DLRAS Chapter 42

Chapter 42: The rest of the day belongs to me.

After Chen Wengang left, Qi Tongzhou wandered aimlessly around the campus alone. Feeling guilty like a thief, he peeked at his phone, then suddenly stopped in his tracks.

What was he sneaking around for? Snapping a candid photo of a friend was a perfectly open and honorable thing to do.

With this thought, he simply sent the photo directly to Chen Wengang and openly posted it on his social media feed.

Soon, friends began to like the post. His god-sister Li Hongqiong was among them, even sending him a teasingly wicked emoji.

Perhaps Mu Qing had also seen Qi Tongzhou’s post, as he proactively messaged to ask where he was, mentioning that he happened to be on campus too.

Qi Tongzhou considered him a good friend and figured it wouldn’t hurt to make the trip worthwhile: “How about I treat you to a meal?”

Mu Qing replied, “Let me treat you instead, to thank you for doing me such a huge favor.”

In private, the two maintained a habit of chatting every now and then. Qi Tongzhou had even introduced him to a cutting-edge curator.

Mainly because these days, making it in the art world relied heavily on being hyped up. That curator was an acquaintance of Qi Tongzhou’s mother, said to have some clout in the buyers’ circle. He had discovered quite a few newcomers’ works and, honestly, was very skilled at marketing.

Although Qi Tongzhou didn’t know much about the art world, he was loyal to his friends and had specifically remembered to get the contact info for Mu Qing. Thinking of this, he resolved to ask how their collaboration was going later.

About fifteen minutes later, he saw Mu Qing walking toward him under the sun.

It was hot out, so Mu Qing stuck to the shade of the trees, walking at a steady pace. Dressed in a white shirt and jeans, he looked fresh and clean, the very image of a student.

Qi Tongzhou stood by the road, hands in his pockets. Looking at him from a distance, he once again got the fleeting illusion that Mu Qing looked a lot like Chen Wengang.

If asked where the resemblance lay, he finally recalled a phrase his sister often used—it was probably their “fashion sense.” Qi Tongzhou suddenly realized the reason: Chen Wengang also seemed to love wearing this kind of shirt. But then again, no one had a monopoly on how to dress, so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

The curator and Mu Qing’s talks had gone even smoother than he imagined, and Qi Tongzhou felt happy for him.

At the dining table, he pressed for details: “So the guy said he could even organize a solo exhibition for you?”

“Yes. He seems to think highly of my work, said it has a lively spirit to it. He probably thinks there’s some value there.”

“That’s really impressive,” Qi Tongzhou praised sincerely. “Don’t sell yourself short; being able to hold a solo exhibition is already quite extraordinary.”

“I can’t say that just yet. Nothing is set in stone,” Mu Qing frowned. “It still depends on whether we can find suitable sponsorship.”

“How much would it cost to hold the kind of exhibition you mentioned?”

“If we choose a good art gallery, the venue fee alone could be between one to two hundred thousand. Plus other miscellaneous expenses.”

Hearing Mu Qing say this, Qi Tongzhou felt moved.

As a sheltered young master, he had no real concept of prices and originally thought it would take several million—if it was only going to be two or three hundred thousand, he could easily front the money himself. His family routinely spent that much just casually buying luxury brand items.

But he obviously couldn’t offer this directly to Mu Qing’s face; it would hurt the other man’s pride.

Having known him for so long, Qi Tongzhou also knew of Mu Qing’s situation: an orphan living with his uncle. His background wasn’t really much better than Chen Wengang’s, and he certainly wasn’t as well-off. Both of them seemed to possess a kind of noble aloofness, which couldn’t have been easy to maintain.

Qi Tongzhou even considered helping out secretly behind the scenes, so there would be no need for the other party to know.

Pressing the thought down for now, the two continued to eat. As they chatted, it was mostly Qi Tongzhou driving the conversation. Remembering what he had heard from other students today, he suddenly asked, “Oh right, do you know about that ‘Campus Something Star’ selection our school is running?”

He didn’t notice Mu Qing’s expression subtly freeze for a moment: “You mean ‘Campus Star’. What about it?”

“Do you know where the link is?” Qi Tongzhou was very excited. “It sounds quite interesting, but there were too many people this morning, so I didn’t ask clearly. Did you know Wengang is a candidate? They say his votes make him very likely to win the championship. I want to see the event page.”

“It’s on the school’s official website.”

“Great, let me take a look.”

However, upon opening the page, Qi Tongzhou revealed the exact same expression Zheng Maoxun had, though he was even more embarrassed—because of what he had just said.

“Eh, so you are also a candidate.” Fortunately, Qi Tongzhou reacted quickly, feigning a look of pleasant surprise. “And your votes are so high too! I must say, you’re too modest! A future Campus Star—why haven’t I ever heard you mention this?”

“It’s nothing worth mentioning, and it’s not that high,” Mu Qing said flatly. “I’m not as popular as Chen Wengang.”

“You can’t say that…”

“It’s the truth.”

“I’m sorry, are you angry?”

“I’m not.”

Qi Tongzhou thought to himself, Oh crap, but it was an honest mistake. How was he supposed to know they were both candidates in competition? Speaking like that just now definitely made the other person uncomfortable. Yet, he faintly felt that if the person sitting across from him was Chen Wengang, he definitely wouldn’t be this petty.

He cracked a joke, trying to lighten the mood: “Too bad I don’t have a student ID yet, so I don’t have any votes. Otherwise, next semester…”

“There’s no need,” Mu Qing said, coldness already written all over his face. “I never understood the point of this kind of activity anyway. Hanging people up like commodities to be judged and evaluated, deciding who is better based solely on their looks—is that interesting?”

He raised his voice slightly, threw his fork on the table, and got up to leave the restaurant.

Qi Tongzhou hurriedly went up and grabbed him: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s all because I spoke without thinking.”

People nearby looked over upon hearing the noise. Probably not wanting to attract attention either, Mu Qing finally sat back down with him.

Qi Tongzhou’s continuous apologies finally managed to soften the other’s expression.

But then Mu Qing suddenly smiled bitterly at him: “Am I being very petty?”

Qi Tongzhou was stunned and quickly said: “No, no. I was the one who said the wrong thing first.”

Mu Qing shook his head: “No, you don’t understand. I didn’t even expect myself to be so calculative over such a small thing. Actually, I didn’t have any conflict with Chen Wengang initially, but, you know? That feeling when you suddenly realize that someone familiar beside you is just so much better than you.”

This left Qi Tongzhou not knowing how to reply, but it didn’t make him feel repulsed. On the contrary, in the past, Mu Qing had always given him a sense of detachment, keeping him at arm’s length. By suddenly revealing his true side, it made Qi Tongzhou feel trusted, instantly drawing their relationship much closer.

In the end, he consoled him for a long time until Mu Qing finally smiled. Before they parted, Mu Qing solemnly apologized to him: “I know it’s my own problem. I didn’t adjust my mindset properly and ended up venting on you instead. I’m sorry. Let me treat you to a meal next time.”

How could Qi Tongzhou mind? “That’s how it should be between friends. It’s better to vent out any negative emotions.”

He added sincerely, “If you have any more upsetting things in the future, you can always use me as a trash can to vent to.”

The summer days were muggy, and the weather forecast predicted continuous rain in the coming days, reminding citizens to be careful of slippery roads and to carry rain gear.

The Houren Special Education School, currently in preparation, was located on Shengtang Street in the old city district.

The relevant department of the government’s Welfare Bureau had approved a building for the school’s use. It was originally an unfinished building project; after the government took over, it was rebuilt and expanded. Later, its planned purpose was changed. Geographically, it was situated at the center point of several designated welfare homes, making it convenient in every aspect.

When Huo Niansheng looked inside through the back door of a classroom, Chen Wengang was in the middle of a meeting with several colleagues, deeply engaged in a back-and-forth discussion.

It seemed there was a divergence of opinions on some matters.

The school was recruiting teachers and school staff. The former undoubtedly required detailed background checks. The acting head proposed that the scope of the investigation should be expanded to all onboarded employees, including but not limited to all utility and miscellaneous staff responsible for cleaning, utilities, boiler, kitchen, and drivers.

But someone felt that this process was too complicated, the recruitment cost too high, and it wasn’t very realistic to implement.

Receiving a message from Huo Niansheng, Chen Wengang turned his head and met his eyes through the glass of the back window.

He gave a faint smile, turned his head back, and raised his hand: “I agree with Eden.”

The lady named Eden was the one who had proposed doing background checks on all school staff: “Not only must we do it, but we can never be too detailed.”

The person across argued: “I lean towards just requiring a certificate of no criminal record, which should be enough. Our cleaning and driving staff are all outsourced, and personnel are frequently rotated. If we have to investigate every single cleaner who comes in, where will we find the energy and time?”

She insisted: “But we’re not running a business. Costs need to be controlled, but not in these aspects.”

Finally, Chen Wengang backed her up: “Look at it from another angle. The school will be taking in special needs children. Most of them won’t be able to express themselves if they are bullied, and some might not even understand that they are being bullied. If a vicious incident like sexual assault were to occur, we would have been the ones who let the executioner in with our own hands. That’s a scenario I, for one, don’t even dare to imagine.”

As soon as these words were spoken, the person opposite’s expression flickered, and they didn’t offer any more rebuttals, considering a consensus reached.

“Then this rule is settled,” Eden said. “Wengang, continue reading down the bylaws.”

Half an hour later, everything that needed to be discussed was wrapped up, and the people in the room stood up to adjourn the meeting.

Only outside the classroom did Chen Wengang introduce the two: “This is Eden, Luo Suwei, the current acting head of the school.”

Huo Niansheng shook her hand politely.

Luo Suwei was experienced and sophisticated. She assessed Huo Niansheng up and down—first determining that he was wealthy, silently drawing an equal sign between him and “potential donor.” Smiling, she instructed Chen Wengang, “Show Mr. Huo around. There are still matters at the foundation, I need to head back.”

Chen Wengang bid her farewell: “Take care.”

Huo Niansheng had his hands in his pockets, looking around.

The classroom was freshly painted, the walls bright and vivid, with foam mats on the floor and low handrails installed around the perimeter. There were no desks like those in typical schools, only a row of small, rounded chairs by the wall. Not a single sharp angle could be found in the room.

Just now, a group of adults had been huddled in these tiny chairs with their legs bent, holding their meeting.

Chen Wengang led him out the door: “Because all the furniture hasn’t arrived yet and there aren’t enough office chairs, we could only borrow the classroom for now.”

This special education school was still in a semi-finished state, not even fully equipped with basic office functions, so naturally, the others had left quickly as well.

The entire building was empty, leaving only the two of them. Their footsteps echoed in the hallway, the click-clack sounding exceptionally hollow.

The setting sun shone through a window at one end. Its warm tones aged the freshly painted walls, adding a vintage filter to the scene.

Chen Wengang took him past the classrooms one by one, pushing open a door to show him the sensory integration room. Huo Niansheng gave everything a cursory glance, but gradually an illusion blossomed within him—that he could walk alongside Chen Wengang like this until the end of time. The thought made him feel both warm and melancholic.

Reaching the last room on this floor, he reached out and embraced Chen Wengang, pressing him somewhat roughly against the wall for a kiss.

Chen Wengang restrainedly pushed him away: “Don’t mess around. Can’t you see there are security cameras overhead?”

But the cameras undoubtedly hadn’t been activated yet. Huo Niansheng was unreserved: “The rest of today belongs to me, hmm?”

His eyes clearly spelled out what was going to happen. Chen Wengang’s heartbeat suddenly quickened. Interlocking his fingers with Huo Niansheng’s, he said, “Wait for me to lock the door first.”

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