Chapter 48
Chapter 48: Sister Lan Has the Upper Hand! A Demerit
Class 1’s students lifted their heads in confusion.
Why was the Dean of Discipline here?
Everyone knew him—iron-faced, impartial, the school’s living judge.
What had Ye Wan Lan done?
“Wan Lan…” Su Xue Qing whispered, worry pinching her voice. “Was it because of what happened during the long break—”
“It’ll be fine.” Ye Wan Lan placed the bouquet into Su Xue Qing’s hands. “Hold this for me.”
Then she stood. “I’m Ye Wan Lan.”
“Come to my office,” the Dean of Discipline said coldly, and strode away.
“Classmate Ye, I’ll go with you.” The vice class monitor looked nervous. “You don’t know—any student invited to ‘drink tea’ in the Discipline Office gets written up.”
Ye Wan Lan didn’t even turn around. “Thank you, but no. I’ve never been there before.”
The vice class monitor: “…”
That was not a place students wanted to visit.
—
The Discipline Office was on the first floor of the academic affairs building.
Ye Wan Lan walked in.
“Do you know why I called you here?” The Dean of Discipline’s gaze raked over her. “How many days have you been at this school? Tell me—what exactly are you trying to do?”
Ye Wan Lan answered obediently, as if he’d asked her the weather. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You didn’t do anything?” The Dean of Discipline slammed a book onto the desk, anger rolling off him. “Teacher Ding—tell me. What did she do?”
Teacher Ding was the homeroom teacher of Senior 2, Class 2. He spoke stiffly, as if reciting a prepared statement. “During the long break, this transfer student bullied our classmate, made a scene, and disrupted the class environment. It affected everyone’s studying.”
“Hear that?” the Dean of Discipline snapped at Ye Wan Lan. “You come here and start bullying classmates. What are you learning? This?”
Ye Wan Lan’s gaze met Sheng Song’s, calm and flat. “I kicked a desk. He fell on his own. What does that have to do with me?”
Teacher Ding’s face darkened. “Still arguing!”
“Dean, Teacher Ding—” Sheng Song added fuel immediately. “She also injured my hand. I can’t even hold a pen. I can’t grip anything.”
As he spoke, cold sweat poured down his temples.
Yet when he looked again, turning his hands over and over, there wasn’t a single bruise. Not even a red mark.
What was happening?
It had to be Ye Wan Lan.
Even if it wasn’t, he would still pin everything on her.
And at the same time, he felt strangely relieved. At least she’d targeted him—if she’d gone after Sheng Yun Yi instead, he would’ve been the first to explode.
Ye Wan Lan didn’t change expression. “What’s wrong with your hand?”
The Dean of Discipline and Teacher Ding both looked down at Sheng Song’s hands.
No bruising. No swelling. No injury.
“You’re still asking what’s wrong?” Sheng Song jumped up, voice cracking. “My hand hurts like hell! Are you saying it wasn’t you?!”
“Dean,” Ye Wan Lan said with a faint smile, “I suspect he may have a mental issue. He keeps insisting his hand is about to break. Shouldn’t we check first?”
Sheng Song, mid-rage, suddenly froze.
His hand…
Why did it suddenly feel fine?
He stared, stunned, then clenched his fist. He picked up a book. Everything was normal.
The Dean of Discipline’s eyes sharpened. “Sheng Song. Are you lying on purpose?”
“I—I’m not!” Sheng Song’s face turned ugly with fury. “She really did something to my hand! Everyone in class saw it!”
The Dean of Discipline pulled up the classroom surveillance footage from Senior 2, Class 2 and replayed the long break.
It was clear: Ye Wan Lan only used force when she kicked the desk.
As for Sheng Song—
She’d merely set her fingers on his wrist, then released them moments later. Not even a hint of pressure, let alone the kind of force that could cause injury.
“Dean, what I said is true. She—” Sheng Song’s mouth worked, desperate. “Then she must’ve poisoned me!”
He blurted it out like a lifeline. “My hand hurt for so long! I was going to get a CT scan!”
“Enough of this nonsense,” the Dean of Discipline snapped. “What do you think this is—a wuxia novel? Shut your mouth.”
He drew a breath, still seething, and turned toward Ye Wan Lan. “And you, Ye Wan Lan. I’m telling you right now, I will still put a demerit on your record for—”
“Dean.”
A knock interrupted him. The principal’s assistant stood at the door. “The principal has an urgent matter. Please come to the principal’s office immediately.”
“I’ll be right there.” The Dean of Discipline stood up quickly. “You two go back to class first. I’ll deal with this in the afternoon.”
Teacher Ding left as well.
Only then did Sheng Song lean forward with a cold laugh. “Ye Wan Lan, stop acting. Sister Yun Yi was right about you—you love pretending. You think if you put on a show, people will pity you?”
His eyes narrowed with malice. “Save it. I can see your true face clearly.”
Ye Wan Lan tilted her head and smiled. “It’s not your imagination.”
Sheng Song frowned, not understanding what she meant—
And then, without warning, pain flared in both hands again.
So sharp it made his vision swim.
—
At noon, after Ye Wan Lan and Su Xue Qing finished lunch together, Ye Wan Lan went to the counseling office as promised.
The moment she walked in, she saw a brand-new thermos on the table.
At the very bottom was the same line of words—
Gift from Yan Ting Feng.
Ye Wan Lan picked it up and examined it carefully.
Yan Ting Feng’s handwriting was beautiful—each stroke full of a scholar’s backbone.
Yet between those lines of ink, there was also something cold and lethal, a killing intent that pressed in like a blade.
It was June. River City’s temperature had already climbed past thirty degrees.
And yet Yan Ting Feng still wore long sleeves and long pants, a coat over them, and even a scarf—wrapped so tightly he seemed sealed away from the world.
Was his body…
Ye Wan Lan lifted her gaze from the thermos to the man himself.
Yan Ting Feng could not possibly miss that look.
He had survived by the edge of a blade. Any disturbance—any shift in the air—was instinctively clear to him.
“Miss Ye,” he asked gently, “what is it?”
“Aren’t you hot?” Ye Wan Lan asked.
“Hot?” Yan Ting Feng paused, then extended his hand.
He smiled faintly as he set his palm against her cheek.
Cold.
The chill was refreshing in early summer, and his fingertips had a thin layer of callus—proof of years of holding something harder than a pen.
That coldness stirred a strange familiarity in her.
As if…
Ye Wan Lan’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“My health isn’t good,” Yan Ting Feng said, withdrawing his hand. “Forgive me for making Miss Ye laugh.”
Ye Wan Lan paused. “No wonder you keep drinking tea to warm yourself.”
“Mhm.” Yan Ting Feng nodded as if it were nothing. “To nourish the body. I also eat red dates and goji berries. Miss Ye should take care of your health as well.”
He lifted his chin a little. The smile in his phoenix eyes deepened. “This thermos is sturdy. It won’t break easily.”
“Thank you.” Ye Wan Lan ran her fingers over the smooth surface. “In a few days, I’ll bring you some medicinal herbs to warm the body.”
Yan Ting Feng rested his head on one hand. “Miss Ye is too polite, but my body…”
Three hundred years.
It could not be cured.
And with Tai Yi Palace destroyed, the last seven volumes of the Tai Yi Needle Art lost to time, the Tai Yi miracle doctors had vanished entirely.
For him to still be alive was, in itself, a miracle.
Yan Ting Feng turned his head toward the window, hiding the shadow that briefly fell across his face.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “Go back and rest during lunch break, Miss Ye.”
Ye Wan Lan took the thermos and returned to the classroom.
“Wan Lan, you’re back.” Su Xue Qing blinked at the new thermos. “This cup…”
Ye Wan Lan followed her gaze and nodded. “A thermos for tea.”
After being trapped by time for nine hundred and ninety-nine years, she might as well count as elderly.
It was time to start living a healthier life.
Su Xue Qing swallowed the thought that flashed through her mind.
It looks exactly like a custom thermos made of Yun Jing’s newest materials. The kind that costs tens of thousands.
Maybe she’d seen wrong.
Yeah. She had to be wrong.
Her desk mate was so plain and simple—how could she be using something that extravagant?
Only those young masters and young ladies from the capital circle used things like that.
Ye Wan Lan unscrewed the lid. “Want some?”
The water dispenser was right behind them. Su Xue Qing grabbed a paper cup and successfully mooched a sip of tea.
She stared at the leaves floating on the surface, then took another mouthful.
“This tea…”
Su Xue Qing swallowed the next thought, too.
This tastes like one of those newly developed specialty teas. The kind that costs tens of thousands per ounce.
She fell into a long, troubled silence, unable to shake the feeling that something about Ye Wan Lan was… off.
—
Meanwhile, in Senior 2, Class 2.
“Brother Song, calm down,” one of the boys said. “She was so arrogant and so blatant—tomorrow morning they’ll announce it to the whole school. That’ll be satisfying enough.”
He grinned. “Call it avenging Sister Yun Yi.”
Sheng Song didn’t respond. He only stared at his hands.
Still no marks.
And yet the pain came and went like a curse.
“Fine,” Sheng Song said at last, legs crossed, voice cold. “Keep thinking. No. 1 High School didn’t want her, and I won’t let her stay at No. 7 High School either.”
“As long as Brother Song wants it, she won’t be able to stay,” the boy flattered quickly. Then he lowered his voice. “Brother Song… sometimes we don’t even have to do it ourselves. What if we get Su Xu Bai to—”
“Su Xu Bai?” Sheng Song frowned. “Don’t provoke him.”
“Sheng Song,” a voice called from the doorway. “Come to my office.”
The Dean of Discipline.
The boy’s eyes lit up. “Brother Song, it must be about writing Ye Wan Lan up. Your anger’s finally—”
“Of course.” Sheng Song stood and strutted toward the Discipline Office.
But when he arrived, Ye Wan Lan wasn’t there.
“Dean, where’s Ye Wan Lan? She—”
“Sheng Song.” The Dean of Discipline cut him off without looking up. “One major demerit.”
His voice was flat as a judge’s gavel. “Whether it can be cleared from your file at graduation depends on how you behave over the next year.”
Sheng Song’s smile vanished.
He stared as if he’d heard wrong. “Dean… what do you mean? She came looking for trouble. Why am I the one getting written up?”
Teachers might not be able to control him, but he knew the red lines.
Leave no evidence. Leave no traces.
Even if a student reported him, he could smooth it over easily.
Even the Dean of Discipline had never caught his handle before.
“Why are you the one getting written up?” The Dean of Discipline grabbed Sheng Song by the collar and shoved him in front of the computer. “Come. Watch it yourself. Look at what you did.”