Song Shiqian was jolted awake, and through his daze he made out the figure at the podium.
The brim of the hat was still crooked, but he had already instinctively sat up straight.
His body moved faster than his brain—hat off, stuffed into the desk drawer along with the unfinished coffee beside his hand.
Why would Ninth Uncle come here?
Song Shiqian knew his uncle was selecting an heir, and that he himself was on the candidate list, but he’d never imagined that when assessing the heirs, he would personally come to Shenghua.
He swallowed, hurriedly pulled out his books, and smoothed his hair to look more alert.
Shen Jinxin, equally stiff, tidied her hair as well and quietly withdrew the hand that had been resting on Song Shiqian’s arm.
Lu Jiu Ye coming to teach his nephew personally, she could think of no other reason.
After all, everyone in their circle knew that Ninth Master was choosing an heir, and Song Shiqian was at the top of the list.
She wouldn’t dare act too boldly under Ninth Master’s nose.
Mu Suihe sat in the second-to-last row by the window.
When Lu Yuzhi entered, she was flipping through her calculus textbook. Hearing the sound, she looked up and gave him an extra glance.
With his glasses on, he seemed different from yesterday.
The lenses concealed the innate oppressiveness in those eyes. He seemed calmer overall, without yesterday’s condescending arrogance.
“Roll call.” Lu Yuzhi opened the roster and read quickly, name after name.
When he reached Mu Suihe’s name, his pen tip paused on the paper for a beat, and he glanced up to scan the room.
The young lady raised her hand slightly—slender, pale fingers flashing once in the sunlight streaming through the window before withdrawing.
She answered in a soft, gentle voice: “Here.”
He looked away and continued down the list.
No one in the classroom dared to whisper; everyone sat straighter than the next.
But the hands typing below the desks never stopped.
Sharing intelligence, speculating intentions, seeking advantage for their families.
And of course, there were also those mindlessly screaming in the girls’ group chats.
After the news spread that Lu Yuzhi was teaching calculus at Shenghua, the upper circles of Hongjing were in an uproar for days.
First, some refused to believe it. “Lu Jiu Ye teaching calculus? What a joke. Any single project he handles is worth tens of billions, and he’s going to lecture a bunch of kids on derivatives?”
Then someone posted a candid photo—Lu Yuzhi in rimless glasses, back turned, writing formulas on the blackboard.
His silhouette, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, was stretched tall and straight by the camera lens.
Faced with the established fact, the skepticism turned into a different kind of commotion.
Over the next few days, the heirs of every family discovered their weekends had been canceled.
Street racing, clubbing, yacht parties—all were vetoed one by one by their parents, replaced by towering stacks of calculus workbooks and past Olympiad math competition papers.
A young master of the Zhou Family posted on his Moments, complaining that he’d drilled Olympiad math until two in the morning.
The attached photo showed densely covered scratch paper and a cup of black coffee drained to the bottom.
Beneath it, several fellow sufferers lined up to reply:
Same.
Same black coffee.
Same scratch paper.
Overnight, the fees of Hongjing’s best calculus tutors multiplied several times over.
But these young masters and young ladies, usually so rebellious and insufferably arrogant, for once didn’t make a single fuss.
They all understood tacitly: opportunity favors the prepared.
If one day Ninth Master asked a question in class and one person stammered while another answered fluently, the difference in impression points would be no small matter.
And if some lucky individual happened to catch Ninth Master’s eye, their family’s future would be boundless.
The Meng Family villa was in the neighborhood right next to the Shen Family’s.
Their family wanted to cooperate with the Lu Family, but had been struggling to even get a meeting with Ninth Master himself.
Meng Wantang was the youngest daughter of the Meng Family, with two older brothers above her, raised from childhood in the palm of the whole family’s hand.
Her life philosophy was eating, drinking, and having fun—no studying. Her exam scores hovered around the passing line year-round.
Her father, Meng Huaiyuan, turned a blind eye to this, and her eldest brother, Meng Linchuan, would occasionally nag her a couple of times, only to be fobbed off by her acting cute.
But today was different.
Meng Huaiyuan came back from the corporate headquarters. He had just changed his shoes and walked into the living room when he saw his little princess—who normally needed a servant to carry even her schoolbag—sitting properly upright in front of the coffee table, with a brand-new copy of Advanced Mathematics spread open before her.
She was chewing on her pen cap, her brows knitted tightly, and on that pretty little face of hers was a seriousness she had never shown before.
Beside her were stacked several workbooks and study guides.
Meng Huaiyuan stood at the doorway for a good while, making sure he hadn’t walked into the wrong house.
“Wantang?” He walked over and sat down across from her. “Are you feeling unwell today?”
Meng Wantang looked up, the pen cap still in her mouth, her cheeks puffed out. “Nope.”
“I asked Big Brother to find me an advanced math tutor. Tutoring starts today.”
Meng Huaiyuan exchanged a glance with her eldest brother, Meng Linchuan.
Meng Linchuan spread his hands. “She brought it up herself. It shocked me too.”
Meng Huaiyuan could roughly guess the reason.
He took the pen out of his daughter’s hand and set it on the table, his tone gentle. “Wantang, if you don’t want to study, you don’t have to.”
“Family matters are for your father and your eldest brother to worry about. Your brothers are all very capable—we don’t need you to make this kind of sacrifice over such a small thing.”
“The Lu Family is wonderful, but if we truly can’t reach that high, I don’t want to see you wrong yourself.”
Meng Wantang shook her head. From that mouth that had only ever been used for acting spoiled came words that even her eldest brother could hardly imagine: “Dad, you’re wrong.”
“The fine clothes and good food I enjoy exist because Dad works hard earning money outside, and Big Brother and Second Brother work diligently at the company.”
“The opportunity now may be slim, and the competition fierce.”
“But as long as there’s hope, I need to be ready at any moment to do my part for the family and help the Meng Family rise even higher.”
The living room fell silent for a long while.
Madam Meng came down the stairs, heard her daughter’s words, and hurried over to gather Meng Wantang into her arms. “My little darling, you’ve grown up.”
Meng Huaiyuan looked at his daughter, then at his eldest son.
Meng Linchuan leaned against the sofa armrest, the corners of his mouth slowly curving upward.
His little sister usually shopped and swiped her credit card ten times more diligently than she studied.
But when the family truly needed her, she saw things more clearly than anyone.
“Not raised in vain,” Meng Huaiyuan said quietly.
He stood up, walked over, and ruffled the top of his daughter’s hair, with a hint of half-joking pride. “People out there always say I, Meng Huaiyuan, raised my daughter to be useless. They really ought to come hear this, my daughter is inferior to no one.”
Meng Wantang tilted her face up. “Of course not.”