Chapter 004: The Goddess of Class Seven

At the moment the tall white foreign teacher brought the ruler down on him, a surge of anger rose in Lin Yu’s heart, and he wanted nothing more than to kick the foreigner a few times. But after the foreign teacher muttered a few clumsy phrases in Chinese, Lin Yu gradually calmed down. After all, his soul was twenty-eight years old, with a measure of composure and cunning. Besides, he didn’t want his very first day after being reborn to end with his parents being called in.

On the other hand, Qi Yue, who had just returned to her seat, stood up abruptly, her face dark as she glared angrily at the tall foreign teacher and started cursing him outright, already displaying the posture of a female gang leader.

Seeing this, Lin Yu smiled and waved his finger at her, signaling that it wasn’t necessary. He shrugged at the students below, then stuffed his hands into his pockets and strode off the platform, heading for the classroom door.

Throughout the whole incident, Lin Yu’s attitude was one of complete indifference. This was a demeanor utterly absent from his previous life. Thus, all the students in the class were astonished, feeling as if the sun had risen from the west that day. The few troublemakers sitting at the back, eager for drama and chaos, let out disappointed jeers.

But just then, the restless foreign teacher tapped the desk with the ruler, shot Lin Yu a sidelong glance, and ordered, "Dead wood, stop right there. Who told you to leave the classroom? Stand by the podium and listen to the lesson."

This foreign teacher was something else—he ignored the girl’s insults entirely, venting all his anger on Lin Yu instead.

"Stand by the podium as punishment?" Lin Yu was already quite annoyed, but he held himself back from erupting. He turned and stood at the edge of the podium, his face still wearing that nonchalant smile, thinking that this foreigner was acting like a clown. If he had been sixteen, he would never have restrained himself—he’d have beaten the man senseless.

Seeing Lin Yu, apparently unbothered, stand below the podium, the foreign teacher, Tom, grinned smugly. He pointed with the ruler at a few lines of English poetry on the blackboard and asked, "Who can translate this poem by William Butler Yeats, 'Down By the Salley Garden,' into Chinese? This poem is beautifully rhythmic, deeply emotional, and rich in symbolism—a rare masterpiece."

When he finished speaking, the classroom fell silent—no one raised their hand.

With a look of arrogance on his face, Tom pointed at the students and asked, "Who can? Who can? Can you? Can you? Or you?" His last finger landed on Lin Yu, clearly intending to humiliate him further.

At that moment, Lin Yu was lost in thought, never expecting the teacher to call on him again, so he was caught off guard, his expression somewhat bewildered.

The students below burst into unrestrained laughter. Lin Yu was the worst student in the class, considered a hopeless case for college admission. They thought to themselves, if even he could translate it, anyone could.

Class 7, Grade 3 was a liberal arts class, with about two-thirds of its sixty-odd students being girls, so the laughter sounded particularly sharp.

On the surface, Lin Yu accepted their mocking stares with a blank expression, but inwardly he was indifferent, thinking these kids were naive and foolish, just as he once had been.

"Mr. Tom, may I try to translate it?"

At Lin Yu’s most awkward moment, a voice—not particularly loud—broke the commotion in the classroom.

The speaker was Yang Zhilin, the class’s top student, praised as the school beauty and the pride of Class Seven.

The room instantly quieted as everyone turned their eyes on her. Since the class had been divided into arts and sciences in the second semester of their first year, Yang Zhilin had been the class monitor. She was somewhat aloof and didn’t like interacting with others; her only close friend was her deskmate, Qi Yue, so she rarely spoke. Every time she stood up to answer a question, even a few words became the center of attention.

Lin Yu, naturally, wasn’t about to miss this perfect opportunity to observe the school beauty openly.

Unlike most girls her age, Yang Zhilin possessed a classic elegance, an air of grace and confidence difficult to describe, making her seem like a truly noble princess. Her love of poetry lent her an additional aura of serenity and quiet beauty.

As for her appearance—being known as the pride of Class Seven, the school’s most beautiful girl, it went without saying. Aside from her height—nearly 1.7 meters, intimidating to most boys—and her exquisitely proportioned, slightly mature figure, what set her apart was her almost mixed-race features. Her nose was straight but not abrupt, and her eyes seemed to hold the spirit of heaven and earth, making her flawless face endlessly pleasing to behold.

But having returned from ten years in the future, Lin Yu no longer stared at her like a fool as he once did. He merely stole a few glances, hands in pockets, and then looked away.

Meanwhile, Yang Zhilin, her voice tinged faintly with coolness, began to translate softly and steadily:

Walking into the willow garden, I met my beloved there.
She passed through the willow garden, her slender feet as white as snow.
She told me to cherish love, as tender as the leaves on the tree.
But I was young and foolish, and did not heed her heart’s words.
By the fields along the riverbank, I stood with my beloved.
On my slightly bent shoulder, I held her slender, snowy hand.
She told me to cherish love, as gentle as the grass on the embankment.
But I was young and foolish, and now there’s only endless tears.

Even most college students would not claim to translate this English poem accurately. In terms of true English proficiency, Yang Zhilin could not possibly translate it so well. But it just so happened that Yeats’ "Down By the Salley Garden" was her favorite English poem. She had long ago memorized a translation.

“Oh, excellent! Dear Yang, you are truly marvelous!” On the podium, the big-nosed foreign teacher Tom couldn’t help but praise her, leading the class in applause. He had assumed that no Chinese high schooler could possibly know this poem. At this moment, Yang Zhilin truly astonished him; he gave her a thumbs up in admiration.

The classroom was soon filled with thunderous applause, and the atmosphere in Class 7, Grade 3 was electrifying.

Many marveled that the pride of Class Seven deserved her reputation. They felt that, in the past few minutes, Yang Zhilin and Lin Yu had perfectly demonstrated the difference between a good and a bad student.

Just then, however, Lin Yu, standing by the podium, caught a deeply disturbing sight: beneath the desk, foreign teacher Tom had pitched a very obvious tent. Clearly, something wicked had crossed his mind.

Disgusting! Fantasizing about our class goddess during a lesson?

This was intolerable!

The desk blocked the view, so the other students couldn’t see it, but Lin Yu could see it clearly. Fury surged in him.

He took a few quick steps and delivered a powerful side kick straight at Tom, the big-nosed foreign teacher.

The students of Class 7 gasped in shock, thinking Lin Yu truly was as incorrigible as ever. So that earlier display of calm indifference had just been an act.

Unfazed, Qi Yue climbed onto her chair, waving her arms and cheering him on…