Chapter Sixty-One: Conversations at School
Zhao Fan hung up the phone at lightning speed, straightened up the things on his desk, and dashed out the door. An hour later, he arrived at the school. Before even reaching the gate, he spotted He Yongshan’s figure from afar. At that instant, Zhao Fan stopped in his tracks.
He wanted to run, but He Yongshan had already seen him.
“Get over here!” came a furious shout. Zhao Fan rubbed his ear, then sauntered over.
“Lao He, what’s wrong?”
He Yongshan folded his arms across his chest. “What’s wrong? You dare ask me what’s wrong? Zhao Fan, I want you to go take the exam right now. If you don’t get the scores I expect, you better come straight back to school!”
Zhao Fan: “…”
Fine, fine, best not to provoke him while he’s angry.
He entered the office, and He Yongshan tossed several test papers at him, then sat down with his porcelain teacup.
“Get started.”
Those two casual words seemed to foreshadow Zhao Fan’s fate.
Zhao Fan cleared his throat. He thought Lao He was oversimplifying things. Busy as he’d been lately, he hadn’t neglected his studies.
“Lao He…”
“No more nonsense. Write your papers.”
Zhao Fan touched his nose, picked up his pen, and focused on the test papers. He wrote straight through until noon.
Hearing the lively noise outside, Zhao Fan stretched lazily. “Lao He, I’ve finished the papers.”
He Yongshan, head propped on his hand and dozing at the desk, snapped awake at those words.
“You’re done?”
“All finished!”
He Yongshan stretched. “Here, mark them yourself.”
Zhao Fan: “…”
All right, for the sake of Lao He’s dedication to his students, he’d mark his own papers.
After correcting them, Zhao Fan looked at his scores—his face darkened.
He Yongshan had given him tests in Chinese, math, and English—the main subjects. This time, Zhao Fan’s scores were 5, 15, and 20 points lower than last time, respectively.
As he saw the numbers, so did He Yongshan. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze carrying a hint of meaning.
“These are the scores you said would satisfy me?”
Zhao Fan: He’d underestimated it.
“Ahem, how could these scores satisfy you, Lao He? I just scribbled them.”
“You just scribbled?”
“Yes, just scribbled.”
“Fine.”
He Yongshan nodded, and just as Zhao Fan thought the matter would be brushed aside, He Yongshan suddenly bent down.
Within minutes, He Yongshan pulled a folder from beneath the desk and slapped it in front of Zhao Fan.
“If you were just scribbling before, then do it seriously this time. Write.”
Zhao Fan nearly lost his composure. He glanced outside; the clamoring voices of students were unmistakable.
“Lao He, aren’t you hungry?”
He Yongshan shot back, “Are you hungry?”
Faced with He Yongshan’s dangerous gaze, Zhao Fan swallowed the words “I’m hungry” before they could escape.
“I’ll write.”
Given that his first attempt was so poor, Zhao Fan took the second set of papers very seriously.
This time, the results were much better—his scores improved.
“Lao He, how do you feel about these scores?”
He Yongshan glanced at them. “Not impressed. Zhao Fan, be honest—what kind of school are you aiming for?”
“Of course, a first-tier university—ideally in the capital.”
Zhao Fan felt that if he was going to take the exam, he’d aim for the best school. Not for any other reason—he needed talent, and a top university would provide better opportunities for recruiting talent.
“A university in the capital, huh? Zhao Fan, don’t blame me for speaking harshly, but with your current scores, getting into a capital university is impossible.”
Zhao Fan fell silent. After a few minutes, he said, “I will work hard.”
“Work hard? Zhao Fan, relying solely on your own effort won’t cut it. There’s not much time left before the college entrance exam. Your scores in the main subjects keep fluctuating—are the other subjects stable?”
He Yongshan looked troubled. Before Zhao Fan left school, he had been He Yongshan’s most promising student—his grades were no problem for even the capital’s universities. But after being away for so long, Zhao Fan’s foundation had eroded.
“Zhao Fan, my advice is for you to return to school.”
“Lao He…”
“Enough. No more talk. Go home and think it over carefully. Give me your answer tomorrow night.”
“All right.”
Zhao Fan replied solemnly and left, deep in thought. Whether to return to school was truly something he needed to consider carefully.
He had just returned home when his mother called. On the other end, there was a cacophony—he couldn’t make out what was being said.
But soon, the noise abruptly stopped.
“Xiao Fan, the Yang family brought a crowd to make trouble. I can’t reach Hai Tian or your father. Hurry and come check things out!”
His mother’s voice was filled with anxiety. Zhao Fan’s heart skipped a beat, and he rushed out without another word.
“Mom, go find the hospital security first. I’ll be there right away. Take care of yourself, and tell them: if they dare hurt anyone, I’ll make sure the Yang family pays dearly for it.”
“Ah, all right.”
After hanging up, Zhao Fan flagged down a taxi and sped toward the provincial hospital.
“Mom, are you all right?”
Zhao Fan burst into the ward. All his anxiety vanished at the sight of the confrontation inside, replaced instantly by fury.
“What exactly do you want, Yang family? Do you really think you can bully the Zhao family without consequence?”
Zhao Yun’er was cradled in his mother’s arms, her big eyes darting around. Hearing Zhao Fan’s voice, tears suddenly rolled down her cheeks.
“Uncle, I’m scared.”
The soft, childish voice tugged at Zhao Fan’s heart. He told his mother to take her outside the ward.
“I’ll handle things here.”
As he said this, Zhao Fan’s gaze locked onto the Yang parents. Their repeated antics had finally crossed his line.
His mother carried Zhao Yun’er out. Once the ward door closed, the atmosphere inside grew tense.
Zhao Fan spoke, “You’re here again—what are you causing trouble for this time?”
The Yang family looked uneasy, but quickly became defiant.
Yang’s mother said, “What do you mean, causing trouble? We’re here for answers.”
“Yes, we’re here for answers!”
“How can asking for answers be called causing trouble?”
“…”
A chorus of Yang family members echoed her.
One look from Zhao Fan, and the Yangs shrank back, falling silent.
“We aren’t strangers. I know exactly what you’re after. You want answers—meaning money, right? Go on, what scheme are you cooking up now?”
The Yangs’ faces darkened at his words. They looked at each other, but no one spoke.
Seeing this, Zhao Fan turned to Yang’s father—the real decision-maker.
“You tell me.”
Yang’s father’s eyes flickered. “Nothing to say. Why did you send my daughter to another hospital?”
“Did you ask your daughter?”
Yang’s father: “Why ask her?”
Zhao Fan scoffed. “She said it herself. The First Hospital is good—suits her for recovery.”
“What?”