Jiang Luo had zero intention of paying Zhao Shuo any mind, but when he heard the rustling behind him and Zhao Shuo’s voice, he suddenly spun around, marched back, grabbed the glass of lemon water he’d been drinking, and—without a moment’s pause—splashed the whole thing right into Zhao Shuo’s face.
Zhao Shuo: “…”
Everyone else: “…”
Jiang Luo set the glass back down, his voice steady—not loud, not soft—as he told Zhao Shuo, “Stop pretending you care. You’re making me sick.”
“If you think I’ll never measure up to Zhao Mingshi, then fine. Keep treating him like your precious little brother. Just leave me alone—I don’t need you hovering around. It’s disgusting.”
“I’m done. I don’t have anything to do with any of you anymore.”
He turned around and walked off without a single backward glance.
Once he stepped out of the restaurant, Jiang Luo just felt foul. He’d already gone out of his way to stay far from those people, yet he couldn’t even eat a peaceful meal without running into them—and worse, they insisted on sticking to him.
And what was with that “Your mom and dad are really worried you didn’t come home”?
Jiang Luo knew all too well: even if Su Lan and Zhao Guangyuan were genuinely worried and not just putting on a show, whatever concern they had for him was thin—shallow, at best.
Otherwise, after learning the truth in early April and finding him in that silk factory dorm, they wouldn’t have left him there all this time.
At the end of the day, if someone doesn’t love you, they just don’t love you.
Jiang Luo walked toward the elevator, refusing to think about the Zhao family anymore. His expression recovered quickly.
He turned to the man walking beside him, voice lazy, a little mocking. “Great. Didn’t even get dinner, but you sure got a show.”
Huo Zongzhuo didn’t comment on the family drama, only said, “There’s a Western restaurant upstairs. We can eat there.”
“Forget it. I’m not hungry.”
Jiang Luo really wasn’t in the mood. He could go back to the cheap motel and nibble on some crackers.
“I’m heading back. You don’t need to drive me. I’ll grab a cab.”
He started walking off on his own.
But Huo Zongzhuo followed him—into the elevator too.
Jiang Luo glanced over. Inwardly he clicked his tongue, thinking, We’re really not that close. What exactly does he see in me? First it’s betting with me and giving me ten grand, then showing up to eat with me again?
He cracked a joke, shameless as ever: “So? What do you like about me? Tell me so I can fix it.”
Fearless, as usual.
Huo Zongzhuo actually laughed. “I don’t like anything.”
“And that ten thousand wasn’t a gift—it was a loan. I only stepped in that night because I thought the bet was interesting.”
“Dinner was also just… on the way.”
“No need to overthink it.”
“And definitely no need to change anything.”
Well then.
Jiang Luo didn’t waste more breath. “Let’s just pick some random spot by the road and grab anything.”
“My treat.”
“Alright.”
Simple enough.
They left the Hua Ting, found a small, dingy diner nearby, parked the car, and ate.
Meanwhile, Zhao Shuo was fuming.
He still had clients to entertain tonight, and after getting splashed in the face and humiliated in public, he had to swallow his anger, clean himself up, and go back pretending everything was fine—explaining to the clients that the scene just now was because of his younger brother being immature, asking them not to mind, blah blah blah.
The clients, being polite, smoothed things over, saying young people these days were all like that.
Zhao Shuo was juggling the dinner conversation while thinking about Jiang Luo.
He was furious—of course he was. Jiang Luo had drenched him, embarrassed him. But once he cooled a little and recalled Jiang Luo’s cold stare and the word “pretending,” Zhao Shuo finally started to understand.
Jiang Luo was angry at them.
And Zhao Shuo knew exactly why.
Since early April, after learning about the baby switch and finding Jiang Luo, the Zhao family hadn’t done anything else. They never brought him home. Never followed up.
Pretending.
Pretending.
That one word stung because it was true.
Jiang Luo had already sensed that Su Lan and Zhao Guangyuan didn’t like him—didn’t want him.
Was that why he blew up?
Why he left home without contacting anyone?
Zhao Shuo exhaled quietly. Yeah… that actually made sense.
He knew they’d all been distant toward Jiang Luo after seeing him at the silk factory. None of them could deny it.
Then he started wondering where Jiang Luo was staying. Did he have money? Was he safe?
And that well-dressed man—Zhao Shuo worried Jiang Luo might get mixed up with people he shouldn’t and end up being taken advantage of.
But what Zhao Shuo didn’t know was:
Jiang Luo and Huo Zongzhuo finished their simple dinner and then headed to an open-air pool hall nearby—because Jiang Luo wanted to play.
He dragged Huo Zongzhuo with him.
The pool hall was outdoors, just a cleared lot with rows of green-felt tables, strings of dim bulbs overhead, and a crowd of people surrounding the tables. One happened to open up right as they arrived.
Jiang Luo paid and walked over with Huo Zongzhuo.
“You play?” he asked casually.
He already knew the answer. In his last life, he’d seen Huo Zongzhuo play before.
“A little. I’m not that good,” Huo replied as he shrugged off his suit jacket.
The owner racked the balls for the first round. Jiang Luo picked up a cue, didn’t even bother chalking it, leaned down, lined up, and struck.
A sharp crack—the balls exploded apart, and two dropped cleanly into pockets.
The owner hadn’t even walked away yet. He let out a low whistle. “Nice shot.”
Jiang Luo straightened, circled the table, immediately found his next angle, lowered himself again, and sank another ball with the same smooth precision.
“I’m useless at everything except eating, drinking, and having fun,” he said lazily.
Huo Zongzhuo watched him, lips curving, eyes full of quiet amusement and appreciation.
Two more shots later, Jiang Luo finally missed one, and Huo stepped up. A clean, firm shot—thunk—another ball disappeared.
Jiang Luo clapped twice. “Good one.”
Then as Huo passed by him, he teased, “Not that good, huh?”
“Still just average.”
Jiang Luo leaned on his cue, unbothered, drawling, “See, I never say I’m average. I say even if the king of heaven shows up, he still wouldn’t play half as well as I do.”
Huo laughed.
They played for two hours. And yes—Jiang Luo was genuinely good. He won nearly every round.
And every time he won, he’d pat Huo’s shoulder and say, “Sorry, big spender. Even if you’re the rich one and you’re the one funding me, the pool table has no fathers or sons. Win is win.”
Huo laughed again. Everything about Jiang Luo was… irresistibly charming.
He liked it. A lot.
By the time they wrapped up, it was past nine—most families would be in bed.
Leaving the pool hall, Jiang Luo was sipping on a bottle of soda.
Huo said, “It’s late. Let me drive you back.”
Then added, “So that place in Jing’an isn’t your home.”
Last time after steak, he’d dropped Jiang Luo off in an alley and assumed he lived there.
He spoke naturally, “You guys really had a bad falling-out, huh?”
Obviously referring to the water-throwing fiasco.
Jiang Luo sipped his soda, unfazed. “Yep. And not just bad—we’re done. I plan to never deal with them again.”
They walked toward the car.
“Where’re you staying? A friend’s place?” Huo asked.
“A small motel.”
Nothing to hide. He treated it as casual conversation.
Then he shot Huo a sideways glance. “Why? Afraid I’m sleeping on the sidewalk?”
Huo answered, “Yeah.”
Jiang Luo had slept on sidewalks before.
He sighed softly. “Relax. I might shortchange the whole world, but I’d never shortchange myself.”
They passed under a streetlight, their shadows stretching beneath them. The light hit Jiang Luo’s face directly, revealing every sharp, striking feature.
Huo looked at him quietly as they walked.
And right then, Huo was already thinking about tomorrow… or the day after… or the one after that. Whichever day he was free, he’d take Jiang Luo out to a good restaurant.
And afterward? Find somewhere fun to go.