Chapter One: The Eccentric Father

Yang Le stood in front of Qianjiang No.1 High School, his heart filled with excitement. He was now a senior, and today was the first day of the new semester. Throughout the entire summer holiday, Yang Le had worked tirelessly, delivering food from dawn to dusk for two months, earning a total of nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine yuan.

He had spent six thousand six hundred and sixty-six yuan on a brand-new Fruit Phone, which now sat in his backpack, box and all. He wanted to surprise his girlfriend, Xia Tingting.

Beep, beep...

As Yang Le was contemplating how best to present the phone to his girlfriend, the blare of a car horn interrupted his thoughts. He stepped aside to the right of the road.

But the car didn’t drive on. Instead, it stopped right in front of him. Curious, Yang Le peered inside and saw that his girlfriend, Xia Tingting, was sitting in the front passenger seat.

“Well, well, who did I think it was? Just crawled out of a coal mine, haven’t you? Black Ghost Yang!” As the driver’s door swung open, a mocking voice followed.

“Pan Xiang...” Yang Le wasn’t close with Pan Xiang—they barely interacted. The only reason he knew Pan Xiang’s name was because he was infamous as a wealthy heir at school. Despite his chubby face and piggish features, he had dated quite a few female students.

“Tingting, why did you come to school in his car?” Yang Le couldn’t help but question Xia Tingting as soon as she got out.

“Should I have come in yours? Do you even have the money to buy a car?” Xia Tingting shot back, her tone laced with sarcasm.

“Are you stupid? Do you really need to ask such an obvious question?” Pan Xiang sneered arrogantly at Yang Le.

“To put it plainly—Xia Tingting is my girl now. Go cool off somewhere else.” As Pan Xiang spoke, he reached over and patted Xia Tingting’s rear.

“Not here, there are so many people watching,” Xia Tingting complained coyly, half-pouting and half-flirting.

Yang Le’s face turned ashen green, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened, while his heart bled inside.

“Don’t call me Tingting anymore. From now on, there’s nothing between us,” Xia Tingting declared coldly to Yang Le. With that, she took Pan Xiang’s hand and sashayed away, hips swaying with every step.

Yang Le stood rigidly in place.

“No wonder Young Master Pan gets what he wants. It’s good to have money—you can sleep with anyone you like,” a classmate watching the drama remarked enviously.

“Who’s the poor guy who just got dumped? Looks like a laborer,” another student asked, curious about Yang Le’s identity.

“Oh, him? That’s Yang Le from our class—the pauper. Even his tuition comes from odd jobs. I can’t imagine where he got the guts to date anyone,” answered Li Feiyi, a classmate who had always been jealous of Yang Le’s better grades.

“Now that you mention it, he once delivered food to me,” another student suddenly remembered.

But Yang Le no longer cared about the gossip swirling around him. He moved mechanically, entering the school building. Memories of Xia Tingting flooded his mind—the times he’d been too cautious even to hold her hand, afraid she might get upset. He’d never touched her intimately, let alone dared to kiss her. Over the year they’d been together, Yang Le had worked every vacation, and before each break, Xia Tingting always told him she wanted the latest Fruit Phone. He had always tried to fulfill her wishes.

Without realizing it, Yang Le found himself inside the classroom. The room was lively, but Li Feiyi, who had just watched the drama, hadn’t returned yet; otherwise, the story of Yang Le’s betrayal would’ve spread through the class in no time.

“Yang Le, you’ve gotten even darker,” said Song Fei’er, the class monitor.

“Not just darker—he’s been ‘greened’ too!” Li Feiyi, entering at just the right moment, overheard Song Fei’er greeting Yang Le, and announced loudly for the whole class to hear.

“‘Greened’?” Song Fei’er echoed in confusion.

“Let’s all guess how Xia Tingting got to school today,” Li Feiyi taunted, relishing the attention.

He felt free to mock Yang Le because he usually kept his head down, and Li Feiyi came from a well-off family, with a few cronies in class who often bullied Yang Le. If it weren’t for Song Fei’er standing up for Yang Le, Li Feiyi might have beaten him black and blue already.

Song Fei’er was the class beauty—pretty, gentle, and understanding. Many pursued her, Li Feiyi among them. But she had no interest in him, and often spoke up for Yang Le, which made Li Feiyi resent Yang Le all the more.

“She didn’t come in Pan Xiang’s car, did she?” guessed Zhao Yu, one of Li Feiyi’s cronies.

Everyone knew what it implied if she came in Pan Xiang’s car.

“Bingo,” Li Feiyi grinned.

“Enough with the snide remarks. Can’t you just stop?” Song Fei’er couldn’t stand it and reproached Li Feiyi.

“That’s just how things are. Am I not allowed to say anything?” Li Feiyi retorted.

“Yang Le, a girl like her isn’t worth your sadness. Study hard—you’ll find someone much better than her in the future,” Song Fei’er said, trying to comfort Yang Le.

Yang Le nodded stiffly, grateful for her words.

The school bell rang, drawing the students back to their seats. The chatter died down, but discussions still murmured quietly; with Song Fei’er present, no one dared talk too loudly.

“Hey, Maitreya, what happened?” whispered Wang Peng, Yang Le’s desk mate and one of his few friends. Like Yang Le, Wang Peng came from a poor family, though he was a little better off and didn’t need to work for his tuition.

“It’s just like Li Feiyi said,” Yang Le replied, not bothering to hide the truth. He knew that soon enough, the whole school would hear about his betrayal.

“The class monitor was right—you’ll definitely find someone better than Xia Tingting. Why not try pursuing her instead? She’s not only prettier but always stands up for you. I think you’ve got a shot,” Wang Peng suggested.

“Enough. The homeroom teacher’s coming,” Yang Le cut him off as he spotted the teacher at the door.

The classroom immediately fell silent, giving Yang Le a brief respite from the noise.

“Students, you’re already in your final year—my third year teaching here. I hope you’ll all work hard, and I wish you success in getting into your ideal universities,” Ms. Zhang Xinjie said, reciting the standard opening speech. No one responded, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Zhang Xinjie was only twenty-three or twenty-four, fresh out of teacher’s college, and had been assigned as their homeroom teacher. Other classes envied them for having such a young and attractive teacher, but that was something they could only wish for.

She had the teaching materials distributed, and on the first day, all the subject teachers reviewed last year’s exam papers, then left the students to study on their own.

By lunchtime, rumors had swept through the entire school. In the cafeteria, many pointed and whispered behind Yang Le’s back, but he pretended not to hear.

The afternoon drifted by in a daze. As soon as school ended, Yang Le’s phone rang—it was his father, and the sight of the name gave him a headache. Still, it was his father, so he answered.

“Son, school’s out, right? Come over to Xiangzhou Grand Hotel—I have something to discuss with you,” came Yang Jiayun’s voice as soon as the call connected, unmistakably his father.

“Dad, can’t you just tell me over the phone? I’ve just worked two months of odd jobs—I don’t have money to pay for your drinks,” Yang Le replied helplessly. He’d been raised by his father alone, his mother absent since childhood. For nine years, from primary through junior high, his father had supported his schooling.

But after Yang Le finished junior high, his father told him, “I’ve fulfilled my obligation for your nine years of compulsory education. If you want to keep studying, you’ll have to earn your own way.” That was how Yang Le had started working his way through school.

It wasn’t just that. Every time Yang Le returned from a holiday, his father, knowing he’d made some money, would go out to a fancy restaurant and expect Yang Le to foot the bill.

The money, though, his father promised to pay back bit by bit during the school year.

Yang Le suspected this call was just another ploy to make him pay for dinner.

“I’ve got plenty of money. Just come,” Yang Jiayun replied with a bitter laugh.

“I don’t believe you,” Yang Le grumbled.

“I swear, if I make you pay this time, I’ll be your son—how about that?” his father vowed, afraid his son wouldn’t come, which would ruin his plans.

“All right, I’ll go. Happy now?” Yang Le sighed, resigned to his eccentric father.