Smash

As usual, the triple request! Votes, recommendations, and favorites, please!!

With Director Song’s call in hand, Yang Tang now wielded a sword of authority; sure enough, Cen Li no longer dared to protest and obediently let him return to class.

His entrance set off a fresh hum of gossip among his classmates. One boy, bold enough to speak in front of the teacher, asked, “Third Brother, where have you been off gallivanting these days?”

In this class, Yang Tang only got along with his roommates Duan Yibin and the other two; he was hardly on friendly terms with the rest of the boys. On hearing the question, he sneered coldly, “My whereabouts are a school secret. If you’re so capable, go ask Panda Li. Otherwise, go cool your head somewhere else.”

The classroom fell instantly silent. It wasn’t just the students; even the foreign language teacher at the podium, who was about to answer questions, was stunned.

Panda Li?!

What kind of name was that? A nickname?

And who was it for? It seemed to refer to Teacher Cen Li.

Hadn’t there been a vague rumor about this nickname before in the senior year office?

But how could Yang Tang dare to call the teacher’s nickname out loud in front of everyone?

Everyone was dumbfounded.

Yang Tang, however, was utterly indifferent. With an unhurried air, he walked to his seat, took out the test papers for this period, and began studying them carefully. Whenever he encountered something he didn’t understand, he’d raise his hand and ask questions without the least concern for his classmates’ presence.

During the break, while Yang Tang was still digesting the knowledge he’d just acquired, a note was passed to him: “See you at the usual place after class this afternoon. I have something to discuss. Ke Bai.”

Seeing the signature, Yang Tang gathered the note was from Bai Keqing. As for “the usual place,” he had no idea where that was, but he didn’t bother to think much of it. After all, she was the one asking to meet; if he couldn’t find the spot, she’d come to him eventually.

Yang Tang returned to his papers, but had only solved a couple of questions when the class monitor, Lady Lü Qin, actually came over and sat down beside him across the aisle. “Hey, Yang Tang!”

He shot her a sidelong glance, impatient. “What do you want?”

Lü Qin, finding his temper poor, responded in kind, her tone no better. “What do I want? I just saw you bring a stack of papers into class. They must be your mock exam papers, right? Lend me your Chinese exam to have a look!”

Yang Tang glared and snapped, “Do I owe you my Chinese paper? No way!”

After just two exchanges, the conversation collapsed. Lü Qin was left dumbfounded, not expecting such an outcome. She sat frozen, unmoving for a long time.

Yang Tang didn’t care at all about the extra “puppet” by his side and went on consolidating his foreign language knowledge.

Judging by his last mock exam results, foreign language was clearly Yang Tang’s weakest subject. He had almost no foundation, relying on rote memorization and wild guessing to get a few multiple-choice answers right—barely passing by the skin of his teeth. Without his “eagle eye,” it was obvious he needed urgent improvement.

When the bell rang, Lü Qin finally snapped out of her daze, huffed loudly, and returned to her seat.

Yang Tang pretended not to hear, continuing with his foreign language studies, not even sparing a glance when Teacher Gan arrived for history.

Old Gan stood at the podium, surveying the room with authority. When his gaze landed on Yang Tang, he paused for a moment but didn’t call his name, clearly treating him as invisible. “Students, today we’ll cover two key points…”

The double period passed in a flash and soon the afternoon dismissal arrived.

The senior class students poured out of the classroom building in a rush—boarders hurrying to the cafeteria for dinner, day students heading home.

Having received Director Song’s call in Cen Li’s office, Yang Tang planned to visit his home. Just as he picked up his little scooter and exited the school gate, the ever-day-student Class Monitor Lü came running after him.

“Yang Tang, is this your new ride? Give me a lift, will you?”

Yang Tang raised an eyebrow. “I have business to attend to. I’m afraid it’s not on my way.”

Lü Qin puffed out her cheeks, protesting, “Stingy! My house is just two stops from school. How much time will it cost you to give me a ride home?” As she spoke, she held onto Yang Tang’s arm, shaking it insistently.

Yang Tang rolled his eyes and wanted to say aloud, “Class Monitor Lü, we’re not close—why should I be your chauffeur?” But he didn’t want to embarrass her too much. After all, in his previous life, after entering college, Lü Qin was one of the very few high school girls who still kept in touch with him online.

He was just pondering how to politely refuse when three young men in their early twenties got out of a Landwind across the street, swaggered over, and surrounded him. The leader, with a sharp, pale face and hair parted three-seven, eyed Yang Tang with disdain.

The young man with the sharp face sneered, “Kid, today’s Lady Lü’s birthday. Do you think you’re worthy of being seen with her?”

Yang Tang’s pupils contracted. He glanced at Lü Qin, then replied coolly, “Who are you calling an idiot?”

“So what if I am?” The young man, challenged, immediately raised his hand to slap Yang Tang.

Yang Tang caught his hand before it landed, barely restraining himself from retaliating harshly.

The two lackeys weren’t having it, though—they moved in from both sides, about to attack Yang Tang.

Lü Qin, the source of all this trouble, turned pale and cried out, “Brother Huang, Brother Bai, he’s my classmate! Don’t hit him!”

At that moment, two figures who had been squatting by the school gate—so unobtrusive even Yang Tang hadn’t noticed them—rushed forward. Each grabbed one of the so-called Brother Huang and Brother Bai by the neck, threw them to the ground, and pummeled their faces with fists the size of soup pots.

The sudden turn of events left the sharp-faced young man dazed, but it wasn’t over yet. From across the street, a group of people got out of a Jinbei van, led by a man nicknamed Black Screen, and quickly surrounded Yang Tang, Lü Qin, and the sharp-faced youth.

“Brother Yi!”

At Black Screen’s call, the others—strangers to Yang Tang—also shouted “Brother Yi” in unison. The sheer force of their greeting startled both Lü Qin and the sharp-faced young man.

Yang Tang nodded noncommittally and said to Black Screen, “Give my regards to Brother Hua.” With that, he started to wheel his scooter out of the circle.

Black Screen quickly stepped forward, blocking his way. “Brother Yi, since you’re finally back, at least let us treat you to a meal!”

“I have things to do. Let’s make it Saturday.” Yang Tang’s tone brooked no refusal. “Oh, one more thing—do me a favor. Smash that Landwind over there. Don’t stop until it’s so wrecked a tow truck can only carry it away. Smash it to pieces!” He fixed his eyes on the sharp-faced youth as he spoke the last words.

“You got it!” Black Screen didn’t even pause to consider compensation. “You all heard Brother Yi’s orders, right? Let’s get started!”

With that, only one person was left behind Black Screen; the rest dashed to the Jinbei van, grabbed steel pipes, baseball bats, and the like, and laid into the flashy Landwind with wild abandon.

Bang! Crash! Thud! The cacophony lasted less than three minutes. The Landwind was reduced to a wreck, its wheels slashed and dumped in a flowerbed.

Seeing the destroyed car, not only the sharp-faced young man and Lü Qin, but also all the senior students near the school gate, fell silent in terror, lest any outcry should incur Black Screen’s wrath.

“Class Monitor Lü, I don’t suppose you need me to take you home now?” Yang Tang said coldly, then rode his scooter off toward the city center.

When he arrived at Education Director Song Chushi’s home, he was greeted with mild reproach: “Why are you so late? My grandfather has been waiting a long time!” Song himself led Yang Tang into the dining room.

Inside, apart from a maid who poured tea and served dishes, there were just two people: an elderly man in coarse linen, and a dignified, beautiful woman in her early thirties. There was no need to guess; the old man must be Song Chushi’s grandfather. Yang Tang didn’t know his name, nor had he tried to find out. As for the woman, her demeanor spoke of grace and intelligence.

“Yang, you probably know my name already—Song Chushi. This is my wife, Cui Xiaoming. And this elderly gentleman…”

“The old man is Yan Yunsong, Little Stone’s grandfather!”

At the mention of “Little Stone,” Song Chushi showed no embarrassment; when elders used his childhood nickname, he could only stand by helplessly.

Yan Yunsong instructed the maid, “Serve dinner,” then turned to Yang Tang and began to grumble, “Yang, you may not know this, but originally they had a little one together, but the kid turned out to be an unabashed lover of all things foreign. A few years ago, he left for America to study at some Curtis Music Institute. Truly, a kind mother breeds a wayward son!”

Cui Xiaoming, who had meant to join the conversation, looked awkward and could only nod politely at Yang Tang in silence.

Yang Tang ventured, “The Curtis Institute of Music?”

“Yes, that’s it! Foreigners come up with such odd names. Why not pick something easier to say?” Yan Yunsong shook his head.

Yang Tang could only offer a polite smile.

After the talk of music, Yan Yunsong shifted the conversation toward history. Yang Tang listened as the old man spoke with eloquence and couldn’t help but marvel at his knowledge.

Once the dishes were all served, they began to eat. After much persuasion, Yang Tang agreed to leave a piece of calligraphy, thus excusing himself from drinking with Elder Yan.

But after dinner, when he had finished his calligraphy, Yang Tang realized he’d fallen into Elder Yan’s cunning trap.

“Excellent! Truly excellent, Yang! Your writing is magnificent—slender and powerful, thin yet not lacking in substance. The strokes, both hidden and revealed, are evident at every turn. But this is a completely different style from what you wrote on your last test paper!” Elder Yan praised the running script Yang Tang had just written, as if he’d found a treasure.

“So, you think my handwriting on the test wasn’t good?” Yang Tang asked.

“That’s not what I mean. But penmanship on a test is always done with a ballpoint—lacking the charm of brushwork!”

“Would you like me to write another piece?” Yang Tang replied with a forced smile.

Oblivious to the teasing, Elder Yan clapped his hands in delight. “That would be wonderful!”

Yang Tang changed tack, “Perhaps next time. It’s getting late, Elder Yan—I must take my leave.”

“Hey, hey, don’t go yet, Yang!”

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