Chapter 40
Chapter 40: No. 7 High School’s Massive Windfall
The Fang Family was an old scholarly clan, older even than the other four great families of River City. Whether it was Old Master Fang, the current family head, or Madam Fang, they lived for calligraphy, painting, and antiques.
Generation after generation, the Fang Family had amassed an enormous private collection.
Madam Fang even visited the River City museum every week to admire relics.
In her words, cultural relics were alive. If you listened in silence, you could hear their stories.
Now, she stared at the painting before her. Her fingers trembled as she pulled up Spring Mountain Hundred Birds Painting on her phone and began comparing details.
Sure enough, just as Fang Qing Han had said, the brush technique used on the birds’ tail feathers was identical.
Madam Fang drew in a sharp breath.
Princess Yong Ning—who was she?
A legend among legends in Shen Zhou’s history.
She was the Heir Apparent personally raised by Emperor Zhaozong of the Great Ning Dynasty, with the entire court—civil and military alike—pouring their efforts into shaping her. In Shen Zhou’s vast five-thousand-year history, there had been only one crown princess like her.
She studied music, chess, calligraphy, and painting under Great Ning’s Imperial Tutor, Han Yun Sheng. She learned the art of governing under the first Female Chancellor, Shen Ming Shu.
The Prince of Yan, first among the four princely ranks, was her brother. And the only female princely rank—the Prince of Qin—was her closest friend.
She herself was brilliant to the point of seeming inhuman, unmatched in her time.
Only…
Heaven envied genius, and heaven feared beauty.
She left far too early.
If Princess Yong Ning had lived, the Great Ning Dynasty wouldn’t have lasted merely three hundred years. Even another thousand might not have been out of the question.
“Of course not.”
Fang Qing Han laughed. “If this were Princess Yong Ning’s painting, how could it look so new? She’s been dead for three hundred years.”
Madam Fang froze, then nodded. “True… but the brushwork on the tail feathers—”
“Mom, think about it. Princess Yong Ning’s style was one of a kind. People even called it the ‘Yong Ning School.’ In later generations, plenty of masters studied that school.”
Fang Qing Han’s tone stayed calm, as though he were simply stating a fact. “One of them is the vice president of Yun Jing’s Art and Culture Center. But this piece is even better than his. So tell me—could it possibly not be worth three million?”
“It is. It absolutely is!”
Madam Fang nodded hard. “If that’s the case, it must be the work of a hidden master—someone who doesn’t care for fame. Otherwise the art world couldn’t possibly have no news of him.”
Fang Qing Ye scratched his head. “I don’t get it. Any of it.”
He knew nothing about painting. Cars were all he understood.
Madam Fang snapped back to reality. “Don’t tell me you got so happy buying a painting that you lost your sister. Little Ya went out with you.”
“Lost her? What are you talking about?”
Fang Qing Ye lit a cigarette and told them what had happened. “She got herself thrown into detention. Administrative detention doesn’t usually allow early release. What can we do?”
“That Sheng Yun Yi!”
Madam Fang flared. “Is Little Ya stupid? She got used like a weapon and didn’t even realize it!”
Fang Qing Ye shrugged. “What can I say? Mom, you know how Little Ya is—always rushing in to play the hero. I swear Sheng Yun Yi must’ve put some kind of spell on Zhou He Chen and Xu Li and the others. Tch. Anyway, I’m not buying it.”
“Honestly…”
Madam Fang pressed a hand to her temple. “You children are going to drive me to an early grave. And you, Fang Qing Ye—racing every day and causing trouble. Until Little Ya comes out, you’re staying home. No going out.”
“Mom!”
Fang Qing Ye stared at her. “What does that have to do with me? I can’t stop her. When we were kids, she used to grab my ear and hit me. You know that.”
Madam Fang waved him off. “Qing Han, come with me. Take this painting to Old Master and let him see it properly.”
“Grandfather will be thrilled.” Fang Qing Han smiled.
Fang Qing Ye, completely ignored: “…”
He clenched his teeth.
Fine. He’d remember this—Zhou He Chen and Sheng Yun Yi could pay for it later.
—
At two in the afternoon, the principal’s office at River City No. 7 High School welcomed two unexpected visitors.
The principal looked utterly lost. “You’re saying you’re here to work as a psychological counselor?”
As students’ burdens grew heavier, schools everywhere—from universities down to primary and middle schools—had begun setting up counseling services to ease stress and depression.
“You heard correctly.” Rong Yu spoke politely as he placed documents neatly on the desk. “I work part-time as a psychological counselor. Here’s my business card, and my certification.”
The principal took them—and the moment he saw the surname Rong, he nearly sprang out of his chair.
That rare surname wasn’t ordinary. It represented the Rong Family of Yun Jing.
His hand jerked. The cup on the desk tipped toward the floor.
Yan Ting Feng, who had been resting with his eyes closed, opened them.
With a single lazy motion, he lifted a long finger and pointed through the air.
The falling cup froze, caught by an invisible force, then drifted back to the tabletop without spilling a single drop.
The principal noticed none of it. He was far too excited. He seized Rong Yu’s hand and shook it hard. “Mr. Rong… Mr. Rong, you… Why would someone like you come to our school? We’re old and run-down. Our salary at No. 7 High School might—”
He’d wanted to build a counseling office for years, but the budget was never enough.
Last year, several key teachers had left. The new hires couldn’t keep up.
And now someone capable was volunteering to come to No. 7 High School?
The principal’s mind short-circuited.
He stared at Rong Yu suspiciously, a thread of worry creeping in. Was this man… unwell?
“Principal, you don’t need to worry about funding.” Yan Ting Feng chuckled softly. “You won’t be paying his salary.”
Rong Yu thought bitterly, I’m a tragic wage slave.
How did I end up with a brother like this?
“Huh?” The principal blinked.
Yan Ting Feng continued, calm as if he were discussing the weather. “I’ll cover the costs for building the counseling office as well.”
The principal was already dizzy.
“I’ll also donate six buildings to No. 7 High School,” Yan Ting Feng added. “Please form a class under the history-chemistry-biology track.”
The principal’s mouth opened, then closed. “S-six… buildings?”
“Mmm.” Yan Ting Feng’s smile was faint. “Six is a bit few.”
He tilted his head, voice still gentle. “Add three more. Is that acceptable?”
The words were soft as a spring breeze—yet they hit like a storm.
With a thud, the principal collapsed face-first onto the desk.
Rong Yu stared. “…You scared him unconscious!”
Since when did his brother develop a hobby of donating buildings?
Yan Ting Feng’s expression didn’t change. He rubbed a jade token in his palm. “Wake him.”
“I study the Tai Su Lineage, not the Tai Yi Needle Art,” Rong Yu muttered as he walked over. “I’m not a doctor, okay…”
Even so, he pressed a few acupoints he barely remembered.
A moment later, the principal stirred—and then sprang upright like a man revived.
He clutched his head and wailed, “It’s over, it’s over! I dreamed someone wanted to donate nine buildings to our school! How could I dream something so outrageous?!”
“Not a dream.” Yan Ting Feng held out his hand. “Bing He. The contract.”
Bing He stepped forward immediately and offered the prepared donation contract.
Yan Ting Feng glanced at it once. “Sign.”
The principal stared at the contract, throat bobbing as he swallowed.
Yan Ting Feng lifted his eyes and smiled. “Refusing?”
The principal’s scalp went numb.
How could someone smile so pleasantly while offering a massive gift—and speak as if refusal might get you killed?
It genuinely felt like if he said no, the man would draw a sword from his clothes and take his head off.
Could anyone refuse that?
“N-no, no, no!” The principal grabbed his head again. “A-am I still dreaming? Yes. I must be dreaming. I have to be—”
Tie Ma stepped in and pinched his thigh hard.
“Ow!”
The principal yelped. He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again—the contract was still there, solid and real.
A pen was shoved into his trembling hand.
He signed his name in the ugliest chicken-scratch of his life. Even his childhood handwriting had been better.
“Good.” Yan Ting Feng rose smoothly. “Deal made.”
He glanced back once, polite and unyielding all at once. “I hope your school keeps its promise as well. Next week we’ll officially begin work, Rong Yu.”
“Hmph. Now you remember me.”
Rong Yu followed behind, grumbling, as they left the office.
When the door shut, the principal remained frozen.
No. 7 High School—including the dorms—had only six buildings in total.
And now someone had donated nine more.
Not only that, they’d received a psychological counselor for free.
The principal gulped down water, trying to calm his pounding heart.
A heaven-sent windfall.
No. 7 High School…
was about to rise.
—
That afternoon, at the Lin Family’s old residence.
“Qin Qin, do you want some lychees?”
Madam Lin came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of peeled lychees, translucent and glossy. “Aunt already peeled them for you. It’s lychee season.”
Lin Qin replied slowly, “I don’t like lychees.”
Madam Lin’s smile stiffened, then quickly smoothed. “What fruit do you like, Qin Qin? Aunt will buy it for you tomorrow.”
“There are servants at home. Second Aunt doesn’t need to trouble herself.” Lin Qin shut her down coldly. “I’m going to practice the zither.”
“Qin Qin—”
Madam Lin couldn’t stop her. She could only watch Lin Qin go upstairs.
Her fingers tightened. She set the fruit plate down hard on the dining table.
A car horn sounded outside.
Madam Lin turned and saw Steward Lin walking in with Ye Wan Lan. Her frown deepened.
She disliked that niece and didn’t want to see her at all.
Ye Wan Lan didn’t greet her. She walked in as if Madam Lin didn’t exist.
“Stop.” Madam Lin’s voice turned icy. “You see an elder and don’t greet them. Do you have no manners?”
Ye Wan Lan calmly pulled a wooden hairpin from her pocket, twisted her hair up, then leaned back on the sofa and took out her phone.
Madam Lin’s eyes narrowed. “I heard you’re trying to get into No. 1 High School. You couldn’t make it, so now you want your grandmother to help you use the back door?”
Her tone stayed bland, as if she were doing Ye Wan Lan a kindness. “I’m experienced. Let me remind you: with your ability, going to No. 1 High School would only waste resources. Did Lin Huai Jin never teach you that?”
At the mention of Lin Huai Jin, Ye Wan Lan finally looked up. Her gaze was steady—almost calm to the point of indifference.
“Who told you I want to go to No. 1 High School?”