Jiang Luo hadn’t eaten something this bland in years. And instant noodles, on top of that—nothing tasty about them. In his last life, he ate freshly hand-pulled noodles every day, topped with a mix of meats and vegetables. The flavor wasn’t even comparable.
Not that anyone could blame him for being picky. He’d always been like this—used to living comfortably. In his previous life, not just his food and clothing, even the handkerchief he used to wipe his hands was the best quality.
Because Jiang Luo could afford it. He built his own company back then, had a sharp mind, lots of connections, and made plenty of money.
And money was meant to be spent. Jiang Luo never shorted himself—he was extremely generous to himself.
He lived in a luxury house, drove nice cars, frequented high-end places, and burned through cash without blinking. He lived big, and he lived free.
In other people’s words, Young Master Jiang was a pure, unadulterated rich playboy.
So what if he was? Jiang Luo didn’t care what anyone said. He intended to live however he damn well pleased.
Now that he’d been reborn, of course he still planned to live freely.
Why would he make life hard on himself? Being a rich brat wasn’t illegal. What, was he supposed to “turn over a new leaf”?
Yeah, right.
He accepted the bowl of noodles, bent down, and took two bites. Completely flavorless. He hated it.
He shoved the bowl back and told Wang Chuang, “You eat it.”
So Wang Chuang ate it himself, slurping loudly, looking like he was having the meal of his life.
Meanwhile, Jiang Luo was thinking hard about what he could do right now. He asked, “Fatty, how much money do you have on you?”
“Huh?”
Wang Chuang lifted his head from the bowl, still sucking noodles, blinking his small eyes. After thinking for a moment, he said, “About three hundred.”
Jiang Luo paused, memory flashing—right, Wang Chuang had gone to high school with him. They both failed the college entrance exam, so Wang’s family scraped together a way to send him to technical school to study mechatronics.
This three hundred was his secretly saved living allowance.
“What’s up?” Wang asked. Suddenly something seemed to occur to him, and his eyes lit up. “We going to the disco? Tonight? Sure, I can sneak out.”
Jiang Luo: “…”
He suddenly remembered—he hadn’t become a rich playboy after getting money. He had always been a slacker. A terrible one. He didn’t study, didn’t go to tech school, didn’t work. He spent his days hanging out at the disco, drinking, smoking, chasing girls. He was a pure, certified delinquent.
The club he frequented was called Eastern No. 1, which had opened just last year.
After failing the college exam, he’d met all sorts of questionable people. They dragged him along, and he started going to Eastern No. 1 regularly.
There, besides drinking, singing, dancing, and hitting on girls, he also learned to smoke and fight.
The guy who managed the place was called Huazi, and Jiang Luo became one of his underlings.
On slow days, he wandered around the club pretending to be some seasoned street tough, copying the behavior of all those so-called “society people,” thinking he looked cool and badass.
When trouble came, he was the first to jump in.
Especially since he was young, hot-blooded, impulsive, and easily provoked.
Every time Huazi patted him on the shoulder, Jiang Luo felt like Huazi was number one and he was number two. He charged into fights without hesitation, reckless and fierce.
Thinking about it now, Jiang Luo felt such secondhand embarrassment over his younger self that he could dig a hole in the floor with his toes.
He also remembered that this was when he started surrounding himself with different people—one batch after another.
In summary, “Eastern No. 1” was the beginning of his “downfall.”
While he was lost in thought, Wang Chuang nudged him with his elbow, bowl in hand, grinning slyly. “Hey, that girl you met there—the one who always wore that little skirt to sing—did you get her or not?”
“I saw you holding her waist last time!”
Jiang Luo replied with one sentence, and Wang Chuang almost spat noodles everywhere.
“I like men.”
Wang Chuang choked so hard he nearly snorted noodles out of his nose.
WHAT???
He was shocked.
He knew what “homosexual” meant—everyone did. Their silk factory once had a flamboyant guy who was gay, and whenever the dads at the factory yelled at their sons for being useless, they’d occasionally bring up that guy.
But homosexuals…
Back then, those people got hauled off to psychiatric hospitals for “treatment”!
“You—!”
Wang Chuang almost dropped his bowl. He glared at Jiang Luo and lowered his voice. “What nonsense are you spouting?!”
Jiang Luo wasn’t spouting nonsense. He really did like men.
In his previous life, he hadn’t known at first. Being with women simply never felt right.
Then one thing led to another, he accidentally slept with a man—and that opened a whole new world for him. Only then did he realize he was gay.
But whether he liked men or women didn’t matter at the moment.
He already knew how he’d earn his first pot of gold.
He said to Wang Chuang, “Lend me your three hundred. And see if you can get some more.”
They were close. In his last life, he’d always taken Wang Chuang along in business. There was no need to beat around the bush.
Wang didn’t understand. “What do you need that much money for? Don’t you have five hundred?”
He knew exactly how much Jiang Luo had. Their relationship was tighter than real brothers.
“Not enough.”
“How much do you need?”
“Five thousand. If not, two or three thousand works.”
Wang was stunned. “What do you need that much for?”
Three to five thousand was a lot.
A factory worker only made around three hundred a month. Even supervisors only made four or five hundred.
Two or three thousand could buy a pretty good TV.
“Don’t ask yet. I’ll tell you when the time comes,” Jiang Luo said. “I’ll find my own ways too. You help me gather some, okay?”
Wang scratched his face. “Uh… okay.”
After thinking a bit, he said, “I’ll go back to school this afternoon. I’ll ask my classmates to lend some.”
Then, “When will you pay it back?”
“One month, at most.”
“Then I should be able to borrow it. I’ll try.”
Wang Chuang left with his empty bowl, and Jiang Luo went back inside.
His home had two big rooms. One served as kitchen and dining area. The other was divided: the inner part was Zhang Xiangping and Jiang Jianmin’s bedroom; the outer half was where Jiang Luo slept.
The house was plain—just a bed, a wardrobe, a table.
They didn’t even have a bathroom. The toilet was shared by the whole floor, at the stairwell.
Bathing was done in the kitchen, in a long wooden tub with boiled water; afterward, you scooped the water out and dumped it into the sink.
Jiang Luo had no feelings for this home, nor for Zhang Xiangping and Jiang Jianmin, who’d raised him with total neglect.
They fed him, gave him a key, and that was it.
Since he’d never received care or affection here, he naturally felt nothing toward them.
He returned to his room and pulled out the five hundred yuan he’d hidden in a book.
Of course, that money wasn’t from his adoptive parents—they had never given him pocket money. When he’d asked for five or ten yuan before, Zhang Xiangping looked immediately suspicious:
“You’re just a kid. What do you need money for? Do I starve you? Do I not clothe you?”
Jiang Luo had his pride. He never asked again.
This five hundred was from Huazi, earned at Eastern No. 1.
Every time Jiang Luo fought hard and got injured, Huazi praised him and rewarded him with thirty to fifty yuan. He’d saved it up bit by bit.
Sitting on his bed, Jiang Luo counted the money, closed the book, and thought. He needed to make money soon. He couldn’t hang around Eastern No. 1 forever.
But he still needed to go.
First, because he was already part of the club. Leaving without a word would piss Huazi off.
Second, he had no other routes right now. At least Huazi’s place was an opening—a way to get some “startup capital.”
He tossed the book onto the table, stood up, didn’t even take his keys, didn’t close the door, and just left.
He didn’t even have a bicycle—he could only walk. Walk all the way to Eastern No. 1.
By the time he arrived, forty minutes had passed.
His legs were aching. He couldn’t understand how he’d walked like this before. Youth really was hot-blooded and stupid—using his legs like they were car tires.
He thought that once he had money, he’d definitely buy himself a ride.
Inside Eastern No. 1, the interior was fancy and stylish. Even the lobby had a few Roman columns, which were rare these days.
Having just been reborn, he didn’t remember this place well anymore. He glanced around and walked straight to the front desk.
“Is Brother Huazi here today?”
He didn’t remember the receptionist either.
The girl with blue eyeshadow recognized him immediately. When he approached, she smiled. “Yeah, he’s here.”
Then, “You’re early today.”
The disco officially opened at 5 p.m. Jiang Luo and the other guys usually came around six or seven, then stayed until after midnight.
He started walking inside, and the girl blinked at him. “Hey, what’s up with you today?”
?
He met her eyes. Suddenly, it clicked.
He remembered what he’d been like at this age—always chatting up young women, especially the pretty ones.
He must’ve flirted with the front-desk girl plenty of times.
Of course, later he stopped hitting on girls.
After realizing he liked men, he only flirted with men—especially handsome ones.
He was a playboy, after all. Completely normal.