Jiang Chen slept deeply, not waking until the next morning. The bedroom curtains blocked the sunlight, making the room dim and giving the impression it was still early.

But when he checked his phone, it was already eight o’clock.

Jiang Chen rolled out of bed, still in yesterday’s clothes, though his jacket had been removed, and a thin blanket draped over him. The air conditioning was set to a comfortable temperature, ensuring he neither woke from cold nor heat.

He’d fallen asleep on the sofa last night, and someone had moved him to the bed. His memory was fuzzy, but he vaguely recalled someone soothing him in his sleep, gentle and comforting.

Yawning, Jiang Chen got up, thinking he must be losing it. The villa only had him and Lu Chiyuan—could Lu Chiyuan have been the one comforting him?

What kind of pipe dream was that?

He went to the bathroom to wash up, looking for a bathrobe in the closet. His clothes were already hanging inside. Since they were working from home, Uncle Lin had prepared casual, comfortable attire.

If he remembered correctly, Uncle Lin had delivered the clothes in bags, which Jiang Chen had placed in the closet without unpacking.

“Snowball, who brought me upstairs last night?” Jiang Chen asked, mumbling through a mouthful of toothpaste.

Snowball hopped onto the sink: [It was Lu Chiyuan!]

Jiang Chen thought of Lu Chiyuan’s physique—broad shoulders, narrow waist, shaped by regular exercise. Even ordinary clothes looked sharp on him.

Jiang Chen didn’t doubt he could carry him, but wouldn’t a normal person just wake him up?

“He didn’t find it troublesome?”

As the boss, there was no need to go to such lengths.

Jiang Chen couldn’t picture the scene.

Lu Chiyuan carrying him upstairs, taking off his jacket, covering him with a blanket, and organizing his closet, unpacking and hanging his clothes.

Even friends wouldn’t go that far.

Such natural, tender care felt more like the intimacy of lovers.

Lu Chiyuan’s actions were steeped in a sense of incongruity.

Snowball, licking its paws, surprisingly didn’t respond.

After his shower, Jiang Chen dressed. His phone on the nightstand pinged twice. He picked it up—it was a message from Lu Chiyuan.

Lu Chiyuan: [Breakfast is in the kitchen.]

Jiang Chen wandered downstairs but didn’t see Lu Chiyuan. In the kitchen, the counter was still spotless, but unlike yesterday, the sealed pots, pans, and dishes had been opened. On the dining table was a prepared breakfast.

Milk and a sandwich.

Jiang Chen took a bite of the sandwich—egg and bacon, quite tasty. He hadn’t expected a chef to come so early.

He quickly finished breakfast and washed the cup and plate.

During this time, Lu Chiyuan didn’t appear. The villa was quiet.

Unsure if he was out or working, Jiang Chen messaged him.

Lu Chiyuan: [Attic.]

Jiang Chen looked up. Yesterday, he’d only noticed the second-floor balcony, not realizing there was a separate attic above the third floor.

The attic was small but well-lit. Xu Chen had turned it into a cozy lounge area, with wine cabinets built into the walls, though they held no wine.

Lu Chiyuan sat by the window in casual clothes, a laptop on his knees, working even in this setting.

The attic’s soft light fell on him, and the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose glinted with a cold, metallic sheen, lending him an air of restrained allure.

[Wow, Baby’s unlocked a new look today.]

Snowball gushed with admiration. Jiang Chen’s eyes flickered with awe, but he didn’t play along with Snowball’s hype.

[As a worker, my boss is working while I’m sleeping? Talk about flipping the natural order.]

Jiang Chen gave a wry smile. He wasn’t an ambitious go-getter who’d seize this chance to butter up the boss, but he also wasn’t so careless as to lack discipline or perspective.

Lu Chiyuan paused his work and looked at him. “How was breakfast?”

Jiang Chen praised, “Pretty good. The chef’s skilled.”

Lu Chiyuan froze, then chuckled ambiguously. “Is that so?”

Jiang Chen was confused. Snowball chimed in: [Host, is it possible there’s only you and Lu Chiyuan in this house?]

Jiang Chen: [Huh? Oh!]

Now that was truly flipping the natural order—he’d eaten a breakfast made by Lu Chiyuan.

Was Lu Chiyuan asking about the taste? No, he was clearly asking how Jiang Chen could sleep so soundly!

Jiang Chen wondered if he’d been cursed with some instant-sleep spell since transmigrating. He’d slept like a log.

“Brother Lu, I don’t usually sleep in like this. I’m normally up on time,” Jiang Chen hurriedly explained, not wanting to ruin the original body’s job.

Lu Chiyuan said, “It’s Saturday, a rest day.”

The company had weekends off, and it was after hours. Jiang Chen could sleep late—or all day—and it wouldn’t matter.

Lu Chiyuan wasn’t subtly shading him. If he were truly displeased, he wouldn’t have bothered preparing Jiang Chen’s breakfast.

He wasn’t a masochist.

Realizing his mistake, Jiang Chen scratched his head sheepishly and changed the subject. “Brother Lu’s working this early?”

“Not really.” Lu Chiyuan set his laptop on the table, inviting Jiang Chen. “Want to kill some time?”

Jiang Chen walked over. Lu Chiyuan’s laptop was playing a movie with dark tones, eerie music, and shaky camera work—like a low-budget horror flick.

Jiang Chen glanced at it, surprised.

[Brother Lu likes this kind of movie? Wouldn’t have guessed.]

Lu Chiyuan had more than one film queued up, but none were great. Though labeled as horror, they leaned on sleazy gimmicks, with scare tactics relying on characters’ over-the-top screaming, leaving no sense of anticipation.

Jiang Chen’s brows furrowed, his expression conflicted, repeatedly holding back comments.

[This is impressively bad. Poor Brother Lu, collecting this trash and watching it all at once.]

[This script shouldn’t brag about being a big production mid-movie. I could scatter rice on a keyboard, and a chicken would write better.]

[The actress is stunning, but the actor just needs to be alive.]

[Even kindergarteners act better than you. Don’t pout when you cry!]

Jiang Chen couldn’t help ranting internally. Watching this garbage at normal speed was blinding.

What made him sit down? Would leaving now seem too deliberate?

He stole a glance at Lu Chiyuan, who watched intently. Even with the cheesy, stiff praise slapped in their faces, he showed no impatience.

Noticing Jiang Chen’s gaze, he met his eyes before Jiang Chen could look away. “Boring?”

Caught daydreaming, Jiang Chen gave an awkward laugh and lied, “No… it’s alright.”

Lu Chiyuan leaned back, removed his glasses, and rubbed his temples. “Speak your mind. If you genuinely think this is good, I’d question your taste.”

Lu Chiyuan didn’t want flattery or agreement.

He chose Jiang Chen because he could hear his hidden thoughts, seeing another side of him.

Sensing Lu Chiyuan’s dislike, Jiang Chen was surprised. “If you think it’s bad, why watch so long?”

He’d thought Lu Chiyuan’s taste was just that unique.

Lu Chiyuan said, “For investment. But now I feel my money’s sunk without even a splash.”

Huanyu Group had diverse ventures, including entertainment. Lu Chiyuan held shares in several entertainment and media companies, but since it wasn’t a core focus, he rarely oversaw them.

When Jiang Chen mentioned Ling Qi, he got the idea to expand into entertainment, so he reviewed the works of his companies.

What he saw was a disaster—what had his money funded?

Jiang Chen understood, glancing at the laptop. He realized it wasn’t just one window—Lu Chiyuan had been slogging through this pile of awful films all morning.

[What a warrior, facing this trash and still calmly considering investment directions. No wonder you’re the CEO—you’re incredible.]

Jiang Chen mentally gave Lu Chiyuan a thumbs-up. He could barely stomach watching a fraction of it.

“The film industry’s declining. Good writers, directors, and actors are hard to find. But with marketing, that’s not an issue.”

“Marketing can turn trash into a masterpiece?” Lu Chiyuan found it amusing.

Jiang Chen said, “That’s just basic strategy.”

[A few years later, the male lead masters this game. Mediocre dramas get hyped to the heavens, manufactured idols swap daily like a factory line, slapped with a label and sold, and people still buy it.]

Lu Chiyuan raised an eyebrow, wiping his glasses before glancing back at the chaotic movie on his laptop. The shaky camera work lacked any aesthetic appeal, and such productions would become commonplace in the future?

“High investment, low returns, yet people keep pouring money into it—is this investing or money laundering?”

Lu Chiyuan put his glasses back on, his slightly blue eyes glinting vividly in the morning light as he looked at Jiang Chen through the lenses.

[He’s spot on. How else would the male lead’s shady businesses move funds if not through laundering?]

Jiang Chen was surprised by Lu Chiyuan’s sharpness. The author had justified the male lead’s gray industry by using entertainment as a cover, attempting to craft an era of information networks driven by entertainment overload.

Jiang Chen gave a wry smile. “Bad money drives out good. When inferior products become wildly popular, capital controls the narrative, and public opinion tilts in their favor. Who cares about quality then?”

Jiang Chen felt little about this predictable trend. Perhaps because reality was regressing too, entertainment had long been capital’s playground.

Looking into Jiang Chen’s eyes, Lu Chiyuan saw not indifference but a mocking resignation, as if he held no hope.

To Jiang Chen, the game was rigged—how it was played didn’t matter.

But to Lu Chiyuan, no one could be the winner forever.

If the entertainment industry was to become Gu Tingsen’s domain, Lu Chiyuan would claim a share now.

“Let’s work overtime this weekend and discuss the current state of entertainment…”

“Crash, bang…”

Lu Chiyuan closed the browser, opened a folder, but before he could finish, loud noises came from outside.

Jiang Chen stood up first, heading to the window to look out.

The attic offered a clear view of Shen Zhiyi’s villa. A dusty gray car had smashed through the villa’s iron gate. Several people got out, metal pipes tucked at their waists, and barged in without hesitation.

Jiang Chen was startled and about to turn back when Lu Chiyuan joined him.

“They’re here early,” Lu Chiyuan said calmly, as if everything was within his expectations.

Jiang Chen was confused. What plot had he missed?

Lu Chiyuan explained, “Shen Zhiyi’s aunt stole the villa’s jewelry. When she tried to sell it, she couldn’t provide proof of ownership, so the shop clerk called the police, and she was taken in for questioning. Her family got the news and came for Shen Zhiyi.”

His voice was calm, as if discussing something unrelated to him.

Jiang Chen wasn’t naive enough to think it truly had nothing to do with him. Had Lu Chiyuan stayed here last night, moving into Xu Chen’s villa, because he foresaw this?

“Should we go over?” Jiang Chen asked.

Lu Chiyuan adjusted his glasses, a cold smirk crossing his lips. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat first.”

He’d stationed people around the villa—Shen Zhiyi wasn’t in danger.

Since she thought the Shen family was harmless, let her see how terrifying malice and greed could be.

Words don’t teach; experiences do—once is enough.