Many of Qianning High School’s upper echelons were embedded within the system, their tangled webs of influence forming a net so complex even higher authorities found it untouchable.
Multiple attempts to parachute in reformers had stalled against insurmountable obstacles.
Who did Bai Ling represent? What was her endgame? This gnawed at the minds of Qianning’s elite. They’d been genuinely terrified by that sudden, brutal operation a year ago—some still recalled the SWAT team crashing through doors, making them fear they were being hunted as traitors.
Clearly, someone high up had used Bai Ling to purge Qianning’s deeply rooted corruption. Those who’d grown too greedy and incompetent now sang prison blues behind bars.
Was the higher-up still pushing forward? If so, how far? If not, what did Bai Ling’s presence mean?
After over a year of uneasy calm, the school’s leadership had finally crawled out of their paranoia. They began dissecting the signals from above. Bai Ling was just a girl—a pawn tossed onto the board to balance powers.
Once they deciphered the higher-up’s intentions, a capable but insignificant girl like her would be easy to manipulate.
With this mindset, the school board maintained a fragile peace with the Student Council. Conflicts were kept discreet, faces preserved. Yet the silence from above remained unnervingly tight. Even after a year, no clear signals emerged. They were stuck in limbo.
The situation wasn’t overly complex, but neither was it simple. Teacher Wen understood the board’s calculations. He’d begun quietly mobilizing his own connections, preparing to shield that beautiful, innocent child—Bai Ling—when the time came.
Such matters were never spoken of openly. Dirty secrets stayed buried; exposure would harm everyone.
Within the bureaucratic world, three unspoken Rules prevailed:
First—never endanger family. Retaliation would spiral into chaos.
Second—never directly threaten careers or lives. (Self-explanatory.)
Third—never drag conflicts into the open. No matter how vicious the undercurrents, all pretended ignorance until the final verdict.
Though no longer part of the system, Teacher Wen had lived within it once. His former students’ occasional whispers over reunion dinners had taught him these truths.
"So how is the Council President *really* doing today? Before you arrived, Wen, rumors flew that her health was collapsing. We all knew the source was unreliable—but such talk doesn’t spring from nothing. Piling that workload on a girl? Even us grown men would buckle."
"Not good. Bailin nearly collapsed in my office today. She hasn’t been sleeping or eating properly."
"That serious…?"
Remembering Bailin’s frail yet stubborn expression, Teacher Wen sighed deeply. The cigarette in his fingers lost all appeal. A bitter taste filled his heart.
Senior Bailin had blamed her dizziness and stomachache on skipping breakfast. But Teacher Wen saw the exhaustion etched into her face—the toll of relentless overwork.
"Enough. When immortals clash, mortals should stay clear. Wen, just keep smoothing things over with the board. This school’s finally found its spark again."
The other teacher’s grave expression melted into a weary smile. Educators wanted no part in political quagmires. Their purpose was simpler: nurturing each generation of hopeful students, watching them grow and thrive.
"Don’t worry. I’ve walked with Qianning High most of my life. Seeing it like this… makes this old man happy."
"Isn’t that why we all became teachers?"
"Still—what they did this time crossed a line. However angry they were, targeting a child? Their tactics grow uglier by the day."
The weight of the conversation settled over them. Both teachers held their cigarettes silently, drawing comfort from the familiar smoke.
Unseen in the hallway corner, Liming’s mind reeled.
He’d only meant to eavesdrop for Student Council gossip—useful intel for later. He never expected these two teachers, hiding to smoke, to spill such explosive secrets.
From their veiled words, Liming grasped the truth: Senior Bailin stood alone between two raging storms—the Student Council and the school board.
His own perspective was limited; he couldn’t see the celestial powers clashing above. But one thing was clear: beneath its glittering surface, the Student Council was a battlefield.
If even Senior Bailin was crumbling under the strain, how fiercely must she fight to protect the Council’s interests?
Most students, hearing this, would hesitate to join the Council.
But Liming was different. He’d never sought its glory. His promise to Teacher Sun, his talks with his best friend—those mattered more than the hollow honor others craved. Without Senior Bailin holding it together, he’d have followed his original plan: ace exams, get into a decent university, and leave.
Now, knowing she was in trouble? He couldn’t walk away.
Back in middle school, he’d been her most capable secretary—not just managing her schedule, but intimately familiar with her health… *all* aspects of it.
Don’t be fooled by how he’d eventually collapsed their student council. Only someone with real skill would’ve been trusted with that role.
*Perhaps… I could try for Secretary Division again. The bar is high—but with my experience, it’s not impossible.*
Lost in thought, Liming never considered asking Bailin for a special favor. He wanted legitimate recognition—to earn his place. A goal that, unknowingly, mirrored hers exactly.
