Chapter 005: The Chinese Aesthetic

Tom, the foreign teacher, was utterly absorbed in his reverie, never expecting the usually forbearing Lin Yu to suddenly erupt. So, caught off guard, he was kicked straight off the podium and crashed with a bang into the classroom wall.

As fate would have it, his head struck the wall and he blacked out immediately. The small cabinet in the corner, where the washbasins were kept, was toppled by his collision, sending a basinful of water spilling across the floor, soaking his white shirt in several places.

With that, the already lively Class 7 of Senior Year 3 exploded. The entire classroom became a bustling marketplace, with many students taking the opportunity to chat animatedly with their neighbors.

Lin Lie, who sat in the very last row, stood up, stuck out his thumb, and shouted loudly, “Lin Yu, you’re really something! This time, you totally nailed it!”

He was the top dog at First High School—a childhood practitioner of Muay Thai, better at fighting than peers like Wang Yan and Lin Yu. With an official for a father and a businesswoman for a mother, he grew up pampered by both money and power. Not only did he have countless sycophantic followers at school, he was well-acquainted with many street toughs outside, making him a force at Seventh High, feared by all. Even some school leaders would greet him proactively, offering their regards.

Lin Yu’s group of five maintained a peaceful distance from him—neither intimidated nor provocative.

Seeing Lin Lie speak up, Lin Yu nodded in acknowledgment. He knew Lin Lie to be aloof and quick to turn hostile, often picking fights over the slightest thing and resorting to violence.

On the other side, Qi Yue blew Lin Yu a flamboyant kiss, saying boldly, “Catch this, it’s a gift from your grandma. That Tom got what he deserved!”

Lin Yu ignored Qi Yue. After nodding to Lin Lie, he walked over to where Tom lay limp on the floor, checked his breathing, and found he was still alive. Knowing Tom would soon recover, Lin Yu returned to the podium, grabbed a chalkboard eraser, and slapped it twice against the desk. The classroom, previously noisy, fell instantly silent.

Lin Yu then spoke with a grave tone: “I know more than half of you will get into prestigious universities or top-tier schools, so it’s normal that you laughed at me just now because of Tom’s question. After all, I’m the worst student in Class 7—there’s a good chance I won’t even make it to a college. But I hope you understand something: even the most humble person can have their moment to shine, their chance to be extraordinary.”

With his words ringing out, Lin Yu grabbed a piece of white chalk and began to write on the blackboard, stroke by stroke:

Upon meeting a fair one, the immortal garden deep within,
Jade feet upon snowy ground, crossing through the forest.
Behold my fondness, as leaves greet the spring.

Foolish and stubborn am I, failing to heed these wise words,
Beside these waters, once we stood together.
Where our shoulders brushed, your jade hand once caressed.
Bidding me embrace the world, as water weeds follow the dam.
Pity my foolishness, all that remains is my lament!

Finishing, Lin Yu flicked the white chalk back into the box—a move he’d perfected over years of bar tricks in his past life, impressing women with uncanny accuracy.

After this stylish flourish, he approached Tom, who was still sprawled on the floor, and stomped several times on his thigh. Amid Tom’s anguished cries, he slowly opened his eyes. Seeing Lin Yu’s stern gaze, he shivered, afraid Lin Yu might get violent again.

Watching Tom’s fearful demeanor, Lin Yu let out a cold chuckle and said, “Go check the translation on the blackboard.”

Obediently, Tom got up, trembling as he walked to the board, terrified Lin Yu might attack again. He now had a deep respect for Chinese kung fu and secretly thought, “I must report this to the principal. Threatening the safety of an American citizen is a diplomatic issue—how outrageous! Chinese students really lack manners.”

Upon seeing Lin Yu’s translation on the board, Tom was dumbstruck, mouth agape but unable to speak. It wasn’t that he found the translation good or bad—he simply couldn’t understand the classical Chinese style or the meaning of the lines.

After staring for a while, he could only shake his head at Lin Yu, indicating his confusion.

The students below treated the whole episode as a farce; none believed Lin Yu had produced anything worthwhile. Catcalls and jeers flooded the air, burying Lin Yu on the podium in ridicule.

It wasn’t entirely their fault—Lin Yu was notorious for poor academic performance. Moreover, his handwriting on the board was anything but neat, resembling chicken scratch, giving a messy visual impression. For instance, the character for “fair one” was nearly written as something else entirely. As a result, few bothered to look closely.

Only Yang Zhilin, who loved poetry, peered intently at the board, carefully deciphering the script. With each line she understood, she jotted it down in her notebook. After painstakingly transcribing it, she began to compare it with her own translation, pondering each sentence thoughtfully.

“Upon meeting a fair one, the immortal garden deep within…” Yang Zhilin murmured quietly, contemplating whether the phrasing was reasonable and the meaning correct.

As she delved deeper into the comparison, her eyes sparkled with growing excitement. Her passion for fine writing was something most people couldn’t comprehend—it was akin to a photographer’s love of nature or a painter’s fascination with the human form. The allure of it was hard to grasp unless immersed in its beauty.

Her earnest, increasingly animated expression drew the curiosity of her desk mate, Qi Yue, who asked, “Well? What do you think?”

As Qi Yue leaned in, Yang Zhilin continued to analyze line by line, explaining, “I haven’t finished reading, but I’m sure this translation is a classic. It’s steeped in Chinese tradition—each sentence is four characters, reminiscent of the Thousand Character Classic from the Southern Dynasties. In terms of meaning, almost every word hits the mark—it's nearly perfect. And the elegance and beauty contained in this translation far surpass any colloquial version.”

“Is it really that good?” Qi Yue said doubtfully, thinking Lin Yu, who couldn’t recite even a handful of old poems, couldn’t possibly memorize any translation.

Yang Zhilin smiled confidently, “Absolutely. Although Lin Yu seems undisciplined, this translation is a classic among classics. I suspect he came across it somewhere by chance and memorized it because he liked it.”

Yang Zhilin rarely smiled—her face usually wore a frosty expression—so her excited grin was a rare sight. Nearby boys, sneaking glances, were transfixed, thinking her smile was the most beautiful scenery in the world.

In 2002, internet cafes were already popular, but for most families, computers were still an expensive luxury.

For Qi Yue, however, it was different. Her father’s seaside villa in Bincheng, and her own European-style apartment, were both equipped with computers and internet access. Thus, she had her own hypothesis about Lin Yu’s translation: “Maybe he found it on the computer. He’s been hogging my computer lately, playing all sorts of random games. I think he probably got the information online.”

Yang Zhilin retracted her smile and, looking perfectly composed, whispered into Qi Yue’s ear, “He often hogs your computer? Does he ever hog your bed too? Like… yesterday?”

Yang Zhilin had attended Qi Yue’s birthday party the day before—though she left midway, finding the atmosphere uncomfortable. But Lin Yu getting drunk and ending up on Qi Yue’s bed was now all the rage in Class 7, so she’d heard the rumors.

“Oh, you little minx, didn’t know you had such a hidden side! Let’s see how grandma deals with you!” Qi Yue, teased by her desk mate, reached out mischievously toward her chest.

This scene made the nearby boys drool with envy…