(An extra for Wan, ViviAnn, “I'm Dad's Little Duckbill”, Lingling, Jizai, Basswei — love you all! ❤️)
“Whether you and Teacher Liu are truly in love has nothing to do with you posting lies about me and Teacher Feng, does it?” Su Yang asked, then took a step back and fell silent. Zhao Jingxuan’s mood felt dangerously volatile.
Zhao Jingxuan narrowed her eyes at Su Yang as if studying an odd specimen. “I’m just wondering—how can your luck be this good?”
“What do you mean?” Su Yang blinked.
Zhao Jingxuan leaned in, voice low and sharp. “Think about it. In our dorm, only Juanzi is from the city. You, Fang Shuqin and I all came from the countryside. Yet somehow you seem to get all the breaks. You fit in everywhere—teachers like you, classmates like you. Su Yang, why is that? What makes you so special?”
“Zhao Jingxuan, four years as classmates—this is how you see me?” Su Yang was bewildered. She had always believed the four of them were close: meals, classes, late-night gossip—all together. She hadn’t expected Zhao to harbor this resentment.
“Yes. That’s exactly how I see you.” Zhao Jingxuan’s smile was cold. “You cozy up to Teacher Feng and ride his coattails to scholarships, to ‘excellent cadre,’ to being an outstanding graduate. Fine—you can have all that. If you can have a teacher-student romance, so can I.”
Anger flared hot and immediate inside Su Yang. “Zhao Jingxuan!” she said, using her full name. “This isn’t a teacher-student romance. You’re—”
She couldn’t bring herself to say the words “putting on airs to be what you’re not.” Four years in the same dorm left a trace of reluctant camaraderie.
“I am! I am!” Zhao Jingxuan grabbed Su Yang suddenly, her knuckles digging in hard enough to make Su Yang wince. “Listen to me—I’m pregnant with his child. He won’t leave me. He’s said it before—he can’t stand to see me cry, he won’t let me suffer. Wait and see, Su Yang. I’ll be happier with Teacher Liu than you’ll be with Feng Zhiyu. You don’t have the kind of luck I do.”
Su Yang didn’t remember how she walked out of Zhao Jingxuan’s apartment. The old complex greenery pressed in around her—untidy hedges and bursting leaves—filling her view. Light and shadow played across the walkway, and an imploding helplessness rose from inside her and spread outward.
In truth, even if Zhao Jingxuan admitted she’d posted that slander on the student forum, it hardly mattered now. Su Yang had hoped she could reason with Zhao—appeal to whatever history remained—get her to confess to Teacher Feng and help clear both their names. But after seeing Zhao like this, Su Yang knew she would never admit it.
She sat for a long time on a bench at the bus stop, waiting until her pulse and anger slowed enough that she could think. When she finally called Fang Shuqin, she dodged the heavier truth—she said only that Zhao had gotten involved with an unreliable man and they were breaking up. She asked Fang to get in touch with Zhao’s parents and try to bring her home for a while.
Fang said she would call Zhao’s father right away.
After she hung up, Su Yang messaged Song Haolin to ask about the follow-up on the defamatory post. A few minutes later Song replied: the school was still investigating; they wouldn’t jump to conclusions and pin anything on Feng Zhiyu just yet. That was a small relief.
She had almost closed the chat when she noticed an earlier message from Xu Lize: a pin marking a hotel location, sent an hour ago. It was only early evening—too early to meet Xu—but she decided to swing by Wutong No.1 first.
…
The banquet Xu Lize was attending had been booked a month in advance. A new plot of land in the industrial park had gone up for tender; when the project was awarded, Xu had already been watching. Now that the project was complete, the developer’s executive hosted a celebratory dinner with many partners. Mingkai Group, as one of the investors, sent Xu Lize.
The private room was huge, the round table enormous. Around it sat the city’s old-guard heavyweights; Xu, by contrast, was one of the youngest. After a round of toasts and glasses, conversation loosened and someone picked up the thread about the art display pavilion.
“When Mingkai took the pavilion, half of us were surprised,” one older executive said, smiling. “You didn’t strike us as the artsy type, Xu. Then we heard the project’s lead was the young Xu himself.”
When he heard “Young Xu” they meant it for Xu Wenfeng, the company’s public face and Xu Lize’s fourth uncle. Xu Lize set down his glass and returned the smile with practiced ease. “Next time, I’ll have my fourth uncle take the credit,” he said lightly.
The older man’s smile stiffened. He trained his expression and asked, as if they were discussing weather, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen your uncle—how is his health?”
Everyone in the room knew the old patriarch had once ruled Mingkai’s affairs; when he passed, the company’s leadership had shifted, and young Xu’s return from abroad had accelerated that change. Xu Lize kept up the polite façade. “He’s well. I’ll visit and bring you both my regards.”
He raised his half-full glass again in a toast, then the chatter rolled on. Someone on the side tried to tempt him: “Young Mr. Xu, rare night for you. If we finish early, how about going to Luyuan to relax?”
“No.” Xu shook his head but didn’t elaborate.
The inviter took it for modesty and grinned. “He must have been spoiled overseas—looks down on our old-fashioned entertainments.”
Xu sipped his drink without engaging the jab. As the evening dissolved, many of the older men had drunk deep; Xu had room for spirits but was mildly tipsy. His phone had been quiet all night. The woman who had received his location ping—a small, stubborn presence—hadn’t answered a single message.
As he exchanged parting pleasantries and made his way out with a few colleagues, his eyes fell on a small figure at the bar. She wore a simple white tee and lake-blue wide-leg trousers, sitting on a swivel stool with her head bowed over her phone.
Xu’s step stalled. The conversation beside him hiccupped.
“Mr. Xu, I booked a private booth for you—won’t you come? We’ve got some very fine girls there tonight; you’ll have a good time.” The man’s tone was eager, a mix of flattery and expectation.
“Really can’t,” Xu said, then raised his voice across the room to the woman by the bar. “Yangyang—come over.”
People turned, puzzled. Xu’s mouth curved. He called back, voice low and half amused for the room to hear, “My wife’s here to pick me up. Hard to make excuses.”