I'm A Math Idiot, So What? - Chapter 60

Chapter 60: Don’t Tell Tales (Part 3)

I was only familiar with the first half of parent-teacher conferences; I usually made a hasty exit halfway through.

This was my first time attending the entire session, and it gave me a newfound appreciation for how mentally draining the director’s job must be.

Each parent had an endless stream of questions, ranging from minor academic concerns to major personality issues, none of which could be resolved with a single answer.

Some parents seemed to treat the director like a confessor, wanting to start their stories from “once upon a time,” as if telling a fairy tale.

Once that floodgate opened, it was impossible to shut down for at least half an hour.

The gentle, idealized version of Lei Chuifeng I’d imagined certainly wasn’t equipped to handle such matters.

By the time we’d seen off the last anxious parent, the clock had already struck ten.

Exhausted, we collapsed into our chairs. Yuan Chongfeng grinned foolishly and said, “I feel like I’ve used up my lifetime’s worth of words.”

He glanced at me. “Thanks for today. Without you, I’d probably have been running around like a headless chicken all night.”

I wearily shook my head.

Yuan Chongfeng stood up. “Come on, let me treat you to dinner.”

I was genuinely hungry, so I followed him out of the school gate without hesitation.

A gentle evening breeze stirred.

The osmanthus trees lining the road were in full bloom, their sweet fragrance carried on the wind.

“Do you remember?” I said. “Your mom used to make the best osmanthus cakes. Every time she baked a batch, she’d have you bring me a box.”

“Now that you mention it,” Yuan Chongfeng said, “I’m suddenly craving it. Too bad I can’t go back yet. You shouldn’t tell them anything either.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “You’re asking me to keep such a big secret, but you’re not even bribing me with some American specialties?”

“What specialties do you want? Bing cherries? American ginseng? Nuts?”

“Apples,” I said. I held up my hands, shaping a square in the air. “Apples that are this shape.”

Yuan Chongfeng pretended not to understand. “Apples are easy to buy. I’ll get you two pounds right now.”

Just then, headlights flashed from a car behind us.

Worried about an oncoming car, Yuan Chongfeng pulled me by the shoulder into a narrow alley. “There’s a small restaurant here that specializes in sauerkraut fish. I’ll take you to try it—I think it’s pretty good. But after living in America for so many years, everything back home tastes authentic now.”

“Of course, the best sauerkraut fish is still from that place at the end of Taichun Road, back home,” I said.

“Stop teasing me like that,” Yuan Chongfeng said. “If you keep talking like that, I might risk my parents having a stroke and go back for a feast.”

After we’d devoured the sauerkraut fish, Yuan Chongfeng insisted on walking me home. By then, it was already eleven at night. My brain was exhausted from the day’s mental exertion, so I quickly showered and collapsed into bed, falling asleep instantly.

I had a nagging feeling I was forgetting something, but my head felt like it was filled with lead—heavy, dark, and sluggish. Before I could even think about it, I drifted off to sleep.

The following week passed uneventfully.

After Fang Congxin took Xiao Q for his vaccinations, Teacher Feng kept him.

Fang Congxin seemed preoccupied, neither reminding me about homework nor asking me to deliver meals or pick anyone up.

Sister Xu said she’d reduced my workload by a quarter, but in reality, it was halved. Even the remaining half didn’t require me to be at the office during regular hours.

As a result, I didn’t get a chance to see him at all during this time, and I missed him terribly.

Tong Xiao seemed preoccupied with other matters lately, losing interest in antagonizing me.

She even arrived late for class once—an anomaly for someone who always arrived five minutes early and approached tasks with German-style precision.

Could Fang Congxin and Tong Xiao be secretly dating? I wondered.

The reason for Yuan Chongfeng’s return to China remained unclear, so I asked Ke Lu to keep a close eye on him.

Ke Lu, relishing his undercover role, would report on trivial matters like Yuan Chongfeng getting a pimple or a haircut. After I scolded him for these pointless updates, he finally stopped. For the time being, he hasn’t sent back any valuable information.

The only thing that stirred my emotions was Xu Zheng’s new, unusually long English QQ status:

I don’t need sex. English fucks me everyday.

So the tutoring class wasn’t a complete waste of time, I thought. Never thought I’d see Xu Zheng willingly speak English.

I lit a candle for him and sent my blessings.

Still, Wang Ziqi’s silence was starting to feel ominous.

I was destined for anything but an ordinary life, mainly because I couldn’t coexist peacefully with mathematics. Having almost finished my fabricated history of pigs, I abandoned my math homework and headed to school to hang out with Wang Ziqi.

When I called her at school, she answered in a hushed voice, “What’s up?”

Assuming she was in class, I offered, “If now’s not a good time, I can call back later.”

“Wait,” she cut me off. “You’re at school? Hurry over to the Ya Feng Pavilion in the North Campus.”

Her mysterious tone piqued my curiosity even more. I hopped on a shared bike and pedaled toward North Campus.

Ya Feng Pavilion was where Zhao Xiaoxiao’s confession had famously flopped years ago.

I was standing up, pedaling uphill on the Mobike, when a woman in a black silk scarf, dark sunglasses, and a black suit blocked my path.

I nearly lost my balance and stumbled off the bike, planting both feet on the ground. The woman hissed, “Shh—don’t make a sound.”

My hand trembled on the handlebars. “Wang Ziqi, what are you doing?”

“Catching someone in the act.”

“Huh?”

Zhao Xiaoxiao again!

When will he ever learn?

Wait… isn’t he already finished?

Wang Ziqi shook her head frantically. “No, no, it’s not exactly that. Just come with me.”

Noticing my bright yellow sweatshirt, she frowned. “Why are you dressed so conspicuously? Be careful they don’t spot us.”

Your all-black ensemble is far more conspicuous, I thought, but I followed Wang Ziqi, ducking low and threading our way into the small grove.

Reaching an ancient banyan tree, she gave me a pointed look, and I followed her gaze.

Holy crap, this scene is beyond my wildest imagination.

Su Xu, the loyal puppy, and Tong Xiao, the stunning beauty, were sitting side-by-side on deck chairs, deep in conversation.

They say a buzz cut is the ultimate test of a handsome man.

Su Xu’s closely cropped hair accentuated his chiseled features and radiated an air of righteousness—a stark contrast to his current two-timing behavior.

I lowered my head and asked Wang Ziqi, who was squatting beside me, “How did you know they were here? Were you following him?”

Wang Ziqi whispered, “Do you think I’d do something so unethical?! I was just looking at Su Xu’s phone.”

“……”

“It’s not what you think. Su Xu has been preoccupied lately, and when I asked him what was wrong, he wouldn’t tell me. Just then, a message popped up, and I accidentally glanced at it. It’s not my fault—I just have good eyesight.”

After her increasingly convoluted explanation, she asked, “Is that Tong Xiao you mentioned?”

I nodded, thinking for a moment. “They’re probably colleagues or business partners now, right?”

Wang Ziqi said sourly, “Colleagues? What kind of business requires secret meetings in the woods?”

“Don’t be like that. They’re both single; they’re free to meet if they want.”

Wang Ziqi huffed. “Of course you’re happy. With your romantic rival out of the picture, you can relax now, right?”

I nudged her with my foot. “Hey, Wang Ziqi, have you no conscience? Is that what I meant? If you like Su Xu, make your move already!”

“When did I ever say I liked Su Xu? I’m just worried that falling in love at such a young age will distract him from his talents.”

“Wow, you’re really nailing this ‘Auntie’ role.”

“What ‘Auntie’? Who are you calling ‘Auntie’?”

“Sorry, I misspoke. I meant ‘Mom’.”

Seeing my tongue loosen, Wang Ziqi immediately retorted, “Look who’s talking! You’re no different. If you’re so bold, why didn’t you make the first move?”

“What makes you think I’m afraid to make the first move? I’ll show you right now!”

I whipped out my phone, snapped two quick photos, and sent one to Fang Congxin.

Then, squatting nearby, I painstakingly typed out a message, deleting and rewriting several times: Look at you, slacking off these past few days and not even calling me over. Your wife’s about to run off with someone else—do you even want her anymore?!

A moment after sending it, I realized it sounded like the manipulative tactics of a “green tea bitch” trying to sow discord, and quietly withdrew the message.

Wang Ziqi and I crouched behind the massive banyan tree like two partridges, our backsides jutting out as we continued to observe Su Xu and Tong Xiao’s movements.

Ten minutes passed, and the two remained seated at opposite ends of the bench.

If Wang Ziqi and I went over, we might even be able to squeeze in between them.

Judging by their solemn, heavy expressions, this wasn’t some romantic lovers’ tiff. It looked more like a couple on the verge of collapse.

“What kind of person is Tong Xiao?”

“A brilliant scholar and stunning beauty,” I replied. “She’s usually warm and generous, but principled when it comes to her professional field. She’s financially independent despite her family’s wealth—quite the perfect person, really.”

Wang Ziqi raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you at least inject a little personal bias into your assessment of your rival?”

“If you knew Tong Xiao, you’d say the same thing. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone speak ill of her.”

I paused to consider. “If I were forced to nitpick, there are some things that seem a bit odd.”

“Spill.”

“Tong Xiao works part-time as a teacher at the Litop Training Center. Generally, as long as teachers offer their time, Litop won’t let classrooms sit empty—it helps them attract more students. A few days ago, I was chatting with Feng—a fellow native who used to work there—and he mentioned that teachers’ bonuses are calculated based on a weighted combination of student enrollment and performance improvement. Xu Zheng told me Tong Xiao wasn’t as popular at Litop as you might expect, but when I was bored and glanced at the class schedule on the wall the other day, she had several time slots booked.”

“Are you saying Tong Xiao might be opening so many classes just to attract more students and earn more money, just like the company?”

“Exactly.”

“I did some calculations for her. Besides her income from Litop, she also receives a substantial school scholarship and works part-time at the Information Management Center. Recently, she’s been actively promoting the establishment of The Beauty of Mathematics tutoring class.”

“Come to think of it, something about this whole situation feels off.”

“It started when a junior asked Tong Xiao to find Fang Congxin for tutoring. But when I probed Fang Congxin earlier, he seemed completely unaware of the request. Later, Tong Xiao, feeling guilty for not being able to help everyone, offered free tutoring. But with such a massive amount of tutoring, no one could bring themselves to freeload, right?”

“Maybe I’m just too cynical to believe in such angelic people. I’ve always suspected Tong Xiao’s initial motivation was purely financial.”

“Of course, her teaching quality and capability are beyond reproach, and well worth the price. I’m just commenting on how the whole thing started…”

“Wang Ziqi, you say you’re wealthy and independent, but you’re not working nearly as hard as she is.”

“How should I put it? It’s like—”

“Like she’s really strapped for cash.”

I nodded.

The scattered doubts I’d been harboring finally coalesced into a thread today. Speaking them aloud, I realized how strange things really were.

Wang Ziqi nodded. “Yeah, it’s definitely strange. Look at that crêpe dress she’s wearing today. At first glance, it looks like a Valentino design, but if you check out the pink-and-white cuff detailing, it’s nowhere near as refined as the original.”

I didn’t know how refined the original Valentino was, but I understood Wang Ziqi’s point. “You’re saying it might be a knockoff?”

Wang Ziqi nodded. “Yeah. Where’s she from, anyway? What do her folks do?”

“I think Ge Chunchun mentioned they’re overseas.”

“Should we hire a private investigator to look into it?”

“Investigate what? You think you’re running a detective agency now? Besides, whether she’s pretending to be poor or rich, what’s it got to do with us?”

I grabbed her arm, ready to leave.

As we walked into a more open area, Wang Ziqi shouted after me, “Hey! You already know something, don’t you?”

Mimicking Tong Xiao’s signature wave, I gave Wang Ziqi a casual, waving farewell as I walked away.

Unfortunately, my cool demeanor was short-lived. I stepped in dog shit.

SHIT!

A peal of laughter erupted from behind me. Wang Ziqi had clearly dropped her guard against Tong Xiao.

Perhaps she’s figured something out too, I thought.

After saying goodbye to Wang Ziqi, I headed to the Information Management Center Guerrilla Squad.

When I pushed open the door, Zhao Xianhu was watching a web drama. At the creak of the door, he instantly switched to his work interface. Spotting me, he tossed a crumpled paper ball my way from across the room. “You’re deliberately mimicking Sister Xu’s cough, aren’t you!”

I grinned. “Scared you, huh?”

With that, I strolled over to Tong Xiao’s workstation.

I recalled a fleeting glimpse of a selfie Tong Xiao had taken abroad. Something about it had struck me as odd, and now, looking at it again, I immediately pinpointed the problem.

During the summer after my hand healed and life had settled back into routine, my parents took me to Lima, the capital of Peru—a city steeped in Spanish colonial charm.

I was particularly struck by the Larco Museum, which housed pre-Columbian artifacts. My journal was filled with detailed notes about my visit there, while the rest of the trip’s mundane details were captured by my parents’ ubiquitous DSLR camera.

One of the photos showed us resting at an obscure café in Lima.

The setting sun painted the cascading layers of flowers with a golden glow. I found the photo particularly beautiful and used it as my phone wallpaper for a while, vaguely remembering it now.

Just a few months after we returned from Lima, my mother’s colleague, on our recommendation, visited the same spot. Upon her return, she told us that the café and its graffiti-covered walls had been demolished. She even showed us photos of the rubble on her phone—only the street sign and the café’s plaque lying on the ground remained as proof of the once-charming cultural landmark.

I felt a pang of regret, muttering, “Why do South Americans love tearing things down just like us Chinese?” But with my limited perspective, the regret lasted only a few seconds before I forgot about it.

So when I first saw Tong Xiao’s photo, it merely struck me as familiar. It wasn’t until now that I realized it was the same café, just taken from a different angle. But the café’s name, the visible street name, and the graffiti on the walls were all identical to how they had looked five years ago.

Tong Xiao must have still been in middle school back then—certainly not as grown-up as she appeared in the photo.

Even if she hadn’t grown much in the past few years, the Supreme hoodie she was wearing in the selfie was a model that had only come out in the last two years.

Unless Lima had meticulously recreated the café down to every detail—the walls, the graffiti, everything—Tong Xiao’s photo was just a doctored old picture.

But why would she go to such lengths to fake this?

Was it because the archetypal rich girl is often portrayed as a travel enthusiast? By choosing a street scene that was both exotic and hard to trace, was she trying to cultivate her image as a bai fu mei—a fair-skinned, wealthy, and beautiful woman?

I couldn’t be sure if my assumptions were correct.

I didn’t want Tong Xiao to be that kind of person.

But even if she was, I had no right to look down on her.

She hadn’t harmed anyone, neither stealing nor robbing. She earned her money with her own hands. It was no different from how I had cheated on tests during “The Beauty of Mathematics” tutoring class, even though I knew the teacher wouldn’t grade them, just to project an image of being a good student.

The more insecure we feel about something, the more we try to conceal it.

Perhaps she had her own story to tell.