17 Secretly

After finishing dinner, Cen Wu and the others walked with Xie Guilan. Since it was already so late, Cen Wu decided to escort Xie Guilan home; the place Xie rented was on the way to the Cen family residence.

At first, Cen Wu walked side by side with Xie Guilan, but as Xie’s expression grew colder, Cen Wu pursed his lips and fell back to follow behind him, tracing Xie’s shadow.

Xie Guilan paused, seeming to reach his limit, then turned and asked, “Young master, why are you following me?”

He called him "young master" again.

From being a pushover, Cen Wu had now become the young master. He hurried to catch up with Xie Guilan, stammering, “I... I’m just escorting you home. Once you’re... home, I’ll leave. The driver’s waiting at the intersection.”

Xie Guilan said nothing.

His already dark and cold eyes grew even colder, a kind of suppressed irritation emanating from him. In the past, judging by how he treated Cen Wu tonight, it would have been enough for someone to really harm Cen Wu.

But now, he couldn’t shake him off no matter how hard he tried.

Xie Guilan was tall and long-legged, walking quickly, and Cen Wu struggled to keep up, so he reached out and grabbed his wrist.

Xie Guilan was speechless.

Not only couldn’t he shake him off, but now Cen Wu was touching him.

Cen Wu blinked, and the cool night seemed to fade into the backdrop behind this person as they stood there facing each other. Xie Guilan’s thin lips tightened even colder.

Cen Wu held onto Xie Guilan’s wrist until they reached the mouth of a filthy, sewage-filled alley before letting go.

Near Huai Jing No.1 High School, the area was filled with school district housing, which was expensive to rent. Xie Guilan could only afford a run-down old building on the other side of the alley.

Most of the buildings were low and cramped storefronts, and even the few apartment buildings were dilapidated, with crumbling walls marked with red demolition characters, teetering on the brink of collapse.

Layers of tacky advertisements stuck to the electric poles, the smell of smoke was pungent, and after dark, men and women in heavy makeup prowled the alley, soliciting business.

Dirty and chaotic.

Cen Wu wanted to accompany Xie Guilan home, but he logically shouldn’t know where Xie lived.

Xie probably didn’t want him following.

Not even Song Lingwei knew that Xie Guilan rented a place.

Xie’s father knew, however. Since Xie Guilan was his son, he would never allow him to slip out of his control. He had given Song Lingwei the authority to treat her illness and allowed Xie to attend school — so Xie should be grateful and obedient.

But Xie Guilan was exactly the opposite: rebellious, ungrateful, ambitious—a mirror image of his father’s younger self.

He couldn’t tolerate such a kindred spirit, yet he admired him, so his feelings toward Xie were always complicated.

“I... I’m leaving now.” Cen Wu gripped his backpack straps and waved to Xie Guilan.

Xie’s gaze was distant and cold; he said nothing, turning to walk into the dark alley.

Cen Wu was left speechless.

He was angry.

Cen Wu took out his phone.

The alley was pitch black, unlit except for the moonlight barely illuminating the path and casting long, dim shadows.

A minute later.

Xie Guilan’s phone screen suddenly lit up, illuminating his cold profile in the narrow alley.

He lowered his eyes. The person who had sent him the “I want to shout ‘meow’” emoji had just sent a message.

[Transfer received.]

[You have to write me a self-criticism tonight. If you don’t do it well, you’re done for. Headshot.jpg]

Cen Wu sent back a cat punching emoji, the fist leaving an afterimage.

Xie Guilan was silent.

He put away his phone indifferently.

Cen Wu was worried but also felt Xie wouldn’t harm him. He went to bed uneasy.

Luckily, the next day at school, he found a written self-criticism on his desk — a full three thousand words.

But Xie Guilan wasn’t there. When Cen Wu looked up at Xie’s desk, he froze.

!!!

After school yesterday, the class monitor handed out the weekly test papers. Xie had left early and hadn’t taken his with him.

Cen Wu had collected it for him from the desk cubby, only to find it now crumpled, torn, and scattered messily on the desk.

Xie studied diligently. Aside from working part-time to earn money, he spent nearly all his time doing exercises, sacrificing almost all sleep, all to escape the Xie family and gain a sliver of dignity.

Cen Wu’s face fell. He gathered the torn paper fragments and placed them in his own desk cubby before going to submit the self-criticism.

The dean didn’t scold him but insisted he read it aloud. Cen Wu nodded and bought a roll of transparent tape to the classroom.

He intended to piece the test paper back together before Xie arrived, but it was torn into tiny pieces and crumpled. After searching for a long time, he finally managed to mend it. Luckily, Xie hadn’t come to the first two classes that morning.

When he finally looked up, he rubbed his sore neck.

Cen Wu wasn’t going to let this go. He would catch that brat eventually. After thinking for a moment, he sent a message to Cen Xiao.

“Brother, can you do me a favor?”

-

By the time the big break came, Meng Liangping came to call them downstairs for the self-criticism session. “No dawdling!”

Lu Wang held Cen Wu’s arm nervously. “What do we do? I really need to pee.”

Public self-criticism was humiliating enough, especially today since it was preceded by an awards ceremony for last semester’s competitions. Xie Guilan had won the national first prize.

Another girl took third prize, and for other events, Huai Jing No.1 High School had swept nearly half the provincial awards.

The certificates and trophies had just arrived, and the principal decided on a school-wide commendation, having Xie and the others go on stage to receive their awards.

By contrast, they were just conspicuous outcasts.

When Xie Guilan arrived at the classroom, Cen Wu and the others had already gone to the playground. He set down his backpack and prepared to receive his award, but as he reached into the desk cubby, he found something.

His already icy expression turned even colder. He thought it was trash thrown around again, but pulling out the item, he realized it was the test papers he had painstakingly torn up.

Someone had carefully pieced the tears together, aligning every character neatly.

A section with missing scores was patched with a scrap torn from the test paper itself, carefully redrawn with a red pen.

“...”

Xie Guilan put the papers away and headed downstairs.

The dean anxiously craned his neck. As a first-prize winner, Xie should have been the first on stage, but he hadn’t come, so the ceremony started with the third-prize recipients.

Now the awards were nearly over, and still no sign of Xie. His calls went unanswered.

Finally seeing him, the dean hurriedly pushed him onto the stage like a long-lost son.

Cen Wu and about a dozen others, including those caught skipping classes recently, waited nearby. After Xie received his award, they would read their self-criticisms.

Xie Guilan brushed past Cen Wu, who shook the self-criticism paper at him.

Today was overcast but not yet raining.

Under the gray sky, Cen Wu’s complexion was almost luminescent, porcelain smooth, with thin, faintly red lips, naturally exuding a cold elegance.

But his long, thick, and heavily curled lashes reminded Xie Guilan of a bird—a long-tailed tit, with a fluffy white body and black-tipped wings.

“Xiao Xie,” the dean, bald and standing with girls quietly cheering for Xie, whispered, “Hurry up. What are you waiting for?”

Xie Guilan strode up to accept his award.

After the ceremony, it was finally time for the self-criticism session. Those caught skipping class went first—about a dozen weakly reading their statements—then it was the turn of those who had been at the internet café last night.

There were too many people, so the dean didn’t require them to read the full three thousand words, only that they express remorse.

Zhang Yuanzhou went up three times alone. He had taken third prize in the contest and also skipped classes.

By his third time on stage, the dean’s face had turned green. The crowd laughed, and Zhang raised a hand to hush them.

“I know you’re all looking forward to my speech, but Qiang is still here, so give him some face.”

Cen Wu was speechless.

Wasn’t this a form of social anxiety?

A social terror.

At the film festival’s awards ceremony, he had never felt so composed. Coming off stage, his vision darkened repeatedly.

Before Zhang finished, Cen Wu’s back was soaked with cold sweat. After waiting so long, his calves stiffened.

He tried to lift his legs to stretch, but a sharp ache spread, triggering his heart to spasm, pounding loudly, making his eardrums ache.

Zhang finally finished, bowed deeply, and left the stage amid cheers.

Cen Wu barely managed to lift his legs to walk up. His lashes were wet; he touched them repeatedly and barely held the microphone, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

He opened his mouth; his throat trembled severely, and he thought he had made a sound — but there was nothing.

Cen Wu remained silent for a full minute, unable to speak. The crowd began to murmur. He was the last to read the self-criticism; everyone was waiting for him to finish so they could exercise and return to class.

Huai Jing No.1 High School covered more than 400,000 square meters, boasting the largest playground in the city. Cen Wu looked up at the sea of heads below, countless and undifferentiated.

His lips paled, his stomach churned violently, and his breathing grew labored. He struggled to speak, “I... I’m from... Class 2-3...”

He wasn’t stammering every word, but since entering this story, he’d only interacted with the original owner’s acquaintances. Even if they noticed something off, with the original’s bad reputation, no one dared question him.

But now, his stammer was impossible to ignore.

Among so many teachers and students, not everyone had witnessed how terrifying the young master could be when enraged. Some in the crowd couldn’t hold it back and almost laughed out loud as soon as Cen Wu spoke.

“What’s wrong with him? Can’t even speak properly. Isn’t he the second young master of the Cen family? This is it?”

“Stop it, why are you being so mean? What if he stammers more?”

“Hahaha, I’m dying laughing.”

Cen Wu’s face drained of color, his lashes trembling, his breathing shaky. He dared not look up, fearing the crowd’s laughter. His eyes reddened, and his throat ached painfully.

The dean urged, “Read it, don’t delay the exercise.”

“I...” Cen Wu wavered. His pale lips moved, but after a few words, there was no response from the crowd. Only then did he realize the microphone was dead.

The microphone was wired from the stage down below. Cen Wu tapped it repeatedly with no effect, toggled the switches—still silent. He looked down toward the crowd.

Xie Guilan and the others were still taking photos after the awards, blocking the outlet, so it was impossible to see what was going on.

The dean frowned, walked over, and tapped Cen Wu’s microphone himself. It shouldn’t have stopped working suddenly.

Students below grew restless with complaints.

The dean could not keep everyone detained; only Cen Wu hadn’t finished. Since this was his first offense, he waved his hand and said, “Forget it, you can step down.”

Cen Wu almost collapsed, his tension draining. His legs weak, he handed the microphone to the dean and walked off the stage, lowering his head as he passed Xie and the others and went straight back to class.

“All done,” the photographer teacher signaled, “Good shots.”

Xie Guilan and the others dispersed and began their exercises. It was inconvenient to approach them now, so the teacher told them to return to class.

The dean was still puzzled by the microphone when Xie Guilan suddenly walked over, reaching out. The dean was taken aback but handed it over.

Then he saw Xie’s cold, slender fingers gripping two batteries, which he inserted before tapping the microphone again.

It worked perfectly.

The dean was speechless.

“I was too nervous during the awards,” Xie Guilan said expressionlessly. “I accidentally popped it out.”

The dean said nothing.

“You have quite a strong grip,” he finally said.

Xie Guilan didn’t reply. His dark, deep peach blossom eyes were icy and indifferent. The dean stared into them, feeling as if he were silently saying, “Believe it if you want.”

The dean wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. The school was in a difficult position with Xie Guilan. His grades were outstanding—he was likely next year’s provincial top scorer. The school valued him highly.

But Xie was busy and indifferent to their attention. The teachers could do little and tried to be careful not to upset him.

They didn’t know Xie’s motives. With another student, they’d ask directly, but with Xie, they were cautious and never found the courage.

“Alright,” the dean sighed, “You can go now.”

“Thank you, teacher.” Xie bowed politely and left.

The dean watched him, then saw Xie reinsert the unplugged microphone plug back into the socket as he passed.

The dean muttered, “That brat.”

When Xie returned to class, Cen Wu was already slumped over his desk. Hearing footsteps, Cen Wu rummaged in his cubby and pulled out a box of cookies and milk.

Without raising his head or turning around, he reached behind and placed the snacks on Xie’s desk silently, unlike before when he leaned on the chair back waiting for him to eat.

Cen Wu didn’t look up all day. He would sit up during class to listen but would slump again as soon as the bell rang. Lu Wang shook him lightly but got no response.

He skipped lunch, and when Lu Wang asked if he wanted food brought, Cen Wu shook his head faintly.

Lu Wang leaned on Cen Wu’s back, feeling awkward, and glanced at Xie Guilan, who pursed his thin lips and lowered his head to continue working on his exercises, his face as cold as ever.

He didn’t know if Cen Wu was being kind out of affection or for some other reason, but he didn’t need or want it.

He considered the exercise at break as a repayment, unwilling to owe anyone anything, perhaps even less so Song Lingwei.

Especially less so Cen Wu.

His body still bore the wounds from the whip, his neck bruised and purple. How could he care about Cen Wu’s fate?

Xie Guilan’s brows knit in irritation as he completed another set of problems.

Cen Wu noticed Xie Guilan was restless today. Though he was slumped, he wasn’t asleep. He heard Xie get up to get water, which was unusual since he usually didn’t drink a drop all morning.

He didn’t eat or drink much, yet somehow grew so tall.

Xie walked to the front of their row to hand homework to the group leader, nearly startling them to death.

After he left, the group leader asked in a daze, “Was that Xie Guilan talking to me just now?”

Someone nearby rolled their eyes in disdain.

Xie Guilan disliked interacting with classmates, sat in the back row alone with no deskmate, always entering and leaving through the back door, and left his homework on the desk. The class rep could collect it if they wanted; if not, he wouldn’t hand it in. Nothing seemed to matter.

Cen Wu rested his forehead on his sleeve, his long lashes wet and swollen. From beneath his arm, he secretly watched Xie Guilan pacing nearby.

But he never lifted his head once.