Chapter 69: I

Memories flashed through Li Heng’s mind as he entered the school store and exchanged all the money in his pockets for soda.

Bottled!

Yang Ying saw this and exclaimed in shock: “Li Heng, are you crazy? Spending all your money—you’re not going to eat?”

Seeing many classmates drawn over by the outcry, Li Heng handed her a bottle of soda and said quietly, exasperated:

“Hey, Old Rag, can you stop yelling? Today’s a big day for me—meaningful. You wouldn’t understand.”

Yang Ying was used to him calling her Old Rag during their banter and barely reacted, glaring at him:

“What’s there not to understand? It’s all because of Song Yu, isn’t it? You really think everyone’s stupid?”

Li Heng ignored her and asked plainly: “Stop acting like some village woman nagging. I already bought the soda—it’s not returnable. So, are you drinking it or not?”

Yang Ying snatched the soda away angrily: “Drink? Why not? It’s bought by a fool—I don’t have to pay.”

Li Heng handed the second soda to Xiao Feng: “Here. We’re both from the same village and friends—we know each other well. Don’t be like someone else: eating my food and cursing me.”

Xiao Feng smiled, accepted the soda without hesitation, and as she opened it, said: “The scholarship won’t be paid until month-end—if you run out of living expenses in between, come borrow meals from me.”

Li Heng gave a thumbs-up: “Generous! Grand! I love your straightforward nature.”

The third soda, he gave to Song Yu.

They exchanged glances for several seconds; Song Yu silently took it, saying nothing—everything was understood without words.

Before parting, Li Heng asked Yang Ying to take a soda back for Xiao Han.

But Yang Ying glanced at Song Yu beside her, thought for a moment, and declined: “You’re being generous like this for the first time—give it to her yourself, or invite her separately next time.”

Hearing this, Li Heng instantly understood the rural girl’s unspoken meaning: compared to a soda, Xiao Han might care more that you give it to her personally.

Realizing the reason, he took back the soda and said: “Fine. I’ll invite her separately next time.”

Back in the classroom, Li Heng handed out all the sodas—he gave some to Mai Sui, Zhang Zhiyong, Liu Li, and other friends.

During the first Chinese class, while Li Heng was attentively listening, his beautiful desk partner slid a notebook over to him.

On the notebook was a line of writing, and tucked between the pages was ten yuan.

The note read: The scholarship won’t be paid until month-end—use this money for now.

Whether or not he’d use the money, Li Heng happily slipped it into his pocket.

He picked up his pen and asked: Should I pay this back?

Song Yu glanced at him with a faint smile and wrote: You don’t have to repay it—just treat me to a meal when you’re successful.

Li Heng asked: In your eyes, what’s the standard for “being successful”?

Song Yu paused, then wrote: No fixed standard—it’s when you feel you’ve succeeded.

“Li Heng, come out here.”

Just as Li Heng picked up his pen to reply further, the classroom door suddenly opened and the English teacher waved to him cheerfully.

He put down his pen and hurried out to the corridor, greeting warmly: “Teacher.”

The English teacher’s gaze swept over him like infrared, arms crossed: “Did you win the top scholarship?”

“Yes.” Li Heng nodded.

Wang Run: “First time. How does it feel?”

Li Heng answered: “Amazing!”

“When the scholarship comes, remember to treat your teacher to a meal.” In the past, Wang Run would never have said such a thing.

But now? This kid’s a local rich man—so much money he’s almost outdone his parents’ secret savings.

Li Heng readily agreed: “Sure. I’ll treat my respected teacher to egg fried rice—with an extra egg.”

This reminded Wang Run of the previous incident. She adjusted her glasses with a fingertip and smiled: “A grown man holding grudges like this isn’t good.”

They knew each other too well—Li Heng joked without restraint: “Fine, I won’t hold a grudge—if you eat egg fried rice with me.”

Seeing that this kid was unmoved by reason, the English teacher changed the subject: "Your homeroom teacher told me you want to stick up a photo of yourself with Song Yu's?"

“Homeroom teacher” referred to the Chinese teacher’s wife.

The homeroom teacher and the English teacher were close, often strolling together after meals on campus—Wang Run knowing about this wasn’t surprising.

Seeing him nod, the English teacher shook her head, pursed her lips: “I turned it down.”

Li Heng was furious: “Teacher, how could you do that?”

The English teacher tilted her head, her black hair cascading like a waterfall, and asked playfully:

“Why can’t I? As your teacher, it’s my duty to stop you from jumping into the pit of early romance.”

Li Heng shot back: “I’m almost eighteen—I’m an adult. Why are you meddling in my love life, Teacher? You—”

Here, he lowered his voice: “Teacher, if you’re deliberately blocking me and Song Yu… are you really acting out of personal motives?”

Wang Run frowned, staring at his face, wanting to kick him right then and there.

But with so many students watching, she held back, pressed down her full chest, shoved the remittance slip into his hand, and spat out one word: “Go!”

“Alright!”

Li Heng responded, looked at the remittance slip in his hand—it was from the magazine “Harvest”—and returned to class beaming.

“Li Heng, what’s so happy?” Sun Man asked quietly as he passed by.

Li Heng replied offhandedly: “Of course—I’ve gotten rich.”

“Pfft!” Sun Man didn’t take it seriously and went back to class.

Li Heng never took money lightly—he checked the remittance slip three times, confirmed it was correct, then wrote in his notebook: Is this considered success?

After writing, he placed the notebook and remittance slip atop Song Yu’s Chinese textbook.

Song Yu initially paid little attention, but when she picked up the remittance slip and saw the amount, she froze, then looked again, carefully examining it.

The remittance amount read: 4050 yuan.

After a long while, she calmed her inner turmoil and asked curiously: “Is this the payment from ‘Harvest’ magazine?”

Li Heng picked up his pen: Yes. Do you know this magazine?

Song Yu wrote: Yes. My father loves literature—he’s subscribed to “People’s Literature” and “Harvest” for years.

Her father was a university professor.

Her mother was also a university teacher, but a music instructor. Both were highly educated intellectuals, with fertile soil for literary growth.

Li Heng found this unsurprising.

He had no intention of hiding his writing from Song Yu or Xiao Han.

He explained: Recently, I submitted a short story to “Harvest”—luckily, it got accepted.

Song Yu took the notebook, read the brief sentence, and fell into a long silence.

Li Heng quietly observed her facial expressions, hoping for a hint of admiration.

But after watching for a long time, no expected reaction came—she remained calm and serene, leaving him feeling his effort was wasted.

After a long while, Song Yu, having returned from the remittance slip, picked up her pen again: Is this the story you wrote recently?

Li Heng replied: Yes.

Song Yu asked: What pen name did you use when submitting?

(End of Chapter)