[How come even lackeys are ranked in grades now?]

To get rid of Lu Zhuonian, Chen Zemian swallowed his pride and spent a good while coaxing the lofty Young Master Lu.

He swore up and down that he wouldn’t leave the hospital, even filling out a bronchoscopy request form as a guarantee. He promised Lu Zhuonian that if he escaped and was brought back, he’d undergo ten bronchoscopies as punishment. Only then did he barely manage to appease this young master, who then left the observation room with his entourage of subordinates, bodyguards, and driver in a grand procession.

Thanks to the young master’s privileges, Chen Zemian’s test results came back quickly. Aside from an elevated blood alcohol level, there were no other urgent conditions.

There was a lymph node nodule, grade 2, likely benign.

Chen Zemian’s original body didn’t have this issue; he figured it was probably something Chen Zhe had developed from pent-up frustration.

He didn’t think much of it but deliberately placed this report on top, hoping Lu Zhuonian might see it, have a change of heart, and stop giving him a hard time.

The private hospital had a pleasant environment. The observation room was a private single, quiet, with no doctors or nurses bothering him—though the lights were a bit glaring.

Chen Zemian had a lot on his mind, and there were still bodyguards stationed at the door.

In such an unfamiliar and uncomfortable setting, falling asleep seemed unlikely.

He lay on his side on the hospital bed, resting his head on his arm, watching the heart monitor’s fluctuating lines. Before long, he drifted off again.

In his dream, Chen Zemian vaguely glimpsed fragments of the original Chen Zhe’s memories—disjointed, scattered, too broken to form a complete picture.

When he woke in the morning, he caught a glimpse of the dawn glow outside the window. Wanting to dream more, he pulled the blanket over his head and went back to sleep.

Half-awake, half-dreaming, he heard a gut-wrenching shout—

“Chen Zhe!”

Before Chen Zemian could open his eyes, something crashed onto him, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

A trembling hand yanked the blanket off his head.

Chen Zemian opened his eyes, frowning, and found himself face-to-face with the person who’d almost crushed him.

The face before him quickly matched a memory from his dream.

Chen Zemian called out the name: “Xiao Kesong?”

Xiao Kesong’s eyes were bloodshot. He first touched Chen Zemian’s face to check his temperature, then pressed fingers to his neck to feel for a pulse.

He is breathing—alive!

Overjoyed, Xiao Kesong hugged Chen Zemian tightly. “Thank goodness, Chen Zhe, you’re not dead!”

Chen Zemian pushed Xiao Kesong off and sat up, propping himself with his hands. “If you keep jabbing your elbow into my stomach, I will be.”

Xiao Kesong hurriedly pulled back his arm, then patted Chen Zemian all over to confirm he was truly unharmed. Only then did he grumble and punch his shoulder lightly. “You scared me to death! I heard from Zhuonian that you were in the ER. When I walked in and saw a white sheet over your face, I thought you were gone.”

Chen Zemian’s head buzzed. “I was sleeping, Young Master Xiao. The morning light was too bright.”

Xiao Kesong said, “Morning light? It’s past ten already. Get up—I’ll take you to eat.”

Chen Zemian declined politely. “I’d rather go home and sleep.”

Xiao Kesong didn’t push. “Alright, I’ll drop you off at home, then head to school for class. You went through a scare last night. I’ll handle Xu Shaoyang—they won’t dare bother you again. I heard some guy named Wu Xu even got physical with you? Whichever hand he used, I’ll have someone break it for him.”

Chen Zemian listened to Xiao Kesong ramble, hesitating. “Young Master Xiao, you…”

Xiao Kesong asked, “What’s up?”

Chen Zemian shook his head. “Nothing. You’re… pretty good to me.”

Xiao Kesong punched Chen Zemian again playfully. “What are you saying? When have I ever not been good to you?”

Chen Zemian smiled but didn’t reply.

In the original book, by the second chapter of Chen Zhe’s formal introduction, Xiao Kesong had already turned against him.

The story described Xiao Kesong’s kindness toward Chen Zhe as fake, merely a ploy to lure him into the young masters’ circle for their amusement.

But now, Chen Zemian’s ears still faintly echoed with Xiao Kesong’s gut-wrenching cry of “Chen Zhe” from earlier, and he could still see those bloodshot, teary eyes when Xiao Kesong thought he was dead and pulled back the blanket.

Could that be fake?

Xiao Kesong wasn’t a trained actor—where would he get such convincing skills? Besides, for a young master like him, putting on a performance for Chen Zemian would already be a stretch. Why would he bother acting in front of a “corpse”?

The original author had likely been forced by reader backlash to tweak the settings, and those later changes might not be entirely realistic.

Chen Zemian couldn’t remember where he lived, but thankfully, Xiao Kesong knew and drove him back.

It was on the edge of the old city district, a resettlement house with some years on it.

The street was cluttered with haphazardly placed items, cars and electric scooters parked in a chaotic mess. Xiao Kesong’s car couldn’t squeeze through.

Chen Zemian got out by the roadside.

On the way, through casual chatting with Xiao Kesong, Chen Zemian learned that he didn’t know about his “amnesia” and had never been to his place. So, he gave up on asking for his exact address.

Xiao Kesong dropped Chen Zemian off and started to drive away, only to reverse back, roll down the window, and call out, “Chen Zhe.”

Chen Zemian walked over to the window. “What’s up?”

Xiao Kesong leaned over to the passenger-side glove box, pulling out two stacks of hundred-yuan bills. “Zhuonian said you lost your phone. Go buy a new one quick, or I won’t be able to reach you.”

Chen Zemian looked at the two stacks of cash but didn’t take them.

Xiao Kesong shoved the money into Chen Zemian’s arms. “Take it when I give it to you. Why stand on ceremony with me? If I didn’t know your phone was gone, who even uses cash these days?”

Chen Zemian said, “Alright, I’ll take it for now and pay you back later.”

Xiao Kesong’s face twisted into an exasperated look. “Oh, come on, you’re gonna pay me back for this little bit? Don’t embarrass me, alright?”

Chen Zemian: “…”

Xiao Kesong tilted his chin up. “Call me tonight. I’ll pick you up after class to hang out.”

Chen Zemian wasn’t keen on getting tangled up with these young masters, but since he’d taken Xiao Kesong’s money, he’d have to find a way to repay it eventually. So he said, “Sure, leave me your number.”

“You can’t even remember my phone number?” Xiao Kesong grumbled as he fished out a pen. He then plucked one of the bills from Chen Zemian’s hand, ready to scribble his number on it.

Chen Zemian held out his palm. “Writing on money is illegal. Write it on my hand instead.”

Xiao Kesong scribbled a string of numbers on Chen Zemian’s hand. “The last time I wrote on someone’s palm was when I was hitting on a girl at a bar.”

A few fragmented memories flashed through Chen Zemian’s mind, and he hesitated before saying, “Wasn’t that… just last week?”

Xiao Kesong laughed heartily. “Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Chen Zemian glanced at the phone number, silently reciting it twice to memorize it, and casually replied, “Your ‘while’ sure isn’t that long.”

Xiao Kesong waved a hand. “Let’s go together sometime. I’m off now—bye.”

Chen Zemian watched Xiao Kesong drive away.

From the memory fragments he’d glimpsed in last night’s dream, Chen Zemian deduced that the current timeline was still early.

The main plot of the original novel kicked off after Lu Zhuonian graduated from university, but right now, Lu Zhuonian was still in his sophomore year.

The three-year gap received little attention in the later chapters, so Chen Zemian had no clue what Chen Zhe was supposed to be doing during this time.

Working, probably?

The old city district was chaotic but had decent infrastructure and plenty of shops. Chen Zemian hadn’t walked two streets before spotting a phone store.

The moment he stepped inside, it felt oddly familiar.

The owner was lounging in a recliner, playing on his computer. Seeing Chen Zemian enter, he greeted him casually, “You’re here.”

He sounded very familiar with him.

A little spotted dog in the shop ran over, circling Chen Zemian and wagging its tail.

Related memories surfaced in his mind.

Chen Zemian bent down to pet the dog. “Zhuang Zhuang.”

The owner let out an exaggerated “Agh.” “You’ve got no conscience, Chen Zhe. I greet you, and you ignore me to talk to the dog first.”

Chen Zemian smiled and walked over to the counter. “Brother Wei, I’m here to buy a phone.”

Qian Jiawei sat up straight, noticing the cash in Chen Zemian’s hand. “Whoa, you’ve hit the jackpot! Walking around with two stacks of cash like that—aren’t you afraid of getting robbed? This area’s a mess; don’t let someone target you.”

Chen Zemian said, “I don’t have a bag on me.”

Qian Jiawei pulled an OPPO phone bag from under the counter. “Here, stuff it in this quick.”

Chen Zemian obediently tucked the money into the paper bag. “Even if I put it in, I’ll just have to take it out to pay you. I’m really here to buy a phone.”

Qian Jiawei said, “I don’t have any 20,000-yuan phones here. Take an iPhone—I’ll give it to you at my cost, 8,100.”

Chen Zemian, a patriot at heart even after transmigrating, stuck to his roots. “Huawei.”

Qian Jiawei pulled out a few phones for Chen Zemian to choose from. “Where’s your old phone? I’ll transfer the data for you.”

“My phone fell into a pool and got lost. I need to get a new SIM card too.” Chen Zemian randomly picked a new phone and handed the money to Qian Jiawei. “How much is this one?”

Qian Jiawei didn’t stand on ceremony with Chen Zemian. He counted the cash and pocketed it, joking, “Where’d it fall? I’ll go fish it out, fix it up, and sell it—80% new.”

Chen Zemian glanced at the time—it was right around lunchtime. “Have you eaten, Brother Wei? My treat.”

Qian Jiawei shook the cash he’d just received. “How’s that fair? I’ll treat you—you’ve already paid me.”

Chen Zemian said, “No way, you didn’t even make a profit off me.”

Qian Jiawei poured some dog food for the pup and locked the shop door. “Not true—I made three hundred.”

Chen Zemian hadn’t fully integrated the original owner’s memories yet, so this area felt half-familiar, half-strange—an odd sensation. He didn’t remember the exact locations of shops or which way to turn at the next street, but once he got there, the storefronts triggered bits of recollection: this deli was affordable, that roast duck place tasted great, the bank over there didn’t open at noon.

He should wander around this area more—maybe it’d help jog his memories.

Since he was already in this book world, he needed to live here well.

For himself, and for Chen Zhe.

Chen Zemian had strong adaptability. His father’s job had moved them between cities several times when he was young, and once he got used to change, he realized different living environments always had something in common. Finding a comfortable spot for himself wasn’t that hard.

Getting along with Qian Jiawei and Xiao Kesong felt easy, likely influenced by the original owner’s memories. Subconsciously, he trusted these two.

Qian Jiawei took Chen Zemian to the service center first to replace his SIM card. Once the card was inserted and connected to the internet, Qian Jiawei walked toward the restaurant while helping Chen Zemian recover his phone data, download essential apps, and log in with verification.

All Chen Zemian had to do was scan his face for facial recognition. Qian Jiawei even knew many of his app passwords—Chen Zhe’s last phone, and the one before that, had both been bought from Qian Jiawei.

“You used to stick with iPhones—why the sudden switch to Huawei?” Qian Jiawei handed the phone to Chen Zemian, letting him re-record his fingerprints. “Same-brand data transfer is a one-click job. This is trickier; a lot of passwords need resetting. I set it to your old one for now.”

Chen Zemian asked, “What was the old one?”

Qian Jiawei glanced at him. “Cz987654321+@.”

Chen Zemian frowned. “That’s so complicated.”

Qian Jiawei looked incredulous. “Complicated? It’s just your initials, uppercase and lowercase, numbers, and an @.”

Chen Zemian tried memorizing it again, jotting it into his notes app.

Qian Jiawei said, “Did all that drinking give you early dementia or something? You’re half a beat slow at everything today.”

Chen Zemian smiled but didn’t reply.

The two found a restaurant and ordered stone pot fish. The place was small but excelled with fresh ingredients—live fish, slaughtered and filleted on the spot into inch-thick slices, coated in egg and flour, fried then simmered. The golden fish pieces came in a stone pot with potatoes, lotus root, celery, bamboo shoots, bell peppers, and shiitake mushrooms. It was delicious, a great value at just 98 yuan.

Chen Zemian hadn’t expected a random spot to be this good. He ended up overeating, his stomach aching from being too full. He scrapped the idea of wandering around and, claiming the home internet was slow and he wanted a new router, tricked Qian Jiawei into driving him back.

At his doorstep, Chen Zemian looked around and instinctively checked under the doormat. Sure enough, the house key was there.

Qian Jiawei swapped out the router quickly and headed back to his shop, tossing Chen Zemian two packs of cigarettes as he left. “Cheap ones I just got—try them out.”

Besides selling electronics, Qian Jiawei’s shop also dealt in premium cigarettes and liquor. Chen Zhe, tagging along with the young masters for meals and drinks, often scored high-end smokes and booze, which he’d pass to Qian Jiawei to sell for cash.

Chen Zemian saw Qian Jiawei off, then returned and stood at the doorway, taking in Chen Zhe’s home.

As an illegitimate child, Chen Zhe had lived alone since his mother’s death. He didn’t seem good at tidying up—the room was a bit messy. The entryway cabinet was cluttered with random stuff: scissors, earphones, delivery boxes, water bottles, and a few blister packs of medicine.

Chen Zemian picked up the items and examined them: anti-inflammatory drugs, painkillers, hangover remedies, and something for gastritis.

So it wasn’t just overeating causing the stomach pain.

Chen Zhe’s stomach must’ve already been in bad shape. Judging by the haphazard traces around, he’d probably known he couldn’t avoid drinking yesterday and had preemptively taken painkillers before heading out.

Pretty tough life.

Chen Zemian swept the meds into a drawer with one hand. He didn’t bother going to the bedroom, just shoved aside the pile of clothes on the sofa to carve out a spot to lie down. Curling up slightly and clutching his stomach, he started thinking about what he should do next.

Before transmigrating, he’d been a lead planner at a gaming company. Game development was lucrative, sure, but it also burned through cash. Back at the big firm, backed by capital, money was never an issue. He’d launched several hit games, and the highest year-end bonus he’d ever gotten was seven figures.

He wondered what was popular in this world.

In the novel, by the time the main timeline kicked off, Lu Zhuonian had already graduated college. The Lu family was filthy rich, investing in things like new energy, artificial intelligence, and real estate—snapping up this plot or that. There wasn’t much mention of gaming.

He’d check the app store later.

The gaming industry had its own pecking order—online game devs looked down on mobile game devs—but mobile games were where the real money was.

Chen Zemian had a few game ideas in mind; he just lacked startup funds.

If only he had 200,000 yuan. He could spend 100,000 outsourcing the project to some senior college students, use the other 100,000 for marketing, and once the game took off, sell the rights for a quick profit.

With that thought, Chen Zemian got up, still clutching his stomach, and sat at the computer. He spent the afternoon hammering out a 10,000-word basic game framework.

It was his own original concept—something he hadn’t had the chance to pitch to the company before he’d worked himself to death.

People really could die from overwork.

But his boss had paid so damn well.

Good thing he’d been analyzing an urban novel during those late nights. If he’d been reading some western fantasy or cultivation story, he might not even be alive now.

Once Chen Zemian got into work mode, he lost track of time. He’d started typing with stomach pain, but as he kept going, the ache faded. By the time he snapped out of it, the sky had darkened, and the room was dim.

While pouring water, he glanced at his phone—several missed calls, all from Xiao Kesong.

He’d forgotten he’d promised to have dinner with him. He quickly called back.

Xiao Kesong picked up, sounding less than pleased. Chen Zemian explained his phone had been on silent, and Xiao Kesong grudgingly forgave him, giving an address and telling him to hurry over.

Chen Zemian punched the address into his navigation app. Seeing it was a racing club, he figured Lu Zhuonian was probably there too.

Sure enough, when he arrived, there he was.

Among a crowd of lavishly dressed rich kids, Lu Zhuonian stood out the most.

Against the backdrop of the sprawling galaxy from the high viewing platform, a figure in a dark trench coat stood with his back to the distant lights, a long shadow his only companion. The gentle sway of his coat’s hem in the night breeze offered a fleeting suggestion of wildness, yet his downward gaze held a cold, noble authority—as if this lone figure commanded the very universe behind him.

No surprise he was the novel’s male lead; his presence was so overpowering it felt like he wasn’t even on the same layer as everyone else.

Spotting Chen Zemian, Xiao Kesong waved. “Chen Zhe, up here.”

Everyone turned toward Chen Zhe, except Lu Zhuonian, who didn’t budge—as if he couldn’t care less who showed up.

Chen Zemian climbed the steps. Before he could even get close, someone started picking a fight:

“Young Master Xiao, your little lackey’s got some nerve. Everyone’s here, and we’re all just waiting on him.”

It was Liu Yuebo.

Whenever Chen Zhe encountered someone he knew, Chen Zemian’s mind would supply their name and Chen Zhe’s impression of them.

Chen Zemian felt a wave of irritation.

Looked like this wasn’t Liu Yuebo’s first time taking shots at Chen Zhe.

If it were Chen Zhe’s personality, he’d never talk back after a jab like that. He might even smile and apologize—after all, the young masters and ladies here all outranked him in status. Even the arm candy, who weren’t second-generation heirs themselves, had the clout of being someone’s lover, which still put them out of his league.

Chen Zemian didn’t care about that.

If someone messed with his mood, no one was going to have a good time.

He stepped onto the platform and stopped in front of Liu Yuebo. “Waiting on me for what?”

Liu Yuebo froze, clearly not expecting Chen Zhe to bite back. But he recovered quickly, his lips curling into a mocking sneer. “Chen Zhe, you’ve gotten bold in just a few days. What are you, daring to question me?”

Chen Zemian replied, “Then I don’t get it. You just said I’ve got more attitude than Young Master Xiao, but now I’m not worth questioning you. So are you looking down on me or Young Master Xiao?”

Liu Yuebo’s expression shifted, and he instinctively glanced at Xiao Kesong.

Sure enough, Xiao Kesong looked a bit annoyed. “It’s just a last-minute get-together. Late’s late—come over here already.”

Someone nearby, sensing the tension, quickly changed the subject, steering the conversation elsewhere.

Chen Zhe’s presence in the young master circles was originally low, and just now he offended Liu Yuebo, so even fewer people would come to bother with him. People around him came and went, and no one took the initiative to speak to him.

A while later, Lu Zhuonian and the others headed down to race.

With Xiao Kesong gone, the rest didn’t even pretend to care. Soon, an empty space cleared around Chen Zemian—the exclusion couldn’t have been more obvious.

Someone else might’ve felt awkward, but Chen Zemian welcomed the peace. Leaning against the edge of the platform, he spotted two familiar bodyguards below.

One was the guy who’d stayed to watch him at the hospital last night—there when he fell asleep, gone when he woke up. Probably because his test results showed nothing unusual, Lu Zhuonian had called off the surveillance.

The elite circle wasn’t Chen Zemian’s comfort zone. Being here felt a bit dull.

When reading the book from the protagonist’s perspective, every plot point felt thrilling.

Take racing, for example—in the story, it’s a high-stakes, life-or-death speed chase, crossing the finish line to win, breaking records. The rush of adrenaline is unmatched, complete with bystanders’ gasps and the adoration of beautiful onlookers.

But from Chen Zemian’s viewpoint, it was just a bunch of luxury cars circling the track. He didn’t see any excitement—just noisy engines and even noisier screams.

You couldn’t blame him for lacking passion.

Before transmigrating, he’d been working for years, while the current Lu Zhuonian was only 19. The young masters and ladies he hung out with were all in their prime, mostly between 17 and 22, brimming with youthful energy—worlds apart from Chen Zemian, a hardened corporate grunt.

Watching the sports cars loop the track endlessly, Chen Zemian was so bored he started zoning out.

It was like standing outside an inflatable castle, waiting for kids to finish playing, eyes glazing over.

Chen Zemian yawned.

When could he go home? He really wanted to get back to writing his game design framework.

Next time, he will bring a laptop.

Though ideally, there wouldn’t be a next time.

By the time the race ended, Chen Zemian was half-asleep.

But the night wasn’t over—they were heading out to drink and celebrate.

Earlier, Lu Zhuonian had taken first place with a blazing lead, apparently breaking some club record. His score flashed on the main screen, while sixteen side screens replayed the race’s highlights.

Lights flared, music blared, and the atmosphere hit a fever pitch. Everyone cheered, someone popped champagne, shaking and spraying it in celebration.

Chen Zemian regretted not wearing a raincoat.

He pushed through the crowd to Xiao Kesong’s side, subtly requesting to leave. “I’m heading home to sleep.”

It was so loud that Xiao Kesong didn’t catch it, tilting his head and letting out a booming “Huh?”

Chen Zemian cupped a hand by his mouth and leaned in. “You guys have fun! I’m going home to sleep!”

Xiao Kesong gave him a surprised look.

Normally, Chen Zhe stayed until the end of these gatherings, dutifully seeing the young masters home. He almost never left early.

“You’re really not staying?” Xiao Kesong asked.

Chen Zemian nodded firmly.

Xiao Kesong relented. “Alright. Zhuonian broke a record, so he’s treating tonight. If you’re leaving, say bye to him.”

Chen Zemian: “…”

When leaving early, basic courtesy dictated informing the host. Xiao Kesong suggesting he tell Lu Zhuonian wasn’t meant to hassle him—it was actually a chance to boost his presence with Lu Zhuonian.

If the real Chen Zhe were here, he’d probably be thrilled for the opportunity.

But Chen Zemian felt a twinge of dread.

First, he wasn’t the real Chen Zhe and had little drive to suck up to rich kids. Second, just last night, fresh off transmigrating and drunk, he’d been a mess of slip-ups and odd behavior, landing himself on Lu Zhuonian’s radar. Third, Lu Zhuonian was cunning and ruthless, hard to read—Chen Zemian worried he’d accidentally mess up again and get dragged back to the hospital for more torment.

Still, to get home and sleep, he gritted his teeth and went for it.

Onlookers saw Chen Zhe squeezing over and assumed he was cozying up to Lu Zhuonian again. Their faces didn’t change much, but their eyes carried a hint of disdain.

Chen Zemian was beyond exasperated. ‘You’re all crowding around Lu Zhuonian too—aren’t you sucking up just the same?’

‘What, were there ranks among lackeys now?’

Compared to these people, Chen Zemian figured he wasn’t that absurd. Or maybe, since Lu Zhuonian had already seen so many oddballs, one slightly weird lackey wouldn’t faze him.

True, he’d unintentionally crossed Lu Zhuonian last night, but he’d groveled under the threat of a lumbar puncture, signing a slew of humiliating test consent forms.

Lu Zhuonian had left the hospital in good spirits and even pulled the bodyguards watching him, suggesting he’d let it go. He probably wouldn’t hold a grudge.

After this self-convincing analysis, Chen Zemian mustered his courage and approached Lu Zhuonian.

Lu Zhuonian was surrounded by a lively crowd, but within a one-meter radius, it was empty—no one dared get too close. Everyone knew about his mysophobia and aversion to physical contact; no one was foolish enough to push his buttons.

Only Ye Chen stood by his side.

Ye Chen was the final corner of the protagonist’s iron triangle, another of Lu Zhuonian’s childhood friends.

Chen Zemian couldn’t help but marvel: the male lead was surnamed Lu, with buddies surnamed Xiao and Ye—classic protagonist vibes. ^[1] These are relatively common surnames in China. It’s a common trope in many cultures (including Chinese) for main characters and their close allies to have names that sound distinct or memorable.

Per the original setup, the trio would eventually dominate three spheres:  

Ye Chen, a defense student, joined the military before graduating; Xiao Kesong passed the city exam in the capital and entered politics; Lu Zhuonian took over the family business early after his father’s sudden death.

Though Lu Zhuonian was “just” a businessman, with one friend in power and another in the military, it was peak protagonist privilege.

Chen Zemian laboriously squeezed into the inner circle, stood to the right front of the target person, and first offered a compliment: “Congrats, Young Master Lu.”

Lu Zhuonian acted like he didn’t see Chen Zemian. He lowered his eyes to peel off his fingerless gloves, then took a water bottle from Ye Chen, unscrewing it for a sip.

In those brief thirty seconds, he did a bunch of things—none of which involved acknowledging Chen Zemian.

Ye Chen found it odd.

Lu Zhuonian was proud, but he didn’t bully people with his status. Plenty came up to chat with him, and even if he was annoyed, he wouldn’t leave them hanging. At his most dismissive, he’d give a curt chin lift.

What is up today?

Ye Chen glanced at Chen Zemian.

Chen Zemian smiled. “Congrats to Young Master Ye too. You were impressive.”

Ye Chen nodded, about to say thanks, when a loud *thud* rang out beside them.

Lu Zhuonian casually pulled his hand back, as if he hadn’t just tossed a mostly full water bottle into the trash a second ago.