Chapter 13: This Money Is Easy to Earn-Fatal Passion(Manxi)

Sunlight flooded the square on all sides. With a refined and elegant demeanor, Rong Shen approached An Tong, not yet speaking before sending a meaningful glance to Cheng Feng.

Cheng Feng caught the cue, hurried forward, and helped An Tong untangle the parachute cords. “Miss An, let me help you.”

An Tong thanked him and took off her goggles, a faint light in her eyes. “Dr. Rong, do you like watching wingsuit flying?”

The young woman before him was poised and natural, meeting the man’s gaze without flinching, as though all this was perfectly ordinary for her.

If there was anything unusual, it was merely a hint of surprise—perhaps only at the fact that he had come in person to watch a sports competition.

At this moment, Rong Shen’s eyes were deep, his lips curving with subtle meaning. “I watch occasionally. Heard there was a competition, and since it’s the weekend, I thought I’d drop by.”

An Tong hadn’t expected the steady and composed Dr. Rong to be interested in extreme sports.

She glanced at her own gear and said modestly, “My jumps are average. If you like watching, you could pay more attention…”

“You jump very well. No need to be modest,” Rong Shen interrupted, his dark eyes shifting to the other athletes landing in the center of the square. He lowered his voice, “Is this one of your side jobs?”

Perhaps because the topic changed so quickly, An Tong responded absentmindedly while packing her gear, “Yes, the money’s easy.”

Cheng Feng, ever the facilitator, looked at An Tong with sympathetic eyes. No wonder people said Miss An would try any dangerous thing—she was clearly risking her life to earn money.

How pitiful.

The man, seemingly indifferent, asked, “How many rounds in the preliminary?”

“Twice. The best score counts.” Carrying her equipment, An Tong walked with Rong Shen toward the edge of the field—she needed to take a car back to the jump point for the next round.

Rong Shen could see her determination to win a ranking, and could only remind her to be careful, knowing that further words would be of little use.

After An Tong got in the car, she tilted her head and waved at him.

But for some reason, Dr. Rong seemed in low spirits today—not only quiet, but also uninterested in the competition.

An Tong couldn’t figure it out, assuming he was simply troubled by mundane matters.

Soon, the car drove onto the mountain road leading to the canyon.

Rong Shen lingered for a long time, his gaze deep and shadowed.

“Ninth Master, Miss An really has it tough, wouldn’t you say?” Cheng Feng remarked, slyly watching the departing vehicle.

Rong Shen slipped one hand into his pocket and strode forward. “What are you getting at?”

“I found out the prizes for the top three are fifty thousand, thirty thousand, and ten thousand,” Cheng Feng said, sneaking a glance at the man’s profile. “Isn’t that… a bit low?”

With Ninth Master’s wealth, adding another zero to the prize would be trivial.

After all, Miss An risked her life in the competition—a bigger reward wouldn’t be unreasonable.

Beside the business van, the man came to a slow halt, a playful expression on his face. “You think it’s low?”

“Low, far too low,” Cheng Feng nodded solemnly. “Ninth Master, do you want… to sponsor the club’s event?”

Rong Shen understood Cheng Feng’s intentions perfectly. After boarding the van, his brows furrowed and his voice grew inexplicably low. “Increasing the prize would only spur her on, make her more persistent. Even if fortune favors the bold, there’s no need for her to risk herself this way.”

If a mere few tens of thousands could drive An Tong to such lengths, how much more would greater sums entice her.

Cheng Feng was stunned; he hadn’t considered this angle. After a long pause, he awkwardly flattered, “That’s… why your thinking is so comprehensive.”

Not only comprehensive—Cheng Feng suspected that Ninth Master had spent so long pondering earlier, perhaps considering whether to reduce the club’s prize money to discourage Miss An from competing again.

This reverse logic seemed sound to Cheng Feng.

But on second thought, given how much Ninth Master valued Miss An, he probably… wouldn’t do anything so heartless.

…

Two days later, the competition schedule passed in a blink.

Sunday afternoon at two, the results were announced. An Tong came in second by a margin of a few seconds.

Prize: thirty thousand.

She collected the prize money and medal from the committee, and began her journey back to the city at three.

Parking in the underground garage of Su Ji’s apartment, An Tong sat in her car, lost in thought.

She had expected Dr. Rong to spend the weekend watching the entire competition, but aside from the first jump of the preliminaries, he hadn’t shown up for any of the following events.

Perhaps he was very busy.

An Tong picked up the medal and cash from the passenger seat, got out, deposited the money in the bank, and returned to the bungalow on Yunhai Road by five-thirty.

With few close friends, An Tong was used to working alone.

She opened the right drawer of her desk, revealing a jumble of medals—gold, silver, bronze, all thrown in haphazardly.

She tossed the new medal inside, closed the drawer, and sat quietly for a few seconds, at a loss.

Her gaze fell on the phone on the desk, and almost without thinking, she opened Rong Shen’s chat window, typed a few words, and sent the message.

Since Dr. Rong hadn’t seen the competition’s outcome, it was only natural to inform him.

After sending the message, she waited about three minutes before his reply came: “Already home?”

An Tong: “Just got home. You missed the final, so I wanted to let you know the result.”

Rong Jiu: “Alright. Rest well. Come to the health center tomorrow.”

An Tong replied, “See you tomorrow,” and didn’t trouble him further.

Anyway, they’d see each other tomorrow. If he wanted details, she could recount them then.

…

After half past seven, An Tong ate a simple dinner and went to the study to turn on her computer.

Nearly two weeks had passed since her last livestream, and activity on the streaming app had plummeted.

She logged in, ignored thousands of private messages in the backend, set up her equipment, and began her routine.

The system immediately detected “Code Deity” online, quickly notifying users. Tonight, the coders would surely celebrate.

The liveliest in the stream was still [Mashalat].

Perhaps emboldened by receiving a reply from “Code Deity” last time, [Mashalat] kept sending luxury car gifts, determined to leave an indelible impression.

[Mashalat: If Code Deity replies to my private message, I’ll purify myself and fast for a year]

[123Chief: Waiting for the purification]

[Is Code Deity Online Today: Marking this]

[Mashalat] sent Maserati x10

An Tong multitasked as she typed code, noticing [Mashalat]’s messages and gifts, and considered checking her private messages after the stream.

After all, [Mashalat] was the first to recognize her code’s connection to AR and augmented reality.

About an hour later, An Tong rubbed her sore shoulders, thinking of ending the stream early, when a peculiar, irritating sound echoed outside.

Whimpering and whining, unusually clear in the still, dark night.

An Tong frowned, listened for a moment, closed the stream, and left the study.

Opening the door, warm light spilled out, revealing a small puppy, barely bigger than a palm, crouched in the tangled weeds across the yard.

An Tong studied it for a few moments, then… closed the door and went back inside.

Perhaps someone’s puppy had wandered over again; once its owner called, it would scamper away.

This had happened several times before—nothing new.

An Tong tried to ignore it, but the puppy kept whining in the yard, its cries persistent.

Three seconds later, An Tong abruptly opened the door, stood in the doorway, and reasoned with it, “You’re in the wrong place; this isn’t your home.”