“Is that so? Well, aren’t we impressive.” Her mother gave a cold laugh. “A small-time associate professor and already this high-handed. Schools really have become lawless these days. Tell me the name.”
Zhu Yun pressed her lips together. She finally made out the pattern on the bedsheet hanging upstairs.
Dogs.
“Zhang Xiaobei.”
---
Zhu Yun confirmed the room by phone from outside the hotel, then went up.
It was an upscale hotel in the city center, specializing in Chinese cuisine. All three floors were appointed in classical Chinese style — carved beams and painted rafters, rich and ornate throughout.
The staff were impeccably trained. An attendant smiled and asked for her room number, then led her upstairs.
Both sides of the staircase featured sweeping traditional eaves and interlocking bracket sets; the composition was intricate, and Zhu Yun found herself looking in every direction at once.
The private dining room was on the third floor. It was called “Hall of a Hundred Flowers.”
The attendant pushed the door open, said a polite “please come in,” and withdrew with a bow.
As she entered, someone called out to her.
“Zhu Yun, over here.”
The middle-aged man gesturing to her from across the room was Zhu Yun’s father — Deputy Director of the Provincial Department of Education and concurrent Inspector-General: Zhu Guangyi.
Zhu Yun made her way over and sat down beside him, murmuring a quiet “Dad.”
Zhu Guangyi glanced meaningfully at the person seated on his other side and said, “Don’t you recognize the principal? What kind of student are you.”
Zhu Yun quickly inclined her head toward Principal Qian Wendong.
“Good evening, Principal Qian.”
“Hello, hello.” Qian Wendong waved a hand and turned to Zhu Guangyi. “Don’t hold it against the child — I’m on my feet every minute these days. Half the students in this school probably don’t know what I look like.”
Zhu Guangyi: “It really is a busy time. With the national push to deepen education reforms — cracking down hard on fraud and disorder — I haven’t left the office on time in ages.”
Principal Qian made a few more pleasantries and then called the attendant to begin serving.
Her father and the principal were old friends with no shortage of grand educational affairs to discuss. Zhu Yun let her gaze drift sideways across the table.
Zhang Xiaobei was seated nearest the door. She wore no makeup today; her complexion was noticeably pale, her clothing plain and practical, and her shoes — they would naturally be flat-soled.
Counting herself and her father, there were nine people at the table. Aside from the principal and Zhang Xiaobei, Zhu Yun didn’t recognize anyone else.
The dishes arrived.
Principal Qian smiled and offered his opening remarks.
“Supervisor Zhu and I are old classmates and old friends — it’s been quite some time since we’ve seen each other. As the saying goes, ‘Old friends reunited, tears and tales abound’ — but let’s not make it so gloomy. Tonight we gather in good cheer. While everyone happens to have a free evening, let’s warm our connections and, along the way, sort out a small misunderstanding.”
Murmurs of agreement around the table. Principal Qian added: “And don’t just sit there watching me — I’m sure none of you have eaten. Let’s eat first and talk as we go.”
Everyone had barely picked up their chopsticks when Zhang Xiaobei across the table shot to her feet. She came directly to where Zhu Guangyi and Qian Wendong were seated, head lowered, and said: “Principal Qian, Supervisor Zhu — I have a few things I need to say. If I don’t say them… I won’t be able to eat.”
On that last word, her hand moved quickly to her eyes.
She was crying?
Zhu Yun couldn’t quite see from where she sat.
Zhu Guangyi said nothing. Principal Qian said: “Go ahead.”
“First, I have to admit my mistakes.” Zhang Xiaobei said. “I am too young. Too impulsive. Too driven to prove myself — and that is exactly what led to these errors.”
Today her voice was fragile as a girl wasting away from some long illness.
“But I truly meant no harm. Please — you must believe that my intentions were good. Zhu Yun had participated in the Blue Crown project, and her abilities had earned the recognition of everyone involved. It was for that reason I thought to include her in other work.”
“But I was too rushed, and my temper is poor, and that is what led to the breakdown in communication between us…”
Zhang Xiaobei turned toward Zhu Yun as she spoke.
“I offer you my sincere apology. What I did before was inexcusable.”
The entire room had only one person standing. Zhang Xiaobei’s head was deeply bowed; she trembled slightly, radiating a vague, helpless bewilderment.
Zhu Yun believed her helplessness was genuine.
Because in this room called the Hall of a Hundred Flowers, the only person of lower standing than Zhang Xiaobei was Zhu Yun herself.
…Or perhaps…
Zhu Yun glanced at her father sitting composed beside her. In this particular configuration, her own position might now actually rank above Zhang Xiaobei’s.
Her thoughts were wandering.
When Zhang Xiaobei finished, Zhu Guangyi spoke in his steady, measured way. “Both teachers and students are under considerable pressure these days. Everyone must be understanding of one another. Patient with one another.”
Zhang Xiaobei gave a small, quiet nod.
Zhu Guangyi: “The pressure on teachers stems mainly from institutional performance evaluations — this is the most fundamental root cause of many of the problems we see today.”
Zhang Xiaobei nodded with evident feeling, at last lifting her head to say something — but Zhu Guangyi had already turned to Principal Qian. “And yet it is precisely for that reason that oversight must be strengthened. We must firmly eliminate all title assessments that breed corruption, resentment, and disorder!”
His tone shifted without warning into something hard and pointed. Zhang Xiaobei’s shoulders gave an involuntary flinch.