Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Wei Ying wiped sweat from his brow, the scent of burnt coffee and fried dough clinging to his clothes. His shift at the 24-hour diner was almost over, the seventh in a long stretch of sleepless days and aching feet. He rubbed his sore wrists and looked out at the empty booths bathed in the dim orange hue of pre-dawn light. Outside, the world was still cloaked in the gentle haze of night, broken only by the soft hum of passing cars and the occasional shuffle of the early morning drunkards stumbling home.
He pulled out a worn leather wallet from his apron pocket. Inside, folded meticulously, were crumpled bills and a small piece of paper—his savings tally. \$48,327. That’s how much he had managed to save over the past four years. Scrubbing tables, delivering groceries, tutoring spoiled kids, bussing tables, and working at warehouses—every dollar had a story. This wasn’t just money. It was his freedom, his future, the promise he had made to his grandmother on her deathbed.
She stroked his hair and whispered, "No matter how the world treats you, A-Ying, you will be brilliant. This is your seed fund. Your wings. Go fly."
That memory alone kept him going, even on nights when the tips were low and his shoes soaked through with snow. He folded the paper back into his wallet and zipped up his hoodie. It was time to head to his next job.
The Villa was silent when he slipped inside. Jiang Yanli was still asleep, curled up on the living room couch. She had given him a soft smile the night before, bringing him a bowl of soup, the only person who showed him any kindness in the Jiang family. Her hands were always trembling these days, her own spirit fading under the weight of unspoken guilt.
Wei Ying moved past her carefully, toward the small corner of the living room that doubled as his room just a mattress, a milk crate, and a curtain rod where he hung his few clothes. It wasn't much, but it was his. He bent down to check the old metal box where he kept his bank statements and savings records. He flipped through the envelopes, frowning when he saw an unfamiliar withdrawal notice. Then another. And another.
His breath caught in his throat. The balance on his account read: \$0.63.
He blinked. Then blinked again. No. This couldn’t be right.
With trembling hands, he sat down, pulling up the bank app on his phone. He scrolled through the transactions, each one hitting like a punch to the gut—\$8,000 for a European cruise. \$12,000 for a Lexus. \$5,500 wired directly to "Lotus Blue Studios"Jiang Cheng’s music brand.
“No. No. No…” Wei Ying whispered, the world around him blurring.
His heart pounded in his ears. His hands shook as he got up, stormed into the hallway, and banged on the master bedroom door. Jiang Fengmian opened it groggily, his salt-and-pepper hair tousled. Madame Yu stood behind him, arms folded, eyes sharp.
"You stole my money!" Wei Ying shouted. “All of it! My college fund, my savings, everything!”
Jiang Fengmian looked uncomfortable, but it was Yu Ziyuan who stepped forward with a scoff. “You should be grateful we kept a roof over your head, boy. Do you think food, school, and shelter come free?”
“That money was left to me by my grandmother. It wasn’t yours to take!”
Jiang Cheng appeared in the hallway, frowning. “Stop being so dramatic. It’s not like you were going to get into any real college anyway.”
Wei Ying’s hands clenched into fists. “You used it to fund your trashy studio and your stupid car!”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed. “I earned everything I have.”
“On stolen money?!”
“That money kept this family afloat!” Madame Yu snapped. “You should be thanking us.”
“You’re not my family,” Wei Ying hissed, his voice low, dangerous. “You’ve never been.”
Jiang Fengmian stepped forward, placing a hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder. “We did what we thought was best for everyone.”
Wei Ying jerked away from his touch like it burned. “You did what was best for Jiang Cheng. Always. I was just a burden to you.”
He stormed back into his corner, shoving his few belongings into his backpack. Tears blurred his vision, but his face remained stone cold.
That night, he wandered the city streets. The cold nipped at his skin, but he barely noticed. He walked past luxury hotels and glowing billboards, past couples laughing in cafes, until he reached the edge of Lotus Pier’s upper-class district.
He looked up at a towering building with gold-lined windows. A poster stretched across the entire side—Lan Wangji in black and white, holding a violin, eyes intense, lips poised to speak but never moving.
Jiang Cheng had been obsessed with Lan Wangji for years. Posters, music, every livestream. He always talked about how Wangji was the pinnacle talent, grace, money, class. The untouchable dream.
Wei Ying stared at the image, a dark plan blooming in his mind.
“Let’s see what happens when I take the one thing Jiang Cheng wants more than anything else,” he whispered.
He turned around, eyes blazing.
Let the game begin.
Wei Ying sat in the dingy corner of a late-night internet café, the glow of the monitor painting his face in blue light. His jaw was tense, his lips pressed into a thin, bitter line as he typed “Lan Wangji” into the search bar for the hundredth time. He’d spent the last three nights digging interviews, articles, performance clips, fan sites, business records, and forums. It was all the same.
Lan Wangji. Silent prodigy. Second heir to the Lan Holdings empire. World renowned violinist. Stoic, elegant, brilliant. And completely unattainable.
Wei Ying slumped back in his chair, exhaling sharply. The more he read, the more frustrated he felt. Wangji didn’t party. Didn’t date. Didn’t even speak unnecessarily. He moved like he belonged to another world one built of marble and crystal and absolute silence.
He hated how Jiang Cheng worshiped him. How every other word out of his mouth was about Lan Wangji.
"He’s so disciplined, so powerful. No one compares."
That stupid crush. That unattainable dream. Wei Ying would make it real then break it.
But underneath the vengeance and adrenaline, a strange sadness coiled in his chest.
He had wanted so little from the Jiangs. A little love. A little respect. A place to belong. And now, even the last thing tying him to his grandmother was gone. That money, those years of suffering, it had all been for nothing.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the sting of hot tears. He hated crying. It made him feel weak, and he couldn't afford to be weak anymore. Not if he wanted to win.
“I’m not just going to take your crush, Jiang Cheng,” he murmured, staring at the image of Lan Wangji in a pressed black suit. “I’m going to make him love me. And then I’ll destroy you with it.”
With new resolve, Wei Ying pulled up the charity gala announcement that Lan Holdings was sponsoring in downtown Yunmeng. A classical music benefit for children's hospitals. The event was private, exclusive. But they needed staff. Assistants, caterers, stage crew.
He crafted a fake identity—Wei Ying ( Not Wei Wuxian). Invented a résumé. Added glowing recommendations from elite conservatories and prestigious music academies. Hacked a scheduling database and slid his name into the assistant roster.
He looked at his own reflection in the monitor dark circles under haunted eyes, face drawn tight with stress and hate.
“I’ll be perfect,” he whispered. “I’ll be exactly the kind of person Lan Wangji can’t ignore.”
And when Jiang Cheng found out he’d scream. He’d break.
And Wei Ying would smile, finally feeling like something close to justice.
But even as he clicked 'submit,' something in his chest ached. A voice, small and fragile, that sounded like his grandmother.
“This isn’t who you are, A-Ying.”
He shook it off.
It didn’t matter who he used to be.
From now on, he would be whatever it took to win.
Lan Wangji, the cold, distant heir of the Lan clan—he would be his target.
And Wei Ying would be the beautiful, dangerous lie he couldn’t resist.