Chapter 5 - Who is Lying
Zong Yan walked into the new classroom and chose a seat at random. As she sat, the students already occupied in the surrounding desks instinctively shifted their weight, their chairs scraping against the floor as they created a vacuum of space around her.
They weren't stupid. They had seen the way Si Jiang looked at her—the way he focused his attention on her, whether intentionally or not. It wasn't born of kindness. A man like him understood exactly how much influence he wielded; he knew how to pull the strings so that others would do the dirty work he disdained to touch himself. To be near Zong Yan was to invite trouble. They weren't necessarily cruel people, but they were pragmatic. They chose self-preservation, content to remain as silent bystanders. Besides, Zong Yan herself possessed no charm that made them want to bridge the gap.
When the professor entered and caught sight of Zong Yan, his face instantly hardened into a mask of disapproval.
Midway through the lecture, while discussing the great figures of architectural history, he sighed with profound emotion. "Success does not happen by accident. These masters succeeded because they were relentless, humble, and, most importantly, diligent. Regardless of their innate talent, they never slacked. But you..."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the room before narrowing. "You were all talented enough to get into this university, but some of you think that scoring well once or twice gives you the right to indulge in pleasure. Even the masters understood the importance of respecting their teachers and the craft. And yet, here you are—skipping classes, arriving late, aiming for the bare minimum to pass. The moral standards of this generation are truly in decline!"
He spoke with heartbreaking sincerity, but his eyes were fixed venomously on Zong Yan. She had expected the stubborn professor to be displeased, but she hadn't anticipated a public tirade.
"I emphasized this in our very first session," he continued, his voice rising. "In my class, no lateness, no proxy signatures. If you cut class, you fail. It seems some of you didn't take that seriously."
"Professor."
Zong Yan stood up. The elderly man, his face etched with the harsh lines of a lifetime of strictness, looked at her coldly.
"Do you have something to say?"
"I didn't skip class on purpose yesterday," Zong Yan said, her voice steady despite the weight of the room's collective gaze. "I didn't know the classroom had been changed."
The professor frowned. "The notice for the room change was sent out a full day in advance."
"I didn't see it."
"An excuse!"
"I am not in the class group chat," she explained, "so I couldn't see the notification."
A class officer suddenly grew flustered. "What? You're not in the group? Why didn't you say something earlier?"
Zong Yan turned her head sharply toward the speaker. The student immediately averted their eyes, unable to meet her gaze.
The professor looked between them, his suspicion mounting. "Why aren't you in the group?"
"I was kicked out," Zong Yan stated plainly.
"Ah? Who kicked her out by mistake? I'll look into it after class," the officer stammered.
The professor wasn't mollified. "Even if you aren't in the group, couldn't you have asked another classmate?"
Zong Yan remained silent. What was she supposed to say? That she had been systematically isolated? This professor wouldn't accept that as a valid reason. To him, social friction was a personal failing.
"If your relationship with your peers is so poor, shouldn't you reflect on your own behavior?" the professor asked, his tone dripping with condescension. "Professional ability is important, but interpersonal skills are a core competency in society. If no one likes you, you need to find the reason within yourself."
Zong Yan felt a cold irony. This man was ranked number one on the campus "Teachers to Avoid" list for his archaic views, yet here he was, delivering a lecture on "likability."
She opened her mouth to speak again, but the professor waved her off with a gesture of pure annoyance. She sat back down heavily. Her thick bangs fell forward, masking her expression, but the sound of her pen slashing across the textbook page—a sharp, tearing *skritch*—betrayed the turmoil beneath her calm exterior.
A few students stole glances at her. Any flickering embers of guilt they felt were quickly extinguished by self-interest. There were only so many slots for the scholarship; with Zong Yan out of the running, their own chances improved.
When the bell rang, Zong Yan hurried after the professor. "Professor, I really didn't mean to miss class. It wasn't voluntary."
The old man didn't want to hear it. "There are ten thousand reasons for skipping class, and not one of them is ever 'intentional' according to the student."
"I... I wasn't feeling well yesterday, but I still came to campus. I spent the whole time searching for the room but couldn't find it in time. There are security cameras in the teaching building; you can verify my story." Zong Yan was speaking more than she ever had. She couldn't afford to lose that grant.
"You'd actually ask a teacher to check surveillance over something so trivial?" a voice cried out in exaggerated shock from behind her.
Zong Yan’s eyes darkened. She turned to see her roommates approaching.
"Professor, Zong Yan really didn't mean to skip," one of them said, though her tone was far from helpful.
The professor squinted. "And you are?"
"Zong Yan's roommates. I remember yesterday at noon, she got a phone call. Someone asked her to meet at South Street. Maybe she just got held up and came back late."
"That's not—" Zong Yan’s heart sank. She tried to interject.
"What do you mean 'not'? You went on a date and skipped class? Hmph, the youth of today!"
In the middle of this tension, another voice drifted over lazily. "No wonder you looked so pale yesterday. I thought you were sick, but were you just fighting with a boyfriend? Or maybe a breakup? Classmate Zong, take care of yourself. There are plenty of men out there, but you shouldn't neglect your studies."
Zong Yan didn't need to turn around to recognize that voice. Si Jiang. Why was he here?
The professor’s face turned a bruised shade of purple. He refused to listen to another word. "Your participation grade for this term," he barked, "is zero!"
In this course, participation and the final exam were weighted fifty-fifty. Even if Zong Yan scored a perfect hundred on the final, she was guaranteed to fail.
Zong Yan clenched her fists, a dark fire of indignation scorching her reason. However, years of forced suppression eventually allowed her to cool down. Was anger useful? No.
Ignoring her roommates, who were wearing expressions of triumphant glee, she walked past Si Jiang. She saw the mockery dancing in his eyes. "Why?" she asked quietly.
She truly didn't understand. Why did this man constantly target her, both openly and in the shadows? What about her was worth such concentrated loathing?
"Because," Si Jiang said, his lips curling into a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "I. Feel. Like. It."
His eyes were as cold as a serpent's, his smile bordering on the distorted. He looked like a general who had finally won a long-contested war, savoring the thrill of treading upon a hated enemy. He waited for her reaction. Would she cry? Would she scream? Would she beg for mercy? The thought of this "disgusting" woman pleading with him, her dead-water eyes finally rippling with emotion... it was an intoxicating prospect.
His pupils contracted as he scrutinized her face. But then, his smile faltered. The muscles in his jaw tightened.
Why? Why was she still looking at him like that? Why was there no shock, no humiliation? He couldn't even see a spark of the rage he had worked so hard to provoke.
It felt as though the enemy he had just "slain" had reached up from the dirt, grabbed a fallen spear, and driven it through his chest while he was busy celebrating. The person he thought he had broken was looking down on him as if he were nothing more than a piece of insignificant chaff, stepping over him to move on.
He hated it. Why did everyone look at him like that?
"Si Jiang... are you okay?" the girls asked, hovering nervously. They had never seen him look so ghastly—his expression a mix of ferocity and desperate longing.
Si Jiang lowered his head and let out a cold, sharp laugh before storming away, leaving them behind.
Zong Yan went to her remaining classes as if nothing had happened. She sat in her usual corner, silently taking notes. Even though she felt several pairs of burning eyes on her throughout the day, she ignored them. She decided to contact her counselor to see if there was any way to salvage the situation.
She had no idea that the abyss was only getting deeper. She was used to her own solitary world and didn't realize that when the powerful are truly provoked, their retaliation is not something a person like her could withstand.
"I'm sorry, Zong Yan," the counselor said, his expression one of feigned apology. "The professor is very angry, and the department leadership has heard about the incident. Your scholarship... it will likely be reassigned to another student."
Zong Yan bit her lip. "If I told you that I was being bullied? That I was locked in the restroom by the West District track? That the group admin kicked me out to prevent me from seeing the notice? That I spent the whole period searching for the room?"
The counselor gaped at her. "Are you serious?"
Zong Yan looked him straight in the eye, her gaze unwavering. The counselor bit his lip, pacing back and forth as his expression shifted through various shades of discomfort. "Do you have evidence?"
Zong Yan froze. Evidence? Did she need proof of being mistreated? The concept was foreign to her. "The surveillance in the teaching building can at least prove I was looking for the room."
"No! That won't do!" The counselor seemed to find his footing. "Without hard evidence, you can't just make these claims. Our school prides itself on its atmosphere. We've never had a reported case of bullying. Our students are the elite, chosen for their character as much as their grades. You need proof!"
He leaned forward, his voice turning sharp. "Do you realize the impact these lies could have on the school's reputation? Just to save a scholarship, you're willing to damage the bond between your classmates? I didn't think you were this kind of person. I've already spoken to other students. Even Si Jiang testified that you skipped class maliciously. I don't know how a girl like you has the face to lie like this!"
The verbal lashing was relentless. Even Zong Yan, as detached as she was, felt a sense of the absurd rising within her.
"So, everything is my fault?" She pointed to herself. The birthmark under her eye felt like a brand, a target that invited nothing but abuse.
"Who else's? Are you saying the professor is lying? That Si Jiang is lying? That the whole class is lying just to target *you*?" The counselor looked her up and down with a bizarre, judgmental gaze, as if to say: *Look at yourself. Are you even worth the effort?*
"If you don't admit your mistake, we will have to re-evaluate your eligibility for financial aid as well!"
Zong Yan left the office. She walked into the hallway and looked up at the clear blue sky. Did this impartial sunlight ever actually reach her?
With finals approaching, the academic workload was heavy, but Zong Yan had to find a new part-time job. She had a mortgage to pay, high-interest loans she'd taken out for her foster father's medical treatments, and her own student loans—which she had been saving for since her freshman year.
She checked the shops around the school. Restaurants and milk tea shops required too many hours for too little pay. Entertainment venues wanted "pretty" college girls and wouldn't look twice at her. Finally, on a street not far from her unfinished building, she found a bar looking for part-time night shift help. The pay was decent.
Zong Yan did something rare: she tried to tidy herself up. She trimmed her bangs, used an old powder puff left behind by her biological mother to partially mask her birthmark, and bit her lips until they were a flush red before going in for the interview.
The manager studied her for a long time. "Pull your hair back. Lift your head."
Zong Yan obeyed.
The manager’s lips curled into a smirk. "Interesting. You can start training tonight. Xiao Qing, show her the ropes."
"Yes, Manager."
Zong Yan was surprised; she hadn't expected to get the job. Before the manager left, he turned back to her. "That birthmark of yours is very prominent. But if we add the right touches, it could create a very... unique chemical reaction."
Zong Yan didn't understand what he meant, and she didn't care to.
At the end of the month, she sat down to balance her books. With the June financial aid, her tutoring income, the money from selling her design drafts, campus commissions, and the new bar job, her repayment plan was still under control.
As long as nothing else changed, she could pay off all her debts by graduation. On that day, she would finally be free.
***
