Chapter 110: The Ultimate Winner in Life

In an unfamiliar place, surrounded by several people he did not know yet who seemed intimately familiar with him, Yan Luo’s situation was much like that of a traveler from another world. Thus, when faced with their questions, he immediately employed the excuse so beloved by such travelers:

Amnesia.

Simply stating it in a calm voice, however, would hardly be convincing.

Life is a play, and everything depends on one’s acting.

Yan Luo controlled the muscles of his face, shifting from calm to bewilderment. Then his expression gradually became fierce and contorted. He suddenly raised his hands and clutched his hair, his lips trembling faintly, as though he were enduring unbearable mental anguish.

“Who are you? And who is Jerry…? Where is this? Why… can’t I remember anything? Why?”

He raised his head toward the sky and let out a furious roar, seemingly filled with unwillingness.

“Who am I?!”

Unfortunately, the Heartless Puppet contained no emotion of sorrow. Otherwise, releasing that emotion and allowing a tear to fall from the corner of his eye would have made the performance far more moving.

The three women who had witnessed the display exchanged glances. A single word escaped all three mouths at once:

“Amnesia?”

Whether they truly believed him or not, at least on the surface, the three model-like women in their twenties acknowledged that Yan Luo—or rather, the character he was playing, Jerry—had lost his memory.

The four of them entered the large house. From the outside, it appeared to be a dilapidated hut built of straw, branches, and mud, yet the interior was unexpectedly lavish. The black earthen floor was covered by a scarlet carpet. Bearskins and tigerskins had been draped over the bed and chairs. On the table sat fresh fruit, a platter of salad, and a bottle of red wine with its cork removed, filling the room with the rich fragrance of grapes.

“Your name is Jerry.”

The sweet-faced blonde with the round cheeks produced a passport. It bore the name “Jerry,” along with a photograph: a fair-skinned young man in his twenties, with blond hair and blue eyes. By Western standards, he was extraordinarily handsome—not muscular, but possessing the delicate, creamy good looks of a romantic lead from a gothic fantasy film.

“Are these people blind?”

Yan Luo studied the photograph in the passport. It looked nothing like him!

The four women could not possibly be blind. Therefore, this must have been a disguise imposed on him by the program. After entering this inner world, he had taken on the role of a white man who should have died buried inside a coffin and a grave: Jerry.

“Who are you?”

Yan Luo sat on a wooden chair covered with tiger fur, clutching his head in both hands. He asked in a despondent voice, “Who are you?”

Whether it was his earlier exaggerated cry of “Who am I?” or his current air of dejection, all of it was an act. A psychologist like Chu Qingfeng would naturally have been able to see through him. He could only hope these three white women would be easier to fool.

“You’ve forgotten even us?”

The sweet-faced blonde sighed, seemingly troubled. “I’m Jessica, your sister—your own sister!”

“I’m your fiancée, Katherine.” The tall woman with flaxen hair and wheat-colored skin gazed at Yan Luo as though her heart were breaking.

“Hmph.” The aloof redhead snorted unhappily. “I’m your ex-girlfriend, Brenda.”

Yan Luo fell silent.

All of a sudden, he had acquired a younger sister, a fiancée, and an ex-girlfriend—and every one of them looked like a model or a movie star.

The blonde Jessica had a sweet face and an endearing air. Katherine, with her wheat-colored skin, proud figure, and short blouse revealing a flat stomach without a trace of excess fat, radiated vitality. Brenda, with her aloof expression and pair of seductive, endlessly long legs, was equally striking.

Any one of these three women would have been qualified to walk in the Victoria’s Secret show.

And these three women were actually his sister, fiancée, and ex-girlfriend! Never mind his sister—what were his fiancée and ex-girlfriend doing together? Wouldn’t that inevitably create a battlefield of romantic jealousy?

You have sensed an intense emotion:

Infatuation +1

Yan Luo said nothing.

He discovered that the emotion had clearly come from his blonde sister. He remembered that when Jessica introduced herself just now, she had emphasized that she was his “own sister.”

“This situation seems rather dangerous and complicated…”

When Yan Luo showed no recognition whatsoever of any of the three names, the women began offering him one piece of information about Jerry after another, hoping to awaken his memories.

“What? I’m descended from the aristocratic Hoffman family, which carries an ancient noble bloodline? I possess an exalted status and a title personally bestowed by the Queen of England?”

“What? My family is the hidden power controlling several major financial conglomerates across Europe?”

“What? My parents both died some time ago, and I’m now the sole male heir of my generation?”

“What? I own villas and estates in Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland; Manchester in England; Venice, the water city of Italy; Barcelona in Spain… and many other cities? I also have several wineries in Bordeaux, France?”

“What? I own forty-seven luxury cars, ranging from Lamborghinis to Rolls-Royces?”

“What? I have a private jet?”

“What? My current personal fortune is approximately eleven billion—and in euros?”

Yan Luo pinched his arm hard and found that it hurt.

This was not a dream…

His parents were dead, he had piles of cars and houses, and he possessed a sister, a fiancée, and an ex-girlfriend. Yan Luo nearly wanted to ask the program whether he could simply remain in this inner world instead of returning to the surface world.

With such a family background—and such handsome, creamy good looks, the sort that could easily entice young women—wasn’t he the ultimate winner who had surpassed the limits of humanity?

Then again, why had he left Europe to enjoy himself and come all the way to this primitive indigenous tribe in Africa? Was he bored enough to seek death?

As the saying went, a wealthy young heir should never sit beneath a dangerous roof. A man of such importance should not have come here without bodyguards, bringing only three women with him. It made no sense at all.

Suppressing his doubts, Yan Luo began wondering whether the three women were suffering from Mary Sue syndrome and had invented this identity for him. That thought was immediately dispelled, however, by the bottle of red wine on the table. Judging from the lettering, markings, and vintage, it was an eighty-two Château Lafite.

Yes, the very same eighty-two Lafite that appeared in countless films, television dramas, and novels—the wine protagonists demanded from waiters while showing off. The legendary vintage that had been drunk by people all over the world, and even in certain other dimensions, for decades without ever being completely exhausted…

As for the handbags the three women had placed on the table, Yan Luo could not tell whether they were Louis Vuitton or Hermès. One was clearly made of crocodile leather with an unusual texture, decorated with platinum and diamonds. Another was shaped like a rose and set not only with diamonds but also several pink gemstones. The third was assembled from several different bags, yet instead of appearing chaotic, the pieces fit together with remarkable harmony.

Yan Luo felt that any one of those bags would have been enough to let him eat instant noodles for the rest of his life in the surface world.

After that, Yan Luo learned even more.

This heir to a vast financial empire, the aristocratic son of a wealthy family whose parents had both died, was usually extremely discreet. His conglomerate was managed by distant relatives and professional teams. As for Jerry himself, he lived entirely according to his own interests and whims.

His hobby was not horseback riding or golf, the usual pastimes of aristocrats, but photography.

“So that means I’m a photographer as well? That’s a very promising profession!”