Chapter Forty-Two: She Is a Blossom, Not a Mere Ornament!

Chapter Forty-Two: She is a Flower, Not a Vase!

Tang Zhong hurried over to help Director Jiao pat his back, finally calming his cough.

“Teacher, please don’t get upset,” Tang Zhong said anxiously. “I’m not trying to anger you on purpose—”

“Isn’t this exactly what you’re doing?” Director Jiao exploded in anger. “So all my words were nothing but pearls before swine? Pearls before swine—the swine doesn’t understand, and that I could accept—but you keep saying you feel guilty, so I thought you knew you were wrong, thought you had the intention to change—”

“Director, I’m not wrong,” Tang Zhong said solemnly. “I am not a violent person. Nor do I like to make a show of myself by fighting. Every time I raise my fist, there is a reason it must be raised.”

“Is there nothing that can be solved with words? Must everything be settled with fists?” Director Jiao retorted.

“Teacher, words are the choice of the weak,” Tang Zhong replied with a smile. “Those who intend to hurt you don’t care what you say to them.”

“You—” Director Jiao was so angry he leapt from the sofa. “You still claim you’re not violent? Get out. Get out. Quickly, get out!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll go. Teacher, take care of your health. I’d rather you expel me from your tutelage than see you harmed by anger because of me—”

“You’re asking me to expel you again? What, you think I won’t dare?” Director Jiao fumed, pointing at Tang Zhong and cursing.

“I know you’ll dare, of course you will,” Tang Zhong replied with a laugh. “I thought that if I took the initiative to mention it, you’d feel embarrassed to expel me, considering my filial intentions.”

——

When Tang Zhong left, gently closing the office door behind him, Director Jiao couldn’t help but grin.

“Words are the choice of the weak. Isn’t that an insult to me, his teacher?” he muttered to himself. “This kid is different from the other students. Perhaps he’ll walk a different path, with a different vision.”

“But fighting all the time isn’t a solution. I was planning to have him come learn psychology from me after military training, but it seems I’ll have to move up the schedule—”

Having made up his mind, he stopped worrying about these matters.

He took down his jacket from the coat rack, put it on, locked the office door, and left work.

He was in a hurry to get home and dine with his beloved granddaughter.

——

Leaving the office building, Tang Zhong took a shortcut through some ornamental rocks toward the third cafeteria. The fried noodle cakes at the third cafeteria were unmatched, a favorite of his. And the fried chicken wings at the second window were noticeably larger than those at other cafeterias, a tempting prospect for any student.

He’d been summoned by Li Qiang right after finishing military training and hadn’t yet had lunch.

If the Butterfly Group’s fans knew that “Tang Xin” would go out of his way for a slightly bigger chicken wing, they’d surely weep a few heartfelt tears—

Ahead lay an artificial lake called “Mingli Lake.” It was said that the first president of Southern University, Li Mingjie, organized its construction and named it.

Mingli Lake also had lotus plants, though not as dense as those in Ximo Lake. A few scattered lotus leaves floated in the center, merely serving as ornamentation.

In the middle of the lake stood a pavilion, connected by a wooden bridge.

From afar, he could see a white-clad figure in the pavilion.

“Who would come here at midday?” Tang Zhong wondered.

He decided to have a look. Who knows, maybe someone was contemplating jumping into the lake.

More importantly—it was a woman.

Tang Zhong stepped onto the wooden bridge, which creaked underfoot. The fresh color of the wood suggested it had recently been renovated, so he needn’t worry about breaking a plank and falling in.

——

The midday sun blazed, silver-white light flickering across the lake’s surface like countless white carp leaping from the water.

Wooden bridge. Bamboo pavilion. Gentle breeze. Scorching sun. White-robed maiden.

The scene was both ethereal and unreal, like a supreme illusion from the immortal realm.

Hearing footsteps behind her, the maiden in white turned around.

In that moment, Tang Zhong felt a dizzying enchantment.

Like sunlight through treetops, like a huqin’s light string drawn, like a breeze across a wheat field, like a gramophone’s needle touching the disc—

Tang Zhong could scarcely find words to describe her beauty, nor could he explain his feelings at that moment.

But he knew one thing for certain:

Something wild was spreading within his heart.

“Who are you?” the girl asked, her brows slightly furrowing. Even this unconscious gesture of caution was beautiful, as if it was her destined action, impossible for her to resist.

“I think I’ve seen you before,” Tang Zhong said.

“Really?” she replied. “That’s hardly a novel approach.”

“I truly have seen you,” Tang Zhong said earnestly. “On the cover of the admission letter.”

Yes. Tang Zhong had seen her.

When he received his Southern University admission letter, he saw her.

She wore a white dress, neither angry nor joyful, standing quietly at the weathered, ancient gate of Southern University.

Perhaps for the sake of celebration, the designer had deliberately made the image’s colors vibrant. But Tang Zhong felt it should have been in black and white. That way, her temperament would harmonize with that of the venerable university, better expressing the beauty that had settled through time.

“They don’t understand,” Tang Zhong had sighed after gazing at the cover for a long time.

The girl smiled gently, like an orchid blooming in an instant. She raised her hand to smooth her wind-tossed hair and said, “Many people have seen it.”

Tang Zhong nodded. “I’d like to stay and talk with you a bit more, but I can’t think of anything to say—so, goodbye.”

He waved and turned back toward the bridge alone.

The girl was slightly taken aback, her beauty in that moment captivating.

As Tang Zhong reached the middle of the bridge, a man in a white shirt and black trousers appeared at its entrance. He was tall as a model, handsome as a celebrity.

He was like a finely polished gem, radiant inside and out.

This was a man people liked both for his appearance and for what lay beneath—not just a handsome “decorative pillow.”

Just a glance left an extraordinary impression; he was one in a million, a true dragon among men.

“Are they a couple?” Tang Zhong wondered.

The man sidestepped at the bridgehead, waiting for Tang Zhong to pass, though the bridge was wide enough for two to walk side by side.

Clearly, he did not wish to brush past a stranger.

Tang Zhong walked by him, and the man waited several seconds before stepping onto the bridge—as if he wanted the scent left behind to dissipate first.

Lu Junzhuo walked lightly, making his way to the pavilion at the lake’s center.

“Who was he?” he asked.

——

“I don’t know him,” the woman replied.

Lu Junzhuo asked no further. He knew their relationship allowed him only that one question.

If he pressed on, she might simply ignore him—and that would be most awkward for himself.

“I’m here,” Lu Junzhuo said. This sentence ought to have come before “Who was he?” But he had decided on this order.

She would understand.

“How is the review of the new members going?” she asked.

“The president personally oversaw five students; all have been reviewed. Two meet the criteria and may join, three are less qualified and didn’t pass the first round. Each of the three vice presidents took charge of three students, out of which four are first-class, two are second-class, and the other three are not rated—” Lu Junzhuo reported. “All data will be compiled by eight tonight, and the review report will be ready.”

The school was a small society; a student’s status depended on their parents’ family background.

There were sons of commoners, daughters of minor officials, scions of ministers, and possibly little princesses—

The school administration managed students according to rank. For example, sons and daughters of provincial or higher-ranking officials would be personally overseen by the president. If anything needed reporting or if a parent-teacher meeting was required, the president would communicate directly with their families.

Children of sub-provincial or bureau-level parents would be managed by vice presidents. Perhaps the students themselves didn’t realize they’d become pawns carved up by interests.

The woman pondered for a moment and said, “As always, some identities are so meticulously hidden that even our channels can’t uncover them—”

Lu Junzhuo glanced at her flawless face, then quickly looked away, his gaze wandering over the scenery. “Did you receive some intelligence?”

“The You family’s heir—is among this year’s new students at Southern University,” she said.

Lu Junzhuo’s expression changed slightly. “I thought the You family would choose Renmin University or Peking University for him. What, they want him to sample this southern, salty sea breeze too?”

She didn’t respond, as if suddenly reminded of something. “The Qiu family’s little princess came as well, didn’t she?”

“She did,” said Lu Junzhuo. “But she failed the first round. She didn’t make the cut.”

“Why?” the woman asked.

Lu Junzhuo was surprised. The membership rules were her own creation; no one knew their rigor better than she did.

Still, he answered, “I tried. I couldn’t find any highlights in her.”

“Is she beautiful?” she asked.

Lu Junzhuo hesitated.

“She’s very beautiful,” the woman answered for herself.

“Is her family wealthy?” she pressed.

“Yes, very wealthy,” Lu Junzhuo replied directly. He knew if he didn’t, she would answer for him.

“Isn’t that a highlight?” she retorted.

“Sushan—” Lu Junzhuo frowned. “Red Eagle wants elites, not vases.”

“You’re mistaken,” she said. “She is a flower, not a vase.”

(P.S.: You are flowers, not cabbage stalks. That’s some fine flattery, isn’t it?)