82. Accidents and Stories

Five years ago, due to a dispute over profit distribution, Hu Mingzhi and several teachers left Lin Yin together, taking half its resources with them, and went on to establish the Yalé Arts and Culture Center. After years of development, Yalé has now surpassed the Lantian Lin Yin campus in both scale and student numbers, becoming the new leader in music education and training in the southwest region.

Judging from Yalé’s recent moves, Hu Mingzhi seems to be looking eastward once more.

“Principal Qin, are you saying that Tian Yu is backed by Hu Mingzhi?”

Qin Yong nodded. “That’s almost certain.”

Half a month ago, he had someone investigate all the newly opened training centers in the Meizhuang area over the past year. After reviewing the information provided and narrowing it down, he identified two institutions of interest. A deeper investigation revealed that one of them, registered as Chengfang Music Education and Training Co., Ltd., had previously counted a Yalé shareholder among its legal representatives, and this same institution had recruited four piano students who had left Yudong earlier that year through Tian Yu.

With this, Old Dong finally understood: this was no longer a simple case of a teacher and a few students leaving.

“So what should we do?” Old Dong asked worriedly. “Should we just let Tian Yu and Wang Jingya go?”

Qin Yong shook his head. “Let’s wait one more week. I still have use for him. You don’t need to worry about this—I’ll handle it personally.”

With the evidence he had on the two’s violations, he could terminate their contracts at any time and send them packing. The problem was, with Tian Yu now backed by Yalé and Wang Jingya having served as academic director for years, it was likely they already held most of Yudong’s teacher and student information in their hands. If they joined Yalé, they might act even more recklessly.

But there was little to be done. It was common practice among training institutions to poach from each other—it happened both ways. Just last year, Lin Yin campus had poached a private Yalé school, and their tactics weren’t any more sophisticated than Yalé’s.

In his days working in Yanjing, Qin Yong had seen cases like this almost every month. Talent poaching had become a kind of ecological norm in the education sector, and there was neither effective moral nor legal restraint to check such behavior. What’s more, there had been no non-compete clause in the labor contract between Yudong and Tian Yu.

Compared to the trouble Tian Yu might bring, what Qin Yong truly worried about was Yalé’s next move.

He was confident that, under his leadership, Yudong’s internal cohesion would only grow stronger in the future. The real concern was external. Next spring, two new schools would open in the Meizhuang area. If Yalé intended to establish itself in Yudong, Hu Mingzhi would surely do everything in his power to secure partnerships with these two new schools as a foundation for growth.

Meanwhile, Lantian’s marketing department had not made much progress with these two schools over the first half of the year. Based on these signs, Qin Yong surmised that Hu Mingzhi had probably already taken action.

Sigh.

He hadn’t even dealt with Tian Yu yet, and now a new problem in the form of Hu Mingzhi had emerged. One issue after another.

Last time, through Xu Nana’s skills assessment, he had finally resolved the problem of He Yiming. Since Qin Yong’s arrival, he’d noticed that He Yiming was reluctant to let him intervene in the wind ensemble’s teaching issues.

But that wouldn’t do. The wind ensemble would be one of the key pillars of his future plans.

He intended to use Yudong as a base to create the first truly professional youth symphonic wind orchestra in Rongcheng.

Sigh.

Another weary sigh escaped him. At this point, Qin Yong truly lacked capable assistants.

Just then, Old Dong suddenly asked, “After Wang Jingya leaves, will I be in charge of the entire academic system?”

Looking at Old Dong’s earnest expression, Qin Yong felt both amused and helpless. Old Dong, after all, was a good person in every way—except for his lack of ability.

“Director Dong, once everything is settled, you can rest easy as my assistant,” Qin Yong said sincerely.

Moved by his words, Old Dong nodded. “Understood!”

Before leaving, Old Dong asked one final question. “So, are the ‘elite teacher’ spots going to Li An and Xu Nana?”

Qin Yong replied, “Deadline is before the end of work on September 6th—top two in total points. Let me stress this once more.”

Old Dong nodded and left. Qin Yong then pulled out Chen Xuan’s employment file and flipped through it. Although he’d reached a kind of understanding with He Yiming, most of the wind ensemble teachers were still on He Yiming’s side.

“He Yiming, Xu Nana, Chen Xuan…”

“Mhm.”

The phone on his desk suddenly vibrated. Qin Yong picked it up, saw who was calling, and hesitated for a moment before answering.

A cold male voice came through: “You still remember to message me?”

Qin Yong felt a pang of guilt at the tone and replied gently, “How have you been lately?”

A cold laugh sounded from the other end. “Excellent. Anything else?”

A pause.

“I’m sorry,” Qin Yong said.

The call ended with a beep.

Another mess, another story.

…

By evening, Li An still hadn’t settled on a piece to perform. To find the right one, he’d tried out several creative ideas during his show at Blue Whale tonight, but none satisfied him.

On the way home, he discussed it with Chen Xuan, who also hadn’t chosen a piece yet.

So they decided to look for something together online once Li An got back.

Ba Wan Yi: I’ve showered. Are you coming over, or should I go to you?

Yezi: I’ll come to you.

Ba Wan Yi: Okay.

Li An ran his fingers through his hair in the mirror, then carried the fan out of the bedroom. As he set it beside the computer, the door knocked. Ba Wan darted nervously back into the bedroom.

Li An opened the door. Outside, Chen Xuan had already showered, her fair face bright and distinct, long hair draped over her shoulders, clad in fresh blue-and-white cotton pajamas.

“Aren’t you hot in such thick clothes?” Li An asked, inviting her in.

Since the night of the hot pot, Chen Xuan hadn’t set foot in 2501. Crossing the threshold, her first instinct was to look for the kitten.

“Where’s Ba Wan?” she asked softly.

Li An, arranging a chair, pointed back to the bedroom. “You scared him so much he’s hiding and doesn’t dare come out.”

Chen Xuan glanced toward the bedroom, smiling, “Am I that scary?”

“A little,” Li An replied solemnly.

They sat side by side at the computer, Li An tapping away at the keyboard. Chen Xuan’s eyes fell on an empty milk tea cup on the desk—it looked familiar. She remembered now: it was the one she’d bought for Li An on their way back to Yudong after Qin Yong treated everyone to dumplings.

Following her gaze, she noticed an opened pack of cigarettes in the corner of the bookshelf, a lighter beside it.

“You smoke?” she asked, surprised. Li An had never smoked during meals with Xu Hongxin and Ma Tao, so she’d always assumed he didn’t smoke.

Li An nodded. “I’d already quit.”

“Then why start again?” Chen Xuan was puzzled.

A moment’s silence.

Li An’s gaze shifted from the screen to the cigarette pack. “Because I felt terrible that day,” he said softly.

There were only about thirty centimeters between them. Chen Xuan could see the emotion flickering in the corner of Li An’s eyes.

She asked, “Which day?”

Li An replied, “July 25th.”

Of course, Chen Xuan remembered. That was the afternoon she’d returned the metronome to Li An.

She continued, “How bad was it?”

Their eyes met.

The gray living room fell silent.

Meeting Li An’s clear gaze, Chen Xuan could feel his breath as if it were right before her.

Yet—

“Meow!”

Ba Wan had somehow crept over to their feet, then leapt onto the desk.

The mood was shattered.

Another misstep—otherwise, perhaps, it would have been another story.