Chapter 52.2: A New Canvas

Li Sanjiang pulled some money from his pocket. It wasn’t much—far less than the thick bills he used to hand to his great-grandson without a second thought—but as a daily allowance, it was still the kind of sum most kids in rural or even urban areas would envy.

When it came to spending, Li Sanjiang had always been generous. And with Little Yuanhou, he was even more so.

“Heh heh.”

Li Zhuiyuan accepted today’s allowance.

He had once refused Li Sanjiang’s suggestion to receive a whole month’s allowance at once. He preferred getting it daily. That way, his great-grandfather had a little happiness to look forward to each day.

And he, too, had a small chance to feel a bit of joy.

He rode the tricycle with Ah Li, rolling down from the dam.

The girl insisted on escorting him to and from school every day.

Li Zhuiyuan had taken special notice: Liu Yumei hadn’t sent Aunt Liu to follow, and even Uncle Qin, long since withdrawn from view, was nowhere in the shadows.

She truly let her granddaughter go out like this, understanding what would benefit the girl in the long run.

Still, with Runsheng around, Ah Li wasn’t likely to be in any danger.

Actually, even without Runsheng, Ah Li didn’t seem to face danger. If anything, Runsheng was more about protecting others from the danger of getting too close to her.

The gates of the middle school were always busiest at the beginning and end of the day. Shops along the school street opened early.

Sometimes Li Zhuiyuan would buy a shaomai or a fried dumpling to share with Ah Li.

Mostly just for a taste—he’d already eaten breakfast at home.

Other times he bought her little trinkets to add to her collection box.

Liu Yumei once told Li Zhuiyuan that Ah Li, every night before bed, would crouch by her collection box and carefully rearrange her treasures one by one.

Sadly, Ah Li couldn’t attend school.

She no longer rejected family members like Great-grandfather, Tan Wenbin, or Runsheng. Even those who visited often—Li Weihan, Cui Guiying, Cuicui, Pan’er, Lei’er—she could now tolerate without flinching.

But the idea of sitting in a classroom with a crowd of students was still unbearable for her.

More than that, she simply had no interest in school life, no yearning for friends or peers. The traditional savior narrative didn’t apply to her at all.

In fact, she may have had no real attachment to this world at all. What she liked was this “new world” she experienced through the boy.

After parting with Runsheng and Ah Li, Li Zhuiyuan and Tan Wenbin merged into the stream of middle school students and passed through the gates.

High school morning sessions began even earlier. Unless they lived very close, most high schoolers—especially seniors—opted to live on campus.

Tan Wenbin used to live in the dorms too, but moved back home after a dorm fight.

Inside the high school teaching building, the second morning session was already underway. Aside from the teachers’ voices, the place was hushed.

Tan Wenbin, slinging his backpack over one shoulder and swinging his bangs as he walked, relished this sense of distinctiveness. He felt stylish.

Even when passing teachers or principals, he showed no fear. They were always gentle and respectful to his big brother.

So they nodded at him too.

Really, only Tan Yunlong and his wife still held onto the hope that their son might absorb some of the star of literary success.

To the school administration and faculty, however, sacrificing one Tan Wenbin to secure a provincial top scorer was a bargain.

Li Zhuiyuan reached the classroom door just as English Teacher Su was explaining a cloze test.

Teacher Su waved at him with a smile.

Li Zhuiyuan returned a shy smile.

No need to shout “report” and disturb the class. He walked in quietly. Tan Wenbin took the inside seat, and Li Zhuiyuan sat beside him.

He pulled out his copy of Chronicle of the Orthodox Demon-Suppressing Arts and began to read.

In an English-speaking environment, such “classical texts” seemed even more evocative.

Still, after a month in this front-row seat by the door, he’d grown to dislike it.

Classmates always slowed down to look at him when they passed, despite his efforts to avoid making friends.

Students from other classes treated the spot like a scenic detour during breaks. Though Class 13 wasn’t on the way to the bathroom, it became an unofficial promenade.

The teachers were even more exaggerated. They’d go out of their way to pass by before and after class, pausing at the door or window to offer loving, nurturing smiles, like watering a potted orchid they’d planted.

Thanks to him, the principal and discipline officers showed up here more often, regardless of break schedules. Now, no one in the class dared read wuxia novels or whisper during lessons.

What used to be the occasional jump scare outside the window had turned into a daily dose of grim reality.

Li Zhuiyuan really preferred the last row by the door—more space, no trash can nearby, and from a feng shui perspective, it was the perfect “Hidden Dragon in the Abyss” position.

Next best were the spots flanking the teacher’s desk—the Left and Right Guardians.

Tan Wenbin used to be the Right Guardian.

But that spot, backing the classroom door, wasn’t ideal. Too startling, too prone to sudden fright.

The Left Guardian was better—sheltered by the desk, aligned with the emperor’s will and the people's hearts. Hidden in plain sight.

The class was crowded—over seventy students. That hadn’t been the case in his old school. Numbers shifted every term, with some falling behind, others getting sick.

The bell for the end of the second morning session rang. English class was over.

This school had four classes in the morning and four in the afternoon.

Morning self-study was split into two half-hour periods. Lunch break was one hour. Evening self-study stretched across four hour-long periods.

Each “self-study” was subject-specific, with mandatory teacher attendance.

This brutal schedule startled Li Zhuiyuan. If his old school had done this, he wasn’t sure whether he or his classmates could have handled it—though the professors would’ve collapsed for sure.

During the break, students quickly packed their stationery.

Li Zhuiyuan asked curiously, “Binbin-ge, what’s going on?”

“Monthly exams today. You didn’t know?” Tan Wenbin packed his things, paused when he saw the book cover in Zhuiyuan’s hands, then shrugged. “Not surprising you didn’t.”

One month into the term, time for the initial assessment.

To prevent cheating, seniors and juniors were mixed and assigned to random rooms based on exam numbers.

Honestly, cheating in senior year was pointless—just self-deception. But reality defied reason; many seniors kept cheating all the way through the third simulation exam.

Just then, homeroom teacher Sun Qing walked in and asked, “Little Yuan, are you taking the monthly exam or coming to sit in my office?”

“I’ll take it. But can I get all the exam papers in the first session?”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll fetch them for you.”

Li Zhuiyuan understood what the school wanted from him. Playing nice meant convenience for everyone. And he did need to participate in these major exams.

First, to ensure the teachers stayed friendly despite his refusal to do homework or listen in class. Second, to get a sense of the testing pattern for crafting mock questions for Binbin-ge.

He wasn’t great at teaching others, so he was still learning.

He got up and checked his exam number on the wall.

“Hey, you’re good, you’re in your original seat.”

“Oh.”

He sat back down.

Tan Wenbin moved to the first seat on the left side.

Once, Tan Wenbin had read that unless you were good-looking enough, you’d never know how forward girls could be.

Now he wanted to add: if your grades were good enough, schools could drop all pretense too.

First exam: math. Proctored by their math teacher, Mr. Yan.

Once papers were handed out, Mr. Yan placed the rest of the subject papers on Zhuiyuan’s desk and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder, smiling.

“Do the math one, pick through the rest as you like.”

“Okay.”

Then he placed his own teacup on the boy’s desk. “New cup, freshly brewed tea.”

“Thank you, teacher.”

Nearby, a junior assigned to the same room stared in horror.

And when the test began, watching the boy next to him blaze through the answers, he nearly lost it.

What the—no way even with answers in front of you could you write that fast!

Li Zhuiyuan finished the math paper quickly and moved on to physics.

Mr. Yan strolled over, picked up the math paper, took out a red pen, and began grading.

He was pleased. The boy hadn’t let success go to his head, still humble and striving.

See? No advanced methods on the long answers this time. And he’d even written a big “Solution” at the start of each one.

When he reached the final Chinese paper, Li Zhuiyuan paused.

The essay topic: Motherly love.

But only briefly. He quickly penned a model essay in perfect form, painting Li Lan as so loving and noble she seemed saintly—a shining example.

The only part he skipped was the English listening section. That he left blank.

He double-checked the exam names, then stood and handed all the papers to Mr. Yan.

“Wrist tired?”

“A little.”

“I told you not to write so much,” Mr. Yan scolded gently. “Go rest in my office, take a nap?”

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