Chapter 411: Chen Yao

A few months later.

Gui Ce Yuan Elementary Department.

The bell marking the end of the third period had just rung, and the Corridor hadn't yet become lively, but the front rows of the classroom were already surrounded by seven or eight people.

The girl sitting in the middle was named Zhao Lingfei.

Fourteen, her ponytail tied high, her school uniform jacket left open without the zipper, revealing a limited‑edition collaborative hoodie underneath. A rose‑gold smart watch hung on her left wrist, its dial wider than her wrist, the screen lit up, and the scrolling message alerts never stopped.

She was crossing her legs, holding her phone up to show something to the girls beside her.

"See? My dad signed it yesterday."

On the phone screen was an electronic File stamped with a red seal, Huan Yu Heavy Industry's logo at the header, dense clauses below that were incomprehensible, but the number at the end was huge.

"Wow... so many zeros."

"Zhao Lingfei, you're amazing; did your dad get a subcontract from Huan Yu?"

"It's not a subcontract; it's a strategic‑level supplier," Zhao Lingfei corrected, her tone carrying a precision‑born arrogance. "My dad said that from now on, forty percent of the building materials used by the three branch institutes of Qiu Ce Yuan will come from our family's factory."

The girls let out exaggerated gasps.

A short‑haired girl leaned in, lowering her voice: "So after you graduate, will you go straight into the Investigation Bureau?"

Zhao Lingfei gave no answer, but the tilt of her mouth was just right, more arrogant than any reply.

In the back rows of the classroom, the corner seat was empty.

To be precise, there was a person, but their presence was as low as the half‑withered pothos in the desk.

Chen Yao sat in the last row by the window, a copy of Fundamentals of Strange Studies Introduction opened to a curled edge before her, pen in her right hand, copying notes stroke by stroke. Her handwriting was overly neat, each character spaced almost uniformly, like printed type.

She wore the standard‑cut school uniform, the zipper pulled up to the topmost button, the sleeves extending to cover half of the back of her hand. Her hair was cut evenly, bangs covering her eyebrows, revealing only a pair of calm eyes.

She was completely clean and quiet, just like the classroom's backdrop.

No one approached her to talk.

Since the start of term, a month and a half had passed; Class C had forty‑two students, and she was close to no more than five of them. Everyone only knew she was a Special enrollment student, with no known family background.

Such a background, in Gui Ce Yuan Elementary Department, was more eye‑catching than wearing cheap junk into a luxury brand launch.

When Zhao Lingfei put her phone away, her gaze swept over the back of the classroom.

She happened to see Chen Yao's profile as she bent over copying notes.

Her expression shifted.

It wasn't the sudden realization kind, but more like seeing an uninvited bug crawl onto one's own table.

"By the way," Zhao Lingfei turned to the short‑haired girl, "Did the group assignment scores from last week come out?"

"Out, out. Your group is third."

Zhao Lingfei's finger paused.

"Third?" she repeated the number, her tone rising half a pitch, "How could our group be third?"

The short‑haired girl tightened her neck: "The mentor said part of your case‑analysis report had problematic data citations and was docked twelve points."

"Which part?"

"Just... the part you finished and then handed to Chen Yao for the follow‑up."

The classroom fell silent for two seconds.

Zhao Lingfei said nothing, but the motion of shoving her phone into her pocket was much heavier than before. A chair leg scraped the floor with a short, sharp sound, and she stood up.

The few girls behind her exchanged glances and, in unspoken agreement, also stood.

Chen Yao was still copying notes.

The rustle of the pen tip on paper sounded especially thin amid the approaching footsteps.

When the Shadow fell over her, her pen paused.

"Chen Yao."

Zhao Lingfei stood in front of her desk, looking down from above. Seven or eight people spread out in a half‑arc, sealing the corner airtight.

Chen Yao lifted her head.

"You messed up the data in last week's group report, understand?"

Chen Yao looked at her for three seconds, then nodded: "Hmm, I've rechecked it; the data you gave me was somewhat unrealistic, so I recalculated based on the facts—"

"I didn't ask for the reason."

Zhao Lingfei cut her off, a hand braced on the desk edge, her five Nails polished smooth and even, coated with a thin layer of transparent nail polish.

"Because of your 'mistake', our group fell from first to third. You think a single sentence settles it?"

Chen Yao gave no reply.

She withdrew her gaze, refocusing on the curled‑edge textbook before her.

The reaction made Zhao Lingfei furrow her brows even tighter.

In her logic, the questioned person should apologize, should panic, should blush. At least they should give a gesture that satisfies her.

But Chen Yao gave nothing.

It wasn't stubbornness, it wasn't resistance.

It was something that made Zhao Lingfei even more annoyed—indifference.

"Are you deaf?" a girl with double ponytails chimed in.

Chen Yao's eyelashes fluttered, and she whispered, "I'll make it up in the next assignment."

"Make it up? Rankings can't be recalculated," Zhao Lingfei bent down, leaning closer, voice very low, "You're a Special recruitment entrant, right? You didn't pay a cent in tuition, you eat and live at the academy, even the textbooks are publicly funded. Using others' resources, that's the kind of work you do?"

A few girls snickered.

Chen Yao's fingers tightened slightly, the joints pressed against the book cover, without looking up.

Zhao Lingfei straightened up, her gaze landing on that Fundamentals of Strange Studies Introduction.

The textbook was already very old. A strip of transparent tape was stuck on the spine, having been glued back after being torn. The corner of the title page was folded and then flattened, leaving an indelible white mark.

This book had been leafed through repeatedly countless times.

Zhao Lingfei reached out, pinching the spine with two fingers, and lifted the textbook off the desk.

Chen Yao's hand moved along, but only moved a little.

"Take a look at this," Zhao Lingfei held up the textbook and waved it at the people nearby, "I thought it was an antique from some year, but it turns out it's her treasure."

The laughter grew louder.

Then Zhao Lingfei released her left hand.

Using only two fingers of her right hand to pinch the end of the pages, the whole book fanned open with a "swish" under gravity and inertia, and several sheets of handwritten notes tucked inside fluttered down.

Chen Yao's eyes followed those sheets of paper.

Zhao Lingfei saw her gaze and smiled.

That smile was not joy, but satisfaction after confirming what the other cared about.

"Snap."

The textbook was slammed onto the floor.

Zhao Lingfei's hand kept moving down, picked up a note that had drifted to her feet, didn't even glance at it, grasped both ends and tore it forcefully. The fibers of the paper snapped with a crisp sound in the quiet classroom.

One sheet, two sheets, three sheets.

All were torn into fragments, scattering from between her fingers onto Chen Yao's shoe surface.

"Go back and copy it again. Anyway you have nothing else to do."

The people around stopped laughing.

Two girls' expressions even flashed a moment of unease, but no one spoke, and no one stepped forward to stop it.

Chen Yao stared at the shredded paper on the floor and the opened textbook, remaining silent for about five seconds.

Then she bent over, slid down from her chair, and crouched on the floor.

She picked them up piece by piece.

Her movements were slow and meticulous, not even the smallest fragment fell. She lifted the textbook, dusted the cover, and the transparent tape on the spine cracked open again.

She stacked the shredded pieces together and slipped them into the textbook.

From start to finish, she neither cried, nor trembled, nor glared at anyone.

There was no expression on her face.

It wasn't the calm of endurance.

It was truly nothing at all.

Zhao Lingfei stared at the crouching Chen Yao, and a twitch flickered at her brow. She couldn't pinpoint what was off, but the feeling was clear—this girl's reaction was abnormal.

Someone being bullied should cry.

Or get angry.

Or run away.

Or report the teacher.

It shouldn't be like this.

This utter blank made Zhao Lingfei feel as if her punch had struck cotton, the force completely dissipated, and the pressure trapped in her chest choked even more painfully.

"Let's go," she said, turning around.

A few girls hurried to follow.

When they reached the doorway, the girl with twin ponytails whispered, "Sister Fei, she won't report the instructor, will she?"

Zhao Lingfei pushed open the classroom door and kept walking.

"If she dares to report, that's even better."

The voice floated back from the Corridor, light and airy, carrying an unmistakable malice.

"Special enrollment student, orphaned, what can she do by reporting? I'd like to see who will stand up for her."

"This indifferent attitude practically owes her a lifelong unforgettable lesson."

The footsteps in the Corridor grew distant.

The classroom returned to silence.

Chen Yao still crouched on the floor, gathering the last fragment of shredded paper into her palm.

She lowered her head, her bangs hanging down to cover most of her face. Her lips were pressed tightly, paling at the edges.

Her hand trembled.

Only her hand trembled.

"Endure, stay low‑key."

Those three words were not spoken aloud; they were whispered in her mind.

She recited them three times.

"Otherwise she'll cause trouble for her brother."

Her hand stopped trembling.

Chen Yao stood up, placed the textbook back on the desk, opened to the page she had been copying halfway, picked up her pen, and continued writing.

Her handwriting remained neat.

The spacing stayed even.

Outside the window, beside the greenbelt on the north side of the teaching building, a man in a dark‑blue property‑management uniform was trimming the shrubs. His work badge bore the insignia "Qiu Ce Yuan·Universal Property," and the name field displayed an utterly ordinary name.

His scissors kept moving, snip‑snip, at a steady rhythm.

But his eyes were not on the shrubs.

Third floor, Class C classroom, the second-to-last window.

From this angle, you can just see the latter half of the classroom.

The man set down the scissors, pulled a pen from his chest pocket, unscrewed the cap—inside the pen barrel a barely perceptible red light glowed.

Miniature camera.

The recording time showed: it had been running for 00:11:47.

He screwed the cap back on, slipped it into his pocket, picked up the scissors and continued trimming the shrubs. The snipping sound resumed, with the same frequency as before.

After trimming the last holly bush, the man gathered his tools and headed for the equipment room. As he passed the surveillance blind spot, his right hand pressed twice in his trouser pocket.