Following their brief encounter at school, Xiao Fengtai remained noncommittal regarding Jiang Tong’s apology. Jiang Tong, regretting his own impulsiveness, did not dare to harass him further. Fortunately, Lu She was the type of person who valued money over pride. Upon learning that Jiang Tong might have failed in his mission, Lu She launched a relentless barrage of phone calls and text messages. He wailed about Jiang Tong’s deep remorse, his own difficult position, and his profound gratitude toward his benefactor. His singular goal was to beg Young Master Xiao to be the bigger person and overlook their faults. Even if Jiang Tong’s chapter was closed, he hoped Xiao Fengtai wouldn't let it affect him, Lu She.
Lu She was fully prepared to grind his self-respect into the dust. To his surprise, while Xiao Fengtai’s tone remained as cold as ever, his attitude was remarkably magnanimous. He simply instructed Lu She to tell Jiang Tong to come to the Xiao residence as usual this weekend. Once the trial period was over, someone would naturally step in to sign a new contract with Jiang Tong.
As for Lu She, because of his poor handling of the situation, his 5,000 SGD bonus had gone up in smoke. However, Xiao Fengtai mentioned he had several friends whose Chinese was abysmal and were in desperate need of one-on-one tutoring. If Lu She was interested, he could provide the introductions.
"You’re one lucky kid," Lu She said over the phone, sounding quite indignant. "I just don't get it. What does Kenneth see in you?"
"Look at you—you’re not a professional, you’re not as handsome as me, your personality isn't as good, and don't even get me started on your physique." He let out a long sigh. "Heaven is truly unjust."
Jiang Tong couldn't help but laugh, offering Lu She a few choice words of comfort. It was lucky they were speaking over the phone; had Lu She seen the irrepressible smile on his face, he might have been driven to a fit of rage and tried to beat him up.
He wasn't gloating. Jiang Tong justified it to himself: as someone taking on his first real challenge and preparing for it with all his heart, receiving a student’s validation was always a source of joy.
Even if that validation was convoluted and given somewhat reluctantly.
As they entered the critical period before school applications, neither coursework nor lab experiments could be neglected. Most of those seen burying their heads in study at the university library until the early hours of the morning were third-year students preparing to boost their GPAs or take the GRE. Yet, no matter how tight his schedule became, Jiang Tong always found a way to squeeze out an hour to teach Xiao Fengtai poetry.
It wasn't just for the money. Jiang Tong knew in his heart that he truly enjoyed being with Xiao Fengtai.
Before Xiao Fengtai, Jiang Tong had held several tutoring jobs, teaching science to children from middle-class families. Although those teenagers differed greatly in age and appearance, they were all subtly similar in certain ways—they were taciturn in class, pulled out their phones to scroll through Facebook the moment they had a free second, and were filled with a deep-seated loathing for their schoolwork. Despite their resentment, they were forced to do it, and so, at such a young age, their eyes were filled with the stillness of dead ashes.
Xiao Fengtai was different. Once he shed his facade of rebelliousness, he could be the most ideal student. Compared to his peers, he was calm, sharp, and possessed a mind that was at times whimsical and at others sophisticated enough to startle Jiang Tong. Initially, relying on his native fluency, Jiang Tong could easily handle his questions. But as Xiao Fengtai’s Chinese proficiency improved by leaps and bounds, Jiang Tong found himself having to extend his preparation time again and again.
Jiang Tong felt an inevitable exhaustion. It was like running a marathon; the fatigue was followed by a deep, heartfelt happiness. Xiao Fengtai was like a fruit freshly plucked from a tree—vibrant, full, and containing infinite possibilities within his core.
And he—he had no right to claim this fruit’s glorious, sun-eclipsing future, but he could at least nurture and witness the seedling as it broke through the soil, watching the first flower bloom amidst the gentle winds and rains of spring.
