20. The Sweet Baton

Once again, the phrase echoed in her mind, “If you can’t even afford a cat, how can you talk about dating?” The tiny spark in Chen Xuan’s heart—a flame she hadn’t realized was there—flickered for a moment, and instead of dying out, it burned even brighter. It scorched her lungs as if they were being wrung together.

She drew a deep breath, finally feeling some relief in her chest.

Setting her phone aside, Chen Xuan lay flat and closed her eyes.

The evening breeze blew through the window, lifting the hem of her dress, as if to unveil the secrets hidden beneath her small wings.

There’s no shame in being nearly twenty-four and never having dated.

Just because you haven’t seen a pig run, haven’t you at least seen Peppa Pig?

That night, Chen Xuan slept poorly, as if she had lost an old high school dream overnight.

Back then, she’d imagined the one she liked would be gentle and refined, dressed in a white shirt, preferably able to play the violin, with a sunny smile—a boy who, when he sat beside her, would make the whole world fade away until only she remained.

But the boy in those daydreams seemed to have vanished for good.

...

“Let me reiterate about scheduling classes: starting this week, all academic advisors must confirm class times with parents again the night before every lesson.”

“Additionally, beginning next week, all academic advisors will participate in updating each student’s growth portfolio, ensuring consistent follow-up on every learner’s progress, and working with teachers to craft course plans. All instructors must actively cooperate.”

The new week began with a morning meeting, as usual, and Qin Yong’s voice droned on from the front. Chen Xuan, half-asleep, kept sneaking glances at Li An, who wore a black T-shirt today, his brow tightly furrowed.

The meeting had been going for twenty minutes, and Li An hadn’t looked her way once.

Am I not as attractive as Qin Yong?

Women are like this—once their feelings shift, their whole way of thinking changes too.

If you’ve never seen a pig run, you just haven’t. No matter how fast Peppa Pig runs, it’s still a cartoon.

But truth be told, after this week, Li An did find Qin Yong increasingly agreeable, though today’s announcements were a bit risky.

Involving the academic office in teaching matters was reasonable—they were meant to serve teachers, students, and parents alike. But requiring them to confirm every detail of scheduling down to the last minute? Wasn’t that just spelling out the word “surveillance” for everyone to see?

Qin Yong might as well have said he was assigning someone to monitor every interaction between teachers and parents.

Not only would this drastically increase the academic office’s workload, but it would surely stir up resistance among the teachers.

Teachers are used to their freedom—who wants a leash around their neck all of a sudden?

But then, from a management perspective, given the nature of the education industry, there probably did need to be someone overseeing interactions between teachers and parents.

If there had been such oversight before, perhaps those three students wouldn’t have been so easily poached.

Clearly, Qin Yong was determined to cleanse Yudong’s unhealthy climate.

Li An couldn’t help but look forward to the outcome—would Qin Yong give in to reality, or could Yudong rise again?

For now, he was purely thinking in terms of self-interest.

“According to the main campus’s decision, starting this month, all academic advisors at Yudong will see their referral commission rise from three percent to six percent, and their course renewal commission from one percent to two percent, with an extra two hundred yuan monthly allowance.”

“All instructors’ commissions for successful trial lessons will increase from one percent to three percent, and the commission for course renewals from one percent to three percent as well.”

At last, their commissions were going up!

Even the steamed dumplings at the restaurant downstairs had gone from six yuan three years ago to eight this year, while Yudong’s staff commissions had stayed frozen in time.

As soon as Qin Yong finished, the meeting room buzzed with discussion.

It was a stick, followed by a sweet date.

Everyone understood what was happening, but no one could deny that this “stick” was tempting.

These commission percentages sounded small, but in reality, they meant real money.

Anyone working here had no better options—whether teacher or academic staff, who didn’t want to earn a little more each month?

After the room settled, Qin Yong continued.

“As the link between parents and teachers, I hope our academic advisors can truly be a bridge, demonstrating the value of our Yudong academic department.”

“I want Yudong to reclaim first place in the main campus’s annual performance rankings by the end of this year.”

Old Dong led the applause. Having worked at Yudong for eight years, he was genuinely moved.

As applause faded, Qin Yong sighed quietly. The pay raise had been a long time coming—he’d been constrained by the old principal. But when it came to the academic office, he was determined to make changes.

“Ms. Wang, from now on, I’ll personally handle instructional materials and logistics for the campus. Over the next two months, Director Dong will assist you fully in implementing our new academic office responsibilities.”

“Yes, Principal,” replied a short-haired woman in glasses.

This was Wang Jingya, currently head of the academic office at Yudong. She’d previously worked in marketing, but after the marketing department was merged into the main campus two years ago, she’d moved to academics.

Now, she managed both the academic office and some logistics as well. Outwardly, she showed little reaction, but Mr. Tian Yu’s mood grew even more unsettled.

Wang Jingya was his close ally.

By this point in the meeting, he was fairly certain that Qin must have discovered something in the past week.

Still, he wasn’t afraid. In this matter of poaching students, only a handful of teachers in the east wing office had clean hands.

In the end, evidence had to be produced. Without it, Qin’s suspicions would remain just that—a perceived trend.

With this in mind, Tian Yu felt more at ease.

“The final item on today’s agenda is an update on the five-day progress of the Outstanding Teacher selection.”

“Director Dong, please report on the attendance records for the eight teachers being assessed.”

Old Dong stood and produced the spreadsheet he’d prepared.

“Xu Nana was late Saturday morning—minus two points, current score: ninety-eight.”

“Ni Hongjie, frequent phone use during class on Saturday from two to three p.m.—minus five points, current score: ninety-five.”

“The remaining five teachers are at full marks, one hundred. Please keep up the good work.”

When he finished, Old Dong sat down, and Qin Yong opened his notebook.

“For live teaching evaluations, only I have completed scoring. There are fourteen days left until July twenty-second. Please, all other evaluation committee members, submit your scores as soon as possible.”

“The current teaching evaluation scores are as follows.”

“Zhang Youwei, 3.0 points.”

“Chen Xuan, 3.2 points.”

“Ni Hongjie, 3.4 points.”

“Lin Pengfei, 3.45 points.”

“Jia Lu, 3.5 points.”

“Xu Nana, 3.8 points.”