Principal Wu stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the dusk beyond the floor-to-ceiling window. "Xiao Liu," he asked, "are Su Shiyu and Qi Yan definitely taking the college entrance exam this year?"
"Absolutely. Su Shiyu will be there without a doubt. As for Qi Yan—he has no choice but to go, just like today. They can’t refuse. Both scored high enough last year and the year before to breeze into the Central Academy of Fine Arts, but due to special circumstances, they only applied to the provincial art academy."
"Their arrival is a timely blessing. They’ll plug the gap in our art program just when we need it. These past two years, DongSui Private Academy has grown increasingly aggressive. They criticize us for rigid exam-oriented teaching while boasting about their ‘well-rounded education’—morality, intellect, physical fitness, aesthetics, and labor. But high schools exist to prepare students for the gaokao. DongSui Middle School’s system hasn’t changed much over the years. Most of our students come from ordinary families—parents are farmers or migrant workers. Advancement is their priority. They can’t afford to waste time or money on hobbies..."
"How many teachers and students did they poach this year?" Liu Qin teased.
"Don’t remind me. Nearly all top fifty scorers from the high school entrance exam left. So did most of our veteran teachers."
In a modest town like DongSui, quality teachers and students were scarce. While some average students might blossom into stars in high school—and some stars might fade into obscurity—such cases were rare. Strong student intake largely determined a school’s university admission rate. Even the most brilliant teacher was merely a guide. Whether students followed, surpassed, or abandoned the path depended entirely on them.
"They’re pulling out all the stops. Money really does make the world go round. Looks like this year’s Joint Sports and Arts Festival will be another flop," Principal Wu sighed, rubbing his aching lower back.
The festival had begun as DongSui Middle School’s routine sports day and talent show every mid-November. Three years ago, DongSui Private Academy proposed merging the events to "foster student exchanges and friendly rivalry," forcing DongSui Middle School to agree. The result? Crushing defeat. DongSui Middle School lost in every category—sports, musicals, even science projects. Their promotional poster for the arts festival was outright ugly. Worse, the results became the benchmark for the town’s "Model School" title. With only one slot available, DongSui Private Academy claimed it—and most of the teaching budget. The already-struggling DongSui Middle School grew poorer.
"By the way, they invited me too—to be an art instructor for their gaokao prep class. The benefits were insane. First, they’d ‘gift’ an apartment—not outright, of course. They’d cover the down payment, then deduct the mortgage from your sky-high salary. The debt would chain you down. Quit or jump ship? You’d be crushed by payments. But stick it out? House, cash, marry a rich, beautiful woman—or a wealthy, handsome man—it’d all be effortless. I almost caved."
Principal Wu’s eyes widened in panic. "Xiao Liu, you’re not actually considering leaving?"
"Relax, Principal. I hate places that reek of money. I won’t teach at a private school. But I also hate lifeless places. I hope my junior, Qi Yan, can bring some change and energy to DongSui Middle School."
"Let’s hope so. Oh, Xiao Liu—frame this painting for me first. When Qi Yan becomes famous, this piece will become a symbol. Not just for the school. For all of DongSui Town."
---
Meanwhile, the much-discussed Qi Yan was cooking in his kitchen.
He wanted to celebrate this special day, but his wallet was painfully thin. Every penny counted. DongSui Middle School’s teacher salaries barely topped car-wash wages. As an externally hired instructor without civil service status, he had no benefits—no insurance, no housing fund. But the workload was lighter, the pay steady, and he could keep an eye on his sister at school.
His senior had even cosigned a loan, letting him draw six months’ salary in advance. Combined with his savings, he’d finally cleared his medical debts. Now debt-free, he just needed to endure this tight stretch a little longer.
No fancy range hood hung above his stove—only an exhaust fan whirring loudly. Qi Yan waited as the water in the wok evaporated. He poured in cooking oil; it sizzled instantly. Garlic hit the hot surface next. The clatter of his spatula against metal filled the air, releasing an aroma that made mouths water.
So focused was Qi Yan on cooking that he didn’t notice the little cat-like figure padding toward him, light and happy as a thief.
Soft hands slipped naturally around his waist. Playful fingers found ticklish spots, making him jerk with laughter. But that wasn’t her real target. Her arms slid forward, slender fingers locking over his stomach. Her forehead pressed against his back. She squeezed tighter, cheek molding seamlessly to his spine, breathing in his comforting, masculine scent. Like a contented cat, she rubbed her face against him.
Ever since she learned to walk, his sister had grown clingier. This wasn’t the first time she’d ambushed him while cooking. Outside, she played the obedient younger sister. But at home, she dropped all pretenses—her only instinct was to melt into her brother’s warmth.
