Chapter 8: Disdained Once Again

It was about time to head into the private room. One girl was getting cupping therapy, another was having her feet pampered, a third was massaging her legs and shoulders—everyone was chatting and laughing. Luck is a kind of skill, too. Ma Weimin had randomly picked numbers 7, 77, and 177, and by chance, every one of them turned out to be stunning in looks, figure, and technique, and all were especially attentive and charming in conversation.

The ridiculous part was that this place was completely legitimate, with no mysterious “extra” services. Still, when someone is so thoughtful, saying exactly the things you want to hear, even if it’s plain as day that they’re just putting on an act, that treatment alone suggests you’re no longer a bottom-feeder.

Such were his reflections in this moment of body and soul at ease. He even used four big-brand phones at once, multitasking as he wrote this diary.

After eating so much, with four beautiful women taking turns flattering him, the bill came to less than a thousand yuan? Ma Weimin couldn’t even bring himself to mock them—these people simply didn’t understand the mentality of the wealthy. As for the nine-hundred-something price, Ma Weimin tossed down ten bills and said, “Keep the change,” then strode out.

As he left, he heard several of the girls calling out, “We look forward to your next visit…”

When he returned home, Tao Zi was quite displeased with him. She didn’t scold him, but her impatience was obvious. Ma Weimin knocked his head a few times and felt a bit more normal. He wanted to apologize to Tao Zi, but before he could say a word, she stood up and went upstairs, clearly unhappy.

“Damin, aside from being a bit infuriating, I actually find you rather interesting,” Chen Xiao said with a laugh, coming down for a drink and giving Ma Weimin a friendly punch on the shoulder.

“Xiaoxiao, I think I like you a little,” Ma Weimin replied, a little unhinged again. In the past, without this “heart of a champion,” he’d never dare speak to girls like this. He’d really only had that one little loli as a friend.

Chen Xiao’s expression was odd. “Sis believes you’re being sincere, but the problem is there are plenty of people who like me. So what am I supposed to do about that?”

“You’ve given my life a sense of reality. That means a lot,” Ma Weimin said, sounding a bit out of it. “Maybe I won’t help you realize your dreams or change your whole life, but I’ll give you the heart of a champion—something no one else can give. Listen, they all just want to use their lower halves to communicate with girls like you.”

“Are you drunk?” Chen Xiao asked, then headed upstairs.

That night, Ma Weimin didn’t sleep in his room. Out of control, he filled the big bathtub in the downstairs bathroom and soaked there all night.

In a daze, he thought of his childhood… thought of the old drunk… thought of his little sister…

This time, the memories played out like a fantasy novel: the little sister protecting her second brother, both looked down on by the family, constantly suppressed and tested. Yet, with a cold and unyielding heart, he survived it all—earning nine doctorates by age thirteen, studying at countless top institutions. Later, he personally wrested control of the “Empire” from the old drunk.

The earth beneath my feet…

I am the master!

Wait… wasn’t I born in the countryside, with no sister? My father wasn’t a drunk—he passed away—and I only have a mediocre degree from a second-rate university?

At this, Ma Weimin snapped awake. The bathwater had long gone cold; it was already morning.

That hazy recollection felt like the lingering resentment in this body.

The fragments of dreams were random and jumbled, without logic or continuity—just those keywords: loser, little sister, old drunk. But one thing was clear: this body’s childhood seemed worse off than most ordinary kids.

No wonder it despised losers so much, and perhaps it truly was qualified to look down on everyone—through the eyes of a demon king, the whole world was filled with losers.

With the resentment of a demon king, there should be the aura and gaze of a demon king.

Quickly, Ma Weimin stood before the mirror, concentrating, but he still couldn’t imitate the legendary domain of the demon king. Without those experiences, without that kind of depth, he simply couldn’t possess that rumored “killer gaze” of a demon king.

Unwilling to accept this, he turned his head, closed his eyes for three seconds, then stared fiercely into the mirror.

He only saw a lecherous expression. Nothing else. Better to just get washed and go for a walk…

The new community was peaceful. In the early morning, except for that pile of dog poop trampled the night before, everything felt wonderful.

Hands in his pockets, Ma Weimin tried to recall that bizarre dream. But it was nearly impossible—most people forget their dreams soon after waking, and this body was no exception.

Ma Weimin believed this was part of his “training” in this new life. Once he mastered the demon king’s domain, not to mention one million, even two million could be raked in again—with that kind of gaze, there’d be no risk, and Huo the Fourth would surrender without question.

As he caught a whiff of Chanel—though he couldn’t identify the number—he saw a refined woman jogging in the garden. It was that woman in the trench coat again.

Now, in tight running pants, her figure was stunning.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit of a fantasy: this high-class woman, wearing a luxury watch, actually greeted him first? Maybe, unconsciously, he’d acquired some of the demon king’s charisma and could intimidate her?

Ma Weimin was convinced that, at full power, this body could dominate all losers. And the world was full of them.

The refined woman noticed him zoning out and cleared her throat gently. “You’re out early too?”

“Yes, I’m training my gaze,” Ma Weimin replied.

She paused for a moment. “That’s a new one. You seem like someone with a story.”

“Plenty. We should get to know each other sometime,” he added, unnecessarily.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re looking at my lower body, but your gaze isn’t exactly lecherous. Are you evaluating my legs or my pants?”

“Great legs. The pants are mediocre,” he bluffed, pretending to be discerning.

She looked him up and down. “Not many people comment on my fashion choices. You seem qualified, though.”

She stepped back a couple of paces to get a better look. “Different really is different. You have a naturally striking figure—this outfit could’ve been made just for you.”

“?” Ma Weimin felt a surge of narcissism. Maybe he’d managed to subdue this enchantress—was she about to ask him out? He eagerly asked, “May I have your name?”

“Ni Feihong,” she replied, her manner elegant but not pretentious, which made Ma Weimin want to cover his face. For some reason, around her, he never felt like he’d left his loser days behind.

I must get stronger! I have to reclaim my demon king domain!

After finishing his daydream, Ma Weimin decided to use her for practice and began to stare intently at her.

But it was pointless.

She was no Huo the Fourth. “It’s not fierce enough,” she said. “You’re like someone trying to imitate Tony Leung but not quite succeeding. Leung’s usual demeanor has more flavor, feels more natural.”

As if you actually know him, he thought.

Just as he was thinking this, Ni Feihong continued, “You think I’m bluffing, but I do know Tony Leung. Quite well, in fact.”

Now Ma Weimin was embarrassed, but soon felt pleased again—she was talking as if Tony Leung wasn’t a loser. I’ve seen Liu Yuan’s milk, you certainly haven’t seen that of Tony Leung.

“Do you often drift off during conversations?” Ni Feihong frowned slightly.

“Sorry, it’s not intentional. I was in an accident before—hit my head with a car. My body’s recovered, but my emotions are still a mess,” Ma Weimin said.

Ni Feihong, unwilling to discuss his neurotic issues, cut him off brusquely. “Take off your clothes and give them to me.”

As she spoke, she walked over, touched her own backside, realized she hadn’t brought a business card, and added, “I’m the editor-in-chief of Absolute Chic. Heard of us?”

The name rang in his ears!

A miracle in the fashion world—in this era of digital content dominance, they still had a print circulation of 4.7 million, with a 60% market share on their app platform, setting the standards for fashion across the East and even the world.

But Ma Weimin couldn’t let his loser self show any shock. He simply nodded. “I’ve heard of it.”

“For this issue’s Men’s Perspective, I’m short one cover. An Absolute Chic cover can’t be just anyone. Actually, I was already thinking about your outfit last night,” Ni Feihong said.

“You want my clothes, or you want me?” Ma Weimin asked.

Ni Feihong tilted her head, considering. “Not sure. I’ll think it over, maybe I’ll get a feel for it. You know—‘the vibe’?”

“I get it, the so-called spirit of art, right?”

“Just take off your clothes and give them to me. Save the neurotic talk for someone else. I recommend you do this. There’ll be a reward.” When making such an unreasonable demand, Ni Feihong’s gaze was just as forceful.