The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 21

Monday morning, the moment Li Rong stepped into the classroom, several classmates with Hongsuo backgrounds gave him looks that were hard to describe.

Especially Cui Mingyang. He despised Li Rong but, constrained by Cen Xiao’s warnings, didn’t dare show it too blatantly. Instead, he would glare at Li Rong, quickly shift his gaze, and then, finding no consequences, glare again. Little did he know, this made him resemble a posturing clown.

Jian Fu, on the other hand, seemed magnetically drawn to Li Rong’s desk, beaming with excitement.

Leaning in before Cen Xiao arrived, Jian Fu nudged Li Rong’s arm with his shoulder. “Not bad, class monitor! I heard Song Yuanyuan’s mom turned green with embarrassment, and everyone at the scene looked like they’d swallowed a fly. People left without even touching the cake, making up excuses to leave. Gotta hand it to you—you’ve got guts. Respect! So, what was Brother Xiao’s reaction?”

Li Rong placed the oatmeal drink he’d bought on the way down on the desk, methodically inserting the straw into the paper cup. He curled his lips. “Him? Rare moment for me to confess to him—he was pretty happy about it.”

Jian Fu glanced at Cen Xiao’s empty seat, laughing under his breath. “Don’t know about him, but District 3 is buzzing. His dad—always so stern—finally has some drama at home for everyone to laugh at!”

Li Rong took a sip of the porridge and winced, forcing it down with effort.

He genuinely disliked drinking porridge. Worse still, his tongue, scalded from coffee earlier, hadn’t recovered, making the porridge taste bland—like medicine. Yet, he had no choice but to stomach it for the sake of his digestion.

He waited for the warm liquid to trickle soothingly into his stomach before nonchalantly asking, “News traveled that fast? I don’t recall seeing many United Association members there that day.”

The Song family’s business had grown over the years, thanks largely to the support of the Hongsuo Research Institute. In essence, they had sided with Hongsuo, and most of their connections and resources shared the same background.

Perhaps the turmoil surrounding Li Qingli and Gu Nong had panicked the Song family, prompting Song Yuanyuan’s mother to branch out. She spent her days shopping, walking cats, and doing beauty treatments with Xiao Moran, hoping to build ties within the United Commerce.

Business with one side was still business; doing business with both was simply paying an additional membership fee. Joining Blue Pivot would mean gaining its support, making future partnerships within the association even smoother.

Jian Fu looked puzzled. “Of course, bad news travels fast. Didn’t you know? Scandals from Hongsuo spread through Blue Pivot faster than year-end salary bumps!”

Li Rong lowered his cup and looked at Jian Fu, his smile deepening. “I know.”

Jian Fu’s parents worked in District 1, which oversaw internet enterprises. They had their finger on the pulse of all the major events and were equally quick with the gossip—relevant or not.

In his previous life, Li Rong had personally witnessed Jian Fu receiving entertainment news in a work group chat about a celebrity being blacklisted by their backers. 

Coincidentally, the celebrity was Lin Zhen.

Jian Fu said with a smirk, “Anyway, you’re officially famous in Blue Pivot now. Bet Cen Xiao’s dad could write your name backward by now—ha!”

The Li family’s scandals had been widely discussed, but most of the attention was on his parents. To the bigwigs, an underage high schooler barely registered. Some didn’t even know if Li Qingli and Gu Nong had a son or a daughter.

But now, thanks to Li Rong’s antics, the fact that Li Qingli had a striking and audacious son was etched into everyone’s memory.

Li Rong slowly withdrew his smile, lowering his head to focus on his drink. His lashes cast shadows that obscured his expression.

“District 3 is lively. Does that mean District 4 heard the news too?”

Blue Pivot’s District 4 managed emerging technology industries. To expand, its president not only collaborated with foreign enterprises for mass imports but also established an angel fund to support private research institutions.

Some overseas developments advanced faster than domestic ones, allowing imported products to dominate the market. This caused Hongsuo Research Institute’s high-investment projects to fail. District 4, under the guise of meritocracy, prioritized short-term profits over nurturing domestic technological progress, deepening the rift with Hongsuo.

The discord had only intensified over generations.

Jian Fu, eager to show off his knowledge, replied, “Of course. My dad was chatting with Chief Hu yesterday. It was Chief Hu who brought it up. He, my dad, and some of his deputies are planning to poke fun at President Cen over this.”

District 4’s president, Hu Yuming, was well-respected within Blue Pivot for his wealth and management skills. Nicknamed “Chief Hu,” Jian Fu had picked up the moniker from his parents.

“Hu Yuming…” Li Rong murmured, fingers lightly tapping the paper cup. He repeated the name thoughtfully.

In his previous life, he joined the Hongsuo Research Institute under Professor Jiang Weide, one of Hongsuo’s most renowned scientists.

Jiang Weide, a staunch nationalist, detested Hu Yuming’s profit-driven mindset. He often berated Hu Yuming for prioritizing lucrative projects over those benefiting the public. Li Rong had inherited Jiang Weide’s distaste but had only ever seen Hu Yuming from afar during a speech.

While working on the GT201 project under Jiang Weide, Li Rong had been exposed to confidential information. Yet, just as the project was nearing completion, he was poisoned in the hazardous chemicals lab.

He couldn’t help but wonder—was there more to the internal workings of Hongsuo? Could someone have deliberately concealed key truths about his parents’ affairs?

Pulling out a piece of liqueur chocolate he’d grabbed at the birthday party, Li Rong tossed it to Jian Fu, who was practically sprawled across his desk like an eager puppy. Feigning curiosity, he asked, “Think Hu Yuming knows I’m Li Qingli’s son now?”

Distracted by the colorful chocolate wrapper, Jian Fu didn’t give the question much thought. “Probably didn’t before, but I bet he does now. Didn’t you practically declare you’d marry into Cen Xiao’s family? What’s this, anyway?”

He picked up the chocolate, examined it from side to side, and curled his lips in disdain before tossing it back to Li Rong. “This brand is ridiculously sweet. No way I’d eat it. How could you buy this? Have you never had good chocolate before?”

“Take it or leave it. If you don’t want it, forget it,” Li Rong said casually, setting the chocolate at the corner of the desk.

Jian Fu: “…”

Sometimes he just couldn’t understand it. Li Rong’s reputation was in tatters, and he didn’t have a penny to his name, yet he could still talk with such audacity.

Not just in class—Li Rong had been just as brazen in front of the elders at Song Yuanyuan’s birthday banquet.

Jian Fu even felt an illusion creeping into his mind, as though Li Qingli and Gu Nong weren’t dead, and that their names would soon be cleared, with one of them stepping in as the director of the Hongsuo Research Institute.

Jian Fu pouted. “Tch, it’s not even good. If it weren’t for my bro, I wouldn’t even bother telling you.”

Li Rong replied nonchalantly, “Then let your bro tell me.”

Cen Xiao, perpetually at the bottom of the rankings, often skipped class or left early. It happened so frequently that the school had stopped bothering to call Cen Qing or Xiao Moran about it.

Li Rong carefully finished his oatmeal drink. Apart from the fullness in his stomach, there was no joy in consuming it.

Just then, Yang Fenfang strode into the classroom in her high heels, scanning the room with a sharp gaze before issuing commands.

“He Lu, the blackboard isn’t cleaned properly. Look at the chalk dust on the edges. And Yang Meng, did you sweep the last row? There’s still crumpled paper there. Li Rong, come to the office with me.”

After giving her instructions, Yang Fenfang shot Li Rong a deep look, then glanced at the empty seat beside him with a resigned sigh.

Li Rong stood up and followed Yang Fenfang to the office.

The hallway was cold, even chillier than outside since no sunlight reached it.

Li Rong shrank further into his collar as he walked, hunching lower and lower. By the time they reached the office door, Yang Fenfang turned around only to see a pair of wide, round eyes peeking out from a snowy-white collar.

Yang Fenfang: “…”

Li Rong gestured toward the slightly ajar office door with his gaze. “After you, teacher.”

Yang Fenfang’s lips twitched. “Alright.” This was her office, after all.

Li Rong had noticed that every time he spoke with Yang Fenfang, she would lock the door, as though afraid someone might overhear.

Once the door was secured, Yang Fenfang set her canvas bag on the desk, pulled out a glasses cloth, and started cleaning her thick lenses.

The colder the weather, the more inconvenient glasses became.

After wiping them once, a fresh layer of fog immediately appeared. She sighed and wiped them again, muttering, “Once your class graduates, I’ll make time to get laser surgery.”

Li Rong popped his head out of his collar, flicked his bangs aside, and couldn’t resist suggesting, “Wait a couple more years. Better technology is coming.”

Yang Fenfang paused slightly and gave Li Rong a sidelong glance. “Obviously, technology will only get better the longer you wait. You think I don’t know that?”

Li Rong chuckled. “Fair enough.” What he meant, though, was a breakthrough technology that would nearly eliminate damage to the eyes.

Yang Fenfang cleared her throat, her expression becoming serious. “There’s something I need to tell you. The school has a nomination for the Talented Students Program. As the top student, it should go to you.”

Li Rong listened quietly, his mind drifting back to the timeline.

In his previous life, he had taken the college entrance exam and scored first in the province, ultimately enrolling in the biochemistry program at University A.

Seeing his focused expression, Yang Fenfang couldn’t help but show a hint of pity in her eyes. Feeling guilty, she avoided his gaze, turning to tidy her desk as she continued in a lighter tone, “The program requires both a written exam and an interview at the end of February next year. I’m confident you’d pass both. But for the nomination to be approved, it has to go through a public review at University A, and… family background is part of that review. You might not pass.”

She added, “Here’s what I think. Your grades are steady, and I’m sure you’ll ace the college entrance exam anyway. So, maybe you could let Cui Mingyang have this spot. He’s ranked second. Why not talk it over with him? Building a good relationship might benefit you in the future.”

Though Yang Fenfang tried to phrase it tactfully, the implication was still harsh.

During a private faculty meeting, the school had already decided: even if Li Rong passed the exams, a single complaint during the public review would disqualify him. To spare him that humiliation and the school from losing a spot, it was better to be upfront now.

Yang Fenfang believed she’d made her intentions clear. 

Given Li Rong’s financial struggles, perhaps he could use this as an opportunity to exchange the favor for some basic support.

Li Rong tilted his head, his gaze fixed on Yang Fenfang’s face, unreadable and calm.

In his previous life, he seemed to have heard similar words. He couldn’t recall if he had agreed or refused.

At that time, he had been so lost in despair that he hardly cared about anything beyond survival.

The overwhelming malice that engulfed him had left him unsure whom to blame or seek revenge against.

Later, he did get into University A and entered his parents’ field, and this minor episode was long forgotten—until the age of 23, when it resurfaced with a flood of bitterness and rage.

Now that he had a second chance, he would claim everything that belonged to him. He wouldn’t let a single thing slip away.

“No,” Li Rong said lightly.

Yang Fenfang tried to placate him. “I understand you feel wronged. You don’t have to decide right now. There’s plenty of time until February—take your time to think it over.”

But Li Rong had no intention of compromising. “I know how the school thinks, but this nomination is mine. Even if it gets wasted, it’s mine. I won’t give it up.”

Though his expression remained playful and warm, his eyes held no trace of jest.

The air grew as heavy as wet cement—dark, viscous, suffocating—threatening to freeze everything in place as it settled.

Yang Fenfang momentarily caught a glimpse of a coldness that didn’t belong to someone of this age. She couldn’t quite describe the feeling—it was like a sharp blade hidden in the shadows. Even if its edge was temporarily concealed, anyone who dared to test it recklessly would surely be bitten back.

A shiver ran down her spine, but when she put on her glasses and looked again, the feeling had vanished.

Li Rong puffed out his cheeks and smiled mischievously. “If the school starts treating the recommendation quota like a clear-cut transaction, it might be hard to justify to the rest of the students, don’t you think?”

Now it was Yang Fenfang’s turn to fall silent.

Li Rong’s words rang true. A High held a unique status nationwide, and fairness was its most fundamental principle. The only way forward was for Li Rong to willingly give up the quota.

Li Rong smiled faintly. “If there’s nothing else, teacher, I’ll head back now.”

Without waiting for a response, he opened the office door with an air of nonchalance and walked out.

After a few steps, he stopped in his tracks.

Cen Xiao was leaning against the corridor railing, holding a document printed on official school stationery.

He treated the important notice like a toy, rolling it into a tube and casually tapping it against the stainless steel railing.

The spot where he stood was clever—rare sunlight filtered through the central courtyard and reached the inside of the corridor, casting a soft glow on the ground.

Cen Xiao stood in that light, his hair glinting golden.

Li Rong squinted and teased, “Came looking for me?”

Cen Xiao glanced at him, paused his tapping, and tossed the rolled-up notice to Li Rong. “Just delivering something to Old Yang.”

Li Rong raised an eyebrow and couldn’t resist a jab. “Rolling up school documents like this? Tsk, having donated to the school really makes a difference.”

He didn’t spell it out, but he knew. 

Tasks like this were usually handled by the class monitor or at least a subject representative. Cen Xiao never visited Yang Fenfang’s office; it was always Yang Fenfang who rushed to his house, thanks to his status as the chairman’s son.

So it was highly likely Cen Xiao was here for him.

Cen Xiao straightened up, instantly gaining half a head over Li Rong.

He stepped out of the warm light and walked two steps closer, pausing briefly before saying in a low voice, “This notice doesn’t really matter. Based on the school’s long-standing traditions, the outcome is already decided. And that outcome…”

He trailed off, his gaze lowering. His fingers moved slightly, and with ease, he peeled open a wrapper and slipped something into Li Rong’s mouth.

“It won’t change.”

Caught off guard, Li Rong instinctively closed his eyes, his lips lightly closing around it.

A sweet, rum-infused aroma spread in his mouth. A quick flick of his tongue revealed it was the rum chocolate he’d left on the desk earlier.

Li Rong slowly let the overly sweet chocolate melt in his mouth as he casually unrolled the document, lowering his eyes to read.

Notice Regarding Requirements and Registration for the Talented Students Program at A High School.

Li Rong paused slightly, the rum-laced chocolate dissolving along with the lingering taste of oatmeal, leaving only an overwhelming sweetness.

Jian Fu had been unfair in his judgment.

This chocolate wasn’t from the most expensive brand, but it was perfectly fine—delicious, even.

A small smile curved his lips, though his eyes grew faintly misty. He had to summon some strength to suppress the ache rising within him.

It had been a long time since he felt this way—so long that he thought he’d lost the capacity entirely. But it seemed he hadn’t.

The next second, Li Rong firmly crumpled the notice into a paper ball.

Cen Xiao watched as he pressed the chocolate to his tongue, swallowing, his throat bobbing slightly. Then he licked his lips clean, leaving his mouth glossy and rosy from the sweetness.

Cen Xiao shifted his gaze away subtly, tilting his head to ask, “What happened?”

Li Rong raised his eyes to meet his, the redness at the corners of his eyes mostly gone. Only the unusual brightness of his gaze betrayed any lingering trace of emotion.

After a long pause, Li Rong caught the silent understanding in Cen Xiao’s expression and laughed. “Nothing, really. Just realized that my senior year is turning out to be quite tough.”

Cen Xiao echoed softly, “Just?”

Li Rong tucked away his smile, his expression uncharacteristically earnest.

“Before, no one cared, so I didn’t think it was hard. Now…” He changed his tone abruptly, feigning lightheartedness. “Which of us is going to deliver this wad of trash back to Yang Fenfang?”