Chapter 117: The Agony of Suffering

Zhong Huayan took the most secluded seat available. A fellow student sitting nearby seemed overwhelmed and flattered, casting a surprised glance in her direction.

The surrounding students suddenly fell quiet, retreating to their private social media groups to share their thoughts with even greater abandon. They seemed utterly stunned by the proximity of her beauty. What shocked them even more was that she would rather sit next to a total stranger than with Fang Wenjin.

The professor giving the lecture evidently noticed the commotion and rapped his ruler against the desk to restore order.

Fang Wenjin stood in the back for a long moment. After a self-deprecating smile, he took the seat nearest to her.

His hands rested on the desk. After he gently tapped his phone to reply to a text message, his secretary outside in the corridor packed away the *guqin* and the Buddhist shrine.

He began to roll up his sleeves, his movements subtle. Using his cold hand, he lightly brushed against his wrist, digging into the gruesome scars hidden there when no one was looking. The blade-wrought marks erupted with a cold, piercing agony, as if countless needles were being driven into his veins.

As Zhong Huayan became engrossed in the lecture, she inadvertently caught sight of the young man beside her secretly tucking his wrist into his sleeve.

In that fleeting instant, she was shocked by the glaring, jagged scars on his fair, delicate wrist. She was certain she hadn't misseen it; his hands were like perfect pieces of jade, yet his wrists were marred by a dense, harrowing web of scars.

Fang Wenjin placed his wrist beneath the table. When he looked to his right, she had just turned her gaze away.

He had not listened to a single word of the art lecture.

Fang Wenjin had no need for such things. He considered himself a strong, composed man; no matter how the frost outside encroached, he could continue on, calm and unperturbed, without a hint of sorrow.

But reaching this point, it was no longer a lack of artistic achievement or material wealth that haunted him. It was a void within his heart—an unbearable, pent-up anguish. This feeling had wound itself around his heart like a stinging vine; no matter how polished his exterior appeared, the mere intrusion of memory made it impossible for him to breathe.

He did not fear physical pain; he only feared a future without love.

That winter, he was only thirteen. His home was in ruins, his life a wreckage. He had to endure the corporal punishment of his training just to earn a meager opportunity to study music.

He had been innocent and pure, until he was made to take the place of the real young master of the Fang family to perform on stage and live in that luxurious villa. When a child of such tragic fate is exposed to the world too early, they become cynical and shattered.

He used every means at his disposal to feign obedience and understanding, hiding a cunning heart once he learned that the true young master was frail.

Fang Wenjin despised himself. Only he knew just how filthy he truly was.

Yet, his heart was not twisted, and for that, he owed everything to the eldest daughter of the Zhong family, Zhong Huayan.

She was the moon hanging high in the winter sky, illuminating the flicker of light within his dark heart.

That *Kunqu* opera piece—he did not hum it every night simply because it sounded beautiful, but because it reminded him of what time once held, and of the beauty in the world.

Music he had not truly grasped held no power, no matter how beautiful the melody. But the music he had come to understand was etched into his soul, nourishing the pure land deep within his heart where flowers bloomed and bore fruit, ensuring he never forgot his original intent.

"Teacher, tell me, what will be the end for the good and the bad?"

That winter, amidst the endless adulation and flattery, the hotel was sweltering and filled with luxury, yet they stood in the freezing, snow-covered outdoors. The snowflakes were laced with the mellow, desolate aura unique to that land.

He heard her place her hand gently on the strings. The jade earring she wore tapped softly against the boy's youthful face. The tone of her music was quiet and certain; her temperament seemed unapproachable, but in reality, she was tranquil and warm.

"In this world, every 'bad' person has a past, and every 'good' person has a future."

Fang Wenjin loved that sentence. Before his collapsing worldview, he had found redemption.

He forgave himself... and he forgave others... but he alone remembered her for eternity.

After the art lecture concluded, introduced by the university president, Zhong Huayan spoke privately with the professor.

At the university entrance, it was clear that both possessed impeccable breeding. After their conversation, the elderly professor’s expression softened, showing genuine admiration.

She walked away through the sunset, step by step, looking every bit the refined young lady of a noble house, steeped in culture and grace.

Along the way, she left many onlookers stunned. They carried limited-edition bags, their freshly manicured nails tapping frantically on their phone screens.

*“Sisters, Li Yanyan is acting so fake. She’s usually not this gentle and soft-spoken. Does anyone remember when she hit someone?”*

*“I’m dying of laughter. She’s just professional when the situation calls for it, but her temper is definitely explosive when she’s not!”*

*“She’s like two different people when she dances, but that doesn’t stop her from being my goddess!”*

*“I’ve looked up her background. Both her parents are teachers, her second brother is a national researcher, and her third brother is a professional esports player. That team her brother is on was really popular.”*

Behind her, Fang Wenjin emerged, stirring the restless hearts of all the girls at Jingfu University.

Some even ran up to the young man to hand him love letters, doing all the foolish things characteristic of first love.

Though Fang Wenjin’s smiles never reached his eyes, he remained elegant and gentlemanly, politely declining them all with effortless poise.

His gaze, however, always drifted, intentionally or not, toward the one who held his heart. Every encounter was long-planned, a deliberate arrangement.

"Young Master, it's getting cold."

The secretary stood at the school gate, rushing forward to drape a coat over his shoulders, his demeanor deeply respectful. He looked at the young master as if he were a god, his eyes full of devotion. When Fang Wenjin climbed into the car, the secretary carefully shielded the doorframe with his hand to prevent him from bumping his forehead. He was meticulous and attentive.

"Cough, cough... Arrange for some gym memberships for me."

"Young Master, I fear that would be ill-advised for your health. The doctor said the cancer is in its early stages and can still be treated, but it requires rest. You shouldn't have returned to the country, much less come to school every day. Now, to exercise as well—I fear it is not wise."

Fang Wenjin looked at his own broken body. His wrists bore not only the dense, crisscrossing scars of suicide attempts but also needle marks and a back full of bruises. Every night, when the cold wind seeped in, they would throb with a dull ache. He feared this winter would be even harder to endure.

But seeing her, he didn't feel that winter was so bad after all... It was only the fear of being loathed that made him hold back his coughs in her presence, only letting them out when he truly could no longer contain them.

He had almost forgotten when he was first diagnosed with cancer.

Time was a tear-jerker, but he was not afraid.