People are cruel when they think no one important is watching.
That was the first lesson he relearned that morning.
The street smelled like burnt oil and steamed dough. One of those in-between hours—too late for breakfast, too early for lunch—when vendors leaned against their carts pretending not to care if anyone bought anything. The sun hadn’t fully committed yet. Neither had the city.
He crouched near the curb, shoulders slumped, coat frayed in exactly the right places. Not theatrical. Not dramatic. Just… tired-looking enough to be invisible.
“Boss,” he said softly, voice rasped thin on purpose. “Could you spare something to eat?”
A shoe stopped in front of him. Expensive leather. Polished. The kind that never touched puddles.
“Get lost,” the man snapped without even slowing down.
No eye contact. Not a flicker of hesitation.
He smiled faintly.
Next.
Another passerby. Then another. A woman wrinkled her nose as if poverty were contagious. A delivery driver muttered something under his breath. Someone laughed.
He kept his head down.
This wasn’t new. It never was. Still, every time, it surprised him a little—how quickly decency evaporated when money entered the room, even if only by its absence.
Then footsteps slowed.
Different cadence. Lighter. Uncertain.
He looked up.
She stood there holding a small paper bag, hair tied back messily, eyes clear in a way that didn’t come from privilege. More like stubborn optimism. The kind that survives despite evidence to the contrary.
She hesitated. Just a beat.
Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled bill.
“Here,” she said, crouching slightly so she was closer to his level. “Twenty yuan. Go get something warm.”
Twenty yuan.
He stared at it, then at her face.
Too kind. Too fast.
Interesting.
He took it slowly, like it meant something. Because to her, it did.
“Thank you,” he said. “You’re… very kind.”
She smiled awkwardly, already preparing to leave.
He could’ve stopped there.
Most people would.
But curiosity is a dangerous thing, and he’d always had too much of it.
“Miss,” he added, tilting his head. “Twenty isn’t enough these days. Not really. Even steamed buns cost more now.”
Her brows pulled together.
“…So?”
He shrugged. “You seem generous. Maybe two hundred?”
She blinked.
“Two hundred?” Her voice jumped an octave. “Why would I—?”
“I haven’t eaten in days,” he said quietly.
That wasn’t entirely true.
But neither was it entirely false.
She looked at him longer this time. Really looked. As if searching for some telltale sign—deceit, laziness, danger.
He let the silence stretch.
Finally, she sighed. “You’re unbelievable.”
But she reached back into her wallet anyway.
He watched her fingers tremble just a little.
That mattered.
When she handed him the extra cash, he didn’t grab it.
Instead, he stood.
Straightened his back.
Met her eyes fully.
“For that,” he said, “I owe you.”
She laughed. “You don’t owe me anything. Just don’t starve.”
“I don’t accept favors for nothing,” he replied.
Then, from inside the battered coat—the one with the torn lining and suspicious stains—he pulled out a check.
Clean. Crisp. Utterly out of place.
“Three million,” he said calmly. “You can cash it today.”
She stared.
Then laughed harder. “Okay, that’s funny.”
“It’s real.”
“Brother,” she said, shaking her head, “my cousin works in finance at Dami Technology. Only the chairman can sign checks like that.”
He smiled.
“Then maybe,” he said gently, “you should thank your luck.”
She pushed the check back at him as if it burned.
“I’m not taking this. You’re either joking or insane.”
“Suit yourself.”
He tucked it away again, as if it were pocket change. Which, to him, it was.
She watched him, unsettled now.
“…Is there anything else you want?” she asked.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, his phone vibrated.
A name flashed briefly on the cracked screen.
Secretary Li.
He ignored it.
Then he looked back at her.
“Yes,” he said. “Actually.”
Her stomach tightened. “What?”
“Be my girlfriend.”
She choked. “What?!”
“Temporarily,” he added. “Contract-based.”
She stared like she’d misheard.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably,” he agreed. “But hear me out.”
She crossed her arms. Defensive. Smart.
“My mother,” she said slowly, “is getting remarried tomorrow. She’s been pressuring me for years to bring home a boyfriend. I don’t have one.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“She won’t stop,” she continued, voice dropping. “If I go back alone again, she’ll never let it go.”
He nodded, already seeing where this was headed.
“And you,” she said, gesturing at him, “want to pretend?”
“Yes.”
“…Why you?”
She exhaled sharply. “Because no offense, but you look harmless. And honestly—” she hesitated, embarrassed “—you’ve got good features. Clean you up, put decent clothes on you, and you’ll pass.”
He raised an eyebrow. “High praise.”
“Don’t get weird.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
She hesitated again, chewing her lip.
“If you agree,” she said finally, “I’ll pay you. Ten thousand yuan per day.”
He didn’t answer right away.
Ten thousand a day.
The irony almost made him laugh.
“Deal,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” she muttered. “You’re… surprisingly agreeable.”
He smiled to himself.
If only you knew.
An hour later, steam fogged the bathroom mirror as water ran.
He stared at his reflection—really stared.
Under the grime and deliberate neglect, the man looking back didn’t resemble a beggar at all. Sharp jawline. Broad shoulders. Scars earned, not decorative. Eyes that had seen too much to ever be naïve again.
When he stepped out, towel slung low, she froze.
“Oh my god.”
He smirked. “Problem?”
“No. I mean—yes. No. I just didn’t expect…”
“Expectation is dangerous,” he said lightly.
She looked away fast. “Put clothes on. We’re late.”
They bought him new outfits. Simple. Clean. Nothing flashy.
Still, heads turned.
He noticed. She pretended not to.
In the car—well, tricycle—ride back, she laid out the rules.
“This is fake,” she said firmly. “No funny ideas.”
“Define funny.”
“No touching. No feelings. No crossing lines.”
“Understood.”
“And don’t lie too big,” she added. “Just say your family owns a small company. A few hundred thousand a year.”
He nodded.
Inside, his phone buzzed again.
This time he answered.
“Prepare a wedding gift,” he murmured. “Thirty million. From the company.”
A pause.
“Chairman,” Secretary Li said carefully, “how long do you plan to keep pretending?”
“When it stops being interesting,” he replied.
He hung up.
Across from him, she was staring out the window, unaware that the man she’d hired to fool her family controlled an empire.
He watched her quietly.
Kindness like hers was rare.
And rare things, he’d learned, were worth protecting.
Villages have memories.
They remember who borrowed rice and never returned it. Who married well. Who didn’t. Who left for the city and came back with nothing but an accent and borrowed confidence. They remember everything—especially embarrassment. Especially failure.
That’s why, the moment they stepped off the tricycle, the air shifted.
Eyes lifted. Conversations paused. A few people leaned closer to see better, pretending they weren’t staring. Someone whispered her name. Someone else laughed softly, not kindly.
Her hand tightened around his sleeve.
“Remember,” she muttered under her breath, “smile. Be polite. Don’t say anything stupid.”
He leaned in just enough for only her to hear. “Define stupid.”
She shot him a look. “Don’t test me.”
The courtyard was already full. Red banners hung crookedly. Folding tables stretched across uneven ground. Bowls clinked. Chopsticks clicked. The smell of meat and alcohol floated thick in the air.
This was her mother’s second wedding. Fifty years old. Still stubborn. Still sharp-eyed.
Still terrifying.
“There,” she whispered. “That’s her.”
Her mother stood near the entrance, hair carefully styled, face flushed with excitement and nerves. Beside her was the groom—a man with a forced smile and hands that didn’t quite know where to rest.
When her mother saw them, her expression froze.
Then sharpened.
Then—surprise.
“You came,” her mother said, eyes flicking immediately to him. Measuring. Assessing. Judging.
“Yes, Mom,” she replied. “I brought… him.”
He stepped forward smoothly, posture relaxed but respectful.
“Auntie,” he said, voice warm. “Congratulations.”
Her mother blinked.
That wasn’t what she expected.
Not from a “boyfriend” who’d arrived by tricycle.
“Well,” the woman said slowly, “you’re… tall.”
He smiled. “I try.”
A few people snorted. Someone whispered again.
He handed over a gift box. Modest on the outside. Heavy.
“Just a small token,” he said.
Her mother nodded stiffly, still uncertain. “Come in.”
The whispers grew louder as they moved inside.
“He’s good-looking.”
“But where’s the car?”
“They came by tricycle, didn’t they?”
“City people don’t do that.”
At a nearby table, a man stood abruptly.
She stiffened.
“That’s Zanlan,” she muttered. “Ignore him.”
Too late.
“Godmother!” Zanlan called loudly, stumbling forward, already flushed with drink. “Didn’t you say you’d marry her to me?”
Silence fell like a dropped plate.
Her mother frowned. “This again?”
Zanlan pointed straight at him. “Who’s this guy?”
“My boyfriend,” she said flatly.
Zanlan laughed. Loud. Ugly. “Him? You serious?”
Her grip on his sleeve tightened again.
Before she could respond, he spoke.
“Problem?” he asked calmly.
Zanlan looked him up and down. Sneered. “You don’t look rich.”
“And you don’t look sober,” he replied pleasantly.
A few people gasped. Someone choked on a peanut.
Zanlan’s face reddened. “You think you’re better than me?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t say that. You did.”
Her mother slapped the table. “Enough.”
But the seed was planted.
Questions started coming. Soft at first. Then sharper.
“What do your parents do?”
“Where’s your car?”
“Which factory?”
He answered smoothly. Too smoothly.
“Family business.”
“Automotive manufacturing.”
“Several cars at home. Just unlucky today.”
Someone scoffed. “Automotive? Which brand?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Tesha.”
The name rippled through the crowd.
Someone laughed. “You mean Dami Technology’s car brand?”
Another voice, louder: “The God Car’s company?”
Her heart dropped.
She turned to him, eyes wide.
He met her gaze, unbothered.
“Yes,” he said. “That one.”
Chaos followed.
“That’s impossible!”
“He’s lying!”
“Does he think we’re stupid?”
Her mother’s face hardened. “Enough lies.”
Zanlan sneered triumphantly. “See? I told you. Poor people love pretending.”
She panicked.
“Mom,” she blurted, “it’s true! His family—”
“Then where’s the car?” her mother snapped. “Why a tricycle?”
Before she could answer, a commotion erupted near the entrance.
A black luxury sedan sat crookedly across the narrow road, blocking everything.
A man shouted. “Whose car is this?! Move it now!”
“I’ll smash it if no one comes!”
Panic spread. This was a wedding day. Bad luck like that mattered here.
Someone pointed. “Isn’t that Mr. Keon’s car? He went up the mountain.”
The angry man cursed. “I don’t care! Move it!”
Her mother wrung her hands. “What do we do?”
Zanlan smirked. “Why doesn’t your ‘rich boyfriend’ move it?”
All eyes turned to him.
She whispered frantically, “Don’t say anything.”
Too late.
“I can move it,” he said.
Laughter exploded.
“You don’t even have the keys!”
“Yeah, move it with your mouth!”
Her mother glared at her. “Enough humiliation.”
He stepped forward anyway.
“No key needed,” he said calmly.
He walked to the car.
Paused.
Then—click.
The headlights blinked on.
Gasps.
The door unlocked.
Dead silence.
He slid into the driver’s seat as if it belonged to him. The engine purred. With precise, effortless movements, he maneuvered the car, guiding it backward in a tight arc that shouldn’t have been possible in such a narrow space.
It looked… unreal.
Applause broke out. Someone whistled.
“Flying car technique!”
“Only professionals can do that!”
Her mouth hung open.
Zanlan’s face drained of color.
He stepped out, dusted his hands.
“There,” he said. “Problem solved.”
For the first time, her mother hesitated.
“…Who are you?” she asked quietly.
Before he could answer, someone shouted again.
“He still didn’t bring gift money!”
“Yeah! Empty-handed!”
Her heart sank.
He glanced at her.
She swallowed. “We—we’ll transfer some.”
Her mother scoffed. “Twenty thousand won’t save face.”
He smiled faintly.
“Then don’t look at the number,” he said. “Look at the box.”
The gift box was opened.
Silence.
Then chaos.
Property deed.
Car keys.
A certificate.
Thirty million.
Her mother staggered.
The groom grabbed the table.
Someone whispered, “Is this real?”
Another voice shook. “It has seals… official seals…”
Her mother looked up at him, hands trembling.
“…Son-in-law?”
Zanlan screamed, “It’s fake! All fake!”
Before anyone could respond, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“Fake?”
A woman in a professional suit stepped forward.
“I work at Dami Technology,” she said coldly. “And I can assure you—this gift came directly from the chairman.”
The courtyard erupted.
Her mother’s knees buckled.
And still… some people didn’t believe.
They never do.
Not until the truth hits them in the face.
Hard.
Silence doesn’t fall all at once.
It creeps in. Hesitant. Like people are afraid that if they breathe too loudly, the truth might shatter before it finishes forming.
Thirty million sat there on the table, quiet and devastating.
No one laughed anymore.
No one scoffed.
Even the wind seemed to pause, red banners fluttering half-heartedly, unsure which way to lean.
Her mother stared at the documents as if they might bite her.
Then she looked up. Slowly. Carefully.
At him.
“You,” she said hoarsely. “Who… who are you really?”
Before he could answer, Zanlan lunged forward like a cornered animal.
“Lies!” he shouted. “All lies! You think waving fake papers makes you a rich man? I’ve seen scammers do better!”
His voice cracked. Desperate now.
“This man is a beggar! I’ve seen him! On the street!”
She flinched at the word.
Beggar.
He didn’t.
He stepped forward instead, calm in a way that unsettled people more than anger ever could.
“Yes,” he said. “I was.”
Gasps.
Her heart stopped.
Zanlan laughed wildly. “Hear that? He admitted it!”
“But,” he continued, eyes steady, voice even, “not because I had to be.”
The crowd stilled again.
“I have more money than I could spend in ten lifetimes,” he said, almost conversationally. “So much that it stopped meaning anything. Numbers blur after a while. Zeros lose their shape.”
Someone swallowed audibly.
“I wanted to know something,” he went on. “What people are like when they think nothing is at stake. No reward. No advantage. Just choice.”
His gaze drifted—over faces twisted with greed, suspicion, regret—until it landed on her.
“She gave me twenty yuan,” he said softly. “When she didn’t have to.”
Her breath caught.
“That told me more than any resume ever could.”
Her mother staggered back into a chair.
Zanlan shook his head violently. “You’re insane. You think we’ll believe this fairytale?”
At that moment, a line of black cars rolled to a stop outside the courtyard.
Perfectly aligned. Engines humming low.
Doors opened.
Men in tailored suits stepped out. Confident. Efficient. The kind of people who didn’t look around to see if they belonged—because they always did.
One of them hurried forward, bowing slightly.
“Chairman,” he said, voice carrying clearly, “we apologize for arriving late.”
The word hit like thunder.
Chairman.
Her mother’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
Zanlan stumbled back as if struck.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no…”
Another man stepped up, holding a tablet. “The transfer has been confirmed. The property deed and vehicle registration are valid.”
Someone dropped a bowl. It shattered.
The groom wiped sweat from his forehead.
Her mother finally found her voice.
“…God Car?” she whispered.
He nodded once.
“I never hid it,” he said. “You just never believed it.”
Zanlan collapsed to his knees.
Her sister—who had been smirking earlier, arms crossed in judgment—went pale.
“You,” she stammered, pointing. “You were my ex—”
“Yes,” he replied coolly. “And you dumped me because I didn’t look ‘useful.’”
She shrank back.
He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.
“You were right,” he added. “I wasn’t useful. To you.”
Her brother-in-law tried to speak. Failed.
“Anyone who insulted her,” he said quietly, “owes her an apology.”
No one argued.
Apologies came fast then. Messy. Too late.
Her mother stood slowly, eyes wet.
“I… I was wrong,” she said. “I judged you.”
He nodded. “You did.”
Then he turned to her.
The noise faded. Everything else did too.
“When everyone doubted me,” he said, voice softer now, stripped of edge, “you stood there. Even when it hurt. Even when it cost you.”
She shook her head, overwhelmed. “I just… I knew you weren’t lying.”
He smiled. A real one this time.
“I think,” he said, “I fell in love with you somewhere between twenty yuan and the way you refused to let them break me.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
He took her hand.
“This time,” he said gently, “not a contract.”
Zanlan tried to shout again. “She’s too good for you!”
The room snapped.
One of the suited men stepped forward. “Insult our chairman again, and we’ll see you in court.”
Zanlan crumpled.
She looked at him—really looked—and laughed through tears.
“You know,” she said softly, “I hired you to fool my mom.”
“And I,” he replied, “went out pretending to be nothing.”
They stood there, surrounded by the wreckage of assumptions, pride, and small-minded cruelty.
Funny thing was—
None of it mattered anymore.
Because kindness had won.
Not loudly.
Not cleanly.
But completely.
—END—
