Some people you must be cruel to when the time calls for it.
Since she started teaching at the school, Jin Yan had changed a great deal. Compared with the aloof, glamorous woman the tabloids had shown, she was unexpectedly approachable now — her face always softened by a practiced, gentle smile when she dealt with students.
One of the classmates — the sort who liked to score points at others’ expense — shot a pointed look at Ye Yanxi. Ye felt the malice like an alarm in her chest and already guessed what was coming.
As if on cue, the girl drawled, “Teacher Jin, I heard… you used to be engaged to the CEO of the Xiao Group. Is that true?”
Silence fell like a held breath across the classroom. Everyone had read the gossip about Jin Yan’s past with Xiao Yu, but out loud, in front of the woman concerned, no one had dared to ask. The Xiao Group had only just released their statement; Ye Yanxi was the man’s current wife and she sat in the room. The question was an obvious attempt to humiliate Ye by dragging up Jin’s history.
Jin Yan’s smile stiffened, snapping away. Her fingers tightened so hard on the textbook that the knuckles whitened. Ye’s face, too, drained. She wanted to intervene, to say something, but she had no rightful place in the conversation. Any words from her would only thicken the awkwardness.
All eyes pressed on Jin, awaiting her reply.
After a moment that stretched like a taut wire, Jin Yan spoke — composed, dignified, the effortless poise of someone used to public scrutiny. “You said it yourself — it was in the past.”
The classmate, brazen and merciless, didn’t stop. She leaned into the knife. “I think, compared with the current Mrs. Xiao, Teacher Jin would suit Mr. Xiao better. Don’t you all agree?”
She scanned the room for agreement, triumphant at having stirred the pot. Instead, faces turned away or flickered with contempt. A few students regarded her as though she’d grown a second head.
The girl faltered when her gaze dropped and landed on the wheelchair beneath Jin. Realization flushed across her features; some things are better left unsaid. She tried to backtrack. “Well, I mean, your leg — it’s not the same now. Maybe you feel unfit for him, but back then—”
Physical disability had always been an open wound for Jin Yan. The classmate’s words hit it cleanly. The intended humiliation had backfired, making Jin recoil inward in pain rather than expose Ye.
Tender as she was used to being, Jin’s face darkened. She swallowed anger and said, with controlled severity, “That’s enough. This is class time. Irrelevant matters should not be discussed here.”
The classmate, startled by Jin’s sudden firmness, slumped into her seat, throwing a sneer at Ye the way one might toss away a scrap. Ye, feeling responsible — after all, the whole scandal stemmed from her and Xiao Yu going public — waited until the lesson ended and followed Jin out of the classroom.
They moved toward a quieter wing of the building where fewer students wandered. Ye called softly, “Teacher Jin.”
Jin turned. She pushed the wheelchair to the side and regarded Ye with a face still trace-hardened by the confrontation. “Do you need something?”
Ye’s voice trembled with remorse. “I… I wanted to apologize.”
Jin’s laugh was slight, brittle. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I don’t blame you.” Her tone was wry, self-effacing.
“But this all started because of me. And yesterday, when I publicly announced my relationship with Xiao Yu… I should have thought—” Ye stopped. Bringing it up again would only reopen Jin’s wound.
Jin forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s a small storm. I used to be a diplomat — I’ve weathered worse than a tabloid headline. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
“I still have to say sorry.” Ye folded her hands. “I—”
“You don’t owe me anything.” Jin shook her head. “We’re even. You and I have said our share of unpleasant things in the past. Let’s call it square.”
Relief softened Ye’s expression. “Thank you, Teacher Jin.” She meant it. Then she excused herself and turned to leave.
For a heartbeat, Jin watched her go. As Ye’s back disappeared into the corridor, the warmth drained from Jin’s eyes and was replaced by a cold, steady focus that clung to the sight of Ye’s long, uninjured legs. Within them flickered a lonely, bitter resentment — not mere envy, but something more like a hunger that had been starved and now burned.
Jin wheeled herself back to the office, fingers trembling. She knocked over a teacup in her hurry; porcelain shattered on the floor and tea spattered like scattered pieces of the mood she tried to hold steady.
When Ye returned to the classroom, the instigator had taken her seat with an insolent look aimed at Ye. Ye walked up and planted herself in front of the girl without a word. The student lifted her chin. “What does the wife of the Xiao Group want?”
Ye glared, wordless for a long beat, then leaned in until her lips were close to the girl’s ear. “Since you know who I am, you should know what the Xiao Group means in S City. If I said a few casual things in Mr. Xiao’s ear, what do you think would happen?”
Her voice chilled, measured as a blade. “You might find no company willing to hire you for your internship. Your parents’ jobs…” The rest was left to hang, the implication as clear as a verdict.
The girl’s face went white. “What are you saying?”
Ye smiled, soft and dangerous. “You should make a guess.”
The student tried to bolt upright, but Ye’s hand dropped lightly but firmly on her shoulder. “If you keep provoking me, if anyone tells me you’re spreading rumors, I’ll make sure you can’t stay in S City.”
Then Ye, as if nothing had happened, picked up the textbook and resumed her seat with an air of casual indifference.
Rage flared in the student’s chest; she hammered her fist on the desk. Ye glanced up once, eyes cool and warning. The blow was swallowed; the girl folded into defeated silence. Nobody wanted to pick a fight with the Xiao Group’s wife. For the sake of her future and her family, she choked down every retort.
Satisfied, Ye sat. She had never been the kind to pick fights; she often let things go because fewer waves meant less trouble. But letting people trample you only encouraged them. Sometimes you must be uncompromising. Sometimes being kind is a luxury you can’t afford.
She didn’t know that across town, in the Xiao Group’s executive suite, Xiao Yu had told Fang Xu, “Print out the list of everyone who’s sent messages or called Xiao Xi.” According to Fang, Ye might be soft with some people — but Xiao Yu had never been that generous.
At the hospital, Huo Lin had woken. Ye caught the news right after class and immediately called Xiao Yu, bubbling with relief; he answered with a clipped, unenthusiastic “Mm.”
Ye didn’t let him off the hook. She nagged and cajoled until he agreed to come with her. At the school gates she arrived full of energy, dragging a reluctant Xiao Yu to the car. When they reached the hospital he tried to hang back. “You go on in. I’m not coming up.”
She hauled him from the car with a scowl. “We’re already here. Come with me.”
He strode in reluctantly, a man who preferred to hide whatever he really felt. Yet from the way he kept close, even a step behind, it was obvious he was more concerned than he’d let on. Xiao Yu — rich, powerful, and maddeningly contrary — was the sort of man who said one thing and felt the opposite.