So What If I'm a Scumbag?

I, Jiang Bolin, am 22 years old, a top-notch bastard who has been spoiled by fate. Destiny has given me a skin that can make women breathless, a height of 188cm and inherited wealth, so that my life is paved with gold bricks from the starting line. Three months after returning to China, my name in the venture capital circle was "Genius" and my name in nightclubs was "Legend". I have used this capital to the extreme: One, three, five, hunting for the royal lady in the workplace. Watching them take off their gold-rimmed glasses for me is a more exciting conquest than any business acquisition. Two-four-six, a captive innocent sweet girl. The whole universe in their eyes is my most satisfying collection. On Sunday, there has to be a Lolita dance that spins just for me. The ultimate beauty requires the ultimate sense of ritual. I don't talk about love. Love is a future that poor people need to believe in. I only do sensory spot trading, daily disposal, no trace. Until a fatal bug appeared in my "hardware" - my world began to fade. The famous paintings, jewelry, the flaming paint of the sports car, and even the stunning face that was still breathing on the pillow last night, all faded into a desperate gray scale, and finally solidified into disgusting pale masks without features. Top doctors consulted and announced: My senses were on strike and there was no cure. Just when I was about to rot in this black and white cage, Liang Xiaoyin appeared. A new news anchor on the TV station, she is 22 years old. Beauty is the least important label for her. When people in the industry mention her, they will first be in awe of her professionalism, and then lower their voices and say: "That girl has a grave in her heart, where her eighteen-year-old moon is buried." The fate between people is really wonderful. 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶