MW CH58

Chapter 58: Low-Key

Monday morning, I borrowed Yan Chuwen’s car and drove Mochuan to Gan County.

Pengge’s over 200 kilometers from Gan County—more than three hours by car.

Mochuan, maybe sleepless over He Nanyuan’s mess, looked worn out today.

“Recline the seat and nap? I’ll wake you when we’re there,” I said.

Mochuan eased the seat back. Worried he’d get cold, I cranked the heater up a bit.

The car quieted—only the rumble of tires over rough roads.

Early still, Pengge’s mountain roads were empty. I drove ages, meeting just a herd of sheep swaggering across.

Slowed down—practically tailing their butts. Those sheep didn’t flinch—bold as hell.

Couldn’t resist—honked. Startled, they scattered, finally clearing the way.

Sheep split to both sides—some, spooked or something as we passed, leapt onto the steep cliffs.

“Damn—spider sheep…” That wall was near ninety degrees—they kicked off with ease and climbed.

“Those are mountain goats—named for it,” Mochuan’s sleep-free voice came from beside me.

Glanced at the passenger seat—he’d raised an arm, shielding his eyes, maybe from glare. Car was warm—he’d shed his wool suit jacket, down to shirt and vest. The tie I’d knotted so carefully? Undone in minutes—he didn’t seem to like stuff choking his neck.

“Woke you up?” Thought my honking and muttering did it.

“No, wasn’t really asleep.” Dropped his arm. “Kept thinking—did I screw up raising him, that Qia Gu’d mess up this bad and not even tell me?”

Yesterday, the school’s dean called about expulsion talks—but till today, He Nanyuan hadn’t rung to mention the fight.

“Little Yuan’s proud—probably didn’t want you knowing he screwed up, scared you’d be let down,” I said. With his vibe, totally possible.

Not just named “hawk”—temper matched: stubborn, proud.

“I left my parents at three—old enough for some memories. My sister held me, crying hard, wouldn’t let go. Didn’t know why—just cried with her. End of it, parents pulled her, Pinjia pulled me—took effort to split us.”

First time Mochuan shared this—his voice, smooth even flat, had a prose-like flow.

“Early years, she’d sneak to see me. Then we figured out—each visit, I’d get punished. Slowly, she stopped daring to come.”

“At ten, she snuck again—said she’d fallen for a Xia man. Mom and Dad disagreed, kicked her out, cut ties. Asked if she was wrong—I told her Xia and Cenglu folk are no different, she could love anyone.”

“I told her she could love anyone.” He repeated it, almost to himself, like it gnawed at him. “That guy said he’d bring his parents to propose—then vanished.”

“Twenty years ago, Cuoyansong didn’t even have landlines—forget phones. She’d trek far to call, asking when he’d return.”

“He’d dodge with excuses—‘soon’—but year after year, no sign. Fifth year, she still waited, believing he’d show—but the line went dead.”

“My parents thought her a disgrace—never took her back, even till they died. She raised Qia Gu alone—worn out young, sick all over, dead before thirty.”

“Last moments, I saw her. She knew me but called me ‘Pinjia’—grabbed my hand, begged me to watch her kid.”

“That year, Bazhai Sea’s winds howled—she was the second kin I buried, after my foster dad.”

“Five years, I thought I’d raised Qia Gu well…”

Ahead, straight dirt road—no cars, no risk. Seeing him doubt himself, crushed, I grabbed his hand, squeezed tight.

“It’s fine, it’s fine—definitely not Little Yuan’s fault. You raised him and Li Yang so well—smart, cute, sensible.” Scraped for words to soothe him. “I’m here—I’ll talk to the school. No way Qia Gu’s getting expelled.”

“Trust me—you’ve never dealt with real troublemakers. Kid me, my dad tried fixing our bond—took me to his place for dinner. I slipped out, scratched every car in their yard—caught red-handed.”

“They asked whose kid—I led ‘em to Dad. You should’ve seen his shit-eating face.”

Mochuan chuckled low, fingers threading mine, interlocking. “Then what?”

“Ran, obviously—stay and get beat?”

Later, Bai Qifeng came to chew me out—my grandma doused him with foot-wash water. Pure bliss.

Reached Gan County by noon—too urgent for food. Parked at the school gate—Mochuan dialed He Nanyuan’s homeroom teacher.

“Fix your tie.” While we waited, I retied his loose knot, straightened his shirt collar.

Soon, a middle-aged woman hurried out.

“You’re He Nanyuan’s uncle?” Cenglu’s high nose, deep eyes—plus Little Yuan’s likeness—she pegged Mochuan instantly.

She offered her hand. “Hi, I’m his homeroom teacher, Wang Fang.”

Mochuan: “Yes, I’m his uncle. Hello, Teacher Wang.”

After shaking with him, she eyed me, unsure. “And you?”

“His uncle too,” I said, smiling, hand out.

She paused—shook it.

Led us into campus—she briefed us along the way.

Unlike the dean’s call to Mochuan, Wang Fang leaned toward He Nanyuan—details richer.

“Saturday, two Cenglu girls went for stationery—some punks hassled them…”

Punks liked their looks—demanded numbers. Girls refused—punks trailed them to the gate. One, Su Duo, lost her Xin Yin in the mess—those creeps snatched it.

Already spooked by the harassment, losing her Xin Yin broke Su Duo—she cried to her brother Zuo Yong.

Should’ve stayed quiet—Zuo Yong’s hotheaded, rallied Cenglu kids to settle it, avenge her.

He Nanyuan tried stopping them—failed, tagged along—ended up hitting hardest.

“Cops used a car wash’s pressure hose to split them—good thing they’re minors, or they’d all be locked up!” She favored Little Yuan but still fumed.

Mochuan stayed silent—no take.

She seemed kind, student-minded—I tested. “We heard the school’s expelling Little Yuan. Think there’s room to turn this around?”

Wang Fang mulled. “Those punks got hurt bad—their parents, locals, stormed the school. Principal’s scared it’ll spiral—plans to ditch He Nanyuan and Zuo Yong.”

Sounded promising. “If we settle with cash—parents back off—would the principal drop it?”

“Depends on him,” she hedged.

No. 1 Middle School’s principal—a pudgy, balding fifty-something—didn’t budge from his chair since we walked in.

“Teacher Wang, fetch those two from your class,” he chin-jutted, ordering her.

“Sure, right away.” She didn’t even sit—out again.

Office had him, plus a fortyish guy—black-rimmed glasses, weasel-faced—claiming to be the dean.

“Who’s Zuo Yong’s family, who’s He Nanyuan’s?” he asked.

“We’re both He Nanyuan’s,” I said.

Six sofas faced the desk, two rows—Mochuan and I side by side, dean opposite.

“Where’s Zuo Yong’s family?” Hearing just one showed, he scowled.

Mochuan, calm: “I can represent them fully.”

Dean adjusted his glasses, shrewd. “Write a statement then—don’t want parents whining later.”

By now, I was mildly pissed.

“Matching good education zones with weaker ones—noble cause. I was thrilled when tasked with it,” the principal said, one hand lifting his teacup lid, blowing off leaves. “But these kids—hopeless. Beating folks over a brooch…”

“Not a brooch—Xin Yin,” Mochuan corrected. “It’s vital to our clan—life and death—not just some trinket.”

Principal paused—brushed it off. “Fine, fine—Xin Yin, very important Xin Yin.” Sipped, smacked his lips. “City picked this aid project for your Pinjia’s sake. Li Bureau entrusted me—I wanted it to shine. Looks like I’ll let him and Pinjia down.”

His act screamed Bai Qifeng—pissed me more.

Leaned to Mochuan, whispered: “They don’t know you’re Pinjia?”

He glanced—two words: “Low-key.”

“You might not know Li Bureau—let me tell you…” Next five minutes, he bragged about his Li Bureau ties—dean played hype man, catching his words.

They ping-ponged till Wang Fang returned—office went quiet.

She led—blocked the door—let two uniformed boys in.

He Nanyuan, gauze on his forehead, saw us—eyes popped, like he’d seen a ghost.

The kid behind—Zuo Yong, probably—stopped too, peeked, spotted Mochuan, voice spiking. “Pin-Pinjia?! Why’re you here?”

“Pfft!” Principal spewed tea—leaf bits scattered like flower petals.