DCTMOAS Extra 4
by SuxxiThe last class before the Mid-Autumn holiday was Chinese.
With the break just around the corner, the students’ minds had long flown elsewhere, making it impossible for them to settle down and listen. Throughout the entire class, Chu Cheng had to keep restoring order, and his lecture went nowhere smoothly.
The buzzing of whispered conversations was nonstop, and even mild-tempered Teacher Chu finally lost patience.
With a smack, he dropped the workbook onto the lectern, grabbed the most brazen culprit as an example, and asked with a blank face:
“Zhang Qiao, where did I stop?”
The boy called out was the most troublesome in this year’s class. He had just been out sick for a week. While he was gone, Vice-Class Teacher Chu’s ears had enjoyed rare peace. But the moment he returned, he picked up his old trade of disrupting class.
“Qiao-ge, page 34.”
“The last reading passage analysis.”
“….”
“You stopped at question 5–4, and the answer is—”
Zhang Qiao might have been unruly, but he was well-liked. With his classmates feeding him hints from both sides, he actually managed to answer in full.
Chu Cheng was displeased, but standing at the podium he couldn’t really explode. He just issued a brief warning and told the student to sit down.
Before long, the dismissal bell rang, and the set of exercises went unfinished.
Chu Cheng sighed and called class over. The students bid goodbye to Teacher Chu and noisily began packing up.
Yu Siting strolled in slowly and, seeing the man at the lectern packing up teaching materials with a dark expression, came over:
“Who’s gotten on your nerves this time?”
“Your class representative,” Chu Cheng said offhandedly.
“Zhang Qiao?” Yu glanced toward the back rows, where that group of boys was horsing around without a care. “What’s he done?”
Chu couldn’t help filing a complaint:
“The kid took a week off at home to ‘recover.’ Judging from today, he probably spent it fooling around. He’s got all the kids around him sprouting weeds in their heads.”
Years ago, Chu Cheng thought teachers’ favoritism toward top students was only natural. But later he realized: when the so-called star pupils acted out, they were even harder to manage.
Sighing, he forced himself to calm down and turned to supervise the duty students cleaning the classroom.
Yu Siting, however, frowned.
At the back, the boys were huddled together, plotting to head to the sports park to play basketball.
“Zhang Qiao, you sure your body’s up for it?” one asked.
The boy in question struck a shooting pose out of nowhere. “No problem. I’m strong as an ox now. A week of shuttling between home and hospital nearly killed me with boredom.”
Still holding his “cool” pose, he suddenly heard Yu Siting’s voice:
“Find someone else. He won’t be playing today.”
“Huh? Why not?” Zhang Qiao blinked.
Yu took out his phone, found Zhang’s mother in WeChat contacts, and made a voice call—right in front of him.
The call connected.
“Hello, Teacher Yu.” The woman on the other end sounded a little nervous at suddenly receiving the homeroom teacher’s call. “Did Zhang Qiao cause some trouble at school?”
Yu said nothing to that. Instead, glancing at the bewildered class rep, he said:
“Here’s the situation. Because of his illness, Zhang Qiao has missed quite a few new lessons. Today I noticed he wasn’t in good form in class—maybe he hasn’t mastered the new material well enough.”
The room, noisy just seconds ago, fell into pin-drop silence. All eyes swiveled toward the culprit.
Yu went on:
“Since school’s letting out early today for the holiday, if you have time, I’d like him to stay behind and do some extra practice, so I can pinpoint exactly where he’s falling behind.”
“Oh, yes, of course. That would be wonderful. Thank you so much, Teacher Yu, for taking such care of our Zhang Qiao.”
“He’ll be coming home late today.”
“No problem at all. Whenever he finishes, please give me a call—I’ll have his father pick him up. Really, thank you.”
“…”
Only after the call ended did Zhang Qiao snap out of it. He yanked at his hair, mouth open wide, but no sound came out.
“You heard that?” Yu ignored his reaction and ordered directly:
“Go to my office and bring down three to five sets of function practice tests.”
“Big bro…” Zhang Qiao was stunned that his holiday had just evaporated. “I already promised the guys I’d play ball—without me they can’t do it.”
Yu swept his gaze around the room. “Is that so?”
“Not at all! Four-on-five, we’ll fight harder!” the boys, fearing collateral damage, bolted with their bags.
“Damn! Are you even human?” Zhang Qiao stared after his fleeing brothers-in-arms, heart turning cold.
But as a yearlong class rep, he wasn’t completely clueless. He soon realized why this “disaster” had struck him, and turned toward the vice-class teacher.
“Teacher Chu, save me! I’ve just got poor self-control, I didn’t mean to mess around! I’ll change, I swear! Please don’t let him single me out like this—”
“His business isn’t mine to handle,” Chu replied coolly, though he raised a hand and made a throat-slitting gesture.
“Aaagh—” Zhang Qiao saw that road blocked and put on a mask of misery, making one last plea:
“Big bro, you really can’t keep me. The school’s doing electrical maintenance today—soon it’ll be pitch dark.”
“Oh, then grab a mop and help with cleaning first. After that, get in my car. My place has power.” Yu finished, ignoring the desperate howls behind him, and walked off.
Chu Cheng followed.
“All this just to help me discipline one brat? Doesn’t seem worth it.” Once outside, the vice-class teacher couldn’t help glancing back at the classroom.
“Not at all.” Yu slowed, brushing past Chu’s shoulder and leaning slightly closer to murmur:
“Your precious boy’s coming back today.”
Chu suddenly smiled:
“Two birds with one stone.”
After cleaning was done, all the teachers and students left the school. Zhang Qiao, however, was forced to follow the two teachers back to Fantian Jingyuan.
“Back already? Our hardworking gardeners, well done.” When they came in, Lu Yan was lounging on the sofa watching a movie. At the sound of the door, he tilted his head, revealing a handsome, well-defined face.
Though he was already a PhD student, with his sharp cropped bangs and clean smile, he still looked full of youthful spirit.
The young man caught sight of Zhang Qiao trailing behind the couple and frowned in confusion. “Eh? What’s this kid doing here?”
Chu Cheng, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over the arm of the sofa, replied: “This is your uncle’s little welcome gift to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lu Yan’s confusion deepened.
“Take what you need to take, and go where you’re supposed to go.” Yu Siting didn’t explain. He simply pointed at the free labor standing there and addressed the student directly: “If there’s something you don’t understand, he’ll teach you.”
This wasn’t the first time Zhang Qiao had been dragged over to big bro’s house, nor the first time meeting Lu Yan. So he wasn’t too reserved.
Clutching his math textbook and worksheets, he edged closer to the sofa with a sheepish but polite grin: “Bro~ Hello again, it’s me.”
“Hold it.” Lu Yan raised his hand to stop the kid from cozying up, then whipped his head toward Yu the teacher, who was about to head into his room. “You’re making me tutor your student again? Uncle, your adorable nephew just came back, and instead of a warm welcome, you’re dumping this on me?”
Yu Siting didn’t even turn around: “If you weren’t home, I wouldn’t have brought him here.”
Lu Yan, indignant, appealed to his little uncle’s spouse: “Mr. Chu, look at him!”
“Be good, teach him well.” Chu Cheng’s eyes curved with a smile as he headed inside. His tone was gentle, but there was zero sympathy in it.
…Shouldn’t have come home.
The “favorite son” sighed inwardly, realizing things weren’t what they used to be—he was no longer as doted on as when he was little. Resigned, he turned his gaze on the student.
Zhang Qiao immediately plastered on an obedient smile.
“What, you see a math problem written on my face?” Lu Yan snapped, annoyed, flipping through the kid’s math book. “Well? Which part do you need explained?”
“Here…”
Autumn nights grew dark early; by six or seven the windows were already black.
Lu Yan sat cross-legged on the carpet by the coffee table, yawning at the dull grind of high school math.
“Still not done? Can you even handle this?”
“Almost there, don’t rush me.” Zhang Qiao scribbled furiously on the worksheet.
Lu Yan cast a lazy glance at his work and muttered, bored: “You’d better check it again.”
“Huh? Did I get it wrong?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t calculate it. Just doesn’t look right.”
Zhang Qiao argued: “Then how do you know it’s wrong? Big bro’s problems are always weird—having strange answers is normal.”
“Cut the crap. It’s not like I haven’t done them before. When I was in high school, the stack of test papers he punished me with was taller than you. Redo it.”
“…Ohhh.” Zhang Qiao obediently started reworking the problem.
“Forget it, stop flailing. I’ll explain it again. Give me the pen.” Lu Yan squinted at the mess of scribbles all over the sheet, too messy to bear, and began explaining while griping: “Your big bro really knows how to use me as free labor. Even my PhD advisor doesn’t dare boss me around like this.”
Watching his somewhat rough tutoring style, Zhang Qiao pouted: “Bro, I don’t have your genius brain. Can’t you be a little more patient with me?”
Lu Yan was about to retort, but as he lifted his eyes, he noticed something outside the window: the lights were on in a living room across the way.
Well, well. Ying He was back.
“What’s up?” Zhang Qiao asked, puzzled by his sudden pause.
An idea flashed in Lu Yan’s mind. He smirked slyly: “Zhang Qiao, I’ve been sitting here with you for over two hours. Aren’t you sick of me yet?”
“Not really.” Since Lu Yan’s approach to problems was so much like big bro’s, Zhang Qiao found it easy enough to follow.
“Nope, you are sick of me. Come on.” Lu Yan shoved his coat into his arms, leaving the kid blinking in confusion.
“Where are we going?”
Gathering all the books and worksheets, Lu Yan slipped on his shoes and said: “Didn’t you just complain I was too harsh? Then I’ll take you to someone gentler.”
The autumn night wind was chilly. Zhang Qiao had no clue what trick was being played, but he wrapped his coat tighter and followed.
Ying He’s apartment sat across the walkway from Yu Siting’s house—just a few minutes away by foot.
Lu Yan pushed open the unlocked garden gate and marched into the yard. He banged on the door, then raised a hand to block the camera on the electronic lock.
After a long wait, a grumpy voice came from inside: “Who is it?”
Lu Yan grinned: “□□.”
“Scram.”
Inside, Ying He had just returned from abroad and was struggling with jet lag. Woken up cranky, he recognized the teasing voice instantly and barked a single cold syllable in reply.
A couple of muffled barks came from the dog inside.
Lu Yan clicked his tongue.
“You sure you knocked on the right door?” Zhang Qiao looked at him doubtfully.
Bro, is this really your idea of ‘gentle’?
Lu Yan wasn’t bothered by Ying’s attitude. Leisurely, he said: “My job is just to drop you off. Learn the problems properly before you come out—or I’ll tell big bro.”
Zhang Qiao muttered: “That’s only if he even lets us in…”
“He will.” Lu Yan said with full confidence, raising his hand to count down from three.
Sure enough, by the time he reached one, the lock clicked open.
A tall figure in pajamas appeared—Ying He, hair tousled, rubbing his head. He tucked away his irritation and, with forced patience, asked: “What do you want?”
“Just came to say hi.” Lu Yan’s grin widened as he strolled in, nosily glancing around. “Where’s your dog?”
“Quit it, I’m exhausted.” Ying He grabbed his hoodie by the hood, stopping him from wandering around like a tourist.
The shelves and tables in the place were crammed with new gadgets—everything Ying liked. First-timers inevitably got distracted.
Zhang Qiao was wide-eyed, speechless for a while.
Still half-asleep, Ying He pulled a Perrier from the fridge, collapsed onto the sofa, and took a swig.
“It’s barely evening and you’re already half dead.” Lu Yan plopped down beside him, nagging in the exact tone his uncle and uncle-in-law used to scold him: “You should move around more, it’s good for your health. Otherwise your hemorrhoids’ll flare up for nothing.”
“Pff—” Ying He nearly choked to death, grabbing a napkin to wipe his chin. His patience snapped. “What the hell do you want?”
Lu Yan: “There’s a class 7 reunion coming up. Noticed you didn’t reply in the group, so I came to tell you.”
Ying He didn’t even think: “Not going.”
“Okay, then I’ll just assume you know.” Lu Yan ignored him, pulled a hotel card from his pocket, and laid it down. The time and room number were written on it.
“I said I’m not going.” Ying He picked it up only to toss it aside—deliberately into a tea tray, despite the trash can being right there.
Lu Yan, amused by his lip service, just smiled: “Alright then, I won’t bother you. I’m off.”
Ying He collapsed back on the sofa, drifting toward sleep again. A faint, hoarse murmur was his only reply.
The door shut. Lu Yan really did leave.
One minute. Two minutes.
Suddenly, Ying He sensed something wrong. He snapped his eyes open—and sure enough, there was still a kid frozen stiff by the sofa.
“Why are you still here?” Ying He frowned.
Clutching his workbook, Zhang Qiao remembered the mission entrusted by Brother Lu and carefully ventured: “Um, bro… do you know… functions?”
…Shit.
Now Ying He finally realized what that bastard had just done.
Zhang Qiao rubbed his nose in embarrassment. Though the man said nothing, he was sure the curses flying around in Ying He’s head were… colorful.
Meanwhile, Lu Yan jogged happily back home, mood sky-high. Pushing open the door, he saw a figure standing in the living room.
Chu Cheng was fiddling with the brand-new electronic punching bag Yu had bought. Glancing up at his “favorite son,” he asked: “Oh, I thought you were upstairs. How come you’re coming from outside?”
“Went to deliver some warmth to the neighbor,” Lu Yan replied.
“So you’ve got free time then?” Chu Cheng tossed him a pair of boxing gloves with a knowing look. “Come on, let’s play a round.”
“Sure.” Lu Yan agreed readily. “Loser washes dishes and scrubs shoes.”
The clanging from their match drew Yu Siting out to investigate.
Seeing the two going at it, he blinked. “Where’s the student?”
“There.” Lu Yan pointed at the lit windows across the way.
Yu understood, and gave a low, almost invisible hum. “You’re not bad at outsourcing.”
“Learned from you.” Lu Yan twisted nimbly, landing a solid punch dead center on the bag. In double-player mode, their score shot up by several hundred points. “Gonna surrender, little uncle-in-law?”
Chu Cheng kept punching, smiling without a word.
Yu glanced at the scoreboard—knew the round was lost—and held out his hand for the gloves. “Give me those.”
“Tsk.” Lu Yan wiped his sweat with his wrist and teased with a grin: “Fine, but say it now—are you willing to do his chores if you lose?”
“Of course.” Yu agreed without hesitation.
…Now that’s true love, isn’t it?
Chu Cheng had barely started to feel moved when he heard the man add:
“I’ve told you a hundred times—your little uncle-in-law’s stamina is lousy. Stop exhausting him so late at night.”
Chu Cheng: ?
Author’s Note:
Xiao He: So… tonight no one’s going to speak up for me, huh?