Chapter 1 Love Obsession Should Be Covered by Critical Illness Insurance

Chapter 1: Love Obsession Deserves Its Own Critical Illness Policy

Jiang Ruotang’s gaunt frame made his wool coat swallow him whole. Every time a car passed by, the draft it brought seemed strong enough to knock him over.

He had originally intended to return to his apartment to retrieve his laptop but found himself habitually stepping into the convenience store downstairs instead.

"Mr. Jiang, long time no see. The usual Marlboros?"

Seeing the clerk’s smile, Jiang Ruotang suddenly remembered he had lung cancer. Did he really dare to buy cigarettes now? Was he trying to smoke seven in one go to summon the Reaper?

"No, give me a pack of mint-flavored throat lozenges instead."

After all, Zhao Yunshu and Zhao Zhangfeng—that mother and son—had bloodhound noses. If they caught even a whiff of smoke on him, he’d be nagged to death long before the illness could claim him.

At the thought, Jiang Ruotang lowered his eyes and smiled wryly.

The convenience store clerk froze. "This is the first time I’ve seen you smile like that."

"Oh? How did I smile before?" Jiang Ruotang asked with genuine interest.

"Always busy, always in a hurry—like you couldn’t even catch your breath. It seemed like your work stress must’ve been overwhelming."

"Not anymore." Jiang Ruotang unwrapped a lozenge and popped it into his mouth. "No need to rush through life. It’s not like I’m racing to my next life."

With the lozenge melting in his mouth, Jiang Ruotang didn’t press the button for his apartment floor. Instead, he went up to the rooftop terrace.

The moment he shouldered open the metal door, the first thing he saw was the towering perfume billboard on the opposite commercial building—*Guilty*.

And the face on that advertisement was the very source of Jiang Ruotang’s decade-long love obsession—Bai Yingchuan.

Jiang Ruotang had first seen Bai Yingchuan in a film directed by his father, Jiang Huaiyuan.

Back then, Bai Yingchuan had played the younger version of a ruthless general.

At seventeen, his sharp, cold eyes smoldered with ambition, intoxicated by power. The scene where he licked blood from his blade had captivated countless viewers with its visceral impact.

A wronged father, a dying mother, and his broken self.

The play of light and shadow, shifting abruptly from warm to cold tones, awoke in Jiang Ruotang a surge of tenderness and protectiveness—and just like that, he plunged headlong into it.

In their final year of high school, Bai Yingchuan transferred into Jiang Ruotang’s class.

Jiang Ruotang’s best friend, Lin Lu, told him that Bai Yingchuan had nearly landed the male lead in a certain film, but the project fell through. Excited, Jiang Ruotang wanted to ask his father to take over the production.

Little did he know, that film would become Jiang Huaiyuan’s death sentence.

It was an elaborate money-laundering scheme. Bai Yingchuan managed to extricate himself unscathed, but Jiang Huaiyuan was dragged through endless investigations, interrogations, bail hearings, and media lynching—until, cornered, he ended his life in the bathroom.

After his death, the film company’s shares were snapped up for a song by Lin Lu’s father, Lin Chengdong, while Jiang Ruotang, his stepmother, and stepbrother were left with nothing.

After a lengthy investigation, Jiang Huaiyuan was officially exonerated as an innocent victim. Public sympathy flooded in, and the remaining connections in his father’s circle extended their goodwill to Jiang Ruotang—resources other artists and agents could only dream of.

Lin Lu seized the opportunity to pull Jiang Ruotang into Bai Yingchuan’s management team.

He constantly hammered into Jiang Ruotang how crucial these resources were for Bai Yingchuan—if he secured them, Bai Yingchuan would value him properly, maybe even make him his exclusive agent.

Lin Lu’s pie-in-the-sky promises bloated Jiang Ruotang like a beast of burden plodding onward.

By the time Jiang Ruotang had painstakingly negotiated roles and endorsements, Lin Lu would edge him out of the team.

Sometimes he’d give him a vacation, other times send him abroad—always under the guise of "I just don’t want Ruo Tang to run himself ragged."

Every time, it was Lin Lu who finalized the contracts, then took full credit everywhere about his own prowess. The higher-ups at Universe Entertainment fell over themselves praising the chairman’s son.

When Bai Yingchuan took the stage to accept awards, only Lin Lu stood beside him for the embrace. Jiang Ruotang didn’t even rate an appearance in front of the media.

Stepmother Zhao Yunshu crossed her arms and stared at Jiang Ruotang, her expression as if mentally slapping him with a hundred insults.

"Ruo Tang, you’re a capable person, but don’t waste your talents in the wrong place! Once you’ve squandered every last favor your father left behind, Bai Yingchuan will kick you out without a second thought—like taking out the trash!"

That day, he saw a post on WeChat Moments from an unnamed contact: "Love without principles will inevitably end in ruin."

The profile picture was a rotting wooden ship at sea, its sails stubbornly upright, as if determined to drag the wreckage back to land.

For some reason, Jiang Ruotang felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to cry.

He collapsed and was diagnosed with stage two lung cancer. Universe Entertainment wasted no time terminating his contract, though they did pay severance.

Lin Lu sent a single WeChat message telling him to rest and recover, then continued posting his champagne-drenched escapades online.

Bai Yingchuan couldn’t be bothered to react at all—not even sending an assistant with flowers.

On Jiang Ruotang’s first day in the hospital, he overheard nurses excitedly raving about Bai Yingchuan’s new ad, calling him the "nation’s male Daji." That was the moment Jiang Ruotang finally broke down in tears.

Zhao Zhangfeng, who was tidying his bed, said under his breath, "You’re here crying your heart out, while he’s probably getting breathless with Lin Lu."

Jiang Ruotang doubled over coughing, startling Zhao Zhangfeng. After a tense pause, Zhao Zhangfeng let out a shaky breath. "Damn, I thought you were gonna cough up blood like in the movies!"

"Get lost!" Jiang Ruotang snapped—then burst into laughter.

Love obsession really should be classified as a critical illness!

Universe Entertainment’s severance didn't last, and his savings were running on fumes.

He couldn’t let Zhao Yunshu keep working overtime to make ends meet, nor could he allow Zhao Zhangfeng to keep driving as a nightshift rideshare driver. Jiang Ruotang decided to sell his apartment as soon as possible.

He’d bought this place because, from the window, he could see Bai Yingchuan’s *Guilty* advertisement.

Now, though, he felt absolutely nothing looking at Bai Yingchuan’s face—he could even use his posters as dinner plate liners.

Selling the apartment quickly was only possible thanks to the deep pockets of one of Bai Yingchuan’s fans, who paid in full and gave him a week to clear out his furniture.

Standing on the rooftop of the apartment building one last time, Jiang Ruotang realized belatedly that what had truly captivated him wasn’t Bai Yingchuan.

It was the cinematic atmosphere his father, Jiang Huaiyuan, had crafted—matchless, in a class of its own.

*Dad, I miss you.*

Jiang Ruotang’s eyes stung with impending tears.

He stepped forward, one foot over the edge—but before he could steady himself, someone grabbed him around the waist and hauled him back, the grip so tight it hurt his ribs.

"Have you lost your mind?!" the person roared.

Jiang Ruotang’s head spun.

The man holding him wore a plain, dark trench coat, his shoulders and arms radiating a strength that set him apart from everyone else. His hair whipped wildly in the wind, and his thick black-framed glasses went flying off his face.

Instinctively, Jiang Ruotang reached for them—but the man held him too tightly. The glasses brushed past his fingertips and hit the ground with a sharp *crack*, like the sound of shattering bones.

A dull ache pulsed through Jiang Ruotang's nerves, and he suddenly felt grateful he hadn't actually jumped—otherwise, he would have died messily.

Still shaken, he locked eyes with the person holding him.

The man's gaze was graceful yet intense, his amber eyes carrying a lonely detachment from the world.

"You... who are you? You look familiar..." Jiang Ruotang asked.

"I'm Lu Guifan."

"What?"

"Your high school Class Monitor."

Lu Guifan's terse reply slowly brought back Jiang Ruotang's high school memories.

"...Oh." Jiang Ruotang tilted his head, studying him intently for a long moment before asking, "Did you get work done?"

"Moron." Lu Guifan looked at Jiang Ruotang like he was an idiot. "What were you trying to do just now?"

"I... just wanted to feel the wind." Jiang Ruotang lied unconvincingly.

"Do you not realize how light you are? One strong gust and you'd be gone."

Lu Guifan lowered Jiang Ruotang.

Jiang Ruotang was still skeptical. "You're really my high school Class Monitor?"

Not some scam artist?

Wait, I have nothing left—scamming me would be like scamming nothing.

"What do you think?" Lu Guifan countered.

Jiang Ruotang's impression of Lu Guifan was still stuck in high school—his average family, always seeming out of place, dry and yellowish hair, unkempt bangs shadowing his forehead, thick glasses obscuring his eyes, sunken cheeks, and a jawline so sharp it made him look cold and unapproachable.

Back then, though Lu Guifan was tall, he was so thin that his shoulders looked narrow. How was this the same person standing before him now—broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, with strikingly handsome features?

He seemed to recall someone mentioning in the high school group chat that Lu Guifan worked at some research institute, which fit his academic superstar status.

Since he wasn't trying to be a celebrity, there was no way Lu Guifan would get plastic surgery.

Truly, men change drastically after eighteen—good nutrition does more than any cosmetic procedure.

Lu Guifan walked Jiang Ruotang back to his hospital room, where a basket of fruit he had brought sat on the nightstand.

With little in common to talk about, Jiang Ruotang leaned against his pillow, watching Lu Guifan peel an apple for him.

The curling peel looked like endless loops, but Jiang Ruotang noticed that without his glasses, Lu Guifan was peeling purely by feel.

When Lu Guifan handed him the apple, patches of peel still clung to it.

"Why did you come to see me? We weren't... particularly close in high school," Jiang Ruotang finally asked.

Could it be that his high school classmates had taken up a collection for him and sent the Class Monitor to deliver it?

"During the monthly exams in our senior year, I was vying for a scholarship. Lin Lu crushed my only pen, and you handed me another one."

"You remember that?" Jiang Ruotang was stunned. Such a small thing—he didn’t even recall it himself.

"Yeah." Lu Guifan said quietly. "I have a good memory."