MW CH54

Chapter 54: What’s Wrong with Loving Beauty?

Xiong Mingjie had asked me to prepare a few-hundred-word speech. I’d figured it’d just be a formality—collect the award, say some offhand words to the media and leaders below. Turns out, I was dead wrong.

A grand stage, a podium, and a dense crowd sat below—city leaders to state officials taking turns speaking, discussing two years of economic progress and Cuoyansong’s future.

By the time it was my turn, I’d secretly reworked my speech on my phone from start to finish—turning a half-baked draft into something sharp and precise.

Striding to the podium, I gave a slight smile to the audience, my gaze lingering a little longer on Mochuan in the front row.

“My first visit to Cuoyansong was at eleven. That young me was utterly captivated by its natural beauty and simple, honest customs—so much so that even after returning to Haicheng, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

To this day, I often feel grateful—grateful for my playful streak back then. If I hadn’t slipped away from the group, I might’ve missed Mochuan entirely in this lifetime.

“The second time, I was in my twenties. The scenery remained unchanged, the simplicity still there, but it was no longer isolated and cut off. It had grown modern, keeping pace with the times. Every household now had internet, TVs, access to nationwide deliveries, and news from around the world. I know this is thanks to the efforts of so many—people like the bedrock of this world, slowly building up our future, piece by piece.”

Teacher Zhou, Nie Peng, Mochuan—it’s the torch passed among them that’s transformed Cuoyansong. A single stone’s strength may be small, but grains of sand form towers, strands of fur make robes. A thousand stones, ten thousand, countless—together they build an unbreakable skyscraper, shielding us from wind and snow, guiding us forward, creating a humble refuge for ordinary folks.

“One person gathers firewood for a home, a hundred for a city—only with ten thousand does a nation take shape. I want to be one of those stones, ensuring Cuoyansong’s children have schools to attend, books to read, and nutritious meals to eat.”

Guo Shu once said the world needs people like Teacher Zhou to seem decent. I don’t have his saintly teaching gift, Mochuan’s self-sacrificing courage, or Nie Peng’s tireless grit. All I can offer is financial support.

I can’t become someone like Teacher Zhou, but that doesn’t stop me from aspiring to be like them.

“This is my first year doing charity, but it won’t be my last. As long as Cuoyansong stands, my path of giving will too. Thank you all.”

As the final word landed, the room erupted in warm applause. The host ushered me to the side.

“Next, we invite Pinjia of the Cenglu clan to present the award to Mr. Bai Yin.”

A staff member approached with a gold plaque topped with a red pom-pom, followed by a smiling Mochuan.

He stopped right in front of me, took the A4-sized plaque from the staff, and handed it to me.

I examined it closely. At the top, it read “Cuoyansong Touching Hearts Award.” Below, in smaller red text, was “Thank You for Filling the World with Love.” Further down, a short note thanked me for my donations and selfless devotion, signed by the mayor at the bottom.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for Cuoyansong.” Mochuan, as “Pinjia,” gave me a formal thank-you before stepping back.

I froze for a second, then smiled back. “Compared to what you’ve done, it’s barely a drop.”

A flicker of amusement lit his eyes—he gave me a deep look and stepped aside.

We stood shoulder to shoulder on stage, holding the plaque together, smiling under a barrage of flashes until our faces ached and the photographers signaled “OK.”

I don’t know if my speech moved him or if those dozen practice books did the trick, but after returning from Shannan, He Nanyuan—while still not warm to me—stopped bristling like a porcupine at every turn.

So I shifted my Mochuan meetups back to daytime.

Lately, though, I’ve found a new spot: a little Cenglu traditional jewelry shop, two kilometers from the institute. I walk there every time. The pieces aren’t as polished as city stuff—mostly silver and semi-precious stones—but the patterns and designs have plenty to teach me.

To not irk the owner, I buy something each visit—sometimes a ring, sometimes earrings, once even a gaudy red coral headpiece I thought Sun Manman might like back in Haicheng. With these purchases smoothing things over, he doesn’t mind me squatting by his side, staring for hours.

Leaving the shop, heading for the temple—near the steps, I spotted a tiny lamb by a house’s door.

Snow-white, curly fleece, big eyes with long lashes—even a pet-averse guy like me got hit by its charm for a moment.

Reminds me of Mochuan…

With that thought, I edged closer, gave it a tentative pat. It glanced back, didn’t shy away—even turned and rubbed its head on my pants.

In the yard, a wrinkled granny was feeding chickens. I scooped up the lamb. “Granny, is this yours?”

She looked over, her Xia thick with accent. “Yes… it’s mine.”

“Granny, can I borrow it? I’ll show it to my friend and bring it right back.” I gestured toward the temple, holding the lamb up.

“You’re from the institute?” She seemed to recognize me.

“Yeah, I’m from there—won’t steal it. If I don’t return, come to the institute and settle it with me.” I pulled two hundred-yuan bills from my pocket. “Take this as a deposit.”

She waved her hands. “No, no… can’t take it…”

I stuffed them in her apron pocket and dashed up the hill with the lamb.

Stepping into Deer King Temple, something felt off.

The hall doors were locked, the front yard dead silent—not a soul around.

Where’d everyone go?

Lamb in arms, I crept to the back—spotted two figures peering out the small building’s window: one tall, one short—He Nanyuan and Li Yang.

Slipping over, I heard voices inside—whispered, “What’s going on?”

Both jolted—eyes wide in perfect sync, staring at me.

Seeing it was me, He Nanyuan’s face screamed “want to curse but can’t,” shot me a glare, and turned back to eavesdrop.

Li Yang patted his chest, shushed me, beckoned me to lean in.

“Pinjia’s meeting with the clan elders,” he whispered, pointing inside.

I nodded, tiptoed into the eavesdropping crew.

“I’m over seventy—seen three Pinjias. You’re the least proper!” A voice barked through the slightly open window.

Only the bottom slit showed—Li Yang was fine, but me and He Nanyuan had to crouch to see.

Inside, seven or eight old men ringed a sofa—Mochuan sat alone, facing the window, cool as ever despite the scolding.

“Every tree, every blade up there belongs to the Mountain Lord—the hot springs too, his gift. You’d cash in on it? No chance.” A pipe-smoking geezer griped.

“Uncle Shui, it’s not for profit—it’s for all of Cuoyansong to thrive!” Nie Peng—I hadn’t noticed him till he spoke, perched on a chair to the side.

He lacked Mochuan’s chill with their nonsense—his face mixed resignation and irritation.

A gold-toothed geezer chimed in. “Letting that little bastard into the temple—I warned it’d start trouble…”

Mochuan’s brow twitched—slammed his ceramic teacup down, milk tea splashing. “Elder Jin, too much bad talk shortens your life. Heard you’re unwell—mind your words, or you might not make it through the year.”

“You…” Gold-tooth choked—one word out, then a hacking cough tore through him, so bad the others’ faces shifted. Pipe guy set his pipe down.

“Everyone, cool it.” Nie Peng tried, awkward.

“I watched you grow—now you’re all day with Xia folk. Cenglu’s Yan Guan or Xia’s?” A goat-bearded geezer boomed.

The rest piled on.

“Yeah, don’t forget who you are…”

“What was that you just said?”

“That short hair—told you a million times, you never listen…”

“That He Nanyuan—why not his dad? Xia’s mess anyway…”

“A Yan Guan fussing over looks? That necklace—never seen it. Where’d you get it?”

I stood, flat-faced. “Follow me—we rush in soon.”

The kids, mid-spy, glanced back in shock—exchanged looks, trying to crack my plan.

No matter—I hugged the lamb, hit the door.

Bang—chucked it in. Startled, it bolted—I chased, “accidentally” stomping the geezers’ feet.

Peanuts and seeds spilled—I lunged, missed—elbow swept a cup, splashing hot tea down one’s pants.

“Ouch, who’s this…”

“My foot, my foot!”

“Where’d this sheep come from?”

“Sorry, sorry! Lamb’s young, clueless—I’ll grab it…”

That lamb was too smart—stuck to the table’s edge. I kept “slipping,” kicking legs, crushing toes. He Nanyuan and Li Yang trailed, mimicking me.

Three laps—geezers had enough, stood to leave.

“Too rowdy today—we’re done.” Pipe guy snorted, led them out, sleeves flapping.

Mochuan and Nie Peng rose—Mochuan kept his poised smile; Nie Peng couldn’t, stifling laughs, avoiding their eyes.

“I’ll see them off.” Mochuan passed me—lips curved wider. “Clean up,” he murmured.

“Got it!” Hoisted the lamb, waved its hoof. “We’ll make it spotless.”

Nie Peng, last out, shot me a sneaky thumbs-up.

Minutes—a tense meeting, trashed.

He Nanyuan grabbed a broom and dustpan—swept, Li Yang caught.

“Pinjia’s the best—they know jack!” Li Yang stomped a peanut.

He Nanyuan glanced—no words needed. Li Yang dipped, mumbled, “…Sorry, no swearing.”

Shut the door—lamb roamed—I hit the sofa, helped tidy.

“They’re the jackasses!” I backed Li Yang. “What’s wrong with loving beauty? Pinjia can’t? Wall Buddhas drip with necklaces, bracelets—tons! ‘Wearing treasures, adorned in virtue’—what do they get?”

If Mochuan ditched my jewelry over them, I’d smash their windows with rocks at midnight!

“But Pinjia didn’t care about bling before…” Li Yang pouted. “Started last year—always wore that green jade bead string, seven years, only swapped for Bazhai Sea. Jewelry’s meant to be worn, though…”

Picking up a cup—I froze mid-stand at “last year.”

Last year—our reunion? He wasn’t this flashy before.

A wild, almost absurd thought hit—does he think I’m into shiny jewels… so he’s… trying to please me?