MCFEM C15

Chapter 15: He Really Is Despicable.

Song Yinxing swallowed hard, overcome by an inexplicable sense of nervousness.

He knew he shouldn’t ask. Family scandals weren’t for outsiders to pry into.

Who was he to Gu Yang, anyway? What business of his was this? Song Yinxing couldn’t shake the feeling that Gu Yang was exactly the type to fix him with that cool, detached stare and say something like that.

The secrets of the wealthy: hidden shames, intergenerational feuds, illicit affairs…

Even a glimpse of the edges was enough to make it seem endlessly sordid. His imagination ran wild.

Beneath the post were thousands of comments; the trending plaza was a chaotic mess. Strangers, all munching on gossip through their screens. Some opportunists muddied the waters, claiming there were videos on the homepage with “click to watch”—but in reality, they were just pushing sales.

Gu Yang’s gaze remained fixed on him. For a fleeting moment, Song Yinxing thought the boy actually wanted him to ask.

“About you and the president of Gu Jewelry… is it true?” Song Yinxing asked, holding his eyes.

“What exactly are you referring to?” Gu Yang arched a brow. “Which version is out now? Show me.”

He extended his hand in a demanding gesture, and after a moment’s hesitation, Song Yinxing showed him the screen.

“Me and… the president of Gu Jewelry…” Gu Yang narrowed his eyes, leaning in to read. “…maintaining an unspeakable relationship?”

Song Yinxing tried to pull his phone back before Gu Yang could see the filth in the comments, but Gu Yang had already caught his hand.

After scrolling through a few, Gu Yang suddenly burst into laughter.

Covering his eyes with the back of his hand, he laughed so hard it seemed almost excessive.

“People who believe this crap will be the same ones falling for those shady health supplement schemes when they’re old,” Gu Yang finally said, still chuckling as he poked at the screen.

Song Yinxing watched his expression closely.

“Gu Yuhui may be a dog,” Gu Yang went on, his face still creased with mirth, “but even he’s not that twisted.” With that, he kept scrolling, still gripping Song Yinxing’s hand, fully engrossed.

So it wasn’t true. Relief washed through Song Yinxing, though it was mixed with complicated feelings.

Gu Yang was close now—so close it was as if he were holding him in his arms.

From this angle, Song Yinxing could see his eyelashes: long and fine, casting dark shadows that merged with the bluish rings beneath his eyes. That flaw made him look even more fragile, and when he smiled, it lent him a strange, gloomy sort of vitality.

But the smile soon vanished.

Gu Yang turned the phone toward him.

“What’s wrong with your phone? It had thirty-something percent just now, and it suddenly dropped to ten. How’s it already at five? Did you catch a virus?”

“It’s fine, my battery’s just bad,” Song Yinxing said, snapping back to himself. “There’s a charger at the shop. I’ll plug it in when I get back.”

“And my shift’s not over yet. I can’t be out too long—I should get back.”

On the way back, Song Yinxing couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder.

Gu Yang still stood rooted in place, his expression shuttered once again, cold—so cold.

Through the glass door, the shop owner was frantic, waving for him to hurry back to his post. Forcing himself to look away, Song Yinxing went inside.

“Ding—”

—

Song Yinxing stood at the doorway and knocked.

A muffled voice inside called, “Come in.”

He hesitated, then pushed the door open.

Yesterday, thirty thousand yuan had been deposited into his bank account. The transaction was labeled “subsidy.”

But his semester subsidy had already been issued before the term began. He had no idea what this was. The sum was too large, and when he asked, his teacher advised him to check with the finance office.

“Can I help you?”

Behind the desk sat a boy with strikingly fine features. He set down his phone, folded his hands on the table, and smiled pleasantly at the newcomer.

Song Yinxing stepped back out to double-check the sign on the door before returning. “I’m here to see the finance teacher.”

“Oh, that. The office got renovated a few days ago,” the boy explained. “The workers mixed up some of the signs. No big deal—they’ll be fixed tomorrow.”

“So where’s the actual finance office?”

“Upstairs.” Song Yinxing glanced upward, ready to leave, but the boy’s next words made him stop.

“No need to go, though. Let me guess—you’re here about the subsidy, aren’t you, Song?”

Song Yinxing’s brows knitted. At last, he recognized him as the boy he’d seen with Gu Yang the other day.

“The money wasn’t a mistake. It was compensation from Nie Ying and his crowd. Ten thousand each.” He Ming’an said softly, noting how Song Yinxing stiffened. “Take it. It’s fine. I already smoothed things over with them.”

“So what is this? Hush money?” Song Yinxing asked flatly.

“Don’t put it so harshly.” He Ming’an looked faintly helpless. “The school’s final ruling was one week’s suspension and reflection. The case was serious enough that it should’ve been reported and disciplined, but… sorry, that wasn’t possible.”

He didn’t tell Song Yinxing that Nie Ying’s suspension was technically for “inciting disruption” in class.

“So just take the money. Think of it as a compromise.”

Leaning back in his chair, He Ming’an swiveled slightly into the shadows. His face, half-obscured, no longer bore a smile.

Knowing there was nothing more to gain here, Song Yinxing left. At the door, he paused, then let out a bitter laugh.

He actually felt… glad.

When he realized the money hadn’t been a mistake, a twisted sort of happiness had bloomed inside him.

Having that balance in his account gave him such a sense of security. He wouldn’t have to worry about his mother’s next stage of treatment, or dread the doctor pulling him aside to announce some emergency expense he couldn’t cover.

And now, finally, he could return the ten thousand Gu Yang had lent him.

Otherwise, he’d never be able to look Gu Yang in the eye, never speak to him as an equal.

At that thought, his hatred for Ding Ziyu and the others seemed to ebb.

Covering his face, he slid down the wall until he sat on the floor.

How pathetic he was.

—

“You’re really bold, hanging up on me now.” A middle-aged man’s voice came sharp and toneless over the line.

“I had a classmate come with a question. I couldn’t just ignore him. He’s a special admission student, too—it wouldn’t look good,” He Ming’an said lightly, putting the phone on speaker and idly playing with a glass holly ornament in the vase.

“Special admissions again. Always special admissions.” The man sneered. “The other day you even clashed with Nie’s kid over one.

“You ignore those you should be cultivating, and chase after nobodies. So many years, and you’ve learned nothing. Every year I tell you to at least show your face at Nie’s birthday banquet, and you never go.

“And now you want to publicly announce punishments? Nie has been our partner for years, and you want to throw him under the bus?”

“It was bullying. Since Ding Ziyu was punished, I gave Nie Ying a mark too.”

The holly ornament wasn’t a mass-market trinket, but a roughly crafted piece, green through and through.

His nonchalant words only deepened the man’s anger.

“Is this your place to decide?” he snapped. “When you’ve reached my level, then you can play at being master.”

“Today you even dragged Nie’s wife into this. Kids’ quarrels should be left to kids. You brought in the parents—what were you thinking?”

He Ming’an cut in suddenly. “Maybe because he kept bringing up your other son.”

On the other end, silence fell, as if a throat had been seized.

Tired of sparring, He Ming’an tossed him a way out. “Since you insist, I’ll go to Nie Ying’s birthday banquet next week.”

His smile turned cold. “Consider it a show—just to watch the drama.”

After hanging up, he turned to his desktop computer. Dozens of windows were open, one of them a chat.

“Boss, the trending post you mentioned has already been taken down,” the other side had written.

“The Gu family moves fast,” He Ming’an murmured.

In this online age, nothing left no trace. He scanned the files he’d collected over the past few days—enough to trace back to Shen family’s PR firm.

But if the Gu family had already intervened, none of it was necessary anymore.

Shaking his head, He Ming’an dragged the folder to the recycle bin.

—

Meanwhile, at the Gu residence.

Shen Mingjun, clad in his thin school uniform, had been left standing in the cold for who knew how long, his father looming beside him with a suffocating aura.

His face was twisted, but he dared not storm off.

Perhaps, deciding they’d left him out long enough, they were finally granted entry.

Gu Yuhui wasn’t home. The ones who had kept them waiting were two half-grown brats.

The realization made Shen Shan’s heart sink, though he hid it well, plastering on a smile for Gu Qingxu.

After all, barring surprises, the Gu family business would one day be his. Seniority meant nothing here—best not to posture.

“This was really a misunderstanding. One of my employees planted bad ideas in my son’s head,” Shen Shan said, pouring on the humility. “Truly shameful. My health’s been poor, I’ve been in and out of the hospital. I neglected the company.”

“Is that so?” Gu Qingxu smiled, but without warmth. “If it was a misunderstanding, then how about this—have your good son kowtow to my brother.”

Shen Shan’s brow creased. Clearly, he found the suggestion ridiculous. He couldn’t agree, but outright refusal would also risk offense.

Seeing his father’s silence, Shen Mingjun thought—was he actually considering it?

The last string of his reason snapped. His face twitched as he met Gu Qingxu’s mocking eyes.

Slowly, he turned his glare on Gu Yang.

“You want me to kowtow? What a joke.”

“Gu Yang, do you really think it’s fun, sitting up there looking down on me? But what are you, really? Pining after some man, a scholarship charity case with nothing to his name. That makes you nothing more than a cheap, worthless disgrace lowering yourself.”