With the new building complete, Hao Shuyou threw his full weight behind organizing the student art exhibition.
The Ning University Art College enjoyed considerable renown nationwide, but the university leadership had never given it much priority; funding applications stalled, and any large-scale undertaking was difficult. Only after the Leheng Group’s donation—and with Zhou Lang brokering the connection to Duan Jiaru—had the matter finally made it onto the agenda.
At the morning meeting, Ji Xiunian gave her opinion.
Beyond soliciting works from the graduating class, she proposed, they could invite alumni of previous years to exhibit as well. The Ning University Art College had produced more than its share of outstanding alumni; they might even extend invitations to renowned artists.
But scarcely had she finished when Meng Xiaoying objected. “Teacher Ji’s idea is a fine one, but we’ve only ever held exhibitions for graduating students. Reviewing the works, setting up the gallery—all of that takes enormous manpower and resources. And now you want to invite former students as well…”
She stopped halfway through.
The meaning was plain enough: this was the Leheng Group’s sponsorship money. Spending it so freely—did she think it grew on her own trees?
Ji Xiunian heard the rebuttal out, her expression calm. “I’ve only offered my thoughts and suggestions. Thank you all for the discussion.”
Hao Shuyou had long since formed his own view, but he didn’t voice it; instead he asked Zhou Lang first. “What do you think?”
Zhou Lang nodded. “Well, since we’re doing it, we may as well do it properly.”
What did that mean?
It meant she endorsed every one of Ji Xiunian’s proposals!
Meng Xiaoying’s face soured.
But the money was Zhou Lang’s, in the end. How she chose to spend it was entirely her own affair.
Fang Xun couldn’t hold back a smile and leaned toward Cen Yao’s ear. “I knew Dean Zhou would back Teacher Ji.”
Cen Yao was puzzled. “Mm? Why?”
“You wouldn’t get it. This is what they call pampering! Held in the palm of her hand, free to do whatever she likes!”
“Have you been reading too many CEO romance novels again?”
“…I have not!”
Cen Yao didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Oh, hush. Keep this up and you’ll have me brainwashed too.”
Fang Xun took her arm and shook it, sweet and coaxing. “That sounds nice, though. You could join me.”
Cen Yao sat ramrod straight, rattled by the shaking. “Shh—no whispering in meetings.”
“Fine, fine.”
Fortunately the two of them sat off to the side, too junior for anyone to notice.
Meng Xiaoying’s expression was far from pleasant. “I have another thought…”
She laid out her reasoning in meticulous order. After a few remarks, Hao Shuyou asked Zhou Lang again. “Zhou Lang, your view?”
Zhou Lang didn’t even look up. “Professor Ji can decide. It’s Professor Ji and Professor Fang Hui who are coordinating this, after all. Once he’s back in the country, you can all discuss it yourselves.”
Meng Xiaoying: “I…”
Zhou Lang gave her a small smile—she had long known the woman couldn’t stand Ji Xiunian and went looking for trouble daily. “Professor Ji is the newly appointed Vice Dean, and Teacher Fang Hui is a giant in the field. With these two in charge of the exhibition, I have every confidence in their seniority and ability. Does Teacher Meng have any concerns?”
Meng Xiaoying: “…Of course not.”
Zhou Lang: “Good.”
Honestly… why did these people always have to make things difficult for Ji Xiunian?
Might as well let her stand on her shoulders and hold her up higher—spare her these daily irritations.
Ji Xiunian’s head was bowed; the mobile phone on the table lit up.
A new text message popped up: “Mom, I’m here.”
From Ji Anyang. He sometimes came to the Ning University library to borrow books with her card and would wait for her at her office.
Ji Xiunian rose—and to her own bewilderment, Zhou Lang’s eyes came up at once to meet her. That single look made something in her jolt. She stood frozen a few seconds before walking out.
Zhou Lang’s gaze drifted after her, unbidden.
Who was she going to see?
Outside the office, Ji Xiunian found Anyang absorbed in a book. “Been waiting long?”
“Mm. Just got here.”
“Then wait a little longer. I’ll walk over with you.”
Ji Xiunian unlocked the door with her key, then thought a moment before adding, “Anyang, this office isn’t mine alone anymore. My… colleagues come here too. Just sit in my chair, all right?”
Ji Anyang nodded. “Understood. I won’t touch anyone else’s things.”
“I can’t leave just yet. Wait inside for a bit.”
Ji Anyang nodded again. “I’ll wait here. Don’t let anyone keep you waiting.”
Ji Xiunian gave him a few more instructions and headed back, somehow unable to stop glancing over her shoulder several times.
She had barely returned to the meeting room when the meeting wrapped up. Zhou Lang, chatting with Hao Shuyou on business, walked slowly—there had never been any urgency to their conversation—and paused by the corridor window, looking down. Just in time to see Ji Xiunian descending the stairs, a boy of modest years at her side.
Hao Shuyou hadn’t noticed, but Zhou Lang’s eyes were sharp; she fixed on the boy’s back and recognized Ji Anyang almost at once.
Zhou Lang was a little surprised. She watched for a long while before lowering her head with a smile.
Ji Xiunian had no idea, surely, that she had met Anyang long ago.
“Oh, right, Senior Brother.” Zhou Lang recalled something. “A friend of mine owns a hot spring resort. He asked if I wanted to come. Interested? Next month—I’ll treat the whole college’s teachers to a visit?”
The Ning University Art College’s benefits were excellent: two trips abroad each year, one over summer break and one over winter, plus a smaller outing mid-semester. November in Mingchuan had already turned cold—deep autumn was the perfect season for hot springs.
Hao Shuyou had been planning exactly this for days; Zhou Lang had handed him the solution on a plate. Still, he hesitated. “Your friend? Will this cost you money?”
“Trying to save me money, Senior Brother?”
“No, it’s just—you’ve been pouring so much time and energy into us lately. It was supposed to be a name on paper, and now you’re here two or three times a week.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Zhou Lang said. “I don’t mind.”
“Don’t play the fool for your senior brother’s sake.”
“I’m not. You don’t have nearly enough face for that—don’t flatter yourself.”
Zhou Lang returned to the matter at hand. “Then it’s settled. I’ll arrange it—November, the whole college’s teachers to the hot spring resort. I’ll have Le Cheng notify Cen Yao in advance. But there is one more thing I’d like to ask.”
Hao Shuyou eyed her with a smile. “What are you plotting?”
“Nothing much. Only that since I’m going to all this trouble, I’d like every teacher to attend.”
“That much is easy.”
“Mm. And one more thing—don’t tell anyone I arranged it. I’d rather not have people say I’m advertising for a friend.”
“Understood.”
With Hao Shuyou’s agreement secured, Zhou Lang was in high spirits. “Then it’s a deal. I look forward to it.”
The Ji family owned a three-story villa on the city’s outskirts, beautiful, immaculate, and secluded.
It had been some time since Ji Xiunian had come home. The housekeeper opened the door for her. “Miss Ji, your father is in the study. The Old Master is sunning himself on the balcony upstairs.”
Ji Xiunian had brought Anyang back to see his grandfather.
Her relationship with her father had long since frozen over; after starting work she had moved out and rarely returned.
A clatter of footsteps soon came down the stairs.
Ji Changhong wore a pair of silver-framed glasses, his hair combed neatly back, his gaze sharp. His posture was ramrod straight, his suit without a single crease, a briefcase in his right hand as he strode down.
Ji Xiunian’s tone was flat. “Dad.”
Ji Changhong gave an acknowledging sound, his eyes sweeping over her. “So you do know the way home.”
His tone was unfriendly, and at the first word, Ji Xiunian’s face went cold. “I certainly didn’t come back to quarrel.”
Ji Changhong’s hands stilled on his tie. “If you had listened to me even a little more, things wouldn’t have come to this.”
Ji Xiunian pressed her lips together, a cold, faint mockery in it. “Listen to you say what? Blind dates? A political marriage?”
Ji Changhong gave a cold snort. “You know perfectly well what choice you ought to make.”
Ji Xiunian met his eyes without an inch of retreat. “I don’t.”
He moved to leave, pausing as he passed her. “Let’s leave the rest. But she’s married. Whether you ought to be hovering at that person’s side—you know the answer in your heart.”
Zhou Lang had returned to the country and donated an academic building to Ning University—news that size, of course he knew.
And he knew far more than that: he even knew the Zhou Family and the Duan Family were entangled in ways that couldn’t quite be spoken of. After all, it had been he who’d had someone escort Ji Xiunian to Zhou Lang and Duan Jiaru’s wedding.
In short, he wanted his daughter to understand—and to stop crossing him over that person.
The front door opened, and shut again with a bang.
Old Master Ji stood at the turn of the stairs and sighed softly. “Niannian, why must you be so unyielding? All these years, your father hasn’t forced anything on you again, has he? Next time, the two of you should sit down and talk properly, father and daughter.”
Ji Xiunian shook her head and said nothing.
Seeing her like this, the old man knew she wasn’t taking a word of it in… No surprise there. The Ji family were stubborn to the bone, every last one of them. He had long since grown used to it.
Come to think of it… which of the things this child had done wasn’t a defiance of convention? Loving a woman, raising a child unmarried… Someone who looked so quiet and reserved, and yet once she dug in her heels, she could frighten you half to death.
“Grandpa, how has your recovery been since the surgery?”
“Mm. Not bad.”
“And Anyang?”
“In the car. He didn’t come down. I’ll call him over.”
She hadn’t wanted Ji Anyang to be subjected to Ji Changhong’s face, and she’d asked his opinion; as it happened, he had no wish to see the man either, so he’d simply waited in the car.
“Never mind. Next time. Some things shouldn’t be heard by the child either.”
The old man was a retired professor of literature, a scholar through and through, his eyes still clear. “Niannian, your grandfather wants only one thing: for this family to be well. When your grandmother passed, I promised her I would look after you—and keep your father in check.”
Ji Xiunian’s smile was faintly bitter. “He’s… arrogant and obstinate. Can you really keep him in check?”
The old man sighed.
His son was inflexible and self-willed—but this granddaughter, was she any different, steel beneath the softness, ruthless with herself in ways no one knew… Back then, when the family had locked her in to stop her from leaving, she had climbed onto the balcony and jumped without a moment’s hesitation. Even with her leg broken she had glared at her father with hatred and said she would crawl there if she had to. If she hadn’t spent two years in a hospital bed afterward…
And when she finally recovered, she had stopped laughing the way she used to.
A perfectly good family, scattered just like that.
Ji Xiunian poured him a cup of tea. “Don’t dwell on it too much. Take care of your own health.”
