Chapter 20: His Guilt

Zhong Huayan had originally only agreed to help her class secure a spot in the upcoming arts performance. Later, she decided to use this opportunity to completely crush Xu Yuan in front of the entire student body—the plan took shape from there. As for the scoring criteria, she only learned of them today.

“Li Yanyan! Mr. Yang from the art department wants you in the office!”

She stood up and had barely reached the office when she heard Mr. Yang’s honeyed voice drifting through the door—a woman in her thirties, sweet and shy as a girl first learning what love is.

“Teacher, you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. Yanyan, you’re amazing! The boyfriend you introduced transferred me thirty thousand yuan yesterday, and he said he’s taking me to dinner tonight.”

She thought of Li Yang—he always seemed a little slow and clumsy. Who knew he was capable of romance?

“As long as you’re happy, Teacher.”

“I went to several appraisal agencies yesterday. Most of them said my piece was a fake, only worth two thousand. I was furious. But Li Yang said you’re a prodigy at appraising antiques, that you’re never wrong!”

“He exaggerates. I’m just average.”

Mr. Yang took a jade piece from her pocket. “Don’t be modest. I bought this for ten thousand. It’s yours. If this doesn’t work out, introduce me to some other fine men.”

It was hard to refuse. She accepted it with a diplomatic smile, slipping the jade into its box and tucking it away.

“It’s nothing, Teacher. But I’d appreciate it if you kept an eye on Xu Yuan. Should her behavior ever be recorded and posted online, it would tarnish the school’s reputation.”

“Of course. As a teacher, I could never let such things happen. I’ll make sure to supervise her closely.”

Zhong Huayan’s lips curled in a faint smile. If you’d been more vigilant before, so much might have been avoided. A cruel, silent act of bullying on campus is so often met with the silence and indifference of bystanders. And a senseless, vile crime is usually rooted in not just one person’s deepest insecurity and greed.

She left the office and headed to the rooftop, lighting a cigarette. Wisps of smoke drifted in the air, her hair wild in the breeze. The white uniform clung to her as she stared with languid, world-weary eyes, like a mysterious cat—every gesture exuding a sense of nobility and freedom.

As she glanced to the left, she caught sight of a familiar face.

Xu Chuyin stood tall, over six feet, but his delicate features carried a gentleness that soothed rather than the icy distance of someone like Fu Yanyan. Perhaps it was this gentle look that once made the original Li Yanyan mistake him for the winter sun—warm, irresistible, impossible to escape.

An angel’s face, a demon’s heart.

She found his presence irritating and turned to leave.

“Li Yanyan, thank you.”

“For what? Not killing you?” she replied with a cold laugh.

He stepped closer, his gaze shadowed with melancholy. “That’s part of it, I suppose… Do you still hate me?”

She moved to stand before him, half a head shorter but utterly unyielding.

“Xu Chuyin, do you know how many scars this body bears? Would you like to see? New scars layered atop the old. I don’t hate you, but what you did is unforgivable.”

His eyes trembled, long lashes dropping. “I’m sorry. I won’t touch you again. You… you really don’t hate me? Does that mean someone else has done worse to you?”

“What you did is beyond forgiveness, Xu Chuyin. If you ever come after me again, I’ll make sure you join your dead father.”

Zhong Huayan only sought justice for Li Yanyan. If she hated anyone most, it would be Xu Yaochuan and Xu Yuan. The few ungrateful wretches of the Zhong family were already dead—there was no need to remember them.

“Then… do you still like me?”

Since the pool incident, Xu Chuyin had sensed a profound change in the girl before him—she seemed reborn, transformed, powerful. He was nothing if not quick to size up the situation.

“I’m kind, but not pathetic. I have no taste for loving someone who’s hurt me.”

Zhong Huayan found the question laughable.

Watching her walk away, Xu Chuyin suddenly called out, “On the day of the arts festival, Xu Yuan plans to sabotage the piano you’re going to play. She wants you to be humiliated in front of everyone!”

He watched her recede, a trace of sorrow in his heart. He sat on the rooftop, eyes closed, letting the sunlight warm his face. Something within him had changed—every time he thought of her, he felt awkward and ashamed.

Zhong Huayan was never afraid of a direct confrontation with Xu Yuan. It was Xu Yuan’s tendency to play dirty that she despised.

She entered the piano city—a showroom filled with pianos of every make and model. A salesperson in black and white approached, sizing up the girl in her school uniform, and recommended a few affordable options.

None of them pleased her. She asked directly, “Do you have any Steinway grand pianos here?”

The salesperson was clearly skeptical. “Are you sure? Those are expensive. If you’re just practicing, there’s really no need to buy something that pricey.”

It was obvious she doubted both her financial means and her skill.

A university student in a cheap bag, alone in a school uniform—she probably couldn’t afford anything so extravagant. Still, the salesperson led her to the Steinway section. “Take a look. Which one do you want?”

Zhong Huayan couldn’t possibly afford the piano she used to own. On her tenth birthday, her father had given her a Steinway worth a million, a gift from someone else.

“This one, the hundred-thousand-yuan model. Can you arrange delivery and transport to my house?”

The salesperson was taken aback. Were college students these days all sugar babies?

“May I try it out?”

The poise with which she asked left the salesperson stunned, instantly dispelling any such suspicions. Such composure and calm was rare, almost impossible without years of training.

Zhong Huayan began to play—a piece that started serene and tranquil, then grew lively, her pale, slender fingers dancing over the keys. She lost herself in the music, singing along as she played.

Her voice soared, refined and dramatic—a pure, classical timbre, beautiful and haunting. The high notes rang clear but not sharp, moving and intoxicating.

The salesperson was dumbfounded. She had heard many impromptu performances, but never this song. Even pop music fans would fall in love with her voice and composition.

There was a maternal inclusiveness in the song, a mystical liveliness beyond the human, as if it carried the weight of history and the passage of time, endlessly echoing.

When she opened her eyes, she heard the applause of every salesperson in the store.

“Miss, what piece was that? I’ve never heard anyone play it before.”

“It’s lovely—you sing beautifully too. Even we amateurs can tell how extraordinary it is!”

Zhong Huayan bowed politely, poised and graceful—the bearing of a true lady.

“It was my own improvisation, both the song and the melody. Thank you all for your appreciation.”

With all the staff looking on with gentle admiration, she completed the purchase.