Chapter 26: The Past

Song Linyu first met Su Tang when he was ten years old.

At that time, he was in fifth grade. The teacher had emphasized that this was a crucial transitional phase in elementary school, and everyone needed to work hard to improve their grades. Though it was always proclaimed the “most critical year” every single time, Song Linyu believed it wholeheartedly. He sat at his desk, clutching a pen nearly out of ink, meticulously working through math competition problems stroke by stroke.

The weather had been dismal for days—endless overcast skies with drizzling rain. Thick clouds blanketed the world outside the window, and the soil in the flower beds had clumped into soggy lumps. Song Linyu hated this kind of weather. Whenever it rained, Mom’s leg would ache, and when her leg ached, she would cry—and then she would hit him.

But after the hitting stopped, Mom would cry even harder. She would apologize to him over and over, choking out the words, “I wish I hadn’t brought you into this world. It’s all my fault.”

Song Linyu wouldn’t say anything. He would just wipe away her tears with his hand, think for a moment, and then murmur, “It’s okay.”

That was how he approached Mom—simple as that. Everything would be fine. He would study hard, make money one day, and solve all the things that made her cry.

Then she could hug him like other mothers did, call him by his nickname to soothe him to sleep, and praise him for getting top scores, telling him how amazing he was.

So while his classmates rushed out in a pack with their balls to play, little Song Linyu stayed behind, diligently reading and doing problems. He aced every quiz and test with perfect scores, earning heaps of praise from the teachers.

He wasn’t close with his classmates, but they got along peacefully enough. For the top student who kept to himself and had the teachers’ favor, others might whisper enviously or curiously behind his back, but no one was foolish enough to challenge him to his face.

That simple, quiet life came to an abrupt end the moment Su Tang transferred in.

No. 2 Primary School was an ordinary place—average facilities, mediocre teachers. In the landscape of compulsory education, it was just another neighborhood school, its only redeeming qualities being its suburban location with fresh air and a pleasant environment.

Right next door, separated by a mere grove of trees, stood Experimental Primary School, the top institution in all of Shenlan. Its campus sprawled five times larger than No. 2’s. Every morning, the quartz clock atop the Red Building chimed precisely, the heavy iron gates swung open, and teachers in crisp suits stood at the entrance, greeting students who stepped out of luxury cars.

With Su Tang’s family background, he could have easily attended that elite school. Yet he chose No. 2 instead.

As a result, Su Tang stood out like a sore thumb here—far too dazzling, a cut above the rest. On his first day, trailed by a butler and a secretary, the little boy climbed onto the podium in a shiny but slightly ill-fitting suit, chin held high as he announced his name.

His second act was to point straight at Song Linyu and command imperiously, “I want to sit next to him.”

The teacher nodded with a smile. “Of course. Little Yu is the best student in our class. It’ll be great for you to be friends with him.”

Su Tang lifted his chin even higher, casting a sidelong glance at Song Linyu, who sat quietly scribbling away with his pen. Compared to the other children’s babyish faces, Song Linyu stood out strikingly. He was slender and upright, with refined features. Even in his slightly snug jacket, he didn’t look the least bit shabby.

Still, Su Tang nitpicked in his mind to the System: “I don’t see how he’ll be rich in the future. Aside from looking decent, what’s so special about him?”

The System cooed reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Tang Tang. That’s his future self. Right now, just become his white moonlight. Then, when his family falls on hard times and he enters the entertainment industry, you’ll reap all the top resources.”

Su Tang wrinkled his nose in distaste. When he finally deigned to sit beside Song Linyu, he introduced himself grudgingly, “I’m Su Tang.”

“…”

No response.

Song Linyu simply turned his homework page over. His pen paused for a split second as he pondered, then resumed gliding smoothly through the equations.

He genuinely hadn’t heard Su Tang. When someone was deep in math problems, it was hard to spare attention for chit-chat—not even for “Song Linyu, the potential heartthrob protagonist.”

But Su Tang was clearly offended by the snub. The Heartthrob System had spoiled him with spoilers of his pampered future, and with a hoard of starting points to burn, he believed the whole world should revolve around him.

Shouldn’t Song Linyu have turned around in stunned awe, inwardly marveling at this “exquisitely carved, moon-kissed, adorably squishy little dumpling”?

Shouldn’t he have felt inferior, too shy to speak, yet secretly care about him?

Why was he still buried in those stupid math problems?

Without consulting the Heartthrob System, Su Tang slapped down some points. In the next instant, Song Linyu felt a searing pain explode at the back of his neck, like the flat of a red-hot blade slamming down. His vision blackened, his water-based pen clattered to the floor with a sharp crack, and he could only grip the desk edge as an invisible force wrenched his head around to stare fixedly at the boy who had somehow appeared beside him.

Su Tang smoothed his hair leisurely, turned his face, and said smugly to Song Linyu, “I said, I’m Su Tang. Remember it.”

Song Linyu’s mind was a whirlwind. What was happening? Had he suddenly fallen ill? Or was he allergic to this nutcase named Su Tang?

The pain didn’t last long. Moments later, Song Linyu could lift his head slightly. By then, the entire class had crowded around their desks. Su Tang lounged with his legs crossed, tossing chocolates to the kids and basking in their flattery.

Their chatter was deafening. Song Linyu closed his eyes where he sat, but he still couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. In silence, he picked up his pen from the floor and went back to his problems.

But as the nib scraped across the paper, the ink stuttered and faded, leaving no mark—and nearly tearing the thin sheet.

Song Linyu froze, then gave the pen a gentle shake.

Still nothing.

Frowning in annoyance, he lowered his gaze and cracked open a fresh refill.

From that day on, Su Tang never let up.

He was constantly at Song Linyu’s side, hurling rude remarks—criticizing his family, his personality, everything about him. Song Linyu had no idea where this intense grudge came from.

Worse, the whole class seemed to go mad, elevating Su Tang on a pedestal. Whatever thoughtless thing he said, someone made it happen—including isolating Song Linyu.

To be precise, it was covert bullying.

When it first started, Song Linyu went straight to the homeroom teacher. The teacher frowned as she asked about the situation. Calmly, Song Linyu unzipped his backpack and showed the evidence: torn homework, a pencil case gummed up with chewing gum, and the scald mark on the back of his hand from “accidental” hot water.

Every teacher encountered bullying at some point in their career, and no one with any professionalism ignored it—especially not for a star pupil like Song Linyu.

The homeroom teacher promised sternly to handle it and immediately summoned Su Tang. Song Linyu didn’t leave; he lingered outside the office door, leaning against the wall to listen.

He heard the teacher ask Su Tang, baffled, “Su Tang, what’s your beef with Song Linyu? Why are you leading the bullying against him? Don’t deny it—I have the evidence.”

But Su Tang sounded even more incredulous. He raised his voice in a drawn-out retort, then fired back angrily, “I’m not bullying him! I’m trying to make him more outgoing and cheerful! Didn’t I throw out his crappy supplies and replace them with new ones? Bullying? I only came to this dump because of Song Linyu—”

Song Linyu’s first instinct upon hearing that last bit was that he’d misheard. Su Tang’s sanctimonious words slithered oily into his ears, churning in his throat until he felt like vomiting.

“You can’t twist this into ‘caring’! Su Tang, have your parents come to school tomorrow—”

The teacher’s reprimand cut off abruptly, like a tape recorder hitting pause. Song Linyu heard Su Tang sigh dramatically, then mutter to himself, “Didn’t expect to waste points on something this trivial. What a pain…”

Su Tang’s murmur short-circuited Song Linyu’s brain for a second. In the dead silence that followed, he clearly heard the teacher ask in a dazed tone, “Little Su, what are you doing here? Is there something you need in the office?”

“Nope, wrong turn. See you, Teacher.”

Su Tang replied breezily, pushed open the office door, and left. Song Linyu, just beyond the wall, bowed his head in silence, pressing his back against the cold tiled surface to ground himself in reality.

The homeroom teacher emerged with her lesson plans, heading the opposite way to class. Spotting Song Linyu pale and slumped against the wall, she hurried over, bending down to ask softly, “Little Yu? Are you feeling unwell and need to take leave? Should we head to the infirmary?”

Song Linyu’s slightly trembling fingertips pressed hard against his temples. He paused for a moment, then shook his head very gently.

Moments later, his eyes slowly lowered until his pupils brimmed with melancholy.

As a child, Song Linyu had always naively prayed for fate to take pity on him. He hoped his mother would recover and that his family could live together peacefully, free from arguments. But as he grew older, he came to understand that fate did not exist. All happiness had to be forged by human hands.

Yet it turned out that fate was real after all—it simply showed him no mercy. It showered Su Tang with every blessing while confining Song Linyu to a cage crafted by human cruelty.

That afternoon marked the first time Song Linyu had ever skipped class. He slipped through the school’s overly spacious fence. In truth, he had no idea where to go; he simply wanted to escape Su Tang and the absurdity that surrounded him.

He wandered aimlessly through the vast expanse of Red Maple Forest. The endless sea of trees left him utterly lost. He clambered over tangled roots and scattered stones, running faster and faster, his footsteps growing more unsteady with every stride.

Voices drifted through the woods—likely students from the neighboring school out for a practical lesson in the forest. Song Linyu wanted to avoid the crowd and find his way out, but in his daze, something collided with him. He fell hard to the ground.

“…Sorry, I didn’t see anyone here just now.”

A clear, smooth voice of apology sounded from above Song Linyu’s head. He climbed silently to his feet, intent on leaving, but then he felt a hand reach out and brush his chin—not too lightly, not too heavily.

“Looks like it’s bleeding… Does it hurt? Why are you crying so much?”

A soft palm stroked the side of Song Linyu’s face, which had somehow become streaked with tears, the touch soothing like a caress. The speaker bent down and squatted patiently beside him, gazing at him with gentle eyes. The tear-shaped mole beneath that eye gleamed softly in the glaring sunlight, tender as a bluebird gliding lightly past.

“Yanzong—?”

A teacher called out his name questioningly from a distance away. Fu Yanzong turned his head and answered with a casual acknowledgment. Then, in his steady, methodical way, he explained, “Someone’s hurt. I’ll take him to get it seen to.”

Song Linyu hadn’t yet recovered his wits when his wrist was seized. The man before him spoke mildly enough, yet his tone carried an unmistakable undercurrent of authority—a habitual command that brooked no refusal, leaving Song Linyu unable to pull away just yet.

“Don’t run off,” he said. “Come with me.”