Our protagonist, Su Yu—yes, like the common surname, but possessing an uncommon level of tragic poverty—stood before the towering edifice like a bewildered villager encountering an alien mothership for the first time.
The tower didn't just scrape the sky; it seemed to pierce the very heavens. The gleaming letters LU CORPORATION radiated an arrogance only fathomable by the obscenely wealthy. Even the whisper-silent automatic glass doors seemed to pass judgment on his worn-out, secondhand sneakers.
He turned to the driver, who was now meticulously polishing the luxury car's fender as if it were a sacred artifact.
Su Yu scratched his head, confusion etched onto his handsome face.
"Brother, why did you bring me here? I swear I told you—I'm not your boss! My surname is Su, S-U, not Lu! I'm just a rank-and-file drone from Company X. White-collar wage slave, definitely not gold-plated royalty."
The driver replied with the deadpan sincerity of a man whose cognitive functions had clocked out for the day,
"Look, pal, you paid the fare with what looked suspiciously like a solid gold ancient coin... I learned long ago not to ask questions. I dropped you here because, frankly, despite the mud, you look obscenely rich."
Su Yu stared, aghast. "I found that coin in this suit's pocket! It's probably cursed! And it definitely wasn't mine!"
But the driver, having fulfilled his mysterious duty (or perhaps just eager to escape the vicinity of potential weirdness), had already vanished down the street, leaving behind a puff of exhaust fumes and the lingering scent of shattered roadside brotherhood.
(Inside the LU Corporation Building)
Su Yu tiptoed through the automatic doors like a pauper sneaking into a royal banquet hoping to lick spilled soup off the floor. He felt acutely aware that his very presence was probably depreciating the value of the imported Italian marble beneath his feet.
Everywhere he looked, wealth screamed, no, roared. The floors were polished to such a mirror finish he could see his own stressed, bewildered reflection staring back. The receptionist possessed the kind of ethereal beauty usually reserved for CGI characters, and the security guards flanking the entrance wore sunglasses indoors and radiated an aura of 'don't even breathe too loudly near me.'
Summoning the courage of a man about to ask for a free water refill at a Michelin-star restaurant, Su Yu approached the imposing front desk.
"Excuse me. Hello. Uhh… I don't have an appointment, and I definitely don't work here, but… could I possibly speak to someone in Human Resources? Or maybe... is there a form to apply for janitorial services?"
The receptionist subjected him to a swift, coolly appraising scan from head to toe. Her internal processor seemed to log:
* Input: Impossibly handsome face.
* Input: Suit worth more than her annual salary.
* Input: Asking for HR like a vagrant asking for spare change.
* Conclusion: Highly suspicious entity. Potentially unstable.
"Do you have a scheduled meeting, sir?" Her voice was polite but held the unmistakable chill of arctic frost.
Su Yu offered a smile so awkward it could curdle milk, his sense of dignity having officially abandoned ship.
"Ah, no, not exactly. See, there's a slight chance I might have been abducted last night, possibly drugged, and then I woke up in unfamiliar surroundings wearing these... suspiciously expensive clothes. I was just hoping to talk to someone official before this escalates into a full-blown telenovela plot."
The receptionist's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched fractionally. One of the security guards nearby murmured discreetly into his wrist communicator. The other began a slow, deliberate approach, his hand hovering near... well, somewhere Su Yu didn't want to find out.
Su Yu's eyes widened in panic.
"Wait, wait, hold on—no need for alarms or police! I promise I'm not crazy, just incredibly confused! My name is Su Yu. S-U Y-U! I'm just trying to figure things out and survive! Look, I even have... uh... qualifications!"
He frantically patted his pockets and triumphantly produced a crumpled piece of paper. It was a receipt for two packs of instant noodles, purchased three days ago.
The guards now flanked him, radiating disapproval like twin pillars of judgment.
"Sir," one intoned, using the voice typically reserved for pigeons defecating on statues or uncles attempting karaoke, "we must ask you to leave the premises before we are forced to escort you."
Su Yu looked around wildly, desperately. "But I just need information! Someone clearly messed with me! Isn't the CEO of this massive, terrifying company named Lu? Maybe I'm his long-lost, impoverished second cousin twice removed? It happens!"
Ignoring his pleas, the guards began firmly guiding—read: dragging—him towards the exit.
Su Yu yelled back over his shoulder, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous lobby, "I HAVE A GENUINE BACHELOR'S DEGREE IN BUSINESS ADMINISTRATION, YOU KNOW! MY TALENT IS BEING WASTED ON THE STREETS! DON'T YOU RECOGNIZE POTENTIAL WHEN IT'S BEING FORCIBLY EJECTED?!"
(Sometime Later, on the Curb Outside)
Su Yu sat on the unforgiving concrete curb like a tragically rejected character from a low-budget play, the word "FAILURE" practically flashing in neon letters above his slumped shoulders.
A nearby pigeon strutted past with more self-assurance and purpose than Su Yu currently possessed.
He muttered darkly to himself, "Even the birds have a hustle... What cosmic joke is my life supposed to be?"
He briefly contemplated a new career path: street performance. His repertoire could include juggling existential dread, crushing disappointment, and the tattered remnants of his dreams. He was already a pro.
Or perhaps a niche beggar: "Greetings, kind stranger! I am a temporarily displaced CEO impersonator. Please donate generously to fund my eventual, inevitable return to corporate glory."
But fate, that fickle mistress of narrative convenience, apparently had other plans.
(Nearby Commercial Set)
Just as Su Yu was seriously considering bartering his possibly-stolen designer shoes for a cup of instant ramen, a frantic voice cut through the city noise:
"Where is that useless spot boy?! We need someone RIGHT NOW to run water and tissues to the main actress! Move it!"
Su Yu's survival instincts, honed by years of soul-crushing office work, flared. Water? Tissues? Fetching things? Getting yelled at? That sounded remarkably like his previous life's job description! This, he could handle.
He shot up from the curb like a starved greyhound spotting a steak and sprinted towards the chaotic film set nearby.
"I volunteer! I'm your man!" he shouted, his voice filled with the desperate conviction of someone chasing not lofty ambitions—but their next meal.
A harried-looking assistant director, sweat beading on his forehead, spun around. He eyed Su Yu up and down.
"You? You look like... well, never mind. Can you run errands without tripping? Can you follow shouted instructions precisely? Can you endure relentless criticism without dissolving into tears?"
Su Yu snapped into a salute, fueled by desperation and muscle memory from his previous life.
"Sir! I was practically engineered to be yelled at! My former boss used my dignity as a stress ball! I am immune to verbal abuse!"
"Good enough," the AD grunted, thrusting a laminated badge into his hand. "You're hired. Temporary set assistant. Don't mess up."
(On the Set)
He ran like his life depended on it—because, in a way, it did. He fetched water bottles with blinding speed. He produced tissues before sneezes even fully formed. He located lost hairpins, procured slippers, and even managed to dive and catch a steamed bun fumbled by another crew member before it hit the dusty ground. Five-second rule didn't apply when you were this hungry.
By the end of the grueling day, his feet felt like ground meat, but his spirit felt strangely rejuvenated—primarily because he held actual, tangible payment in his hand. Cold, hard, beautiful cash.
A hundred yuan. It felt like winning the lottery.
The crew, surprisingly, seemed to like him. He was efficient, surprisingly polite for someone who looked like a runaway model, and possessed that bizarre, out-of-place CEO aura even while fetching coffee.
"Kid," the AD said gruffly, handing him another steamed bun (this one clean). "You did good. Show up tomorrow? We could probably use someone permanent."
Su Yu, overwhelmed, wiped away a non-existent tear.
"Sir, for a steady job and three meals, I would happily scrub the portable toilets with a toothbrush and a smile."
(That Afternoon)
Newly flush with a hundred yuan, feeling like a veritable tycoon, Su Yu marched purposefully into a decidedly less glamorous part of the city – a labyrinthine neighborhood where the air hung thick with the smell of cheap cigarettes, fried food, and vaguely expired hopes.
He found his target: a landlord distinguished by a prominently missing front tooth and a mole on his chin that seemed to possess its own gravitational pull.
The landlord squinted at Su Yu. "You sure you want this one, fancy boy? Rent's cheap, but she ain't got windows. Plenty of... atmosphere, though. And rats. But also atmosphere."
Su Yu surveyed his potential new abode. The ceiling plaster was cracked in a pattern resembling a map of despair. The single ceiling fan wobbled precariously, threatening decapitation with every rotation. From adjacent rooms came the sounds of a passionate argument and off-key karaoke, despite it being mid-afternoon.
It was perfect. Horrible, but perfectly within his budget.
He bowed slightly, a gesture that clashed hilariously with the surroundings.
"It will suffice. I shall take it. My new headquarters!"
He paid the deposit in cash – a significant chunk of his hard-earned hundred yuan – and moved in immediately with the single suitcase he'd found himself with, which undoubtedly belonged to the body's original owner.
Later, lying on the protesting mattress that smelled faintly of mildew and regret, Su Yu stared up at a large spider meticulously constructing its web in a corner. He regarded it not as a pest, but as a fellow tenant. He managed a small, genuine smile.
"Who needs a fancy CEO title anyway?" he murmured to the spider. "I am now the supreme CEO of Rock Bottom. And the rent is manageable."
(A Tiny Intruder)
Su Yu was lying on the creaky bed, meticulously counting his remaining cash like a doomed man counting his final rations.
Suddenly—BANG BANG BANG!—his flimsy door burst open, kicked inwards with surprising force.
A small boy, no older than six or seven, charged in, clutching a toy truck with only three wheels. His face was artfully smudged with dirt, and a familiar trail of dried snot decorated his upper lip.
"Uncle!" the boy demanded, pointing a grubby finger. "Are you the new ghost they put in this room?"
Su Yu, startled from his financial anxieties, sat bolt upright. "Ghost? What? No! I'm the new tenant! Flesh and blood, see?" He pinched his own arm for emphasis.
The kid squinted suspiciously. "Then why are you living here? My mama says only ghosts and super-duper jobless people live in this creepy building."
Su Yu stared into the middle distance, a haunted look in his eyes. He whispered dramatically, "Kid... you hit the nail right on the head…"
Without invitation, the boy plopped down on the dusty floor, making himself comfortable.
"My name is Doudou," he announced. "I live next door. Mama told me not to talk to weird strangers. But I saw you moving in, and you looked really, really unemployed. And probably harmless."
A bitter smile touched Su Yu's lips. "The kid's got sharp judgment, I'll give him that."
(Scene: A Strategic Alliance is Forged)
After five minutes of companionable silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic creaking of the ceiling fan and Su Yu trying to telepathically communicate 'please don't drop on me' to the resident spider, he looked down at Doudou.
"Hey, kid. You want a job?"
Doudou's eyes lit up. "What's a job?"
"It's like a mission," Su Yu explained seriously. "You perform vital tasks for me, your superior officer, and in return, I provide compensation in the form of valuable resources—specifically, snacks."
"Snacks?!" Doudou gasped, eyes wide. "Like those super spicy duck necks? And maybe those slightly stale Oreos from the corner store?"
"The very same," Su Yu nodded with utmost gravity. "You shall be my First Secretary and Head of Security. Your primary duties: monitor rodent activity within these premises and report any unusual phenomena—ghost sightings, strange noises, sudden drops in temperature. I, your CEO, cannot be distracted by spectral entities. I am a man of peace and business strategy."
Doudou scrambled to his feet and offered a surprisingly crisp salute. "Understood, Boss!"
"Address me as Chief Su," Su Yu corrected, puffing out his chest slightly, trying to project an authority that felt utterly alien.
(The New Regime)
Doudou embraced his new role with alarming dedication. Each morning, he'd appear at Su Yu's door bearing a 'report' – usually a piece of scrap paper covered in crayon drawings depicting large, menacing rats and vaguely blob-shaped ghosts, titled: "TOP SECRET: Daily Rat & Ghost Situation."
Sometimes he'd offer Su Yu half of a suspiciously acquired steamed bun. Other times, he'd just curl up on the floor for a nap, occasionally drooling on Su Yu's collection of instant noodle receipts (which Su Yu mentally categorized as 'important financial documents').
In return, Su Yu diligently paid his secretary in cheap snacks, offered completely fabricated CEO-level advice ("Always leverage your assets, Doudou, even if your only asset is a broken toy truck"), and once bestowed upon him a stray shoelace, declaring it "a symbolic rope binding our corporate destiny."
(Contemplation at Night)
As Su Yu stood by the grimy, cracked window frame (since there was no actual glass), sipping lukewarm tea from a chipped mug as if it were vintage brandy, Doudou snored softly on the floor nearby, his crayon report clutched in his hand.
"This," Su Yu whispered dramatically to the indifferent city skyline, "is merely the beginning of my empire. Resources are limited, yes—one employee, one arachnid consultant, a structurally unsound roof—but the ambition? Unlimited."
(One Week Later: Seeking Legitimacy)
The sun was still struggling to penetrate the smoggy morning sky when Su Yu found himself standing before a doorway shrouded in darkness. The narrow hallway beyond smelled pungently of stale beer, desperation, and something vaguely fungal.
From the depths emanated a bizarre symphony of urban chaos—a burst of unhinged laughter, followed by a heavy thud. Then, the low, seductive murmur of a woman's voice, abruptly cut off by what sounded suspiciously like a muffled gunshot (or perhaps just a car backfiring very close by).
Su Yu swallowed hard. "Okay. Atmosphere checks out. Definitely the right address."
He cautiously stepped over a puddle of indeterminate origin (could be soup, could be regret, could be something worse) and navigated the corridor of questionable life choices.
At the very end, a doorway glowed with a lurid red light. Inside, bathed in the crimson gloom, sat a man in his late thirties. His arms were covered in intricate tattoos that vaguely resembled cartoon dumplings. He was simultaneously juggling three different burner phones, chain-smoking, operating a battered laptop, and chewing vigorously on betel nut, staining his teeth a alarming shade of red.
The man didn't bother looking up. "Whatcha need?" he mumbled around the betel nut.
Su Yu straightened his posture, adopting what he hoped was a convincing 'I engage in shady dealings' voice.
"Identification," he stated flatly. "And a full set of credentials. Graduation certificate, proof of work experience, the whole package. Top quality."
The tattooed man paused his juggling act, slowly raising his head, his eyes bloodshot and calculating. "Got the cash, pretty boy?"
Su Yu didn't flinch. He stepped forward and—bam!—slammed his entire hard-earned week's salary onto the cluttered table with the dramatic flair of a gambler betting his last chip.
But he wasn't finished.
He followed it up with a cascade of loose change and crumpled small bills – funds painstakingly collected by discreetly scooping coins from the donation cups of street beggars who claimed blindness but were definitely squinting judgmentally under their sunglasses, muttering curses like, "May your instant noodles forever clump together."
Su Yu felt no shame. Desperation had kicked shame out of the driver's seat long ago.
Just as the tattooed man reached greedily for the pile of money, a slender hand snaked unexpectedly onto Su Yu's back. It felt soft, strangely cold, and smelled heavily of cheap perfume.
"Well hello there, handsome…" a syrupy voice purred dangerously close to his ear.
Su Yu turned his head—and recoiled as if struck. A woman, layered in garish makeup, teetering on impossibly high red heels, flashed him a smile that screamed 'I've pickpocketed three tourists before breakfast.' She sidled closer, her painted fingernail tracing a path across his shoulder blade.
"Ooh, a new face around here. Fresh meat for the grinder," she cooed.
Snap!
Su Yu instinctively batted her hand away as if swatting a particularly persistent fly. "Apologies, sister. I'm strictly vegetarian when it comes to trouble. Also, perpetually broke."
The woman let out an indignant shriek, stumbling backward dramatically. "You disgusting cockroach! May your fake ID spontaneously combust during your next border crossing!"
The tattooed man roared with laughter, slapping his knee. "Ha! Kid's got balls. Alright, I like your style."
With surprising dexterity, he produced a thick folder from beneath the table and slid it across. Inside: a freshly laminated identity card bearing Su Yu's face and name, a diploma from the prestigious (and entirely fictional) "Harverd Unibersity," and a glowing resume detailing his impressive (and fabricated) career as a "Mid-Level Strategic Consultant for Global Future Industries of Tomorrow, Inc."
Su Yu snatched the folder, bowed curtly, and practically fled the den, bursting out into the murky daylight like a fugitive escaping prison.
Clutching the precious documents to his chest, Su Yu whispered fervently to himself, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration,
"This is it. Now I just need one chance. One lucky break. One single opportunity to..."
His monologue was abruptly cut short as his foot connected squarely with a discarded banana peel. He windmilled his arms frantically before crashing face-first into a large, unimpressed stray cat lounging nearby.
The cat hissed violently.
Su Yu, sprawled on the pavement, hissed back instinctively.
They glared at each other for a moment, two beings united by misfortune and wounded pride, before both stalked off in opposite directions, dignity thoroughly shredded.
(Meanwhile, Inside the Lu Family Mansion)
Lightning seemed to crackle within the opulent walls, though the sky outside was deceptively clear. The sound was merely Old Master Lu raising his voice.
Inside the ridiculously luxurious mansion—where diamond chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like frozen tears of the bourgeoisie and the floors were so polished you could probably perform surgery on them—tension simmered like an active volcano.
Old Master Lu, patriarch of the clan, clad in a magnificent golden-embroidered robe that suggested he might declare himself Emperor at any moment, slammed his heavy jade-handled cane onto the marble floor. The sound echoed like thunder. "WHERE IS MY GRANDSON?!"
His roar reverberated through the vast hall, startling even the stoic ancient portraits on the walls.
Secretary Han, clutching his tablet like a shield, visibly trembled.
The head butler flinched, nearly dropping a priceless silver serving tray.
Two burly security guards attempted to blend seamlessly into the expensive wallpaper.
The maids collectively looked like they wished they could be sucked into the nearest high-end vacuum cleaner.
"HE HAS BEEN MISSING FOR AN ENTIRE WEEK!" Old Master Lu bellowed, his face flushed crimson. "A full seven days! And all you bring me are whispers?! RUMORS of him being seen entering some dilapidated hovel in the slums and then vanishing as if he's starring in some cheap detective novel?!"
Just then—CLANG—the massive, ornate front gates groaned open.
A sleek, impossibly black Rolls-Royce glided silently into the courtyard, purring like a predator disguised as luxury transport. From within emerged a middle-aged man, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. His eyes were weary but held a sharp, intelligent light—Lu Zhenhai, the missing Young Master Lu's father.
Beside him stood a woman of breathtaking, albeit fragile, beauty. She wore an elegant silk qipao, but her perfect makeup was slightly smudged, hinting at recent tears. Her expression was a mask of cold grief, yet her eyes were hollow. She clutched a cashmere shawl tightly around her shoulders as she stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly.
"Father…" she managed, her voice cracking with emotion, "have you found him…? My son… where is my boy…?"
A heavy silence fell over the room. Even the air conditioning seemed to hold its breath.
Old Master Lu's fierce expression softened marginally, but his voice was still stern. "Yunqiao… you were supposed to be watching him! How could you let this happen? He is your only child!"
But if Su Yu—our clueless philosopher of poverty, currently strategizing how to stretch one instant noodle pack into two meals—had been present in that room, his jaw would have unhinged and hit the diamond-polished floor with an audible thunk.
Because the stunning, elegantly grieving woman was not just any stranger.
To his horrified eyes, she bore an uncanny, terrifying resemblance to—
The Old Hag!
Yes, that particular demon queen in designer heels! His former CEO! The tyrant who regularly consumed his soul with her morning espresso, served in a platinum cup!
The same sharp, calculating eyebrows. The same imperious set of the jaw. The same laser-beam eyes that could penetrate steel and always seemed to ask, "Where is the TPS report I never actually assigned but expect completed yesterday?"
But now… crying? Displaying actual human emotion? Looking… vulnerable?
"No... it can't be..." Su Yu would have sputtered internally, his mind reeling. "She even has the same 'I reserve the right to terminate your employment with a single arched eyebrow' energy…"
And the distinguished, weary-looking man beside her? Lu Zhenhai?
He looked exactly like the man in the silver picture frame that always sat on the Old Hag CEO's imposing desk. The one she occasionally glared at between sessions of verbally eviscerating her subordinates. The one she once drunkenly whispered to during a mandatory corporate retreat: "You would have understood my methods... if only you were still here…"
If Su Yu had been there, the disparate, chaotic pieces of his new reality would have slammed together with the force of a cosmic car crash, prompting an internal scream of existential panic:
"WAIT. HOLD ON. TIME OUT— AM I THE MISSING HEIR OF THE MEGA-RICH LU FAMILY?!
AND THAT SOUL-SUCKING TYRANT CEO... IS MY ACTUAL BIOLOGICAL MOTHER?!
WHICH MEANS THE GUY IN THE PHOTO FRAME IS MY DECEASED FATHER?!
HAVE I BEEN UNKNOWINGLY EXPLOITED AS CHEAP LABOR BY MY OWN FAMILY'S CONGLOMERATE ALL THIS TIME?!
IS THIS WHY I NEVER GOT A CHRISTMAS BONUS, NOT EVEN A LOUSY FRUITCAKE?!?!"
But alas, Su Yu was not there. He was likely back in his windowless room, attempting to teach Doudou basic accounting principles using bottle caps, utterly oblivious to the high-stakes family drama unfolding across town.
Back in the Lu mansion, Old Master Lu gripped the ornate armrest of his throne-like chair, his knuckles white.
"We will find him," he declared, his voice low but resonating with absolute resolve. "Mark my words. I will tear this entire city apart, brick by brick, if necessary."
And so, the hunt for the missing heir—currently operating under the alias 'Chief Su' and employing a six-year-old—officially began.