Asking for a loan was never easy to bring up—even with old friends you’d known for years, some still found the words stuck in their throats.

Chen Dao hadn’t worried about this before. After parting ways with Bai Qiaoqiao in his previous life, he’d never borrowed money from anyone.

Later, he mused: skipping romance could save a fortune. Of course, some folks did nothing yet watched their wallets grow mysteriously thinner.

But borrowing from someone he barely knew in his past life—and had only met a week ago in this one? Utterly unreasonable, no matter how you sliced it.

Hearing Chen Dao’s audacious request, Uncle Liu, seated nearby, shifted uncomfortably.

As Gu Lian’s butler, he couldn’t ignore it. Yet his impression of Chen Dao wasn’t bad. Though the boy looked like a seventeen-year-old student, he spoke with uncanny maturity.

Uncle Liu had served the Gu family since age twenty-one. He’d watched not only Gu Lian but her father grow up—loyally serving three generations.

In his youth, he’d stood by the master through business expansions and corporate battles, even catching thugs trying to vandalize the money tree plant. Later, he managed affairs under Gu Lian’s father. Now, he stayed by Gu Lian’s side.

He wouldn’t claim sharp eyes, but he prided himself on reading people.

Yet Chen Dao baffled him. Young, yet carrying an odd aura. Politely put: calculating. Bluntly: sneaky and shameless.

Today, assigned to chauffeur them to the library, Uncle Liu went to Chen Dao’s building—only to find him squatting roadside, chatting with migrant workers in their forties and fifties.

He learned Chen Dao had used a mysteriously acquired coupon to buy a buffet (50 yuan → 35 with discount), then resold it to them for 43.

Chen Dao called it “anonymous charity—only eight yuan profit.”

Truth was, eight yuan per worker. And he held over ten coupons.

Uncle Liu once feared such a person might corrupt the young miss or overstep. But Chen Dao stayed focused all morning—glancing at Gu Lian fewer than ten times.

“Borrow money?”

Gu Lian’s delicate face cooled. Light fled her eyes. Even the snacks before her turned tasteless. Dryness clung to her tongue.

Her loneliness stemmed from never attending elementary school. While others played in classrooms, she studied at home. Later, a private middle school—graduated smoothly, yet utterly missing the window for friendship.

So she spent money. Only money.

Her nanny, fearing she’d go hungry, stuffed her bag: macarons, cream puffs, cookies. Gu Lian shared them with “friends.” Smart, diligent, even doing others’ homework for a while—that was why she’d offered to write Chen Dao’s assignment for peanuts.

Now, Chen Dao stirred those bitter memories.

In ninth grade, reshuffling scattered those “friends” to bottom-tier classes, different buildings. Gone.

Top-class students were reserved. No one cared about her snacks.

Loneliness surged again, tricking the girl—who never learned how to make friends—into thinking buying companionship wasn’t so bad.

*So everyone wants a “friendship fee”…* A prickling ache stirred in her chest.

“How much?”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Chen Dao turned to face her. “Not a ‘friendship fee.’ Not bullying. I have something urgent to do.”

He noticed Uncle Liu nearby—brows knotted, staring with disappointment and confusion.

“I’m asking how much.”

Gu Lian didn’t care. She wasn’t naive enough to mistake kindness for friendship. She’d lend it. And cross Chen Dao off her list.

Money wasn’t scarce—but she valued it. Especially from someone likely to deceive. *Cut ties later. No need to stir up unnecessar—*

“One thousand and one…”

Chen Dao muttered, head bowed, cheeks burning. First time asking a girl for money—and she wore that “I’m loaded, name your price” look. Humiliating.

*If this were my past life! I’d—* No. Even then, he wasn’t this rich.

Forget it. A true man won’t stay downtrodden! If you won’t lend it, I’ll find someone else!

Awkward as he felt, Gu Lian stood, walked straight to Uncle Liu. After a quiet exchange, she returned, slapped exactly 1,001 yuan onto his textbook, and opened her book.

“Adoptive mother!”

Chen Dao slipped. Seeing Gu Lian’s frown, he hastily pocketed the cash. “I’ll pay you back!”

He tore paper to draft an IOU—but Gu Lian waved it off.

She’d asked Uncle Liu earlier. He’d hinted it might be for a white envelope—a condolence gift—and urged discretion. Gu Lian knew the custom. But if Chen Dao had lost a relative… would he have laughed while snatching a kid’s skateboard yesterday?

The Gu family had already investigated Chen Dao thoroughly. Ordinary worker parents. A simple, warm home.

Uncle Liu’s white envelope guess? Linked to the girl behind Chen Dao’s past truancy, theft, early romance: Xia Jiuli.

White envelopes never hold round sums.

Just speculation. A loose thread pulled.

Gu Lian looked back, eyes clouded, expression stiff.

“It doesn’t matter if I have no friends.”