A logic-free, simple-minded story-just read it with your brain switched off. Brain storage area-
Song Shi'an stood in the deli section, staring at the row of roast chicken drumsticks inside the glass case. He had already been waiting for forty minutes.
The young part-timer beside him, who was in charge of putting on discount labels, had stolen so many glances at him that she had lost count. Her grip on the label gun was nearly making her palms sweat.
She had worked part-time here for over six months, and this was the first time she had seen a man who looked like this.
Standing there at six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he made even the most ordinary white T-shirt look like a magazine cover.
His hair was a little long, falling just above his brow ridge and making his face look almost excessively small.
He had prominent brows, a straight nose, a clean, sharply defined jawline, and lips that turned up slightly, lending him a hint of innate nonchalance.
He was unreasonably handsome.
Song Shi'an noticed her gaze, and the tips of his ears grew a little hot.
He lowered his head and pretended to check his phone, swiping aimlessly across the screen. Have I been standing here too long...? Even he felt a little self-conscious.
He had been standing here for almost an hour, and his legs ached, but he had no choice. He had less than two hundred yuan left to his name, and every little bit saved counted.
The whole thing was ridiculous. Three days ago, he had still been an ordinary college student who had made it to university on financial aid. Money had been tight, but his life had been reasonably stable.
Then he woke up, and his world had turned upside down. He spent a full five minutes staring blankly into the bathroom mirror, then even longer examining his new body from head to toe.
Six feet tall, broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a thin layer of muscle spread evenly across his shoulders, back, waist, and abdomen, with smooth, beautiful lines.
Every angle of that face looked as though its parameters had been painstakingly adjusted. It was so good-looking it seemed unreal.
Honestly, it felt pretty damn good.
Once that initial excitement wore off, though, he was dumbfounded.
The original owner was called Song Shi'an, the same name as him, and was an eighteenth-tier actor who had signed with an unreliable talent agency during his freshman year.
All the company arranged were disreputable drinking parties. The original owner refused to go and dug his heels in about terminating his contract. In the end, he paid a huge sum in breach-of-contract penalties, wiping himself out.
The balance in his bank account was 183.50 yuan.
When Song Shi'an confirmed that number, he collapsed onto the bed, feeling as though the heavens had played an enormous joke on him.
Becoming a gorgeous man sounded great, but becoming a gorgeous man so broke his pockets jingled with emptiness slashed the enjoyment to the bone.
After gnawing on cucumbers for three straight days, he finally couldn't take it anymore. He needed meat.
So he found out that the supermarket across from his residential complex put half-price labels on its deli food at eight every evening.
He had been standing here waiting since six thirty.
Eight o'clock sharp.
A staff member in a red vest appeared right on time and began sticking a stack of yellow labels onto the containers.
Song Shi'an's eyes lit up, and his back instantly straightened.
The moment the label landed on that container of roast chicken drumsticks, he reached out and grabbed it.
His movements were swift and decisive.
He wanted another container, but before he could even reach out, the older men and women behind him surged forward.
Carts rammed into carts, elbows jabbed against elbows, and the crowd pressed forward in a dark mass. Tall as he was, he was forcibly squeezed out.
Song Shi'an looked down at the lone container of drumsticks in his hands and sighed. Fine, one will do.
He was just about to turn around and head to the checkout when the young part-timer who had been standing beside him suddenly spoke.
"There's another one here."
Her voice was a little nervous. She held out a freshly labeled container of chicken wings.
Her ears were so red they could have dripped blood, and her eyes shone as she looked at him, trying hard to suppress the smile tugging at her lips.
Song Shi'an froze for a moment, then his eyes lit up.
"Thank you!"
When he smiled, his eyes curved, and his whole face seemed to light up.
The girl was so dazzled by that smile that she nearly lost her grip.
"You're welcome." She quickly lowered her head, the tips of her ears burning red.
Song Shi'an took the wings, nodded to her, and strode toward the checkout with his two containers of spoils in his arms.
He was planning a little splurge tonight: a bottle of cola to go with them.
When he reached the checkout, he pulled out his phone and checked his balance, then silently put the cola back.
Forget it. Better save a little.
His rented room was on the sixth floor, with no elevator. His breathing hadn't even changed by the time he climbed up. This body really did have a good foundation.
The room was small, with a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe, but at least it was reasonably clean and tidy.
Song Shi'an set the plastic bag on the desk, pulled up a chair, sat down, and opened the container of roast chicken drumsticks to dig in.
He nearly cried when he took the first bite.
It was so fucking good.
After three straight days of gnawing on cucumbers, his mouth had been so deprived of flavor it could practically hatch birds.
The skin of the roast drumsticks was lightly charred and crisp, the meat tender and dripping with juices, and the sauce just the right balance of salty and sweet.
When he finally stopped, only two empty containers remained on the desk.
Full and satisfied, Song Shi'an leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the ceiling.
His mind began wandering through all sorts of things.
He tried to recall the original owner's past.
The memories were fragmented, impossible to piece into a complete picture, but one thing was certain.
With looks like these, after spending a year in the industry, he somehow didn't have a single friend.
No manager contacted him, no fellow actors invited him out to eat. He had moved out during his freshman year because he signed that contract and hadn't lived on campus either. Apart from the original owner's parents, there wasn't even anyone in his phone contacts he could talk to.
He suddenly felt a little empty.
Back when he read novels, he had fantasized about how wonderful it would be to start life over with a god-tier face.
Now that it had really happened to him, what he mostly felt was lost and insecure. He didn't know what would happen tomorrow, where next month's rent would come from, or when those debt collectors would show up at his door.
He lowered his head to look at the containers on the desk, then at his own hands with their well-defined knuckles.
Melancholy was melancholy, but those drumsticks really had been delicious.
Just then, noise started up next door, right on schedule.
"Hand it over! Don't even think about leaving this room alive today!"
Every syllable was crisp, every word brimming with emotion. Even a wall couldn't block those cringeworthy lines. A villain's monologue followed, delivered through gritted teeth and at the top of his lungs.
Song Shi'an wiped his hands expressionlessly. The guy next door practiced his lines at nine every night without fail. It was always either an enraged domineering CEO or a roaring villain, and he was so loud the whole building shook.
This crappy building had practically no soundproofing. Every neighbor on the floor had complained, but it was useless. The guy kept practicing all the same.
He had put up with it for three days, mentally sending his regards to the guy's entire family every day.
Listening to the roaring next door, Song Shi'an suddenly froze. He set down the tissue and slowly sat up straight.