After walking Lin Yanyan back to her dormitory, Jiang Hai stood for a moment in the soft evening quiet, watching the warm glow of the lights above the entrance before turning back toward his own dorm. The night air was calm, almost meditative, but his mind was anything but.
By the time he returned to his own room—a small, modest dorm that felt more like a storage closet than a living space—he was already peeling off his shoes and reaching for the one reliable meal that had gotten him through college: instant noodles.
The water boiled. The cup steamed. He slurped silently, the day replaying in his mind like a film reel on fast-forward.
So much had changed in just one afternoon.
After finishing his simple dinner, he lay down on the stiff dorm bed, staring up at the discolored ceiling. His hand drifted to his pocket, feeling the faint warmth still lingering from where the black credit card had been all day. There was something surreal about it.
Then he opened his phone and brought up the system interface again.
"Tycoon Harem System." The words blinked in front of him like a game notification.
"Tycoon," he murmured. "And... harem."
Just the word alone made him pause, but the implications were clear. The system had one core principle: use money to charm women—beautiful, high-value women, based on the system's strange criteria—and in turn, gain wealth, influence, and some undefined power.
"So... I need to spend. On girls. And only then will I see a return."
He laughed, almost bitterly.
"The most materialistic startup I've ever heard of."
But there was no denying the result.
Lin Yanyan had genuinely warmed to him tonight—not just because of the money, but because he'd acted the part: confident, protective, even a little bold. Still, he knew he couldn't rely on affection or chemistry alone. The system was built to reward materialism. To earn big, he had to go big. And for that, he'd need a girl who was unapologetically expensive.
"A high-maintenance girlfriend, huh? The more money she drains, the more I earn."
He chuckled to himself.
"Isn't that the opposite of what every guy wants?"
Just as he was about to turn off the screen, a ding echoed from his phone, followed by a banking app alert.
Message:
Your savings account ending in XXXX has been credited with ¥30,000
Date/Time: April 29, 12:00 AM
New Balance: ¥30,216
— Construction Bank
Jiang Hai sat up in shock, eyes glued to the screen.
"Thirty thousand?"
That was ten percent of the money he had spent on the luxury bags for Lin Yanyan.
He stared at the number, as if it might change if he blinked. But it didn't. It was real. It had worked.
A wave of relief washed over him—stronger than any comfort food could ever give. He'd worked so hard just to get by, always chasing success through effort and study, always falling short. He'd known how the world worked: talent and struggle were never enough without backing, without luck, without money.
And now, for the first time, he had a system that gave him an edge.
A tired smile broke across his face. The tension in his shoulders, his chest—gone. That night, Jiang Hai slept deeper than he had in years, the system card resting safely in the drawer beside his bed.
Next Morning
The sun had barely risen when Jiang Hai stirred. For once, his body felt light, his thoughts crisp and clear. He wasn't dragging himself through the morning; he was almost eager to start the day.
He reached for his phone and opened his payment app. The sleek black interface of the Tycoon Harem account greeted him—and with it, a familiar number.
¥99,999,999,999.00
His eyes widened.
"Wait… didn't I spend a huge chunk of that yesterday?" he muttered, confused.
Then a message flashed from the system:
System Note: Your daily spending quota has been refreshed. Unlimited balance restored.
"So the account resets daily..." he mused, his voice filled with awe.
That explained the 99 billion being restored like nothing had happened.
His lips curled into a grin as he swung his legs off the bed.
"If this is real—and so far, it really is—then I'm about to have one hell of a life."
And with that, Jiang Hai rose to his feet. There was money to spend, girls to charm, and a system to exploit.
Morning sunlight crept through the windows of the dormitory corridor, bathing the cracked tiles and flickering lights in a soft gold. Jiang Hai stepped out of his cramped room, the heavy metal door clicking shut behind him. He paused on the stairwell, leaning briefly on the railing as he stared into the distance, the campus slowly coming alive.
His thoughts drifted.
"This place... is too small," he murmured, glancing back at the dorm building. The air was stale, the walls thin, and the room barely big enough for a bed and a desk. He'd made do with it for so long that he almost forgot what it meant to live comfortably.
But now, with the Tycoon Harem System active and the promise of nearly unlimited funds, why should he continue living like a struggling student?
"I should start planning a move soon. Maybe get a proper apartment. Something clean. Quiet. Classy," he mused.
But today's focus wasn't on moving out—it was on preparing for this evening's date.
And that meant clothes.
He glanced down at his current outfit—worn jeans, faded sneakers, and a hoodie with a barely visible logo. Decent for a student, sure. But hardly what one would wear on a date with Lin Yanyan, the class belle, the untouchable goddess every guy had admired from afar.
She had been so distant before—like a flower blooming on a cliff. Beautiful, visible, and utterly unreachable.
And now, somehow, he had a date with her.
He let out a small laugh, shaking his head.
"I need to spend big tonight—not just for the refund," he thought, "but because if I want to match her status, I can't show up looking like this."
He tucked his hands into his pockets and headed toward the mall. There was no harm in picking up something high-end early—he had the budget for it, and then some.
Meanwhile, across campus…
Lin Yanyan sat by the window in her dorm room, lost in thought, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on the glass. The early morning breeze ruffled the thin curtains as the sound of birds filtered in through the open window.
She hadn't slept well.
Not because of anxiety—but because of curiosity.
"Jiang Hai… Who exactly are you?" she whispered to herself.
She'd agreed to the "fake" boyfriend role mostly on impulse. But the way he carried himself—the confidence, the smile, the sudden wealth—it all felt too... cinematic.
"Don't tell me I've stumbled into one of those 'hidden rich young master living humbly' kind of tropes," she muttered, half-joking. "Like in those cheesy romance novels Mei Lian always reads."
Just then, her roommate, Mei Lian, popped her head into the room, her hair still wet from a rushed shower.
"Yanyan! You're up early for once. What's the occasion? Dream about your mystery boyfriend?" she teased.
Yanyan nearly jumped in place.
"Ah! You scared me!" she pouted, puffing her cheeks slightly, which only made Mei Lian grin wider.
"Don't give me that look," Mei said, walking over and giving her friend's head a playful poke. "You've been floating around all morning. Even when you zone out, you've got that dreamy little smile on your face. What's going on with you, huh?"
Yanyan looked away, trying to mask her thoughts behind her usual calm. But even she couldn't fully suppress the trace of pink rising on her cheeks.
"Nothing... It's just... we have class today, don't we?" she asked, reaching for her bag.
"Yes! And you haven't shown up all week," Mei Lian chided lightly. "If you ditch any more, the professor might call your parents."
That got Yanyan moving. She jumped from the bed and started changing, her mind a mix of quiet excitement and reluctant nerves.
"Hmm… this is good."
Jiang Hai stepped out of the mall and paused by the large glass pane of a boutique storefront, admiring his reflection. He turned slightly to the side, hands in his pockets, and grinned.
The clothes weren't designer-brand—at least not the kind with eye-watering price tags—but they fit well. A clean white shirt tucked into tailored dark jeans, a thin navy jacket layered over the top to cut the early summer breeze. He looked sharp, composed, and just a little mature—enough to feel like the man he wanted to be.
"Simple… but clean. Definitely better than what I wore yesterday."
He gave himself a quick nod and continued down the boulevard until he spotted a stylish-looking salon tucked between a dessert café and a minimalist bookstore. Its glass front displayed a series of photos—elegant hairstyles, slick modern cuts, and glowing reviews in stylized characters.
The nameplate read: "Blanc & Ivy Studio."
It wasn't cheap. But Jiang Hai didn't flinch.
"Still got ¥28,000 from yesterday's system refund," he reminded himself, pushing open the glass door as a soft chime rang out.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of citrus and cedar. The lighting was warm, casting soft highlights along the mirrors and brushed-metal fixtures. A receptionist greeted him with a bow and offered tea before escorting him to a waiting chair.
Soon, his stylist appeared—a woman in her late twenties with sleek, shoulder-length hair dyed a tasteful rose-brown, a soft elegance in her posture. She glanced at the order screen, then looked directly at Jiang Hai through the mirror.
"So... have you decided on a style?" she asked with a gentle smile, sizing him up with the trained eye of a seasoned professional.
Jiang Hai looked up from the sample booklet he'd been browsing. It all looked a bit overwhelming—there were dozens of photos, each more curated than the last.
"Honestly," he said with a sheepish grin, "I think I'll leave it to your expertise. I probably wouldn't pick something that actually suits me anyway."
The stylist let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused.
"Fair enough. You still have that college look… a kind of freshness," she said, gently running her fingers through his hair to assess its texture and length. "A lot of us envy that after a few years in the working world. Let me give you something sharp but natural—something that doesn't scream 'trying too hard.'"
Jiang Hai nodded. "Sounds good to me."
As the scissors began to snip and the blow dryer whirred to life, he found himself relaxing into the chair. With every strand that fell, he felt like he was shedding not just hair, but a layer of the old, uncertain version of himself.