The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 127

When Li Rong went to pick up the exemption forms, Zhang Zhaohe was wiping down his desk in the office.

Zhang Zhaohe had shed his usual Zhongshan suit in favor of a more modern tracksuit. However, his slow, composed elegance hadn’t changed. He pressed his hand on a towel, carefully wiping every corner of the desk with deliberate precision.

The damp cloth left dark streaks on the desk’s surface, which quickly evaporated in the dry air. Yet Zhang Zhaohe seemed to have a perfect memory of where he had already cleaned, methodically moving on to untouched areas.

His back was slightly hunched as he worked. Near the bookshelf stood a fishing rod and a collapsible water bucket.

Just two bus stops from A University was a large park with a lake—a popular spot for ice fishing enthusiasts.

On the surface, Zhang Zhaohe looked like a soon-to-retire, peace-loving elder. Li Rong only glanced briefly at the fishing rod before averting his gaze.

Finally, Zhang Zhaohe finished wiping the last corner of the desk. Straightening up and supporting his waist, he placed the towel into a water basin, then turned to Li Rong. “Interested in fishing?”

Li Rong’s eyelids twitched slightly.

He wasn’t sure if he was overthinking it or if Zhang Zhaohe’s enigmatic demeanor had left an impression on him, but he felt like there was something more to the question.

However, Zhang Zhaohe’s expression was friendly, his tone calm, as if it were just a casual inquiry.

Li Rong smiled faintly. “Not very patient.”

Zhang Zhaohe sighed softly, rubbing his lower back. Then, after wiping his hands with a wet towel, he unscrewed his thermos and took a sip of warm water. “Young people are often impatient, but patience is important. You need patience to get things done.”

“You’re right,” Li Rong nodded lightly but suddenly changed the tone of the conversation with a pointed question. “So, Professor… what kind of things have you accomplished?”

Zhang Zhaohe had been drinking water naturally, but when he heard Li Rong’s words, his hand paused slightly, his lips pressing against the thermos lid for a few seconds before he slowly lowered it. “Me? I’m pretty good at fishing. Just the other day, I caught a big carp. It tasted fantastic in a stew.”

Li Rong’s smile faded slightly, tired of playing word games with Zhang Zhaohe. He extended his hand. “My exemption forms?”

“Oh, right.” Zhang Zhaohe screwed the lid back on his thermos, walked around his desk, and opened a drawer, pulling out several signed forms. “You’ve skipped way too many classes this semester. I checked—only Professor Xiao Muran didn’t mark you absent. I’ve signed exemption forms for all the others. Submit them to the academic office as soon as possible so the system doesn’t dock your grades.”

Li Rong glanced into Zhang Zhaohe’s drawer, inevitably recalling the gold tower-shaped emblem.

He didn’t understand why Zhang Zhaohe was so composed—showing him the symbol but never explaining its meaning.

Li Rong stepped closer and reached for the exemption forms, but just as he was about to take them, Zhang Zhaohe didn’t let go. Li Rong looked up, meeting his gaze.

Only then did Zhang Zhaohe smile faintly, the lines around his eyes deepening. “I truly didn’t expect you to still rank first under these circumstances. I underestimated you.”

Li Rong saw no need to explain. “Got lucky—just guessed correctly on everything.”

Zhang Zhaohe clearly didn’t believe him. These professional courses relied heavily on subjective questions, requiring a solid understanding of the principles. Memorizing everything would have been an enormous task.

Zhang Zhaohe sighed. “You’re very different from Brother Li.”

Li Rong hadn’t expected him to bring up his father and froze for a moment.

He was well aware of how different he was from his parents, but hearing it from someone else didn’t feel like a compliment. To him, his parents were admirable people, so being “different” from them felt like falling short.

And he truly was—not as good as they were.

Zhang Zhaohe continued, “But I like you better.”

His tone was calm but earnest.

Compared to Li Qingli and Gu Nong, he indeed preferred Li Rong.

Li Rong chuckled. “Why?”

His parents had never mentioned Zhang Zhaohe, leading him to assume they weren’t close. But now it seemed they were—perhaps his parents just rarely talked about work at home.

Zhang Zhaohe’s smile carried a hint of helplessness. “You’re more human. It seems that only by seeing society’s true nature and the realities of human nature can one let go of unrealistic idealism.”

Li Rong realized that Zhang Zhaohe seemed to disapprove of his parents’ ideals of pure altruism.

He believed that the reason there were people in this world who responded to enmity with kindness and carried the weight of the world on their shoulders was simply that they hadn’t been battered by reality. They didn’t know that the world wasn’t worth saving.

Li Rong remained silent for a long time before curling his lips into a smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve been a mere mortal since the day I was born.”

Zhang Zhaohe let out a forceful laugh from deep in his throat and nodded heavily. “That makes me like you even more.”

He couldn’t help but extend an invitation. “Do you have plans later? Want to go fishing with me?”

During winter break, idle lecturers like Zhang Zhaohe, who weren’t tied up with projects, had entire afternoons to spend leisurely.

Li Rong, flipping through a small stack of exemption slips in his hand, replied casually, “Weren’t you going to show me around the lab? It works out—I can use my grades to switch majors freely now.”

He knew he had skipped a lot of classes, but holding this stack of papers still hit him with a sense of impact.

He used to be a model student, but now, look at what he had become.

Zhang Zhaohe: “I doubt I’ll have to worry about you anymore. Honestly, you’re the first student in my class to rank first in the year. I guess I can finally experience what it feels like to win a bonus.”

Li Rong noticed that Zhang Zhaohe had beautiful penmanship. His strokes were bold and graceful, the lines smooth and fluid, as if he had put serious effort into practicing.

And his pen wasn’t ordinary either—it wrote evenly, the nib gliding smoothly, likely an expensive one.

These days, few teachers stuck to using fountain pens.

Li Rong also remembered that whenever Zhang Zhaohe wore a traditional Zhongshan suit, he always kept a pen tucked into the pocket.

When he spoke, he had a small habit of frequently touching the pen, as if to reassure himself that it was still there.

But now, wearing sportswear, Zhang Zhaohe had no place for it on his chest.

Feigning nonchalance, Li Rong asked, “Have you practiced calligraphy, Professor?”

Zhang Zhaohe glanced at the exemption slips Li Rong was fiddling with. “I like to dabble when I have free time. Fountain pens, brushwork—old folks like me don’t have much else for hobbies.”

Li Rong nodded thoughtfully. “That’s nice. I like it too. What kind of pen do you use? I’d like to get one for myself.”

After organizing the exemption slips, Li Rong lifted his head to look at Zhang Zhaohe.

“You won’t find it anymore; they stopped making this model long ago.” Zhang Zhaohe sighed. Then, pulling down the zipper of his tracksuit slightly, he tugged at a cord hanging around his neck and retrieved the pen. “I’ve had it for years. These days, it’s hard to even find a shop that repairs pens. I’m not sure how much longer it’ll last.”

Li Rong was taken aback.

Zhang Zhaohe really kept this pen on him at all times. Without pockets, he wore it on a cord around his neck.

But Li Rong didn’t show his surprise. Instead, he studied the pen seriously.

He wasn’t an expert on fountain pens, but he could tell this one was old, with a simple design and a dark green body that looked unremarkable.

“If it breaks, you can always replace it. Or is it because this pen has special significance to you, Professor?”

Of course, Li Rong knew the pen was important to Zhang Zhaohe, but he wanted to know why.

Thankfully, Zhang Zhaohe didn’t intend to hide it. “It was a gift from my teacher. It’s very important to me. Keeping it close feels like my teacher is always reminding me of something.”

As he spoke, Zhang Zhaohe unconsciously rubbed the pen’s barrel, his tone tinged with heaviness.

Li Rong crossed his arms, lightly rubbing his elbow with his thumb.

Zhang Zhaohe’s words sounded like an ode to respecting one’s teacher. But considering his age, his teacher had likely passed away long ago.

“Who was your teacher?” Li Rong asked.

It didn’t matter if Zhang Zhaohe answered. He could always find out.

Zhang Zhaohe’s eyelids flickered slightly, and his fingers tightened around the pen, his neatly trimmed nails turning faintly white.

“My teacher was the director of the Hongsuo Research Institute, Zhu Yan.”

Li Rong’s heart skipped a beat.

Zhu Yan?

Zhang Zhaohe’s teacher was Zhu Yan.

Now in his seventies, Zhu Yan had achieved great renown as the head of the Hongsuo Research Institute, with students all over the world.

Many of Zhu Yan’s students were prominent figures in their fields, some even part of Nobel Prize-winning teams abroad.

Compared to those illustrious students, Zhang Zhaohe was utterly unremarkable.

No achievements, no research output—he was an aging lecturer whose position was preserved only out of pity from the administration.

Young students despised being in his class, considering it a misfortune. Even years after graduation, people like Geng An remembered him as a failure.

Why, then, had Zhu Yan gifted him such an expensive pen decades ago, when fountain pens were a luxury?

Teachers giving valuable gifts to students was rare, even more so when the student didn’t appear exceptional.

Moreover, in all of Zhu Yan’s public speeches and acknowledgments of memorable students over the years, Zhang Zhaohe’s name was absent.

But Li Rong quickly brushed the thought aside.

The nature of Zhang Zhaohe’s relationship with Zhu Yan didn’t seem to concern him directly.

Besides, Li Rong harbored some reservations about Zhu Yan himself. According to rumors, Zhu Yan and Jiang Weide had conspired to fabricate lies during a fellowship event.

“Director Zhu is truly remarkable,” Li Rong said, shifting his gaze away from the pen. “I’ll go submit my exemption slips now. Take care, Professor.”

“I’m off to fish…” Zhang Zhaohe sighed, as though disappointed by Li Rong’s lack of interest in fishing.

Leaving the office, Li Rong headed to the first-floor lobby, where he spotted Cen Xiao on a sofa.

He dropped the exemption slips onto Cen Xiao’s English novel with a sigh. “I really skipped this many classes?”

Cen Xiao raised an eyebrow, placing the book on his knee and flipping through Li Rong’s slips. “Hmm. Looks like my mom didn’t mark you absent.”

Li Rong chuckled softly, nudging Cen Xiao’s ankle with his calf. “What? Are you hoping your mom will mark me down?”

Cen Xiao lowered his knee, closed his book, and carefully organized the exemption slips. Glancing at the omnipresent surveillance cameras in the hall, he refrained from making any overt gestures. Instead, he stood, grasped Li Rong by the shoulder, and led him out of the building. Leaning in close, he murmured near Li Rong’s ear, “Of course, I’m just afraid my mom might offend my wife.”