Chapter 1: I’m Seriously Not a Rich Guy

"The sun shines bright today, clouds clearing to blue skies. Flowers bloom, birds sing—why not sit awhile, gentlemen, and savor this world’s beauty, its endless splendor?"

The youth gazed out the window, looking detached from worldly cares, his mind drifting like a sage beyond the clouds. An aura of a hermit clung to him.

Beside him sat two men, utterly unmoved by his words. One fixed a tight watch on the youth; the other slept soundly.

"Truly… no romance at all," the youth said, sweeping back his bangs and rising with swagger. "Instead of wasting time here, stroll with me. Breathe fresh air, embrace nature’s beauty." He moved toward the car door. "Care to join?"

As he finished, a dark gun barrel pressed against his forehead. The burly man who’d watched him held a pistol one-handed, face blank.

"Get back in your seat."

"Yes, boss."

The youth sat instantly. His earlier calm vanished, replaced by pure sullenness.

Only three in the car: one asleep, the other gun trained on him. Who wouldn’t be frustrated?

Worse, he couldn’t change this. Blame his youth, wealth, charm, and fame—kidnapping was routine.

Yes, he’d been kidnapped. And these fools demanded ransom from his family!

"Heh, big brother," he chuckled, "you might not believe it, but my family’s dirt poor. Broke as hell—we can’t even put food on the table. Kidnap me? You’ll get nothing."

The burly man snorted, eyeing the youth’s tailored suit, polished shoes, and well-kept fair skin—a classic playboy.

A guy like this claiming poverty was like Bill Gates saying he owed three hundred billion. Pure nonsense.

"Sit tight," the man growled, raising his gun. "We didn’t tie you to avoid trouble. Misbehave again, and I’ll knock you out. Wake up when your family pays."

The youth wanted to cry. No explanation won trust. Under the gun’s threat, he sat obediently.

But he knew Earth exploding was likelier than his family paying. Why? He’d been orphaned long ago. What family?

Don’t be fooled by his sharp looks. He dressed this way deliberately—for greater interests.

Fed up with his chatter, the burly man tossed him a sheet of paper. He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and blew smoke straight in the youth’s face, making him cough.

Glancing at the paper, the youth’s face fell.

"Zifeng Yan," the man read, "adopted son of the underground Dragon Head Society’s leader. Top-tier status there. And you claim poverty? I don’t know your father’s daily take, but after years, two million is easy. Our observations say the Society will pay soon." He exhaled smoke, satisfied.

Zifeng Yan—that was this "young and wealthy" youth’s name. Surface-level, yes: records listed him as the leader’s adopted son, a position that commanded awe.

But Zifeng knew it was all bullshit. His identity hid someone else—Yan Ming’s true adopted son.

Since Yan Ming took him from the orphanage, he’d endured rigid training—all to erase one person’s existence. Why? Yan Ming never said, never would, and Zifeng didn’t dare ask.

Five other adopted sons existed, each active in different circles. Soon, no one noticed Yan Ming’s real focus. They were bound by silence; speaking meant a fate worse than death.

Now, Zifeng was near tears. His situation was dire. To Yan Ming, he was worth maybe a few thousand. Two million? Yan Ming would never pay—he’d rather buy an antique.

"If I die from this kidnapping," Zifeng muttered, "the media will fixate on me, burying Yan Ming’s real son deeper. Sigh… why was I the unlucky one?"

He sighed, feeling his fate cruel and twisted. Five years since the orphanage: no savings, no fun, just puppet-like obedience to secretaries’ schedules.

"Whatever. Maybe dying at these traffickers’ hands isn’t a bad end," Zifeng resigned, gazing quietly out the window.

Seeing him silent, the burly man relaxed, popping open a beer.

Four kidnappers total—the other two were outside. Inside, the pair took turns guarding Zifeng. Five days passed like this.

"Damn it! No reaction from the Dragon Head Society? They’re not worried. Yan Ming’s other sons attend events normally—no odd signs."

On day five, the burly man snapped.

They’d planned this as their perfect score—retire abroad after. But they had the guy, no money.

Could the kid be right? Did the Society truly not care if he lived or died?

"Hey, kid," the man pressed the gun to Zifeng’s forehead, "your family isn’t worried. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?"

Unshaven and disheveled after days unwashed, Zifeng looked exhausted. He raised his head, giving the man an "are you an idiot?" look. "Didn’t I say it? They won’t pay to save me. They’re waiting for you to shoot me—for a big news story."

"You… what!?" The man’s face twisted in rage, speechless.

"Brother Lei," the skinny, monkey-like man beside him grinned wickedly, "since the Society isn’t worried, let’s make them worry. We’re stuck—we can’t release him. Use him to grab cash. Our goal’s money. Source doesn’t matter."

Lei saw the logic and nodded for details.

"The Society’s banks need authorized entry. If his disappearance isn’t public, banks won’t know. We use his face to sneak in."

"He’s Yan Ming’s adopted son—he has clearance. Inside the vault, cash is easy."

Lei thought it viable but rough. He called the other two in, locked Zifeng in the trunk, and the four huddled. Impatient, they agreed: tomorrow, hit the nearest bank.

Zifeng was exasperated. Authority? Bullshit! His whole life was scripted—even commands were fixed. Otherwise, why obey him?

But to others, he was the center of attention, placed on a pedestal. His act was too convincing—now, no one believed the truth.

"Whatever. If you idiots want to die, I won’t stop you. Maybe this time, I’ll get a second chance," Zifeng smiled faintly and slept.

Next day, Zifeng was groomed meticulously, sharp again—just like his days as Yan Ming’s son. The idiot kidnappers did this to avoid suspicion.

The five entered separately, Zifeng leading. He walked in confidently, flashed his ID, and summoned the bank manager.

The manager beamed, treating Zifeng like royalty. Zifeng was taken aback but knew he was doomed.

Zifeng easily accessed the vault, bringing Lei and the skinny man as "bodyguards." Inside… completely empty.

"I knew it…"

Sighing, Zifeng shrugged at Lei and the skinny man.

"You still have time. Say your last words."

Hearing this, Lei lunged, grabbing Zifeng’s throat. Zifeng didn’t resist, eyes flashing despair as Lei choked him.

"You tricked us! I’ll kill you before I die!" Lei snarled. He realized now—they’d been caught. Zifeng’s disappearance wasn’t covered up!

"Calm down," Zifeng said. "We don’t know Yan Ming’s thoughts. Even now, you’re planning to use me as a hostage to escape, right?"

Lei froze. He was indeed thinking that.

Seeing his expression, Zifeng suppressed a laugh. Use him as a hostage? He’d be the first riddled with bullets.

Normally, they might have robbed the bank. But unlucky—the manager knew Zifeng well. Knew he was a puppet. Knew about the kidnapping.

But with a gun at his back, he couldn’t call for help.

The vault door slammed shut. A sliding monitor descended between them, screen flickering to reveal a man’s face.

"Zifeng, long time no see. I was heartbroken to hear of your kidnapping—I thought you were gone," a middle-aged voice said. On screen, the man wore a Zhongshan suit, buzz cut, sharp and efficient.

This was Yan Ming, Zifeng’s adoptive father.

Heh, heartbroken? Like hell! You sigh all day over that guy in bed, ignoring our lives completely. If you were actually sad, I’d eat shit.

"The ones behind you must be your kidnappers, right? Heh, quite interesting. But I’ll warn you—this vault is airtight. The oxygen inside only lasts three people ten minutes. So drop your weapons now and face the law," Yan Ming said with a smile. Just then, a hidden compartment slid open in the wall. "Put your weapons and clothes inside. I’ll release you. Don’t negotiate—even if you kill Zifeng, I won’t care. I won’t agree to anything."

Lei Ge glanced at Yan Zifeng. Yan Zifeng wore a look of "I knew it" and forced a bitter smile.

"What are you waiting for? Strip fast! I don’t wanna suffocate," Yan Zifeng snapped, pulling free from Lei Ge. He started undressing first—he didn’t believe Yan Ming’s "you" excluded him.

Monkey and Lei Ge felt bitter, but realized greed had blinded them. Especially… they’d misjudged this hostage’s worth. Others were priceless—why was this one so dispensable?

Yan Zifeng wondered the same: why was he so cheap?

Soon, all three stood in just their underwear. The main door burst open. Fully armed SWAT officers stormed in and pinned them down instantly.

Yan Zifeng froze in confusion… Wasn’t he the victim? Why tie him up too?

"Take them away," the lead officer growled. He bagged Yan Zifeng’s head and yanked him off.