Chapter 17

On the day Zhong Yao worked on the blackboard, Jin Chuan surprisingly came home early.

She and Qi Yu had left school pretty late, so they grabbed dinner before changing buses. But when she opened the door, she was startled to find all the lights on.

Taking a few steps inside, she saw Jin Chuan reclining on the sofa.

Their eyes met. He stood up and walked toward her, asking with a hint of meaning,

“Junior high kids are this busy now?”

“Huh?”
Zhong Yao didn’t quite get what he meant.

Jin Chuan teased,

“You get home later than a movie star finishing work.”

Zhong Yao: …

Was he complaining she came home late? But his tone didn’t sound harsh.

She pursed her lips and decided to explain a little:

“Not really. I just joined the 70th Anniversary celebration.”

Jin Chuan imagined a bunch of kids singing and dancing on stage and, for some reason, suddenly felt a bit more invested in his role as a “parent.”

Honestly, it was hard for him to picture this quiet, aloof little girl performing on stage.

“What kind of performance?”
He really was a little curious.

He must have imagined some kind of talent show, because a clear smile spread across his face—he seemed genuinely happy she was participating.

Zhong Yao remembered reading that Jin Chuan was an internationally acclaimed film actor, so he must be incredibly talented. But all she had done was take on a behind-the-scenes job—designing a blackboard.

Suddenly, she felt too embarrassed to say it.

“It’s not a performance,”
But Zhong Yao didn’t want to lie to a guardian either. Her face warmed, and she changed the subject:
“I’m starving. Did you eat yet?”

Jin Chuan assumed she must be doing something like hosting. He raised his eyebrows—he couldn’t imagine how someone with such a shy nature would even handle that.

Since she clearly didn’t want to keep talking about it, he didn’t push further. He reached out and ruffled her hair.

“Rough day at the office? I’ll make you steak tonight—my treat.”

Zhong Yao froze, thinking to herself: What is with everyone today? Why can’t they keep their hands to themselves?

Qi Yu had touched her face, and now Jin Chuan was ruffling her hair.
It was kind of embarrassing… but oddly enough, not entirely unpleasant.

Because of that one line—“Rough day at the office?”—Zhong Yao ended up eating two dinners in one night.

She was so full she kept hiccupping.

Jin Chuan, still sitting at the table, mercilessly teased her:

“You overdid it. Just because you like steak doesn’t mean you should be that greedy.”
Then he chased her out to the garden to walk it off, telling her to go digest properly.

Separated by a glass door, the man sat inside smiling at the TV, while Zhong Yao hunched her shoulders against the cold night breeze outside, looking miserable.

She thought Jin Chuan was truly impossible to figure out. He had promised to treat her as a reward before dinner, yet after eating, he turned around and teased her relentlessly—not even bothering to pour her a glass of warm water.

Zhong Yao recalled how, when her mother was still around, if she ever got the hiccups, her mom would not only fetch warm water but also gently pat her back and massage her fingers. And if that didn’t help, she’d even go out at night to buy medicine.

But Jin Chuan? Forget it. After all the effort she put in tonight, this was what she got.

Inside, Jin Chuan—who was originally supposed to be working—had postponed everything and still hadn’t left the house.

The girl pouting with hiccups was honestly kind of cute. He was just helping her digest in the only way he knew how, unaware that she had mentally given him a failing grade.

Half an hour later, Zhong Yao finally stopped hiccuping and slipped back inside, still shivering a little.

At that moment, a cup of warm water was handed to her.

Jin Chuan bent down slightly and said,

“Little radish head, I’m heading to Shanghai on a business trip for a few days. Will you be okay staying here alone?”

Zhong Yao was caught off guard.

Ever since she came to Beijing, Jin Chuan had often returned home late, but he always came back no matter how late. In her fourteen years, she had never actually spent a night alone at home. Even when her mother passed away, her Sixth Aunt had stayed with her.

This house was so big and empty—it would be a lie to say she wasn’t scared at all.

But she didn’t want to give Jin Chuan another chance to tease her. So she took the warm cup stubbornly, lifted her chin, and said,

“Hmph, I’m fourteen, not four.”

Her small body and grown-up tone made Jin Chuan want to laugh.

He hadn’t even had the chance to smile when the girl added seriously,

“Don’t worry about work. I’ll take good care of the house.”

Jin Chuan was slightly taken aback.

The child had already stomped off upstairs, just like she always did.

Weren’t other kids supposed to cry and cling when their parents went on trips? Why did this little radish head act like it was no big deal?

And to think he had even changed his flight just to help her digest dinner.

Jin Chuan shook his head, went upstairs to grab his luggage, and knocked on her door to say he was leaving. Inside, the girl simply gave a short “Oh,” and didn’t come out to see him off.

What Jin Chuan didn’t know was that, as his driver pulled away from the villa, a small head was peeking out from the balcony, watching until the car completely disappeared into the night.

——

The next day, Zhong Yao went to school as usual.

Once in class, her mind was fully occupied with studies and finishing the blackboard display, and she didn’t have the energy to worry about Jin Chuan’s trip anymore.

Since taking on the blackboard project, she had become the last to leave the classroom every day. By the time she got home, it was already completely dark.

But little by little, the vast and empty villa began to feel a little less scary.

After getting through the weekend, Jin Chuan, who had vanished for days, finally sent her a message:

【Steak tonight. My treat.】

As expected, not a word about “I’m back.”

Still, Zhong Yao was in an excellent mood that day—not because of his return, but because her hard work had finally paid off: the blackboard project was done!

Class 9’s blackboard displays had once been delayed for a whole month, and yet she had completed this one in just five days—and entirely on her own.

When she drew the final line, the classroom erupted in thunderous applause. For the first time in her life, she heard her classmates praising her in unison:

“Damn, Zhong Yao, you’re amazing!”

Soon, everyone gathered in front of the board to admire it and take pictures.

Zhong Yao’s design was exceptionally clever, with minimal text and visuals doing most of the storytelling.

In the center was a shining, hollow five-pointed star with “70th Anniversary of the Founding of the Nation” written inside. To its right, four small stars were scattered in the same pattern as the national flag. Behind the star, bold red artistic characters stretched in two neat rows, reading:
“My country and I, never to be parted.”
From the top left corner to the bottom right corner, a red flag billowed across the board like a sacred ribbon from an anime, neatly dividing the space along the diagonal. Below the national emblem on the left, she sketched a simple but confident line drawing of the founding ceremony with “1949.10.1” in yellow chalk. On the right, above the decorative column, she wrote “Snow – A Poem of Qin Yuan Chun” in graceful semi-cursive script. Even the blank spaces were subtly filled with miniature depictions of the national emblem and party emblem.

Only three colors were used: vivid red, bright yellow, and the black of the chalkboard where the poem was written. The result looked both clean and majestic. Coincidentally, the class’s honor certificates displayed above were also in red, yellow, and black, complementing the entire aesthetic.

But none of this was what truly impressed her classmates.

As times changed, school blackboard art had evolved. Many classes now used gouache paints and mixed media to make their boards more vibrant and expressive.

Yet Zhong Yao had created this grand, striking masterpiece entirely in chalk!!!

“Zhong Yao, how did you get the red to be so vivid?”

“I saw her layering it over and over. She even used water to blend some of it. Damn, that’s genius!”

“Zhong Yao, your line drawings are incredible. The color choices are unreal. Which art class did you take?”

“Seriously, is no one going to praise her calligraphy? That semi-cursive script looks like it belongs in a professional handwriting guide!”

“Move, move, let me record a video. This is totally gonna knock Class 1’s fancy watercolor board off the trending list!”

…

The stream of praise left Zhong Yao dazed. She had never experienced this kind of treatment before, and her face flushed as she stood there awkwardly.

He Lingli, holding her arm, beamed:

“See? Didn’t I tell you? You’re amazing, YaoYao! And you even unlocked a hidden art skill—I admire you more than ever!”

Beside them, Panda looked just as happy for her and added:

“Zhong Yao, actually, everyone in the class started talking about your work halfway through the week. But He Lingli told us not to say anything yet, in case it made you shy or nervous. You’re seriously amazing.”

Zhong Yao suddenly felt a genuine burst of joy.

Compared to the polite encouragement from other classmates, it was her two friends’ recognition that truly uplifted her spirit.

She smiled with her eyes and, for the first time, hugged her deskmate.

“He Lingli, the one I should thank most is you! You’re my Bole^[1]Bole: a term from Chinese history referring to someone who recognizes and nurtures talent.!”

—

That afternoon, Zhong Yao and her blackboard design overtook even the school’s buzz about Qi Yu dyeing his hair and taking time off—it became the newest hot topic at Taoli Middle School.

Whether it was the masterpiece itself or the fact that she had completed it solo in such a short time, it was more than enough to shock a bunch of middle schoolers.

Even more unexpectedly, a classmate had posted a photo of her blackboard art on Douyin. That classmate’s older sister happened to be a small internet celebrity, and soon, Zhong Yao’s work started trending online.

Zhong Yao wasn’t really into social media. But He Lingli, still beaming from being called her Bole, excitedly sent her screenshots of all the praise:

“Master-level artwork! 🐮🐮”
“Can today’s kids stop flexing their talent and charm? Some of us aunties still want to live, you know!”
“This is Beijing’s Taoli Middle School?? They’re talented in both the arts and academics!”
“This blackboard??? After seeing this, I wanna wipe ours clean and start over lol”

…

Surrounded by so much praise, Zhong Yao felt completely filled with joy. Even when she later received disappointing news from Jin Chuan, she wasn’t as upset as she might have been.

Just that afternoon, he had said he’d be home to cook steak. But by evening, he messaged to say something urgent had come up and he wouldn’t make it.

For the first time ever, Jin Chuan actually said “sorry”—and sent her 10,000 yuan.

It was the money that truly put a damper on Zhong Yao’s mood.

She really didn’t like this way of saying sorry. But she didn’t know how to bring it up with Jin Chuan, either.

So in the end, she said nothing at all.

That night, she unexpectedly received a message from Qi Yu—their first real conversation since adding each other on QQ.

According to He Lingli, Qi Yu had recently taken on a new gig and had been frequently absent from school. She said this was typical for young celebrities.

Still, that didn’t seem to stop him from staying informed. He wrote:

[Heard your blackboard design went viral. Hiding your talent, huh?]

That was the reason he reached out. But strangely, Zhong Yao no longer felt like chatting.

Not replying felt rude though, so after some thought, she sent:

[People are exaggerating. It’s not that impressive. I’m off to sleep—let’s talk some other time.]

As for when “some other time” would be, she didn’t know.

Because after Jin Chuan canceled that steak dinner, another week passed without a single word about “I’ll be home tonight.”

He sent the same brief messages every day—so much so that she began to worry something had happened to him. But then she’d see news online: he was at a film press event, spotted at a brand launch, photographed near some director’s house.

Jin Chuan was showing up all over the internet—just never at home.

Eventually, Zhong Yao stopped caring where he was.

She went to school and came home at the usual times. Occasionally, she’d see students from other classes come to Class 9 to take pictures with the blackboard she had designed.

Time flew by. By the end of September, Taoli Middle School’s celebration of the 70th Anniversary of the Founding of the Nation was about to be held.

That morning, the school would first score and rank the class blackboard displays. Then they’d gather on the sports field for speeches and performances.

The Class 9 board had been praised all week, and the entire class was eagerly waiting to win first prize.

No one expected—On the evening before the judging, someone took a blackboard brush and destroyed Zhong Yao’s work. The once majestic layout was ruined—now a messy, smudged wreck.