The new vice principal at Yudong?

Today, Chen Xuan did something rare—she put on makeup.

Li An, intrigued by the novelty, stole a few more glances at her. Chen Xuan’s facial features were already striking: a long, full central face, a slender, straight nose, distinct bone structure, and a sharp jawline. Just a touch of makeup immediately gave her a commanding presence.

“Have you eaten?” Chen Xuan asked, cradling a cup of soy milk.

Li An nodded, his gaze drifting to the steamed buns Chen Xuan had set on the corner of the table. “Why aren’t you eating the buns?”

“They’re for my lunch,” Chen Xuan replied.

Li An chuckled, “So does that mean I’ve treated you to two meals now?”

Chen Xuan took a playful sip of her soy milk, her eyes sparkling. “How do you figure?”

“Look,” Li An began counting on his fingers. “I owed you fried dough sticks, and now I’ve repaid you with soy milk. So doesn’t that mean you now owe me a lunch?”

Just then, the office door burst open.

“Come on, come on, look at the time, you all really know how to sit tight,” called a bespectacled man, poking his head in energetically. “Meeting time, meeting time.”

That was Lin Pengfei—he always liked to make his presence known this way, convinced he was on familiar terms with every office.

But it was time to get moving. The other three stood up in turn. Li An casually reached into the right side of the second drawer on his left and pulled out his meeting notebook.

As they were leaving, Chen Xuan passed by Li An and whispered softly, “I’ll owe you for now.”

...

The week at Yudong began with the Monday morning meeting.

At precisely 8 a.m., everyone alive on campus gathered in the small conference room. The three junior group leaders, led by Huang Juan, sat in the front row. The remaining teachers and administrative staff took their seats behind them according to seniority.

The four from the west office sat in the last row, joined by Lin Pengfei and two other young brass instructors.

The seven of them made up the new generation of teachers at Yudong.

Everyone chattered about the agenda for today’s meeting.

Before long, Old Dong entered the meeting room, followed by a middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses.

The room gradually quieted.

“Who’s that?” Ma Tao whispered to Xu Hongxin.

Xu Hongxin tossed the question to Lin Pengfei. “You got here earlier.”

“No idea,” Lin Pengfei shrugged. “Never seen him before. Maybe he’s the new boss.”

Sure enough, he’d guessed right.

Old Dong stepped forward and left the center seat open. He scanned the room, then began, “Allow me to formally introduce our new vice principal for the Yudong campus—Principal Qin Yong. Let’s give him a warm welcome.”

Applause broke out at once, but everyone clapping was filled with questions.

In the front row, the more senior teachers, including Huang Juan, immediately marked a big question in their minds. How had something this significant happened without any of them being told in advance?

And a vice principal? As far as they could recall, not just Yudong, but none of the Guangyuan campuses had ever had a vice principal position.

Old Dong himself had only found out on his way to work, about half an hour prior. He was driving his newly purchased Passat when the main campus called, instructing him to receive someone downstairs.

Since the resignation of Yudong’s principal at the start of the year, the school had been without a principal for nearly six months. Some of Old Dong’s close associates speculated that the higher-ups weren’t sending anyone because the position was as good as his.

But Old Dong knew better—he hadn’t yet passed the hurdle of last semester’s student renewal rates.

And now, suddenly, a vice principal had arrived, catching him completely off guard.

When the applause faded, Qin Yong first turned to Director Dong and corrected him, “Just a moment, Director Dong. I’m only the vice principal. Who knows, perhaps the real principal will arrive tomorrow. Let’s not confuse things from the outset.”

With a touch of self-deprecating humor in his magnetic voice, Qin Yong’s first words immediately relaxed the atmosphere. Quite a few thought to themselves that this new vice principal had a sense of humor.

But Dong Zhaozhao’s smile was a little stiff. He caught the undertone in the remark and could only manage a bitter laugh—clearly, the days ahead would not be easy.

Qin Yong continued, “I know my arrival was rather abrupt, and I didn’t get to greet everyone in advance. Let’s not delay the meeting; we’ll get acquainted afterwards.”

He offered a slight bow, then gestured for Dong to proceed. “Director Dong, please continue hosting the meeting. I’ll sit in and observe how things work here at Yudong.”

With that, Qin Yong took a seat in the last row, his gaze sweeping the room before settling beside Li An.

“Good morning, sir,” Li An greeted him quietly and politely.

Chen Xuan, seated nearby, admired Li An’s composure. Were it her, she’d likely still be pondering whether to address him as principal or vice principal.

Qin Yong smiled and nodded. Noticing that among the young faces in the last row, only Li An held a notebook—with “Yudong Meeting Minutes” written in neat, flowing script on the cover—he felt quietly approving. His gaze then drifted to the lower right corner of the cover.

“Li An, lovely handwriting,” Qin Yong remarked, producing his own black notebook.

Without the usual small talk, Dong Zhaonan jumped straight into summarizing Yudong’s previous week.

There was only one word for it: dismal.

This week’s class consumption rate was less than a third of the previous week’s, meaning well over half the children hadn’t attended lessons.

In training institutions, all revenue prior to lesson consumption is counted as liabilities. In other words, if a child enrolls for 50 lessons, paying 8,000 yuan, that 8,000 counts as a liability until the lessons are used. Only the revenue from attended classes can be counted towards profit—and that’s before deducting operational costs.

So Yudong was operating at an absolute loss this week.

Still, everyone understood. Every year, before each semester’s final exams, class attendance dropped sharply for about two weeks as parents kept their children home to study. There was nothing anyone could do.

But today was different—with the new leadership present, Dong Zhaonan needed to make it clear the problem wasn’t with his own work.

After a rather successful round of “playing the victim,” the meeting moved on to its first real topic: additional classes for the summer exams.

Extra exam prep classes are a classic tactic for training centers to accelerate lesson consumption. Most parents place immense value on exam certifications, and some insist their children study music solely for that coveted Level Ten certificate.

So the institution capitalized on this mindset, scheduling as many extra classes as possible before exams. Some training centers would have children attending every day before the tests.

Yudong was no exception. Old Dong instructed the group leaders to submit each teacher’s exam prep class schedule by Wednesday.

The preceding information was familiar to all.

Next, the meeting turned to the issue everyone cared about most.

“Regarding our annual selection of Yudong’s Outstanding Teachers—”