The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 51

Xu Feng had no choice but to leave and arrange the food delivery. Before leaving, he cast a helpless glance in Cen Qing’s direction. Cen Qing merely turned his head and waved, signaling Xu Feng to do whatever he wanted.

Only then did Xiao Muran approach Cen Qing with a guarded frown. “You had Xu Feng monitoring Cen Xiao? What’s he been up to?”

Xiao Muran, a classic lady from an academic family, was refined and sensitive. Most of the time, she was gentle and reserved, avoiding confrontation. 

She had spent her life perfecting her artistic expertise, occasionally giving lectures or traveling to other cities for talks. Work had become her shield against idle thoughts.

But that was all she could do.

Despite her prestige and status, she was more fragile than ordinary people. Her resistance and anger could only manifest in silent treatments. She couldn’t bring herself to enact real change, nor did she dare.

Her life was a tangled mess of guilt, impulsivity, and repression, as she made endless compromises to survive.

Cen Qing let out a cold laugh. “If I knew what my son was planning, I wouldn’t need someone keeping an eye on him.”

Cen Qing felt exhausted.

Cen Xiao’s transparency only made him more uneasy. He was certain that whatever Cen Xiao was planning, it was something most wouldn’t dare to touch. Cen Xiao didn’t seem to belong here—he observed everyone with a detached, judgmental air, like a judge seeking a target.

Xiao Muran glanced at Cen Xiao with a worried expression but found herself incapable of doing anything more. 

This wasn’t the first time she’d recognized her own cowardice.

Words like “big picture,” “family,” and “reputation”—all things she detested—continued to dominate her life. Like a cage, they trapped her at every turn.

Just as she was about to accuse Cen Qing of instilling rebellious ideas in their son, someone approached with a wine glass and called out Cen Qing’s name from behind.

Instinctively, Xiao Muran took Cen Qing’s arm and offered a polite smile that was neither too distant nor overly familiar.

“President Cen, it seems the last time we met was also at a networking event,” remarked Li Baishou, standing alone with a champagne flute in hand.

His sideburns were neatly trimmed, and the thinning hair atop his head had been carefully arranged to conceal his scalp. He wore an expensive suit that didn’t quite fit, the pants hanging loosely at the waist, with legs that seemed baggy and empty due to their excessive width.

Xiao Muran had no impression of Li Baishou at all, but with just one glance, he found a topic to bring up.

Xiao Muran asked, “Where’s your wife?”

Li Baishou attended the event today with a wedding ring on his finger, but his ill-fitting suit betrayed the absence of anyone offering timely advice on his appearance.

Li Baishou looked slightly embarrassed but quickly responded with a hint of disdain, “Her? She hasn’t seen much of the world. She’s probably off eating somewhere.”

Hearing the disrespect in his words, Xiao Muran immediately fell silent.

Cen Qing, who also couldn’t remember who Li Baishou was, quickly raised his glass from the table and clinked it against Li Baishou’s.

Only after Cen Qing had taken a sip did Li Baishou speak again. “Chairman Cen, I have a small request to make of you.”

Though clearly seeking a favor, Li Baishou addressed Cen Qing as “you” rather than the more respectful “you”, a reflection of his innate pride, which refused to allow him to humble himself even when asking for help.

Cen Qing closed his eyes briefly, raised his glass, and gestured for him to continue.

Li Baishou said, “I have a distant nephew who’s also in the export business and wants to join the United Commerce Association. Unfortunately, as you know, it’s tough for physical businesses nowadays. His operation is already low-margin, and the annual membership fee would make it impossible for him to continue. Could Blue Pivot offer any discount?”

Cen Qing smiled. “That’s not something I can decide alone. District Three has a well-established review committee. If I break the rules, Han Jiang will certainly come after me.”

He nodded toward Han Jiang, who sat by the indoor fountain, focusing intently on his meal with an expression that clearly warned against interruption.

As the head of District Nine’s Ghost Eye group, Han Jiang was always on guard, wary of anyone scheming against him. Thus, he avoided mingling in cliques entirely.

Li Baishou realized that Cen Qing was dodging the request and shifting the blame onto Han Jiang. After all, if District Nine were to concern itself with such trivial matters, Han Jiang wouldn’t have time to sleep.

Forcing a smile, Li Baishou replied, “That’s understandable, Chairman Cen. Although companies collaborating with Hongsuo don’t always have the best relationship with Blue Pivot, there will always be opportunities for mutual benefit in the future. I’m from the Biochemistry Department of the Hongsuo Research Institute. Perhaps you’ve heard about the incident with one of our professors causing trouble recently. Fortunately, with the efforts of Professor Jiang Weide and myself, the situation was resolved without major issues.”

After speaking, Li Baishou sipped his wine with a self-satisfied air, subtly emphasizing his position.

Though he might not yet be well-known, with Li Qingli deceased, there was no one else qualified to take his place. In the Biochemistry Department, only he and Jiang Weide were noteworthy figures.

Before Cen Qing could respond, Xiao Muran’s brows furrowed deeply. Known for her big-picture thinking, Xiao Muran couldn’t suppress a cold sneer. Her fingers clenched subtly as she asked bluntly, “And what is your name? I’ve only heard of Jiang Weide and Li Qingli from Hongsuo Biochemistry.”

After speaking, Xiao Muran’s neck tensed, her head felt flushed, and her chest heaved. Clearly, this one question wasn’t enough to vent her anger.

The phrase “caused trouble” struck directly at her sore spot.

Li Baishou froze, startled by Xiao Muran’s aggressive demeanor.

In front of the Blue Pivot District Three chairman, he had deliberately stepped on the legacy of the once-prominent Li Qingli. He thought, at the very least, he wouldn’t encounter outright hostility.

Meanwhile, Li Rong tilted his head, holding his phone between his ear and shoulder, using a plastic fork to stir a portion of creamy mushroom pasta before stuffing it into his mouth. His cheeks puffed out as he mumbled, “Tastes great, but the price is outrageous.”

Cen Xiao replied nonchalantly, “Put it on the Association’s tab.”

Satisfied, Li Rong didn’t forget to offer a reminder. “No need to keep watching so closely. Not everyone slips up all the time.”

Cen Xiaoyun casually picked up a piece of dessert, pretending to eat it, but only scooped at it with a spoon without actually taking a bite.

“Liu Tanzhi and Li Baishou are indeed operating separately. It’s not Liu Tanzhi’s choice; Li Baishou doesn’t want to be with her. Now, Li Baishou is near my parents, and Liu Tanzhi…” Cen Xiaoyun paused, seeming puzzled. “She seems to have run into an acquaintance from school and is taking photos.”

Li Rong, particularly interested in Liu Tanzhi, immediately put down his pasta and raised his binoculars. “Taking a group photo?”

Cen Xiaoyun shook his head. “No, they’re taking pictures of each other. She took one of them earlier, and now they’re photographing her.”

Liu Tanzhi stood among the crowd, looking like a shy, middle-aged woman obediently following her colleague’s instructions to pose.

Though surrounded by people, she seemed detached, as if she only wanted to capture the fleeting glamour of wearing an elegant dress—something rare in her otherwise plain work life.

Apart from Li Baishou, who had brought her, and brief encounters with Jiang Weide and Han Jiang near the turkey station, only her colleague photographing her had interacted with her. Liu Tanzhi herself didn’t seem eager to initiate conversations.

Li Rong leaned toward the window, binoculars in hand, scanning the crowd for her figure.

As he searched, he muttered, “Where’s Liu Tanzhi taking pictures? I can’t see her yet.”

Cen Xiao replied, “In the front-left corner of the banquet hall, near the window, by the indoor fountain…”

His voice suddenly trailed off. Following the description, Li Rong’s binoculars zoomed in, fixing on the fountain—the most prominent feature of the banquet hall.

The splashing water danced and leaped, forming a dense, mushroom-shaped veil in mid-air. The cascade hit the ivory-white carvings below, where glistening droplets caressed the intricate patterns before rolling into the illuminated, crystal-clear pool.

The sound of the water was chaotic, and the mist blended into the air like a dusty glass screen, obscuring the shadows behind it.

Behind the shimmering water, Han Jiang, unnoticed, finished his meal in silence and disposed of his trash in a passing garbage cart.

As the hotel waiter passed by, he seamlessly vanished behind the fountain.

Liu Tanzhi lowered her arm, weary from holding it up, and smiled helplessly at her colleague. “Are we done yet? My arm’s getting tired.”

Her colleague crouched slightly, angling the camera upward to make Liu Tanzhi appear taller.

“Almost there. Someone was standing behind you just now; let me take a clean shot.”

Liu Tanzhi walked toward her, reaching for her phone. “No need. I’m not that particular.”

The colleague, happy to oblige, returned the phone to Liu Tanzhi.

After the photoshoot, Liu Tanzhi reverted to her reserved demeanor. She spoke little, tagging along with her colleague to ease the awkwardness of being without Li Baishou.

Her colleague brought Liu Tanzhi to the group of Hongsuo researchers, who were engaged in animated discussion.

“Doing research these days is getting harder and harder. I feel suffocated every day.”

“Exactly! Ever since Li… uh, you-know-who’s incident, have you seen how the outside world views us?”

“Tell me about it. Not only are we under immense pressure at work, but even the public opinion is unbearable.”

“Why can’t people be more understanding of researchers? We’re human too. And those comments online about science being full of schemes and backstabbing—ridiculous conspiracy theories!”

“The worst are those who think scientists should be selfless saints, forbidden from running businesses or earning good money. What’s wrong with earning a living through our skills?”

“Take a look at the private research institutions funded by Blue Pivot District 4—those are purely profit-driven. Compared to them, Hongsuo is already selfless enough.”

“By the way, wasn’t Li Qingli accused of plagiarism? Hongsuo launched an internal review after that, auditing everyone’s publications over the years. It’s absurd! Investigate those with problems, sure, but don’t cast doubt on everyone else. This toxic environment is the fault of uninformed, rumor-spreading netizens.”

“Uh… Li Qingli wasn’t plagiarizing, was he? I remember the investigation concluded otherwise and was announced on Hongsuo’s official site.”

“Yeah, I saw it too.”

“Really? I’ve been so busy lately I haven’t had time to check the announcements.”

An awkward silence hung in the air.

The one complaining about rumor-mongering netizens had just casually spread misinformation about Li Qingli. If the others hadn’t read the official statement, he would have become the very type of netizen he criticized.

Mistaken impressions of the dead might go unnoticed, but those alive couldn’t afford to lose face.

The person quickly changed the subject. “Oh, this is Little Liu, right? Let me introduce her. She’s Professor Li Baishou’s wife and works at A University.”

Liu Tanzhi hadn’t expected to be singled out. Seeing multiple eyes on her, she smiled stiffly. “Please, continue. I don’t know much about this; I’m just listening.”

The speaker, having just embarrassed himself, eagerly heaped praise on Li Baishou.

“Li Baishou is quite prominent in the Biochemistry Department. Apart from Professor Jiang Weide, he’s the one to watch. He’s bound for great success.”

“The Biochemistry Department has achieved so much in recent years—it’s one of Hongsuo’s pillars.”

“Indeed, with this cleansing of the past, under the leadership of Professors Jiang Weide and Li Baishou, the department is sure to soar. What’s Professor Li working on these days?”

Once again, Liu Tanzhi found herself at the center of attention.

Unused to such focus, she inhaled deeply, her expression stiffening.

She knew the speaker didn’t truly think highly of Li Baishou. His earlier slip about Li Qingli left him humiliated, and now he was boosting Li Baishou—Li Qingli’s colleague—as a way to disparage the deceased and salvage his dignity.

Liu Tanzhi’s face remained innocent, but inwardly, she sneered.

The higher people climb, the harder it becomes to admit their mistakes. They hide their flaws behind polished performances and sharp intellect, twisting truths and directing blame elsewhere with righteous conviction.

Anyone daring to question them would face baseless counterattacks. They would never admit their own pettiness, ignorance, or prejudice—never concede they were just as flawed as the rumor-spreading netizens they condemned.

This was why Fengguang Culture thrived. Its audience wasn’t just the gullible masses but also many self-proclaimed experts who were easily deceived.

“Li Baishou…” Liu Tanzhi started softly, her tone humble and shy. But before she could finish her self-deprecating remark, the banquet hall erupted into a commotion.

Liu Tanzhi immediately fell silent, looking around in confusion. Someone beside her glanced at their phone and went pale.

“What’s going on? Why the chaos?”

“Check the Hongsuo group! The president just posted something!”

“Forget the group—chat logs are flooding. Check AC Daily’s website!”

“Or RQ Trends!”

The group around Liu Tanzhi instantly forgot about Li Baishou. They pulled out their phones, fumbling to open browsers. Some searched for AC Daily, others logged into RQ Trends, while a few scrolled through the Hongsuo group chat.

All their screens displayed the same shocking news:

At 9 p.m. A City time (11 a.m. in L Continent), the international top-tier journal From Zero published a groundbreaking paper by Li Qingli: The Hypothesis on CAR-T Optimization and CRS Mitigation.

The paper caused an immediate stir in the academic world. But alongside the publication, readers noticed the author’s name was framed in solemn black borders.

“No way! Li Qingli?”

“Wasn’t he long gone…. When did he submit this?”

“With his reputation, how did this even pass peer review? I mean, what will other countries think, given his history? This looks terrible!”

“When it comes to his hypothesis, who knows what exactly he’s written about?”

“I’m not in biochemistry—different fields are like separate mountains. I don’t understand a thing. Is it really that remarkable? Why’s everyone praising it?”

The once harmonious banquet hall was now in utter chaos.

The crowd from the Blue Pivot research group remained relatively composed, but the Hongsuo side was a vivid spectacle.

If one could perch atop the chandelier hanging in the banquet hall’s center, gazing down on everyone below, they’d witness the absurd drama Jian Fu often described. Every person present was a vibrant actor on this stage.

Li Baishou’s hand trembled, and the nearly empty champagne flute slipped from his grip, shattering on the floor. Yet, he seemed oblivious to the sound, the message from earlier replaying endlessly in his mind like a hypnotic chant. It told him his dream was shattered, that all his hard work over the past months had been reduced to nothing more than a bubble bursting into oblivion.

Across from him, Xiao Muran struggled to control her emotions, but tears still streamed down her face uncontrollably. She turned away in embarrassment, facing the window and the vibrant night scene outside. Hastily accepting the tissue Cen Qing handed her, she clumsily dabbed at her tears, entirely forgetting about her meticulously applied mascara and eyeliner.

Jiang Weide looked as though he had aged several years in an instant. His reddened eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions as he tilted his head back and gulped down a mouthful of alcohol, directing a grateful glance at the gleaming crystal chandelier above.

Liu Tanshi’s face turned as pale as paper, her gaze unconsciously following a particular direction. The person in her line of sight responded with a calm, reassuring glance.

Meanwhile, among the rest of the Hongsuo members, emotions varied:

Some secretly celebrated for Li Qingli, believing that fairness, though delayed, had finally arrived.

Others were left bewildered, unsure how this event would affect Hongsuo or their own future—whether it would bode well or ill.

A few glanced around, suspicion evident on their faces, hoping to glean some insight from others’ expressions.

And still, others stayed detached, continuing to eat and drink as though the commotion were irrelevant.

Cen Xiao, wearing an earpiece, heard a choked yet relieved voice call his name softly.

“Cen Xiao.”

Raising a hand, he gently touched his Bluetooth earpiece and responded in a low voice, “I’m here.”

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