan’s birthday. Aside from that, there was nothing special about it.

Outside the hospital’s emergency building, a youth covered in blood was being rushed through the corridors on a stretcher. A steel bar had pierced through his abdomen, staining the entire sheet crimson.

“Make way! Everyone move!” a nurse shouted hoarsely, clearing a path.

A doctor knelt on the bed, performing CPR. The thin chest was pressed down heavily and then sprang back, but there was never a sign of life on the youth’s face.

He was too thin. With the oxygen mask on, only his eyes were visible. His eyelids were red and swollen from the sun, and his face was covered in blood, yet his eyelashes were remarkably long. It made one wonder if he were cleaned up, he would likely have a refined and delicate appearance.

“The situation is critical; he’s lost too much blood,” the doctor said, sweating profusely. “Where are the family members? Have we contacted them yet?”

“No,” the nurse said helplessly. “The person who brought him was just a passerby. They called the ambulance and left.”

Beep—!

The equipment let out a sharp, continuous drone. The young man’s life turned into a cold, flat line on the monitor.

Another doctor finally lowered the defibrillator and shook his head in resignation. And so, the youth became just another ordinary tragedy in the life-and-death chaos of the emergency room.

The doctors searched his pockets. Eventually, from a pair of worn-out trousers so dirty their original color was unrecognizable, they found an ID card, a crushed old cell phone, and a mess of smashed fruit pulp wrapped in blood-stained tissue.

They found the stems. They were two strawberries.

No one knew what the strawberries were for, but at least they finally knew the young man’s name. On the ID card, the youth indeed looked clean and handsome, with round, bright eyes.

“Meng Yuan,” the doctor read softly. “June 21st, 18:32. Pronounced dead.”

When a person has just died, their hearing does not vanish immediately. The doctor set down the ID card and said to him:

“Happy Birthday.”

…

June 21st, 18:32. Lingjiang Private Hospital, VIP Single Ward.

Meng Yuan snapped his eyes open.

His heart beat violently, slamming against his chest like it was going mad, and a sharp ringing screamed in his ears. It wasn’t until the static in his vision slowly receded that Meng Yuan regained a blurred view and heard his own heavy panting.

The ceiling was flawlessly white, the windowsill was pristine, and in a high-priced vase, sunflowers turned toward the light. Beside him, the equipment ticked and beeped, stimulating Meng Yuan’s senses as they slowly returned to him.

Am I still alive?

As soon as the thought emerged, a surge of immense relief erupted in Meng Yuan’s heart, only to be instantly replaced by a wave of intense anxiety.

He remembered he had just finished his father’s funeral. While working, he had been dazed and fell from the second floor of a construction site, a thick steel bar piercing his abdomen. He also clearly remembered the terrifying sensation of his body turning ice-cold as his blood drained and his life slipped away.

It certainly wasn’t a minor injury. So, how much would staying in a hospital like this cost? His precarious life could no longer afford a single extra expense.

As he thought, Meng Yuan realized this was a private ward! Not only was he alone, but the decor was as high-end as a five-star hotel on TV. He panicked instantly, struggling to sit up and ripping out the IV needle to leave.

The moment his feet touched the floor, his legs went weak, unable to support his weight. It felt as if the ground didn’t exist, and he fell heavily to the floor.

Nurses filed into the room.

Meng Yuan gasped for air. In his vision were the nurses’ exquisite, form-fitting uniforms. They wore gold-trimmed name tags that glittered under the lights, and their dark, shiny hair was tucked neatly under white caps. This attire was vastly different from what Meng Yuan remembered; it was the kind of thing seen only in dramas.

His head throbbed. He was certain this hospital was not a place he could afford. Even if he emptied his entire life savings, it might not cover the cost of these few short hours.

“I want to be discharged,” Meng Yuan wheezed.

“What are you saying? How can you live in your condition?” A nurse gently pressed him back toward the bed. “Your condition isn’t stable yet. Please be patient; the doctor will be here shortly.”

Meng Yuan dodged the nurse’s hand and struggled to sit up again. “No, I really have to go.”

His voice trembled with weakness. A string of blood droplets from where he had violently pulled out the needle trailed down his hand, which he tucked protectively against his chest. He sat on only a tiny edge of the bed, as if afraid of getting something dirty, looking tense and out of place.

“I can’t afford this place. I can’t afford it. Please, just let me go.”

The nurses exchanged looks, as if saying, The young master Meng is acting up again. One said with a helpless, slightly teasing tone, “Young Master Meng, please stop teasing us.”

Young Master… Meng?

Meng Yuan’s mind stalled for a moment. No matter how he looked at it, his life had absolutely nothing to do with the words “Young Master.”

The ward door pushed open, and a man in a formal suit walked in. “What’s happened?”

He had a slightly square jaw and handsome features. A small black earpiece was tucked into his right ear, and his gaze was sharp and reliable.

“Assistant Song.” “Assistant Song.”

The nurses greeted him one after another. The man called Assistant Song nodded slightly and shifted his gaze to Meng Yuan. He didn’t speak immediately but stepped aside to let the rushing doctor examine Meng Yuan first.

The doctor first treated the wound on the back of his hand. It was just a small puncture, but it took a long while to stop the bleeding. Then, the hem of the hospital gown was lifted, and Meng Yuan saw his flat chest revealed.

The doctor used a stethoscope to carefully listen to his chest and abdomen, but Meng Yuan felt a wave of confusion. There should have been a large, hideous gash there. Yet, his abdomen was currently smooth and clear, without a single scar.

Before he could think further, the doctor finished the checkup and led the nurses out in an orderly fashion without saying a word.

Once the door closed, the man at the entrance finally stepped closer.

“Young Master Meng,” his voice was as efficient as his appearance. “Even if you disagree, there’s no need to use a hunger strike as a way to express your refusal, is there?”

Meng Yuan didn’t quite understand. A look of confusion appeared on his pale face. What a joke his biggest struggle in life was not having enough to eat; why would he ever go on a hunger strike?

“If there’s a clause in the contract you disagree with, you can bring it up. We fully respect your wishes,” Assistant Song said. “I hope you understand that a marriage alliance with the Lu family is entirely beneficial for both you and the Meng family. It will also improve your status and influence within the Meng family. Why wouldn’t you do it?”

What marriage alliance? What status and influence? Meng Yuan had no idea what the man was talking about; those terms were far too removed from his life. He had no choice but to remain cautiously silent, maintaining a guarded expression.

As time passed, Assistant Song showed no sign of impatience, maintaining a mechanical steadiness and composure. Realizing Meng Yuan wasn’t going to speak, he chose to take a step back.

“You don’t need to answer right away. Think it over some more.” He glanced at his watch. “Tomorrow at 7:00 PM if you still decide not to cooperate, we won’t force you. Of course, if you change your mind, contact me anytime.”

With that, Assistant Song gave Meng Yuan a slight nod and turned to leave.

Meng Yuan had never been treated with such respect, as if he were a superior. He instinctively wanted to stand up and return the gesture with a 90-degree bow. Unfortunately, his head was spinning severely, and Assistant Song had already turned away, unable to see his awkwardness and panic.

He gripped the blanket, his brain unable to process everything quickly. His eyes darted around randomly until he saw a pile of shredded paper scattered at the head of the bed.

Propping himself up to fight the dizziness, he sat up carefully and gathered the scraps piece by piece. The words that came into view shocked him.

It was a marriage agreement regarding Lu Cong, the current CEO of the Lingjiang Group.

Meng Yuan’s brain felt as if it had been hacked, entering a state of chaotic shutdown. What marriage? How am I getting married? The city he lived in didn’t even have a “Lingjiang Group.”

Suddenly, a sharp pain hit his brain. Meng Yuan pressed his hands to his temples in agony.

Lu Cong… Lingjiang… Assistant Song…

Belated memories resurfaced. He finally remembered these seemed to be names from a novel. He hadn’t read the novel himself, but he had heard his coworkers talking about it to pass the time while they worked. Because he shared the same name as one of the characters, they had discussed it with great interest.

Meng Yuan vaguely remembered it was a pathetic “cannon fodder” character. In a “dog-blood” angst novel, he was used as a substitute for the CEO’s “White Moonlight” (first love), entered a fake marriage with the CEO, and died at a young age.

He slowly lowered his head and looked at the reconstructed agreement in front of him. Every line of text consisted of cold conditions and interests, devoid of even a shred of human warmth.

Meng Yuan finally realized: he was truly dead. And he had come to another world.

His fingers began to tremble, and his spine stiffened from the sheer shock. He carefully flipped to the last page of the contract and saw a figure that looked like an astronomical number.

It was a sum of money he could never earn in a lifetime of diligent labor, even if he worked under the scorching sun, soaked in sweat, with fingers cracked by the winter wind.

Meng Yuan felt a sudden sense of emptiness, his mind floating in a void. Ten seconds later, a decision was made.

He found a phone at the bedside. He wasn’t very good at using the latest smartphones. His own broken domestic phone had been used for over ten years; he had protected it carefully for fear of it breaking. Now, this exquisite, slim new phone lay in his palm. Meng Yuan couldn’t even unlock it at first, and after fumbling for a while, he eventually opened it using face recognition.

Like someone using an electronic device for the first time, he slowly found WeChat. He scrolled through the contacts but couldn’t find an account for Assistant Song. Finally, he went back to the chat interface. The very first entry was a person labeled “Annoying Scapegoat.”

This was clearly the original owner’s nickname for the person.

Meng Yuan tapped the chat box. The interface only showed the system message of them becoming friends, and the other person’s nickname was just a “.”. Meng Yuan couldn’t see the person’s “Moments” (feed), but he eventually saw the words “Lingjiang” in the profile details.

That had to be it.

Meng Yuan was relieved to have found the person, but he worried about why the original owner had given such a nasty nickname to someone who seemed quite polite. At least in Meng Yuan’s twenty-odd years of life, he had rarely been treated that way. No pity, no disgust—just simple, somewhat emotionless politeness.

He was always prone to feeling overwhelmed by such kindness. Like right now.

Looking at that unpleasant nickname, Meng Yuan felt a surge of timid guilt, as if he’d been caught talking behind someone’s back. He spent a good while figuring out how to change the contact name.

“Annoying Scapegoat” was deleted character by character, and Meng Yuan solemnly typed in “Assistant Song.”

[Meng Yuan: Good afternoon, Assistant Song. I’ve thought it over. I’m ready to sign whenever.]

…

Song Zhen returned to the company.

It was evening, and the sky was filled with sunset clouds, casting a vibrant glow onto the marble floors of the corridor. Song Zhen took the private elevator to the top floor. He straightened his collar and knocked before entering his boss’s office.

It was a room with excellent natural light and clean, cool-white decor. The sunset light spread evenly through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. In front of the sofa in the lounge area, the Chief Financial Officer stood respectfully.

Lu Cong was quietly leafing through the reports the CFO had submitted. The room was silent, save for the occasional crisp sound of paper turning. Song Zhen didn’t interrupt, bowing slightly from a distance toward the lounge area.

Director Li maintained a tense posture, ready to answer Lu Cong’s questions at any moment. But Lu Cong didn’t speak until the very end. It wasn’t until Director Li’s back was about to cramp from waiting and a bead of sweat appeared on his forehead despite the AC being set to 18°C that Lu Cong closed the folder and nodded.

Director Li felt as if he had received a grand pardon. Lu Cong waved his hand. Director Li hurried to retrieve the reports, bowed to Lu Cong, and turned to leave.

The moment he turned around, he let out a long sigh of relief. Even though he was an honest man with clean data, he always felt inexplicably nervous every time he entered Lu Cong’s office alone. He pushed the door open, exchanged a look of exhaustion with Assistant Song at the door, wiped his sweat, and left.

Song Zhen closed the door and stepped forward.

Lu Cong had already stood up from the sofa. He poured the remains of his coffee into the sink and carefully rinsed the white ceramic cup, not looking up as he asked:

“How did it go?”

Song Zhen said, “Young Master Meng indeed went to the hospital because of a hunger strike. Following your instructions, I gave him more time to consider.” He looked a bit hesitant.

Lu Cong hung the washed coffee cup on the rack and looked up at him. “Say what’s on your mind.”

“Yes,” Song Zhen nodded instinctively, following behind Lu Cong. “Young Master Meng was originally willing to go through with the marriage, but for some reason, he suddenly developed a strong resistance. When I arrived at the hospital, he had even ripped out his IV needle and tried to run away.”

Song Zhen found this Meng Yuan very strange. Though he was the young master of the Meng family, everyone knew he wasn’t favored. The Chairman of the Meng Group was a promiscuous man who had been married four times and had six children; Meng Yuan was the most ignored of them all.

Initially, when Lu Cong proposed the alliance, he had accepted it gladly. But a week ago, Meng Yuan suddenly reneged. He had even locked himself in his room without eating or drinking until he was sent to the hospital.

Song Zhen mused, “I’m worried someone might have said something to him.”

Lu Cong remained noncommittal. He rolled down his shirt sleeves, which had been folded to his elbows, fastened the buttons one by one, and then unhurriedly put on his cufflinks. Song Zhen knew he was preparing to leave the office for a dinner meeting and quickly handed him his suit jacket.

Lu Cong straightened his tie in the mirror. “He’s a patient,” he said, seemingly empathetic. “It’s normal for them to overthink sometimes.”

“Don’t worry,” Song Zhen said seriously. “I will continue to persuade him to accept the alliance.”

The phone screen on the desk lit up with a notification. Lu Cong picked up the phone and tapped into the message. Song Zhen fell silent, making sure not to disturb his boss while he handled work messages.

After a moment, something seemed off. Usually, it took Lu Cong only a few seconds to read a message and reply. This time, he paused for nearly twenty seconds without typing. From Song Zhen’s angle, he couldn’t see the content, but he could tell it was only a short line of text. Lu Cong certainly wasn’t spending that time reading.

So, what was he thinking?

“Boss?” Song Zhen ventured. “Should I continue working on Young Master Meng?”

Lu Cong looked up, gazing out the window at the now-darkened sky, looking thoughtful.

[Meng Yuan: Good afternoon, Assistant Song. I’ve thought it over. I’m ready to sign whenever.]

Lu Cong was certain that when Meng Yuan added him, the boy knew explicitly that this was his private account. Now, what was this message supposed to mean?

Lu Cong turned off the screen without replying.

“No need,” he said. “Print a new contract. Take it to the hospital tomorrow for him to sign.”

He suddenly agreed again? Song Zhen was surprised and tempted to ask more, but he ultimately suppressed his curiosity and simply accepted the task. “Understood.”

“Wait.”

Before he could leave, Lu Cong called him back. Lu Cong’s index finger tapped the desk unconsciously; in the dim light, the shadows under his brow were deep.

“Change the amount,” he said. “Double it.”