Chapter 253: I Want French Fries

After the debate ended, the scene grew chaotic; Li Ye's homeroom teacher, Mu Yunning, squeezed through from the back rows to the front—only to find Li Ye had vanished in an instant.

"Where's Li Ye? Where'd he run off to?"

Sun Xianjin and Pu Xianghe both shrank their necks, skulking backward like quails, leaving class monitor Zhen Rongrong exposed.

Teacher Mu Yunning, a beautiful homeroom teacher, was not the type to befriend students; when they misbehaved, she scolded them like reprimanding a grandson—sharp, loud, and unforgiving.

Judging by her stern expression now, had Li Ye's earlier talk about marriage and love once again violated school taboos?

Zhen Rongrong understood Mu Yunning better; she knew this teacher was cold on the outside but warm inside—after all, with her high looks, if she were always gentle, it would invite endless unnecessary trouble.

So Mu Yunning said: "Teacher, Li Ye left with friends from the Literature Society. Did we do something wrong?"

Mu Yunning shook her head slightly: "You didn't do anything wrong. I just want to warn you—someone will definitely come to argue with you next."

"Remind Li Ye not to engage them. If they keep harassing, come find me immediately."

"Oh, okay, Teacher Mu, we'll remember."

Zhen Rongrong didn't grasp Mu Yunning's meaning—she merely nodded humbly in agreement.

In her view, today their group had utterly won, crushing the opponents so badly they couldn't even lift their heads—who'd dare argue with them again? Who even had the right to?

Zhen Rongrong and the others were still too young; they didn't understand human nature like Mu Yunning did.

If someone's interests were pierced by you, of course they'd fight you to the death.

They'd cling, harass, spare no effort.

To avoid trouble, Li Ye slipped away with Wen Leyu the moment the debate ended.

They wandered all the way to Weiminghu, finally holding hands as they strolled.

But tonight, Wen Leyu took the lead—her small hand gripped Li Ye's tightly, her lips curved in a smile, her brows softly bent—clearly, she was delighted.

Li Ye asked: "What are you smiling at, Xiao Yu?"

Wen Leyu tilted her head, gave Li Ye a sideways glance, pouted, and held back laughter: "I just can't help laughing thinking about how you looked—still underage, yet lecturing seriously about family and marriage, acting all old and dignified."

"What kind of talk is that? Who's acting old and pretentious?"

Li Ye chuckled: "I'm underage, sure—but haven't I seen pigs run even if I never ate pork? I'm not bragging—I know every damn thing about family and marriage problems."

"Hahahaha~ 'Know every damn thing'? You're full of it."

Hearing Li Ye's final Beijing slang—"men qing er"—Wen Leyu finally burst out laughing.

Wen Leyu, compared to other girls, was undeniably rational.

Li Ye's speech during the debate resonated with every girl present—including Wen Leyu herself; after all, they'd come this far, they'd surely imagined spending their lives together.

But because of Li Ye's age, Wen Leyu, though deeply moved, always felt he was a bit unserious—yet charming, and she liked him.

"I'm not bragging."

Li Ye held Wen Leyu's hand as they walked: "When my grandfather hadn't returned to work, our family lived in extreme poverty. My father dragged me and my sister along—"

"We had barely enough grain left; my grandmother could only cook one pot of gruel a day—I ate first, then my father, then my grandfather."

"But when it came to my grandmother's turn, she'd always push half her bowl to my grandfather and say, 'I can't finish it—drink it for me.'"

This wasn't just our family—many households in Qingshui County had the same situation, including the arranged marriages everyone now rejects.

Li Ye sighed: "Marriage isn't always beautiful—but it must be real. The flowers and romance in poems are love, but a bowl of hot soup on the stove? That's love too."

In truth, these words came straight from Li Ye's heart.

In his past life, he'd given out several bouquets of flowers—but the hot soup he received? Less than half a bowl.

But in the 1980s, love expressed as a bowl of hot soup was common.

What's a real man's spring? Right now, this is it.

Wait a few decades till summer—love becomes scorching, like midsummer heat: "Princess, please get in the car. Princess, please have dinner. Princess, tonight, may your humble servant sleep beside you?"

Wen Leyu turned her head again toward Li Ye, her tiny nose slowly reddening.

Eat someone's food, you're bound to be silent. Take someone's hand, you soften.

Wen Leyu had never known the hardship of half a bowl of hot soup—but Li Ye had fed her for nearly two years; could she not taste the depth in it?

Was the fruit lunchbox he brought daily just fruit?

Full, overflowing love had long spilled into Wen Leyu's heart, hadn't it?

Clever Wen Leyu suddenly grinned slyly, pouting with a pitiful tone: "I didn't eat enough tonight!"

Li Ye froze, unsettled by Wen Leyu's unusual behavior.

"Then what do you want? I still have two packs of biscuits and a few apples."

Wen Leyu lowered her head, hiding her triumphant gaze, speaking soft and sweet: "I want fried French fries~"

Li Ye nearly slapped the back of her head.

Because her adorable look right now was identical to his late sister's little niece in his past life.

He knew he shouldn't let her eat junk—but could he resist her pouting?

Had clever Wen Leyu learned this girl's ultimate dragon-slaying tactic?

Li Ye sighed: "Fried French fries aren't good to eat often—they make you fat."

Wen Leyu's figure, nurtured by Li Ye's care, had reached the perfect balance—slightly chubby, youthful, flushed with health; he didn't dare disrupt this rare harmony.

But Wen Leyu pouted, speaking seriously: "My mom says I'm too thin."

"..."

Fine! Did Wen Leyu really crave those little fries? She was savoring the "love" Li Ye spoke of, wasn't she?

"Alright, let's go make fried French fries."

Li Ye forgot all about disciplining her—he grabbed Wen Leyu's hand and headed for the dorm to get the bike.

To get fries, they had to go to Zaojunmiao; even rushing back, they'd return by nine or ten—no bike, no chance.

But as Li Ye and Wen Leyu reached the boys' dormitory building, they were surrounded.

Li Ye recognized a few among them—Lu Gang, and a couple of poets with considerable talent.

Just as the poet opened his mouth, Lu Gang cut in: "Li Ye, we've reviewed the debate—your team violated the speaking rules, constantly seizing our speaking time, using sophistry to drag the topic completely off love."

You're not stupid after all!

During the debate, Li Ye's group had indeed exploited Zhu Yonghe and Lu Gang's confusion, breaking the turn-taking rule, firing rapid questions to secure victory.

But the problem was—I spoke once, and you guys took half a minute to react. Should I wait for you to catch up?

But Li Ye had no patience to argue with Lu Gang now—he said coldly: "Classmates, this isn't debate time. If you've got something to say, find me another day—we'll settle it face to face."

"..."

The poet, who'd been cut off by Lu Gang, tried again—but Li Ye's blunt words shut him down again.

He was instantly annoyed.

Though he wasn't as famous as the era's top poets whose appearances drew crowds, he was still a popular figure everywhere—

Everyone loved discussing poetry and literature with him; who'd ever been silenced before even speaking?

"Li Ye, how can you be like this?"

Lu Gang snapped: "We've waited here for you so long—you're incredibly rude, incredibly uncultured."

Li Ye had been thinking only of frying fries for Wen Leyu—then suddenly heard "uncultured." His detached indifference shattered; his dark, violent side erupted.

Li Ye released Wen Leyu's hand and moved to grab Lu Gang's throat—to teach him what culture meant.

But Wen Leyu's hand didn't let go—she gripped Li Ye tighter.

Then she stepped forward, glaring at Lu Gang: "Who are you calling uncultured? Say it again."

"..."

Li Ye suddenly realized—he'd underestimated Wen Leyu.

At this moment, the aura of authority radiating from Wen Leyu was so intense, no one dared meet her gaze.

Li Ye had fists strong enough to take on thirteen men without fear.

But Wen Leyu? She carried an innate, bone-deep contempt for her opponents.

Lu Gang couldn't utter a word.

He felt if he dared repeat it, something terrible would happen.

Then the poet regained his composure and addressed Li Ye: "Li Ye, right? I'm XX. I came here to hear your debate on love—but arrived late due to an emergency."

"After hearing Lu Gang's account, I'm deeply dissatisfied with your thoughts. How can you bind great love with narrow, outdated ideas?"

"Hasn't feudal oppression been enough for us in thousands of years? Aren't there enough conservative shackles on our souls?"

"Your words tying love to marriage are an insult to great love. Why bind formless, intangible emotion with worldly rules?"

"..."

I'd believe you if I were an idiot.

A netizen once said something sharp: I actually admire a certain poet's wife—she allowed her husband to bring his mistress home and applaud him face to face...

So who are you flirting with?

You can fool pure-hearted 1980s teenagers—but talk love to me? I've seen countless scumbags and tea-bitches, and I know your true colors.

As for poetry alone, Li Ye had to admit—some poets were gods mortals could never reach.

Reading their work, you truly felt the power and beauty of words.

But face-to-face preaching? Li Ye didn't give a damn.

Let's live in peace—you win girls' admiration, that's your skill; I won't interfere. After all, this era is your golden moment—you can't judge you by future standards.

But don't come near me. If you do, I'll spit in your face.

But then Li Ye realized—he might have interfered with their good times.

If Li Ye's remarks during today's debate were to spread widely, countless people's interests would be ruined.

Of course, they might also redeem some people.

Saving a life surpasses building a seven-tiered pagoda; Li Ye would never regret his words today.

(End of Chapter)