MCFEM C62

Chapter 62 – Is It Truly Fitting to Speak of This Now?

“Is that so?” Upon hearing Gu Qingxu’s suspicion, He Ming’an’s smile remained warm, his voice lengthened, carrying even a faint trace of regret. “So, in your heart, that is how you regard me.”

“Friendship, after all, rests upon affinity, does it not?” He paused, pondering his choice of words before continuing with a gentle laugh. “I merely found myself… well-matched with A-Yang, that is all.”

Gu Qingxu’s lips twisted; the swollen flesh upon his face pulled tight with pain until his very eyelids trembled.

He had neither the patience nor the face to continue sparring words with He Ming’an here. Fearing, too, that someone might pass by and witness his humiliation, he gave a derisive snort and strode away in haste.

He Ming’an’s gaze lingered upon that departing figure. Slowly, the smile upon his lips was folded away.

For a time he stood in stillness. Then came a hurried bustle: staff from the floor above descended to examine the equipment. Their eyes fell upon the shattered memory card upon the ground, their expressions instantly turning dark.

“Apologies,” He Ming’an said softly, his tone smooth and courteous. “It must have slipped to the floor as I passed. Please draw up a bill; I shall compensate you at full price.”

Though it was clear such a card could hardly have shattered from a simple fall, it was of little consequence. The staff, deeming it unimportant, said no more, merely exchanged contact details and offered polite words in return.

“It is no grave matter. That your esteemed school permitted us entry to film is already a generosity beyond measure.”

Their programme, modest in budget, was but a light variety show built around Cheng Zishi’s daily life, intended chiefly for fans. Yet a prestigious school such as Guanli Middle bore its own natural allure, drawing attention even from beyond the fan circle.

He Ming’an’s smile returned as he traded pleasantries, then he returned to the classroom.

“Where is Gu Yang? Where has he gone?”

The moment he opened the door, he beheld Xie Wu clutching his phone, dashing about the classroom in wretched distress.

He Ming’an paused mid-step before entering fully. “What has happened?”

“My brother—my brother has taken that Zhou Qinqin’s contact information!” Xie Wu’s roguish face was now marred with utter despair. “It’s over, there’s no stopping him. No stopping him at all.”

“What? Then he must be stopped at once! Ahead lies naught but perdition.” Ying Jiayi furrowed her brow. She had once investigated Zhou Qinqin’s history—her record was nothing short of dazzling. With Xie Kai’s single-mindedness, Jiayi doubted he could ever outmatch her.

“How am I to stop him? My brother is as mule-headed as they come. In our family it is but the two of us; there is no one above to hold him back.”

“Do not be so hasty. As yet it is only the exchange of contact details. Matters have not reached their worst—there is still time to find a way.” Lu Ji sought to soothe him.

“How, for instance?” Xie Wu seized upon that sliver of hope. Had not Lu Ji survived the crucible of the false-and-true young master? Surely his counsel would be worth hearing.

“Your brother favours married women, does he not? Then let us seek out a divorced lady with child, and perhaps we might contrive an introduction.”

Xie Wu’s eyes glazed into lifeless orbs. He had nearly forgotten how deranged the scene Lu Ji had endured truly was. What had he been hoping for?

As he wallowed in despair, Gu Yang returned.

At once, Xie Wu pounced upon him as though upon a saviour, clutching his shoulders.

“Do you know? My brother has fallen into love—his beloved is that Zhou Qinqin! The very mother of the would-be son-in-law who sought to cling to Jiayi.”

Gu Yang pondered a moment before answering, “I do not think it a fitting match.”

He knew well what havoc Zhou Qinqin would one day bring upon the Xie family. Yet seeing Xie Wu’s stricken face, he did not press further.

Xie Wu nodded gravely. “Nor do I.” Then, clutching his head in torment, he groaned, “Tell me, what should I do?”

“Strike first. Since Xie Kai delights in married women, then find him one to his taste and contrive the match.”

“…”

Why had he ever sought Gu Yang’s counsel?

Just as despair threatened to swallow him whole, Gu Yang’s inner voice rang out.

In the original tale, after the Xie family’s ruin, both Xie Wu and Xie Kai were cast upon the streets, forced into toil. Yet in that abyss, Xie Kai discovered his true love—Married Woman the Second. Together they weathered hardship hand in hand.

Her name, I believe… was Feng Xiaochun.

Xie Wu’s eyes lit with sudden fire.

What fortune, to be handed a pillow when wearied by drowsiness.

Had not some sage once said, when a man wishes to open a window, none will permit it; but if he threatens to tear down the roof entire, all will agree to the window?

In the shadow of his family’s looming ruin, his brother’s peculiar tastes no longer seemed so grave a matter.

True love! If one could endure poverty hand in hand, would not prosperity be all the sweeter to share?

He etched the name Feng Xiaochun into his mind—when suddenly, a clatter rang out behind him.

A cup had been knocked from a desk to the ground.

He Ming’an stood nearby, his face struck with an astonishment he had never before displayed. His unguarded gaze met Gu Yang’s, and for a moment, they locked eyes.

And in that instant, as Gu Yang thought upon that name, his mind revealed to him the threads bound to it.

But before the silence could thicken further, Yu Bai’s loud voice rang in from outside. “My word, have you seen the trending news?”

The moment’s strange stillness was broken. Students instinctively reached for their phones. He Ming’an, too, masked his lapse, lowering his head to glance at his screen.

The trending list bore several banners in quick succession.

#TianchenEntertainment#

#RealityFarMoreDog-BloodThanFiction#

And at its very peak, #TheTrueAndFalseYoungMasters#, emblazoned with the mark of a hot topic.

The video revealed Lu Ran’s face in sharp clarity—far clearer than gossip footage ought to be.

Before him sat another, voice altered beyond recognition.

The unseen one asked, Lu Ran answered—sometimes halting, sometimes rambling of his own accord.

At first, mere pleasantries. But when asked of his present life, Lu Ran’s fragile composure cracked, his face twitching with hysteria.

It was no wonder.

To fall into the quagmire of the Huo family—none could emerge unscathed. Least of all a pampered youth who had never once glimpsed the shadows of the world.

Then he bared his arm, revealing the bruises mottled upon his skin, desperate to show his unseen companion.

The altered voice ignored it, merely sighing, “How has it come to this?”

The dam burst. Lu Ran poured forth his bitterness—denouncing the Lu family’s coldness, the Huo family’s depravity. Soon his tirade turned upon Lu Ji, upon the Lu couple, upon Lu Zheng. He decried their broken promises, their betrayal in casting him out while vowing Lu Ji would never surpass him.

In his frenzy, he even spilled secrets of the Lu family’s shadowed dealings.

The net, ever hungry for spectacle, seized upon it. Tianchen Media, long an entrenched name in entertainment, became tinder for the blaze. The Lu family was thrust to the very cusp of the storm.

Anonymous posts soon laid bare the tale of true and false sons exchanged. A tale common to fiction, yet deliciously novel in life.

Netizens unearthed the Huo family’s sordid past: a gambling father, a witless son. Outrage flared that a true son should suffer in such a pit, while the Lu family still coddled a false one.

Sympathy for Lu Ran was nowhere to be found. The cuckoo in another’s nest could never win it.

Condemnation spread like floodwaters. Even former Tianchen artists, long resentful, seized the chance to grind their heel into their old employer.

The Lu family’s name lay in tatters. Even its listed companies’ stocks began to fall.

Lu Ji glanced towards Cheng Zishi. He had agreed to take the field—but never had he imagined his comrade would play so dazzling a hand.

Cheng Zishi’s expression held the edge of irony. “To think, my admission to Class Eleven was thanks to Lu Ran. His health was frail; Madam Lu thought me fit to accompany him, and so brought me here as his keeper.”

“At first he truly treated me as a servant. I endured it for a time, but his arrogance grew intolerable. One day I shamed him before all, and from then he dared not command me again.”

Lu Ji was silent. So much care had been lavished upon Lu Ran. And yet for himself—nothing. He did not grieve it, but he marvelled at the contrast.

“Tell me,” Cheng Zishi said at last, voice sharp with implication, “does not this video seem more like a filmed interview than a stolen recording?”

In an instant Lu Ji understood. They would let the Lu family believe this was Lu Ran’s revenge, that he had sought out media to defame them.

Thus Cheng Zishi would be blameless, and Lu Ran forever cast out.

Lu Ji agreed at once. He cared nothing for the Lu family’s reputation. Indeed, the more chaos, the better.

For until the waters boiled, Lu Zheng would remain their heir. Only then could Lu Ji rise.

He had suffered too long. He sought more than the petty title of second son.

The scandal spread wide. Walking down the street, Xia Chun overheard a young couple whispering of it.

But in the next breath came a sharp voice berating them—it was Lu Ran himself.

The couple exchanged a look of awkward recognition before slipping away.

Yet their quarrel drew other eyes. Lu Ran, panicked, pulled his collar high, feeling mocked by every gaze.

In truth, most spared him only a glance before passing on.

Only Xia Chun’s gaze lingered, stark amidst the indifference.

“What are you staring at?” Lu Ran snapped, viciously.

Xia Chun was silent. They knew one another.

He had once signed with the Lu family’s company, thinking Tianchen’s name a boon. Only upon entry had he discovered the chaos within, the utter shambles of its management.

“You all came to laugh at me, did you not?” Lu Ran’s sneer was twisted with hate.

“You have merely…” Xia Chun’s voice was low, deliberate. “Returned to the place that was always yours.”

“What do you mean, my place? You know nothing. I am—I am the Lu family’s young master!” His face bore the madness of obsession.

Xia Chun started, then asked quietly, almost to himself, “Why must one crave what was never his?”

“Easy for you to say, when you have never known want!” Lu Ran spat, his fury spilling over. “And you—how could you ever understand?”

His smile warped, grotesque. He had nearly forgotten this old matter, but since Xia Chun had stumbled into his path, he would make him taste it.

—

“A-Yang, are you unwell?” He Ming’an asked with his customary smile.

“Should it not be you who is staring?” Gu Yang replied, following his line of sight—only for Ming’an to raise the menu and block his view.

“Only a quarrel between a pair of lovers outside. Nothing worth watching.”

“Since you have so kindly deigned to join me for a meal, ought you not bestow your attention upon matters of import, rather than trivialities?”

Gu Yang gave a distracted assent.

“Is there aught you wished to say to me?”

The topic was offered up like a cup set before him. He opened his mouth, then faltered.

A thought pierced him: Is it truly fitting to speak of such things now?

The notion was vague, yet heavy upon his breast.

Since when, he wondered, had he begun to notice such things?