TLDMDTBS Chapter 1

The news reported that the capital city will experience the hottest summer in nearly 50 years starting this month.

In the old, cramped little room without air conditioning, the fierce sun baked it into a living sauna, making the air feel thin and stifling.

Ji Ruan was awakened by the vibration of his phone. He opened his eyes but had no intention of answering the call, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It still hadn’t changed.

The cramped room of less than five square meters had yellowed, peeling walls, a wooden door with a calendar from who knows what year taped to it, its edges severely damaged and faded, drooping down after being stuck to the hot air for too long.

Ji Ruan lay in bed, the mattress beneath him hot enough to catch fire, and the sticky humidity all over his body forced him to admit that he had indeed transmigrated into the book.

He had become a pitiful character in a melodramatic story about an omega who entered a contractual marriage with an alpha, getting tortured both mentally and physically.

He couldn’t remember the title of the book, only that the protagonist shared the same name as him, and the alpha he entered into a contractual marriage with was surnamed Gu, named Gu Xiuyi.

Ji Ruan had spent the last two years of his life bedridden, almost completely isolated from the outside world. His only joy came from listening to his cousin recount various melodramatic novels.

One of those had a protagonist who shared his name, and at the time, his cousin teased that his name sounded like that of a submissive character, saying that in traditional melodramas, powerful CEOs always had the surname Gu, while weak characters had names that included Ruan.

At that time, Ji Ruan had still had some strength left, propping himself up to give her a playful swat on the back of the head, and she huffed in mock indignation, cursing him for his transmigration.

Who would have thought it would come true?

After Ji Ruan died, he really did transmigrate.

Although he had only lived for a brief 20 years, Ji Ruan came from a well-off family and had never lived in such a shabby little room, nor had he ever experienced waking up in the summer heat that felt like a sauna.

The excessive heat made Ji Ruan’s mind feel sluggish. The phone beside him vibrated incessantly, and he mechanically reached over to check.

——Song Tezhu.

Gu Xiuyi’s most capable assistant, in his memory, was the one who facilitated the signing of the marriage agreement, always leading the lawyer to communicate with Ji Ruan, while the main character, CEO Gu, never showed his face even once.

The phone was an old model, having been used countless times. The touchscreen was unresponsive, and Ji Ruan pressed it repeatedly before finally managing to hang up.

After that, several WeChat messages popped up.

[Mr. Ji, are you ready? I’m on my way to pick you up.]

[I’ll arrive in about 20 minutes.]

Ji Ruan stared at the screen for two seconds before remembering that he was being taken to Gu Xiuyi’s house.

Although Ji Ruan had access to the memories of his original character, he didn’t have everything—only related plot points would activate them, as if the world in the book was also being lazy, neglecting to provide any missing information.

He and Gu Xiuyi were in a contractual marriage, which meant that after being taken to Gu Xiuyi’s house, he would soon be getting a marriage certificate with this man he had never met before.

Ji Ruan’s fingertips trembled slightly as he held his phone.

In the end, he picked up the sealed agreement at the foot of his bed, quickly flipping through it. Even though Ji Ruan had once come from a wealthy family, seeing the zeros following the number he could receive once the agreement expired widened his eyes in astonishment.

After a moment, Ji Ruan composed himself and typed back.

[I’m ready, thank you.]

Song Tezhu replied with a big smiley emoji.

Putting down the phone, Ji Ruan exhaled deeply. The thin T-shirt he wore, soaked through after a night in the heat, felt damp and crumpled against his skin. He pulled at the neck of it disdainfully and got up to head toward the bathroom.

The bathroom door slammed shut, and within two seconds of the shower turning on, it swung open again. Ji Ruan, slightly flustered, stepped out barefoot, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the tiled floor.

He took a small item off his right ear, black, perfectly shaped to fit the outline behind his ear.

Ji Ruan wrapped the small item in two napkins, pressed it down, and then placed it back behind his ear, concentrating for a few seconds. The slight tension in his shoulders and back loosened, and he took the small item off again, placing it on the table before finally stepping into the bathroom.

He was hearing impaired.

One ear had damaged hearing, and the other was almost completely deaf. He relied on the cochlear implant he had received in childhood to get by.

Part of the cochlear implant was embedded in the skin behind his ear, while the other part was an external device worn behind the ear. When it was on, he could hear; when it was off, it was like being deaf.

This delicate piece of equipment was both expensive and fragile; it couldn’t be bumped or wet. Ji Ruan was still getting accustomed to this new body, and he had carelessly worn it into the shower.

His body’s reflexes told him that this little piece was precious, and the moment water splashed on it, his heart raced. He hurriedly pulled back, nearly slipping and getting a fright.

Hot water cascaded down, enveloping Ji Ruan. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face, silently reminding himself not to fall or get wet, and to take good care of his little ear. After all, his ability to hear depended on this seemingly insignificant little thing.

Song Tezhu had said he would arrive in 20 minutes. Ji Ruan didn’t waste time, taking a quick shower before stepping out.

In the world without the cochlear implant, there was complete silence; even the sound of the hairdryer was vague. It felt as if a stone were blocked in his ear—tight but not completely sealed—allowing some muffled noises to seeping through. But those faint sounds only made what he could hear seem distorted and strange, barely helpful at all.

The entirely unfamiliar sensation made Ji Ruan’s back tingle. He quickened the pace of drying his hair, but when his fingers brushed against the back of his ear, it felt like an electric shock, making him flinch.

Ji Ruan stood there in a daze, his chest heaving slightly. After a while, he raised a hand to touch the skin behind his right ear again.

It felt hard, the round shape of the implant distinctly clear beneath his fingertips.

——It was the cochlear implant embedded in his flesh.

The original character had relatively long hair, hanging down past the tips of his ears. Normally, even that small black external device would be covered by hair, making him look no different from a regular person.

Ji Ruan hadn’t expected it to feel so obvious to the touch.

A strange device had merged into his flesh, rooting in his bones and blood. It was only at this moment that Ji Ruan truly realized he was in a new body, having arrived in another world.

Ji Ruan put down the hairdryer and wiped the mirror. The fogged-up surface suddenly cleared, reflecting the face of a young boy.

It looked exactly like Ji Ruan’s original appearance.

To be precise, it looked exactly like the 18-year-old Ji Ruan.

When he was diagnosed with a terminal illness at 18, his health rapidly declined, and by the time he reached 20, his family had long since stopped letting him look in mirrors.

Ji Ruan could guess that he must have looked quite unwell back then—lying in a hospital bed, all hooked up to tubes, his appearance lifeless and emaciated.

But the boy in the mirror now, though slightly malnourished, had plump cheeks and bright eyes, reflecting Ji Ruan’s most vibrant self.

Ji Ruan felt a warmth in his eyes. Even though he had transmigrated, it seemed as if heaven had given him another chance at life.

Returning to the small room, Ji Ruan noticed a small silver suitcase standing by the desk, filled with the things the original character had packed to take away, which amounted to just this little bit.

A blue plush toy was hooked onto the suitcase’s handle. Ji Ruan glanced at it; it was the mascot of Jing Da, and the suitcase also bore the university’s emblem.

The background of the original character’s persona was that of a poor but resilient little flower, with excellent academic performance and being recommended to Jing Da’s Chinese department.

Ji Ruan had once been accepted to such a prestigious university as well, but due to illness, he was unable to enroll.

He sat down on the floor, leaning over the suitcase, resting his head on his arms. By looking out through the small window, he could see the towering trees outside.

This was a very old neighborhood, with trees that had grown thick and strong over the years, the green leaves drooping under the scorching sun. The sound of cicadas should have been deafening, but it twisted a bit as it entered his ears.

Ji Ruan closed his eyes, resting his forehead against his hand.

Having impaired hearing wasn’t too much of a problem as long as he could live.

This time, he wanted to live a little more easily, a little more happily…

Ji Ruan thought aimlessly, but after sitting for only a little while, the tiles beneath him seemed to start heating up.

It was too hot.

Ji Ruan felt like he couldn’t breathe, his head spinning. Following memory, he groped through the drawer for a bottle of Huoxiang Zhengqi water, inserting a straw to drink.

Just as he took a sip, his phone began to vibrate, and he heard a knock at the door. Ji Ruan got up to open it, seeing the familiar face of Song Tezhu.

They always wore suits in the office, and today was no exception. However, perhaps because climbing the stairs was too hot, Song Tezhu had removed his jacket, and a small patch of his shirt collar was soaked.

Ji Ruan froze for a moment, pulling out a couple of napkins to hand to him. “I don’t have an elevator here; thank you for coming all the way up.”

Song Tezhu, well-mannered, took the tissue with a smile and said, “It’s part of my job.”

On such a hot day, Ji Ruan of course wouldn’t invite him into his sauna-like room for tea. He nodded at Song Tezhu and promptly went back to grab the suitcase.

Song Tezhu observed Ji Ruan’s back. The boy wore worn-out T-shirts and shorts, lived in a bare room, and had never experienced a good life, yet his skin was still fair and translucent.

During the signing of the agreement, they had all been seated, and this was the first time Song Tezhu noticed the way Ji Ruan walked—graceful without trying, unlike the timid and cautious description in the资料上, instead possessing a relaxed naturalness that conflicted with the shabby little room.

Song Tezhu inexplicably thought that when his boss took Ji Ruan away, it was like pulling a white radish out of a mire, bringing it home to wash and discovering it was a piece of mutton fat jade.

The car stopped downstairs, and when Ji Ruan got in, he felt a chill from the air conditioning that gave him goosebumps. At least it finally felt cool, and even his heat-induced headache eased a bit.

The high-end black sedan drove Ji Ruan away from the rundown neighborhood, weaving through the steel and concrete city, eventually arriving at a villa district in the western part of the city.

This place was worlds apart from where the original character lived. Surrounded by green trees, the road was impeccably clean, and the detached villas stood at varying distances from one another, ensuring ample privacy.

The car drove deep into the property before stopping, this was a new affluent area with uniquely designed villas; the one in front of him was particularly distinctive.

——It had no sharp edges.

All the sharp corners required in a normal building were replaced by smooth curves, presenting a gray-white appearance. A gray staircase extended from the open-air balcony on the left side of the second floor, perfectly curving down into the backyard.

Set against the greenery, the entire villa looked like a shimmering gray moonstone.

“Behind is an open-air swimming pool,” Song Tezhu said, following Ji Ruan’s gaze. “If you’re on the second floor, it’ll be much closer to go down from there.”

The sunlight was scorching. Ji Ruan stood for a while, feeling his cheeks flush and his lips dry.

Song Tezhu opened an umbrella, quickening his pace to lead Ji Ruan across the meticulously trimmed lawn toward the entrance.

In fact, they could have gone through the side door into the underground garage and taken the internal elevator up, avoiding the sun altogether.

But Gu Xiuyi had specifically instructed to let Ji Ruan enter through the front door.

Song Tezhu did not understand why, for a marriage based on no emotional foundation, they still had to follow the ancient wedding rituals, making his unseen little wife walk through the front door and suffer in the heat unnecessarily.

But CEO Gu always insisted on these details.

The interior of the villa was styled to complete uniformity with the exterior, featuring a cold, minimalist design with no unnecessary decorations.

A friendly-looking woman in her fifties stood at the entrance. Song Tezhu introduced her, “This is Aunt Zhao. She has been taking care of Mr. Gu and is now responsible for your day-to-day needs.”

Those around Gu Xiuyi were well-mannered. Aunt Zhao greeted Ji Ruan with a warm smile, “Mr. Ji.”

This body was only eighteen years old; even when Ji Ruan had died, he was merely twenty. Being addressed as “Mr.” by an elder made him feel somewhat awkward.

He touched his nose and smiled. “Aunt Zhao, you can just call me Xiao Ruan.”

Aunt Zhao, hearing this, didn’t refuse and smiled back. “Ah, right, this is Mr. Gu’s cat, named Xiao An.”

As she spoke, she affectionately rubbed the head of the large cat by her leg. It was a giant light silver Maine Coon, sitting close to the level of Aunt Zhao’s knee, making Ji Ruan nearly mistake it for a medium-sized dog at first glance.

Xiao An looked both fierce and noble. Under Aunt Zhao’s guidance, it only brushed against Ji Ruan’s calf symbolically before sauntering off.

Aunt Zhao chuckled at the large cat and led Ji Ruan upstairs to see his room.

Frankly speaking, Gu Xiuyi had not mistreated this marital partner—his room was very spacious, well-lit, and equipped with a dressing room and bathroom. Just the dressing room alone was already larger than Ji Ruan’s entire little room.

It had been specially decorated, with a style that starkly contrasted the villa’s cold minimalist aesthetic—very—Ji Ruan looked around and couldn’t help but smile—cartoonish.

On the bed were two large stuffed bears, and the floor was covered with a khaki plush carpet. Even the fabric curtains were printed with silly cartoon bears, and there was an amusing Q-version lucky cat on the desk.

Seeing Ji Ruan’s silence, Song Tezhu couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward.

At the time, Gu Xiuyi had instructed him to make the room a bit cozier, and when he briefed the decorating company, he added: the room’s owner is young, so colors should be lively.

He didn’t expect the final result to resemble a children’s room so closely.

Clearing his throat, Song Tezhu maintained a straight face and deflected: “Mr. Gu hopes you’ll feel comfortable living here and specifically requested a warm style for the room.”

Ji Ruan’s delicate fingers played with the paw of the lucky cat, and for some reason, a soft smile appeared at the corner of his lips. “Thank you, I really like it.”

·

Three days later, in the car.

The man in the back seat was lazily resting with his eyes slightly closed, his tall figure concealed in the shadows.

The driver, Song Tezhu, turned his head for a glance, knowing he wasn’t asleep, and reported in a low voice, “Madam knows you’re getting married and seems a bit anxious.”

The dim light outside cast shadows on the man’s cold lips. Gu Xiuyi’s expression remained unchanged, and even the fingers resting on his thigh showed no sign of stopping as he said blandly, “When can she be calm? I would have to think higher of her.”

Hearing this, Song Tezhu pursed his lips and stopped talking.

After a moment, Gu Xiuyi’s deep voice came from the back seat. “Ji Ruan, what do you think of him?”

What the heck?

The question was too broad.

Song Tezhu nodded. Ji Ruan was one of the many impoverished students funded by Gu Xiuyi; hearing impaired, physically weak, and orphaned, yet he excelled academically.

Gu Xiuyi disliked all troublesome and tedious matters. Even when choosing a marriage partner, he delegated the task to his subordinates, processing it like choosing an employee, screening resumes layer by layer, leaving out any human warmth.

And Ji Ruan, being both outstanding yet frail, with no relatives to worry about, was the perfect candidate.

Song Tezhu hesitated for a moment, carefully responding, “He’s very quiet, speaks little, and doesn’t meddle during these three days at home. He says thank you to Aunt Zhao before meals and gently pushes his chair back after eating. He wipes his mouth from left to right…”

Gu Xiuyi frowned.

Song Tezhu paused, “…What’s wrong?”

Gu Xiuyi rubbed his brow, “No need for such details.”

He couldn’t care less about whether his future partner wiped his mouth from left to right or right to left.

Song Tezhu gasped, awkwardly saying, “Understood.”

Gu Xiuyi dropped his hand, “Anything else?”

After thinking for a moment, Song Tezhu replied, “Oh, by the way, yesterday morning Mr. Ji changed his bed, saying… he wasn’t sleeping well.”

Just a bed change shouldn’t count as a major issue. Gu Xiuyi didn’t ask, and Song Tezhu, not recalling anything important, likely deemed it unworthy of concern.

Sure enough, Gu Xiuyi closed his eyes again, apparently not putting much thought into it.

Song Tezhu glanced ahead and asked, “Are we almost there? Should I contact them in advance?”

“No need, just go straight in.”

The villa’s first floor had an open kitchen. As Gu Xiuyi stepped out of the elevator, he caught a whiff of green bean soup wafting through the air. Aunt Zhao was about to start dinner.

Xiao An, with its tall and sturdy stature, was particularly affectionate with familiar faces and bumped against Gu Xiuyi’s pants.

Gu Xiuyi scratched the big cat’s head, took off his suit jacket, and handed it to Aunt Zhao, scanning the living room while casually asking, “Where is he?”

Aunt Zhao immediately understood, taking the jacket and saying, “He was napping in his room earlier; he’s probably awake now.”

Gu Xiuyi nodded, his expression unreadable as he washed his hands by the counter, “Is he easy to get along with?”

Aunt Zhao had been responsible for Gu Xiuyi since he was ten years old, so their relationship was close. She answered simply, “That boy is very well-behaved, but I think his health is a bit weak. He might have been quite hot a few days ago, and his appetite hasn’t been good lately. He prefers to eat fruits.”

Laughing a bit, she added, “But he is very serious about his meals; he seems to like my cooking.”

Aunt Zhao was an excellent cook and was happiest when others enjoyed her food.

Gu Xiuyi smiled slightly, drying his hands, “I’ll go check on him.”

“Okay.”

As soon as Song Tezhu saw the boss turn around, he quickly stuffed a piece of apple, cut by Aunt Zhao, into his mouth, quietly following behind.

Gu Xiuyi’s chosen room for Ji Ruan had excellent lighting, and the door was ajar, letting soft natural light spill in from the gap.

Peering through the crack, Gu Xiuyi raised his hand to knock lightly but suddenly stopped before he made a sound upon seeing something.

Song Tezhu, curious at seeing his boss freeze, gathered his courage to lean in closer.

The bed had indeed been changed. Ji Ruan lay sprawled on it in a short-sleeved pajama, reaching behind the pillow with his right hand to touch something.

Then, he was shocked to see Ji Ruan pull out a small remote control, press it a couple of times, and the head of the bed slowly rose, moving forward along with a small wooden table at the foot of the bed, stopping in a suitable position.

It was exactly the kind of bed designed for seriously ill patients in hospitals, allowing for minimal movement.

Ji Ruan turned on the TV, but without sound. It seemed he only needed to read the subtitles.

On the small table, a bowl of fresh cherries sat, along with the lucky cat originally used as a decoration in the room. It had been altered: the paws removed, replaced with a wooden stick, looking like one of those claw machines you find at arcades.

A thin string connected the stick. Ji Ruan just had to flick his fingers for the lucky cat to grab a cherry from the glass bowl, accurately tossing it into his mouth.

Song Tezhu was so shocked his jaw dropped, and he hurriedly looked to Gu Xiuyi.

Gu Xiuyi’s brows furrowed deeply enough to crush a mosquito.

He was always disciplined and diligent. Since he began working as Gu Xiuyi’s assistant, he had never seen him get up after 6 PM.

Song Tezhu could almost assure himself this was the laziest scene his boss had ever witnessed in his life.

Gu Xiuyi turned his head, expressionless, yet his gaze was chillingly fierce, as if asking a silent question.

Song Tezhu felt chills down his spine and worked to maintain calm.

Ji Ruan had been carefully selected from their secretary team as the most suitable marriage candidate for Gu Xiuyi; he couldn’t let his boss doubt his competence.

Steeling himself, Song Tezhu looked at the scene of Ji Ruan being repeatedly fed cherries by the lucky cat without changing his expression. “He’s quiet; look, he’s watching TV without turning the sound on. He creates little work for us; he doesn’t trouble anyone even when he wants cherries.”

Song Tezhu bowed slightly, “He completely fits your requirements for the other party, Boss.”

Gu Xiuyi’s gaze swept past his assistant, and he took a deep breath, pushing the door open.

The boy inside sensed someone had arrived and promptly sat up straight, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed, his watery eyes looking towards Gu Xiuyi.

He wore light beige sleepwear, its loose collar draping softly across him.

As his sitting posture changed, the lucky cat continued its attempts to feed Ji Ruan, tossing another cherry which bounced against the side of Ji Ruan’s neck; he gasped and reached out to catch it.

But he missed.

The bright red cherry slid across his fair skin, falling into the neckline of his shirt from the thin collarbone. The boy scrambled to intercept it but failed; it slipped out from under his shirt and rolled down to the floor.

Then it rolled all the way to Gu Xiuyi’s feet.

Gu Xiuyi noticed the moment Ji Ruan looked stupefied; his gaze was no longer that slack and unfocused from when he was lying on the bed.

Bending down, Gu Xiuyi picked up the cherry, walking step by step towards Ji Ruan, who needed to lift his head to make eye contact with him.

His hair was soft, and as he looked up, his forehead became visible, the tips brushing against his earlobes, and the skin on his neck that brushed against the cherry was pale and delicate.

Gu Xiuyi glanced at the cherry in his hand and placed it back on the table, meeting Ji Ruan’s light-colored pupils: “Ji Ruan?”