Chapter 3: The Protagonist Comes to Dinner

7:40 AM. Li Xiang sat at the breakfast table, a bowl of porridge, a plate of pickles, and an egg in front of him.

He peeled the egg with surgical precision, not a single fleck of shell left behind.

"Bro, why are you up so early today?"

His step-sister, Li Wan, came down the stairs, hair still wet. She was tying it up as she walked. She hadn't replied to his texts all night, and right now, there wasn't a shred of guilt on her face.

"What time is dinner?"

"Ten-thirty." Li Wan pulled out a chair and sat down. "You've asked that three times already."

"What time do the guests arrive?"

"Dad said eleven o'clock." She cracked open an egg, mimicking his technique to peel it clean. "Why are you so worked up?"

Li Xiang took a sip of porridge. "I'm not nervous."

"You texted me in the middle of last night. Four messages in a row."

"I was just asking for the time."

"After you asked for the time, you asked if the Protagonist was coming." Li Wan softened the word "Protagonist," her eyes locked on him. "Bro, did you have a nightmare yesterday?"

The spoon in Li Xiang’s hand paused.

Li Wan was the original owner’s step-sister in this book’s world. The original owner hadn't been kind to her, and she was never polite in return. They’d always been at each other's throats. But the last few days, she acted like he was a patient who’d just recovered from a mysterious illness, looking at him with pure curiosity.

"I'm asking you," Li Xiang lowered his voice, "that Song... Song what was it, that Protagonist."

"Song Qingrang."

"Right." Li Xiang nodded. "What’s his temper like?"

Li Wan chewed on the egg, narrowing her eyes. "You can't even remember his name, yet you're worrying about his temper?"

"Answer me."

"Pretty good." Li Wan thought for a moment. "At least, it looks that way. The last time Dad brought him home for a meal, he smiled the whole time. When I talked to him, he even offered me a tissue."

"How many times did he smile?"

Li Wan blinked. "Who counts that?"

Li Xiang counted in his head. In the Original Book, Song Qingrang’s smile was a habit, not an emotion. The more someone kept their composure, the harder it was to deal with when they finally snapped.

"Does he have any... taboos?" Li Xiang tried to make the question sound casual. "Like, does he mind if people bring up his past?"

Li Wan set down half an egg and looked at him deadpan. "Bro, what are you actually planning?"

"I want this meal to go smoothly."

"Then shut up." Li Wan said it bluntly. "The second you open your mouth, it's bad news."

Li Xiang: "..."

He wanted to argue, but he realized she was right.

The original owner’s mouth was the biggest liability in the entire book. A Villain is a Villain not because they're evil, but because they're dumb and can't keep a mouth shut. And there are plenty of guys like that in real life, too—at drinking parties, in group chats, on social media. One careless word can burn through ten years of relationships in a second.

"Okay." Li Xiang nodded. "I'll talk less today."

"Less is useless. You need to say nothing at all." Li Wan stood up, carrying her bowl into the kitchen, leaving behind one last sentence. "The moment you start talking, my dad's face goes black."

10:50 AM.

Li Xiang paced around the living room twice, mentally mapping out where everything should go.

The sofa, the main seat. The dining table: Dad takes the head, Song Qingrang takes the guest seat. Where he sat was critical. In the Original Book, he had sat directly opposite Song Qingrang. One glance, one drink, one comment, and boom—disaster.

Li Xiang rearranged the seating plan in his head: he’d sit on the side, closer to the kitchen door. That had two advantages. First, it was harder to catch someone’s eye from the side. Second, if things went south, he could get up, move around, go to the kitchen, get water, or pretend to take a call.

"What are you, scouting the location?" Li Wan came down from the second floor, having changed into a dress.

"Just looking at where to put the cups."

"Cups are in the cabinet. They've been there for ten years."

Li Xiang ignored her and crouched down to check the liquor cabinet.

Inside, there was one bottle of white liquor and two bottles of red. In the Original Book, the Villain had messed up that meal because he’d drunk too much white. Li Xiang shoved the white bottle to the very back, letting the two reds block it from view.

"Why are you moving the alcohol?" Li Wan walked over.

"We're drinking red today."

"Dad drinks white."

"Then let him find it himself." Li Xiang closed the cabinet door. "I'm not drinking."

Li Wan chuckled. "You’re sobering up?"

"I'm driving today."

"Your car got scratched the day before yesterday. It’s still in the shop."

Li Xiang froze for a second. "Then I’ll take a taxi."

"Why would you stop drinking just because you’re taking a taxi?"

"I'm not drinking because I’m afraid of saying something I shouldn't." Li Xiang didn't beat around the bush; he laid it out plainly. "This meal is important. I can’t say a single wrong word."

Li Wan stared at him for several seconds. The smile slowly vanished from her face.

"Bro." Her voice dropped. "Did you get into trouble out there?"

"No."

"Then why are you so scared?"

Li Xiang couldn't explain. He couldn't just say, "I transmigrated into a book, and I know that in the Original Book, your brother got drunk at that meal and insulted the Protagonist in front of everyone, and that clip went viral, ruining everything after that."

"I’m just asking," Li Wan crossed her arms, "How bad can an insult be?"

Li Xiang looked at her and said slowly, "Very bad."

"How bad?"

"So bad that everything this person does afterwards will be a struggle. Everywhere he goes, people will bring up that sentence."

Li Wan’s last trace of a smile was gone. She opened her mouth, then closed it, finally saying, "Bro, are you being threatened?"

11:05 AM. The doorbell rang.

Li Xiang was standing in the middle of the living room when the doorbell rang. His shoulders instantly went rigid.

"I'll get it." Li Wan dashed toward the door.

Before he could even finish saying her name, a middle-aged man’s voice came through the opening. “Wanwan, you keep getting prettier.”

Li Xiang recognized him. It was Song Qingrang’s uncle, a Mr. Zhou. He was a character from the Original Book—a decent guy who spoke gently, had a healthy drink, and was the type who could hold down a room just by sitting in it.

Right behind him came Song Qingrang.

Li Xiang glanced toward the entrance, then quickly pulled his eyes back.

The man looked to be in his early thirties. He was wearing a light gray shirt, no tie, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Tall and standing straight, he swapped his shoes first, then naturally aligned his slippers so they were perfectly straight.

That small gesture sent a cold chill down Li Xiang’s spine.

A guy who straightens his shoes? His memory has to be sharp.

“Uncle Li.” Song Qingrang greeted him the moment he stepped inside.

Li Xiang’s father, Li Guodong, came out of his study, smiling as he rushed to meet him. “You made it. Traffic bad?”

“Not at all. Left early.”

“Good, good. Sit down.”

Li Xiang stood off to the side of the living room, right in the spot he’d picked out the night before—three steps back from the kitchen door.

Song Qingrang’s eyes swept the room, landed on Li Xiang, and paused for a split second. He gave a small nod. “Li Xiang.”

Li Xiang nodded back. “Hi.”

Done. He ticked that off in his head: no extra words, no lingering eye contact.

“Bro, you’re quiet today,” Li Wan whispered from the side.

Li Xiang shot her a look.

“Sit, sit, sit,” Li Guodong urged.

They settled in. Li Xiang took his chosen spot, while Song Qingrang sat in the guest chair, separated by just the corner of the coffee table.

Before the food came out, there was tea.

Li Guodong and Mr. Zhou talked business, focusing on a plot of land east of the city. The conversation flowed easily back and forth. Song Qingrang listened from the side, chiming in only occasionally. He wasn’t talkative.

Li Xiang sat with his cup, saying nothing.

The first dish landed on the table, and Li Guodong raised his glass. “Here, let’s drink. No occasion, just dinner.”

Li Xiang lifted his tea cup.

“Hey.” Li Guodong frowned. “Why are you drinking tea?”

“My stomach’s been off.”

“Your stomach hasn’t complained in ages,” Li Guodong said, looking displeased. “We have guests. Drinking tea? That’s rude.”

“Uncle Li, whatever works,” Song Qingrang said with a light smile. “I don’t have to drink, either.”

“Can’t do that,” Li Guodong insisted, twisting open a bottle cap. “I’m in a good mood today.”

Li Xiang’s heart clenched. He was about to push back, but Mr. Zhou jumped in. “Alright, Old Li. If the kid doesn’t want to, don’t force it. Qingrang, you have some. I’m with you.”

At that point, Li Xiang got out of the firing line.

He settled back into his chair, gripping his tea cup. His palms were getting a little sweaty.

Dish after dish appeared, and the table warmed up. Mr. Zhou was a natural chatterbox. He told an old story, cracked a joke, and kept the conversation moving smoothly.

Li Xiang stayed silent in the middle of that heat.

He ate. He drank. He occasionally nodded.

About twenty minutes in, Mr. Zhou steered Li Guodong into an old story, and the two started reminiscing about their younger days, laughing loudly. Li Xiang’s shoulders relaxed a bit. He thought, maybe this meal would just pass like that. If he stayed quiet, nobody could pick a single fault with him.

“Li Xiang.”

Song Qingrang suddenly spoke up. His voice wasn’t loud, just carried over the corner of the table.

Li Xiang looked up.

“Heard you’re working on a new project,” Song Qingrang said, smiling. “You’re moving fast. I heard about you the other day.”

Li Xiang’s internal alarm sirens went off.

In the Original Book, the original owner made a mistake right here. When Song Qingrang first mentioned the project, the original owner had fired back with a particularly harsh comment. He said it with the whole table watching, and someone pulled out their phone and recorded it. And they actually did.

Li Xiang’s mind raced. He could feel several pairs of eyes shifting toward him.

“Just messing around,” he said vaguely. “It’s in the early stages. No idea if it’ll pan out.”

Song Qingrang gave a slight smile. “Moving fast is a good thing, right?”

“Not really,” Li Xiang shook his head. “It’s easy to get killed off in the early stages.”

Song Qingrang’s eyebrow twitched.

“How do you mean?”

“In the early stages, people lack confidence, but their mouths have plenty of it.” Li Xiang realized what he’d said, panicked, and quickly added, “I mean, for me.”

Mr. Zhou let out a hearty laugh. “Kid’s got some self-awareness, at least.”

Li Guodong chuckled too. “He’s actually been speaking properly these past few days.”

Li Xiang let out a quiet breath of relief in his mind.

First test. Passed.

The food had gone through three rounds. Song Qingrang and Li Guodong were discussing plans for their next investment. The talk got deep. Li Xiang listened from the side, not interrupting.

At first, he could play dumb. But as he listened longer, something started to feel off.

He had heard Song Qingrang’s line of thinking somewhere before.

Not in the Original Book. In his previous life.

In his past life, he had spent two years in investing. That way of talking, that method of breaking down risk, didn’t exist yet in this world.

Li Xiang’s hand, holding the tea cup, froze for a second.

He wanted to speak. He knew he couldn’t. But the urge to correct him—to say, “You’re wrong”—felt like a thorn, making him unable to sit still.

He lowered the cup slowly, deliberately.

For a split second, he actually wanted to open his mouth and say: “Your cash flow model is fake.”

Then he held it back.

He wasn't the original owner. He had no reputation, no capital, and absolutely no right to correct anyone at a dinner table. He was just the guy who hadn’t even been introduced yet.

So he swallowed that impulse, picked up his tea cup, and took a sip.

Song Qingrang was mid-sentence when he suddenly stopped.

Li Xiang looked up and realized Song Qingrang was staring at him.

"What were you about to say?"

Li Xiang nearly choked on his tea.

"I wasn't about to say anything."

"You shook your head just now." Song Qingrang’s tone was calm. "Shaking your head while someone’s talking usually means you’ve got something on your mind."

The table went quiet for a beat.

Li Xiang felt the weight of Li Guodong’s gaze pressing down on him. He’d become familiar with that look over the last few days; it meant *you’re going to embarrass me again*.

Li Xiang made a decision in two seconds.

"I was going to say," he opened his mouth, keeping his voice steady, "that maybe you should run the cash flow numbers one more time."

Immediately after, he added, "I don’t know what I’m talking about. Just guessing."

The table got even quieter.

Song Qingrang didn’t smile. He just stared at Li Xiang for about three seconds.

Then he said, "Where?"

"It’s too early." Li Xiang waved a hand. "I just heard you talk about turnover and it felt off."

"You think there’s a problem with the turnover."

"Not a problem." Li Xiang corrected him. "You need to ask yourself when the money comes back, and if it comes back fast enough. If it’s too slow, your own books will collapse first."

Mr. Zhou set down his chopsticks.

Li Guodong, sitting nearby, had a look of total bewilderment on his face, like *I have no idea what my son is saying*.

Song Qingrang was silent for a moment.

"You’ve done this before."

"No, I haven’t." Li Xiang said. "I just heard it from someone."

"Who?"

"No one specific."

Song Qingrang smiled a little. This smile was different from the previous ones; it was short, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He leaned back and said three words: "Makes sense."

Li Xiang relaxed all over, realizing the back of his shirt was already soaked in sweat.

He thought, *Okay, I passed*.

Then Song Qingrang turned his head and said one thing to Li Guodong.

"Uncle Li."

"Hm?"

"Your son isn’t quite like the rumors say."

Everyone in the room laughed. Li Guodong looked a bit embarrassed and muttered, "The kid’s starting to open up."

But Li Xiang wasn’t laughing.

He ran that sentence over and over in his head: *Not quite like the rumors say*.

What were the rumors?

The rumors were the image of the original owner that had circulated in their circle: bad temper, no filter, spouting off the moment he drank. Those rumors hadn’t come from nowhere; they were built by the original owner’s own actions. And Song Qingrang saying this wasn’t a compliment. It was a notice. *I know who you used to be*.

Li Xiang picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a piece of food, and ate it without tasting a thing.

The meal carried on, and the atmosphere actually loosened up. Mr. Zhou joked that Li Xiang was a "hidden gem," and Li Guodong poured Song Qingrang a drink while shaking his head. He poured the red wine— the bottle Li Xiang had passed earlier.

Song Qingrang didn’t drink much. His glass was always half full.

He suddenly turned back to Li Xiang and asked, "Where are you at with that project?"

"Just starting. It’s still early."

"What’s it called?"

Li Xiang froze.

This question wasn’t on his list from last night.

His brain raced, but he couldn’t come up with a single name. The original owner’s project didn’t even have a name in the Original Book; the author hadn’t bothered to make one up.

"It doesn’t have a name yet," Li Xiang said.

"How do you negotiate without a name?"

"I haven’t been negotiating."

Song Qingrang laughed. "Then how were you going to get beat to death?"

Li Xiang: "..."

This guy had a great memory.

"I’m in the preparation phase," Li Xiang forced himself to say. "Once I’m ready to negotiate, the name will come naturally."

"Okay." Song Qingrang said. "Let me know when it does."

Li Xiang paused. "Tell you what?"

"The name." Song Qingrang raised his glass. "I’ll take a look and see if it’s worth investing in."

The table went silent again.

Li Guodong was the first to react, his voice lighting up. "Qingrang, are you serious?"

"Serious." Song Qingrang smiled. "For that comment about cash flow earlier, I’ll take a chance on it once."

Li Xiang was completely stunned.

He’d only wanted to survive a dinner. How had he stumbled into an investment?

"I... my project isn’t exactly clear yet," Li Xiang said quickly. "I can’t take your money."

"I’m not giving it away." Song Qingrang said. "I want equity."

"How much?"

"Depends on what your stuff is worth." Song Qingrang set down his cup and leaned forward slightly. "But I’ll say this up front."

"What?"

"You need to change one thing."

Li Xiang’s blood ran cold. "What?"

"Your way of speaking. It’s too careful." Song Qingrang looked at him and smiled. "Too careful. It doesn’t fit you."

Li Xiang: "..."

Song Qingrang continued, "The guy in the rumors feared nothing. The way you’re acting now, it’s like someone hit you with a bat and you’ve shrunk back into yourself."

The table burst into laughter.

Li Xiang laughed too, though it felt bitter.

He had been hit with a bat. The

He ran the numbers in his head at top speed. He couldn’t drink this one; one sip and his mouth would probably start slipping. But he couldn’t not drink it either. If he passed, the little advantage he’d just built up would evaporate.

He picked up the cup and took a sip.

Just one.

“Not bad.” Song Qingrang let out a short laugh. “You’ve got some sense of boundaries.”

After the meal, Song Qingrang and Li Guodong sat in the study for another half hour.

Li Xiang was clearing the teacups in the living room when Li Wan sidled up and elbowed him.

“Bro.”

“Hm?”

“Are you sick? Since when did you get good at cash flow?”

“Heard it somewhere.”

“From who?”

“Nobody.”

Li Wan stared at him for a long time, then finally said, “When you just talked… you didn’t sound like you.”

Li Xiang froze.

That was the second person to say that to him today.

“Sound like who?”

“I don’t know.” Li Wan shrugged. “But it’s not the Li Xiang I know. That guy always starts a fight the second he opens his mouth.”

Li Xiang didn’t answer. He just kept setting the teacups back on the tray.

A sound came from behind the door—Song Qingrang was heading out of the study.

Li Xiang stayed still.

Song Qingrang walked over, and as he passed by, he paused.

“I got something in my inbox just now,” he said, his voice low enough that only they two could hear it.

Li Xiang looked up. “What?”

“Someone sent it to me in the middle of the night yesterday.” Song Qingrang looked at him. “It’s a voice recording.”

The hair on the back of Li Xiang’s neck stood up.

“What kind of recording?”

“Haven’t opened it yet,” Song Qingrang said. “I know the sender. You know them even better.”

He patted Li Xiang on the shoulder and walked away with a smile.

Li Xiang stood where he was, a teacup still in his hand. It had gone completely cold.

The middle of the night yesterday.

Yesterday at that time, he’d been messaging Li Wan, asking her what time her guest would show up.

But what about the original host?

What was the original body doing in the middle of the night yesterday?

“Bro.” Li Wan called out from behind him. “Why is your face so pale?”

Li Xiang didn’t turn around. His voice was a bit dry. “Wanwan.”

“Yeah?”

“Yesterday in the middle of the night… who else touched my phone besides me?”

Li Wan blinked. “What?”

“I’m asking you. Yesterday in the middle of the night, who else touched my phone besides me?”

The living room went quiet. A soft click echoed from the hallway as the door closed.

Li Wan looked at him and said slowly, “It’s your phone. Don’t you know who had it?”

Li Xiang didn’t say anything.

The abacus in his head clicked loud and clear this time.

The person who sent that recording in the middle of the night yesterday had used the original host’s phone.

That meant—this body had sent messages to someone else in the middle of the night yesterday.

And he had no idea.