Chapter : 04
The real white moonlight is truly good, beautiful, and full of love, while the substitute, the original person, didn’t even know he was a substitute. He thought Song Ling was devoted to him, so he became more spoiled—asking him for money, for people, cheating on him countless times.
That would have been enough, but after he accidentally discovered Song Ling’s secret, he tried to blackmail Song Ling for a big profit. Instead, Song Ling pushed him to the brink, and in a fit of anger, he wanted to expose Song Ling’s schemes. But Song Ling moved first and had him secretly killed.
Zhou Qingluo: “……”
Tsk.
The transmigration god really wasn’t unfair to him.
The key point was, he still didn’t know what stage of the story he was in.
Was he about to be assassinated by Song Ling, or had none of it happened yet?
If he hadn’t become the substitute for the villainous white moonlight, with just the tension of this plot, he would have wanted to follow the serialized story and read the original book.
But now that he had the chance to live again, there was no way he would let Song Ling assassinate him. He wouldn’t be a substitute.
Everyone is unique. Why be a substitute? He would just be himself.
Zhou Qingluo took some time to adjust his mindset. When he moved, he noticed a delivery man sleeping by his bed, helmet on the floor, still in his work clothes.
The original person’s family was poor. His father was laid-off, and before the original person met Song Ling, his father made a living delivering food.
Zhou Qingluo vaguely remembered that when the delivery came to the hospital last night, it was already midnight and no family had arrived yet. So the original father was still out delivering food, rushing over only at the last minute.
Although human sorrow and joy aren’t necessarily shared, Zhou Qingluo felt a sudden ache in his heart, a strange, bitter feeling.
He wanted to get up and cover him with a blanket. As soon as he moved, the man woke up.
He immediately stood up from the chair but, just waking, nearly fell.
He held onto the bed and went to him, leaning close with anxiety:
“Qingluo, Qingluo, you’re awake? How’s your body? How do you feel?”
Zhou Qingluo had no family. Maybe because of a congenital heart issue, his parents had abandoned him early. This sudden warmth made him instinctively frown and take a small step back.
Mr. Zhou paused, slightly embarrassed, retreating a bit and smiling apologetically:
“Did Dad snore and wake you again?”
Zhou Qingluo quickly waved his hands: “No, no. I was already awake. You didn’t snore.”
This was the original father, Zhou Shoulin.
Zhou Shoulin didn’t expect Zhou Qingluo to address him so formally.
After all, Zhou Qingluo had always resented him for being poor and unable to give him the life he wanted.
He blamed himself too. His wife died early, he lost his job in middle age, and raising two kids on odd jobs barely covered basic living costs.
When Qingluo graduated from college and wanted to study art, he couldn’t afford it. His sister, Qingmu, graduated with a master’s in clinical medicine and wanted to study abroad—he couldn’t afford it.
Suddenly, Zhou Shoulin felt dizzy and fainted.
Zhou Qingluo: “???”
The brick factory gave employee housing. Zhou Shoulin got a small first-floor apartment, 69 square meters, with a tiny yard.
The concrete building appeared suddenly, but the brick factory quickly went bankrupt, and the neighborhood became increasingly run-down.
The living room was divided into a room, where Zhou Shoulin slept.
“Zhou Qingluo! Can’t you be more sensible?”
Zhou Qingluo sat at the dining table. The one scolding him was his sister, Zhou Qingmu.
He had spent the whole morning understanding his melodramatic identity as a substitute, and the afternoon figuring out his impoverished family background.
His mother died early. His father raised two children alone, waking early and working late, only to be laid off in middle age.
Zhou Qingmu was the lucky one—four years older, 25 this year, just finished her master’s, facing choices between work and studying abroad.
Given the family conditions, she probably had to work.
As the saying goes, children from poor families mature early. Zhou Qingmu was sensible and motivated, while Zhou Qingluo, contrary to her, had become a useless fool.
Zhou Qingmu’s eyes reddened:
“Do you know Dad sold blood to pay for your art tuition? He fainted this morning from low blood sugar and only then found out he’s anemic.”
Zhou Qingluo paused. Not shocked? Impossible.
Abandoned since childhood, never felt parental love, he couldn’t believe that this scene, which seemed like a cliché in TV dramas, could happen in real life—and it was so shocking.
Zhou Qingmu:
“Don’t think I don’t know. Your college had art electives—you didn’t take them. You didn’t study properly in school, so it’s hard to find work. Only now do you want to study art?”
Zhou Qingluo silently accepted the blame, unsure how to respond.
Zhou Qingmu choked up twice:
“Also, you’re allergic to alcohol! Don’t you know? And you still drank? You could die! How can you face Dad?”
Zhou Qingluo hated seeing people cry.
He quietly handed her two tissues, softly comforting:
“Don’t cry. I won’t study art anymore.”
Unexpectedly, Zhou Qingmu became angrier:
“You’re not studying art? Then what can you do? Move bricks on a construction site?”
“Not that… I will…” Draw, of course.
“You will what?”
He really could draw—comics, oil painting, watercolor, Photoshop—he could do them all. And well enough to make a fortune.
Zhou Qingmu’s eyes widened, cheeks red, trying not to wake Zhou Shoulin resting inside. She suppressed her anger and finally stormed into her own room.
Zhou Qingluo sighed quietly, cursing that his savings hadn’t transmigrated with him.
Ten million, all earned from painting and writing.
The worst part? He still remembered the password.
Zhou Qingluo truly experienced the sorrow of having money left unspent while the owner was dead.
He returned to his room, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
Although this room was the best and largest in the house, neat and clean, it still couldn’t compare to the large flat he had lived in before.
