Chapter 114: Wang Mengzi Is Coming Back

Wang Mengzi is coming back.

As Zhang Ye stepped through the doorway, a piece of news instantly washed away the lingering reluctance and regret from his mentor’s departure.

His heart brimmed with excitement, though a tinge of nervousness lingered beneath the surface.

It had all started when he had acted foolishly after drinking, causing an awkward rift between them. She hadn’t given him a chance to explain; instead, she packed her bags and left for a trip.

Nearly twenty days had passed, and though Zhang Ye thought of her often, contacting her was difficult since she had no phone. Without the opportunity to speak to her, he remained anxious and uncertain.

“When will Aunt Wang arrive?” Zhang Ye grasped the remote control, nervously clicking buttons at random to mask his tension.

Zhang Haiguan, engrossed in his newspaper, didn’t look up. “She’s in Hangzhou now. She should arrive in the next day or two. She’s coming by train, so she might be a bit late.”

“I heard Xiao Zi’s new book is a bestseller and made a lot of money?” Liu Meiju, curious, emerged from the kitchen to join the conversation.

“Why are you so nosy? If she’s capable of earning money, unlike you...” Zhang Haiguan glanced sharply at Liu Meiju, about to scold her as he used to. But then he remembered that in this household, his voice was the weakest—even weaker than Zhang Ye’s—and fell silent.

The clothing store had been doing well lately, bringing in considerable income for the family. Liu Meiju’s voice grew louder with pride. Before, Zhang Haiguan, as head of the household, could reprimand her. Now, she had turned the tables and held the power in their conversations.

“Like me? What about me?” Liu Meiju shot back immediately, persistent and unapologetic.

Not wanting to get involved in his parents’ disputes, Zhang Ye retreated to his room. Sitting on his bed, he stared blankly for a moment before pulling out a painting he had purchased from Fan Cuiyun.

Though somewhat worn, the painting radiated a majestic vitality, as if a real landscape had come to life on the paper. Zhang Ye’s breath quickened as he gazed upon it.

He remembered clearly: this painting had last been auctioned for 1.55 million yuan. Even factoring in the inflated auction price and a few years’ passage, if he were to sell it now, it would fetch at least one million yuan. That was even with some damage and incomplete preservation. Otherwise, it would command an even higher price.

He had never considered auctioning the painting since there were no reputable auction houses nearby. However, he knew one or two people interested in such art—contacts he had made during his later business dealings. What he lacked was a proper channel.

With this in mind, he made a swift decision. He carefully framed and preserved the painting before opening his computer to begin writing.

Zhang Ye’s typing speed had improved greatly over time. Watching him, his fingers seemed to leave ghostly afterimages as characters appeared rapidly on the screen.

Since he didn’t have to invent the plot—only transcribe from memory—his speed was terrifyingly fast. In the blink of an eye, dozens of words would appear.

He was already on chapter forty, where a thrilling tale involving the Black Water Mystic Snake unfolded once more.

An hour later, his mother Liu Meiju called him to dinner. Only then did he pause his swift typing and realized he had written over seven thousand words without any fatigue, feeling as though he hadn’t yet exhausted his creativity.

After dinner, however, he didn’t continue writing. Earning money from novels was important, but studying was equally so. Since his rebirth, he had forgotten much of his previous knowledge. Today’s exam had been a harsh reminder. Without a solid foundation, things would be far worse.

For the sake of both his parents and his own future, he resolved to focus on his studies and improve his grades. After all, if his academic performance was poor, no matter what he wanted to do, his parents would surely oppose it.

He took out his math textbooks from freshman and sophomore years and began self-studying. Yet, progress was minimal. Beyond memorizing some common formulas, his grasp of problem-solving methods barely improved.

Such knowledge simply could not be gained solely through self-study or textbooks, though he did sense his memory and comprehension had enhanced somewhat.

Due to the unusual nature of this exam, the teacher graded papers quickly, and results were ready within a single night. When Miao Jianghong—who never showed any expression other than his usual stern one—entered the classroom holding a thick stack of papers, silence fell over the room.

In one year, Miao Jianghong had established enough authority to silence even the most unruly students.

“This exam is both important and not, as it determines class placements,” he said, placing the papers heavily on the desk, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “Overall, our class performed decently, but some students have clearly regressed.”

Perhaps intentionally, Miao Jianghong’s gaze flicked toward Zhang Ye. Zhang Ye immediately knew his results were disappointing.

Sure enough, as Miao Jianghong began announcing rankings and distributing papers, many voices expressed surprise or delight, but Zhang Ye waited in vain for his paper to be handed out.

The top rank was never in doubt: Zhou Tingting, with a total score of 750 and 710 on this exam. Second place was Shi Lei, who had every right to be proud academically, though far behind first place with 650 points. Third place shocked Zhang Ye—it was Li Qianqian.

He recalled Li Qianqian’s past academic record… then realized his memories were from senior year, when he had begun to notice and like this shy girl. Back then, she had suffered a sharp decline in achievement due to her father’s influence.

“Fifty-seventh place, Zhang Ye, third from the bottom,” Miao Jianghong’s sharp eyes fixed on him.

“Trash!” Shi Lei muttered just loud enough for the whole class to hear, at a moment when everyone was silent.

Miao Jianghong’s expression flickered, but he ignored the insult. He called Zhang Ye’s name. “Stand up and explain why your grades have dropped so much over one summer.”

Zhang Ye’s only respectable score was in English—135 points. The rest were a complete disaster, even math, which he had thought decent, was barely above fifty.