YMW CH 1

Fake Heir of a Wealthy Family

In the suburbs, a private horse farm stood silent under the storm.

Torrential rain tore through the dark, gray night, splashing cold water everywhere. The atmosphere felt heavy and dim, except for the club beside the stables, which shone brightly, a stark contrast to the gloomy weather.

Inside a private room, Cen Wu sat silently on an expensive leather sofa, unmoving for several minutes.

The people around him exchanged nervous glances and barely dared to breathe. They feared angering this “young master.”

“Second Young Master,” a red-haired young man cautiously approached Cen Wu and called out, “Are you okay?”

Cen Wu had a strikingly cold and elegant appearance: pale skin, vivid red lips, and beautiful eyes that slightly turned upward at the corners. His long, thick lashes resembled the fluttering tail feathers of a mountain sparrow.

Despite his cold appearance, the softness of his youthful features gave him a misty and gentle aura.

At that moment, no trace of anger or defiance marked his face. Even his eyes looked lost. He clutched the edge of his clothes nervously, squeezed into the corner of the sofa, appearing confused and pitiful.

As the red-haired man moved closer, Cen Wu flinched away. When he tried again, Cen Wu pulled back further, almost falling off the sofa. He steadied himself, snapping back to awareness.

Suddenly, he panicked.

!?

What was going on?

Cen Wu finally noticed a teenage boy, about 17 or 18, kneeling at his feet. The boy’s head hung low, and someone had restrained his hands behind him. Blood mixed with rainwater dripped from his pale jawline.

Bruises and wounds covered the boy’s body.

Deep purple marks stretched across his neck and oozed blood. His wrinkled clothes were soaked in red stains.

The brutality stunned Cen Wu. He didn’t know whether to call the police first or help the boy up.

“Xie Guilan,” the red-haired man suddenly kicked the boy hard in the shoulder, yelling impatiently, “Apologize to the Second Young Master!”

“Who do you think you are? You dared to lay a hand on the Second Young Master, and now you’re giving attitude?!”

…

???

Xie Guilan?

Cen Wu shivered. Just last night, he had read a novel where the protagonist had that very name.

It was a classic rags-to-riches story. The protagonist, Xie Guilan, was the true heir of a wealthy family but had been switched at birth with a fake one. The original body belonged to a fake heir who had lived in luxury his entire life.

The switch had occurred when Xie Guilan’s biological mother—a woman hoping to marry into wealth—was rejected by the real father. Enraged and pregnant, she returned to her rural hometown. During a chaotic storm, she had swapped her son with a famous actress’s child, ensuring her own would live a better life.

As the plot unfolded, it overflowed with family betrayal and tragedy. The fake heir, who grew up arrogant and hostile, constantly sabotaged the protagonist, Xie Guilan. Eventually, when the truth emerged, the fake heir faced brutal retribution and met a violent end.

At that moment, Cen Wu’s thoughts raced: “…”

He wanted to run, but escape seemed impossible.

In this particular scene, Xie Guilan had come under false accusations and endured a brutal beating. His biological father had given him only a pittance for his mother’s medical treatment, while his half-brother, Xie Shangjing, openly despised him. Consequently, they had set him up for further humiliation.

Therefore, Cen Wu realized he had replaced the villainous fake heir. Clearly, he needed to tread carefully, since offending the protagonist would not end well.

His only goal was straightforward: restore Xie Guilan’s rightful identity, apologize, and leave quietly. Perhaps then, he might be spared.

However, before anything else, he had to get Xie Guilan out of this nightmare.

Taking a deep breath, Cen Wu’s throat tightened slightly as he swallowed nervously.

Cen Wu, realizing he had replaced the villainous fake heir, knew he needed to tread carefully. Offending the protagonist wouldn’t end well.

He had only one goal: restore Xie Guilan’s rightful identity, apologize, and leave quietly. Maybe then, he’d be spared.

But first, he had to get Xie Guilan out of this nightmare.

Cen Wu took a deep breath, his throat tightening slightly as he swallowed nervously.

The room held over a dozen people, and at this moment, every single pair of eyes fixated on him. Cen Wu’s body stiffened, and he instinctively wanted to retreat.

As a director who had gained fame early, Cen Wu suffered from severe social anxiety. He couldn’t even accept awards without sending an assistant director in his place. On set, he managed to function, but once he left, his anxiety would flare up immediately.

In recent months, his symptoms had worsened. He hadn’t directed or left home for over half a year. Speaking to people made him blush and stammer, and their close presence left his hands and feet cold, trembling.

This unfamiliar environment felt like a social anxiety nightmare.

However, in the next moment, Cen Wu realized he couldn’t escape. Worse, he found himself smirking coldly, completely beyond his control.

What?!!

“Xie Guilan,” Cen Wu watched in horror as he lifted his boot and cruelly tilted the boy’s chin with his toe. With a sneer, he taunted, “You filthy bastard, you’re not even fit to carry my shoes, and you dare raise your hand against me?”

Forced to lift his head, Xie Guilan revealed a face covered in bruises, making his pale skin seem even more ghostly.

His sharp nose and deep-set eyes—dark and cold—gave him an intense, dangerous look. The hatred and fury in his eyes simmered just below the surface, expertly concealed.

But Cen Wu was a director.

He couldn’t miss that.

Cold sweat broke out on his back. Could he still fix this?

Cen Wu desperately wanted to clamp a hand over his mouth, but he couldn’t move. It felt as if invisible strings controlled him, turning him into a puppet.

His black riding boots only made the situation worse. Xie Guilan’s slender, straight legs were bound beneath him, beautiful yet unsettlingly sharp.

The cold, polished toe of his boot pressed against Xie Guilan’s pale throat—an insult in itself.

Xie Guilan’s hands, restrained behind him, clenched so tightly that his palms bled. His throat bobbed involuntarily.

“Why are you glaring at me?” Cen Wu heard himself say in a harsh tone. He ground his boot down, as though crushing garbage, and hissed, “Keep it up, and I’ll gouge out those eyes.”

This cruelty shocked even him. Where did that come from?

He pressed down harder on Xie Guilan’s neck, grinding the skin until it reddened and bled. Then, he leaned down and lightly slapped the side of Xie Guilan’s face—not hard, but condescendingly. “From now on, you’d better learn to behave around me.”

Cen Wu: “…”

Well, so much for that. Life’s short anyway.

His calves shook uncontrollably. Humiliating Xie Guilan like this made him feel sick, and he couldn’t even look the boy in the eye.

The original character had made too many enemies. Honor could be challenged, but never insulted—especially not in one of those old revenge novels.

Didn’t they know the saying? Never underestimate the poor youth.

Meanwhile, the others watched with folded arms, enjoying the spectacle. None of them dared intervene; no one even wanted to. Xie Guilan had crossed the wrong person—the heir of the Cen family.

Even if Cen Wu beat him to death tonight, what could they do? The Cen family could pay for it.

Cen Wu remembered the plot that followed. He had read this exact scene late last night.

[In the original text:

Xie Guilan refused to fight back but didn’t submit either. His body was covered in lash marks and boot prints, but his gaze remained icy, as if untouched by the brutality.

His refusal to truly kneel only angered everyone further.

“Do you think I won’t dare?” the young master shouted, his beautiful face twisted with rage. Like a man possessed, he began kicking Xie Guilan viciously. “Drag him out of here!” he ordered the others.]

The scene was reaching its boiling point. The people in the private room watched Cen Wu closely, ready to fan the flames.

“Second Young Master, you can’t let him off this time. He’s gotten so bold he dared to fight back!”

“Second Young Master, why not hang him up and lock him in for three days and nights? Let’s see if he still resists!”

“Second Young Master…”

“Enough! All of you, shut up!” Cen Wu’s palms were slick with cold sweat, and his legs refused to cooperate. Against his will, he stepped toward Xie Guilan, growling, “You think I won’t do it?”

The tension in the room surged. These second-generation heirs, spoiled since birth, thrived on watching others suffer. They enjoyed seeing people like Xie Guilan—a mere illegitimate child—struggle helplessly.

To them, Xie Shangjing’s arrogance was understandable. But why should Xie Guilan, of all people, dare to defy them? Still, as the son of Xie’s father, they knew killing or seriously injuring him could bring trouble.

They all waited for Cen Wu to lose his temper, ready to jump in with a few kicks of their own. That way, if there were consequences, the blame wouldn’t fall solely on them.

But they waited… and waited. The room grew so silent it became awkward. Cen Wu’s bravado had completely vanished, leaving an uncomfortable stillness.

He stood there, frozen.

Everyone: “…”

Everyone: ???

Cen Wu’s expression was blank, too afraid to even look up. His toes curled nervously against the floor, and his pale ears flushed a deep, embarrassed red.

Help.

Maybe it would be better if he just died right now.

He didn’t understand what was happening. He’d prepared himself for the worst—ready to be fed to the sharks—but suddenly, he could move again. It was as if the original story had decided at the last moment: “Just kidding, go play.”

…

Oh no.

Fear prickled through him. His already pale face turned even whiter, and his lashes trembled uncontrollably.

Cautiously, he crouched in front of Xie Guilan, forcing himself to speak. “C-can you… still stand up?”

He squatted awkwardly, hands resting on his knees, nervously twisting the fabric of his pants. His voice was small and shaky, filled with genuine concern.

Xie Guilan’s thin lips pressed tightly together, his cold, dark eyes piercing into Cen Wu like nails. The intensity made Cen Wu’s back feel cold.

He shivered, head hanging lower and lower. The dim light from the room cast a glow on his pale, slender neck, highlighting the tension in every muscle—like a frightened animal caught by the scruff.

The people around them grew more confused. Even the red-haired man scratched his head, baffled. What on earth was this guy playing at?

Seeing Cen Wu’s pale face and trembling lashes, the red-haired man’s disdain for Xie Guilan deepened.

Look at what he’d done to Cen! He’d made him so angry that he was shaking.

As a loyal sidekick, the red-haired man thought he had it all figured out. This must be some next-level mockery.

Brilliant—Cen was truly brilliant.

“Stop pretending to be weak!” Thinking he understood Cen Wu’s intentions perfectly, the red-haired man stepped forward confidently and kicked Xie Guilan hard on the shoulder again. “Can’t even stand after a few hits?”

Cen Wu: “…”

Cen Wu: !!!

Xie Guilan collapsed to the ground, his dark hair falling over his face, half of it hidden in shadow. He gasped for air, his body curled up in pain.

The flicker of emotion in his eyes vanished completely, replaced by a smoldering, violent hatred.

Meanwhile, the red-haired man, oblivious to the dangerous shift, grinned and attempted to placate Cen Wu. “Second Young Master, you don’t know—he only pretends to be tough. If you don’t push him, he’ll act like he’s dying.”

Cen Wu: “…”

Listen to me. Thank you very much.