The ominous feeling in Old Fang’s gut instantly intensified.
He wiped the smile from his face, placed the blue folder on the corner of the desk, and lowered his head to look where Zhou Qiping was pointing.
It was a faxed copy of a student’s academic file.
Just one glance.
Old Fang’s pupils contracted sharply.
In the black-and-white photo in the top-right corner, Chen Zhuo’s gentle, handsome face was printed, smiling serenely at the camera.
Further down.
Date of Birth: October 1991.
Grade: Class for the Gifted, Second-Year.
Old Fang felt as if someone had just clubbed him in the back of the head. A sharp ringing echoed in his ears.
’He’d considered every angle. He’d predicted Li Jianming would come tattling, and he’d predicted Zhou Qiping would try to smooth things over. But he never, ever imagined that Zhou Qiping would go so far as to pull up the entire university database and dig up everything there was to know about Chen Zhuo!’
Old Fang froze.
For a full five seconds, he was utterly speechless.
"Old Fang."
Zhou Qiping folded his hands over his stomach. His voice was calm, yet it carried a heavy weight.
"Old Li stormed into my office today, slamming his fist on the desk. He accused you of running an academic monopoly, said your physics department was hiding a certain Professor Chen capable of publishing in *Discrete Mathematics*. He said you used the man as a human calculator, and when you were done, you fed him a bunch of lies."
Zhou Qiping pointed at the photo on the paper.
"So, why don’t you explain this to me? What’s the deal with this twelve-year-old Professor Chen?"
The office fell deathly silent.
Li Jianming clenched his fists, glaring at Old Fang. He was dying to hear what kind of excuse the old bastard could possibly come up with, now that the iron-clad evidence was right in front of him.
Old Fang stared at the fax, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Suddenly, he sighed.
There was no panic, no flush of embarrassment from being caught in a lie.
After clawing his way through the worlds of politics and academia for the better part of his life, Old Fang’s skin was thick enough to be impenetrable.
He straightened up, pulled out a nearby wooden chair, and sat down with a deliberate slowness. He laid the blue folder flat on his lap.
"Principal Zhou, Old Li."
Old Fang raised his head, the expression on his face as innocent as could be.
"What’s all this? Ganging up on me for an interrogation?"
Old Fang patted the folder.
"I’ll admit it, Chen Zhuo is a second-year student, and he’s twelve years old. But what’s the problem?
According to school regulations, students in the Class for the Gifted are permitted to rotate through labs in different departments. He chose our fluid dynamics lab. He’s happy here with me. I’m mentoring him on a national-level project, giving him exposure to the most cutting-edge models in physics.
This is called tailoring education to the student’s aptitude. This is called nurturing Keda’s future talent. How, in your mouth, Li Jianming, does that become an ’academic monopoly’?"
Li Jianming was stunned.
He’d met shameless people, but never anyone *this* shameless.
"You’re full of shit!"
Li Jianming slammed his hand down hard on the desk, making his tea mug rattle loudly.
"Don’t you dare use ’rotational study’ as a cover! Are you mentoring him? You’re using him as a workhorse! You couldn’t figure out the wind tunnel parameters, so you used his brain to bail you out!"
Li Jianming jabbed a finger at Old Fang’s nose, his voice cracking with rage.
"And another thing! What did you tell me in the hallway this morning? You said ’Old Chen’ was a recluse! You said ’Old Chen’ was so mentally exhausted he could barely stand! You called a twelve-year-old boy ’Old Chen’?! Old Fang, have you no shame?!"
Faced with Li Jianming’s furious spittle, Old Fang simply leaned back in his chair, his expression unchanged.
"Old Li, be honest. Tell me, which part of what I said was a lie?"
Old Fang spread his hands, his tone laced with a bizarre sort of righteous indignation.
"A twelve-year-old kid, holed up in the lab every day calculating matrices, not playing sports, not going out to have fun... He certainly can’t hang out with a bunch of old geezers like you. If that isn’t being a recluse, what is?"
Old Fang paused, meeting Li Jianming’s murderous glare before continuing.
"As for being too mentally exhausted to stand, isn’t that the truth? He’s only twelve! He’s a growing boy!
For the better part of a month, he’s been helping me derive that matrix with non-linear compensation, scribbling on scratch paper day in and day out. His nutrition can’t keep up, he’s probably low on calcium, and his legs get weak.
I told him to go back to his dorm, drink some milk, and catch up on his sleep. Isn’t his dorm his home here at the university? So when I said he was ’going home to rest,’ what’s wrong with that?"
Li Jianming stared blankly at Old Fang.
His head was spinning. For a moment, he was completely at a loss for words.
Old Fang had somehow managed to twist his gangster logic into a seamless argument. While each sentence, taken on its own, seemed plausible, the whole thing strung together was nothing short of blatant, shameless sophistry.
"You... you..."
Li Jianming pointed at Old Fang, sputtering, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Sitting behind his desk, Zhou Qiping watched the two old professors—with a combined age of nearly one hundred and twenty years—bicker and squabble. He raised his teacup to hide the smile playing on his lips.
"That’s enough."
Zhou Qiping set down his cup and gave the desk a firm rap.
"Old Fang, you know what Old Li’s temper is like. He’s nearly worked himself blind over that graph theory conjecture. Since you knew Chen Zhuo had this kind of talent, you could have at least let him take a look, or pointed Old Li in the right direction. To keep the boy so tightly under wraps, refusing to even speak a word of truth... that was a low blow."
Old Fang turned his head and looked at Zhou Qiping.
"Principal Zhou, it’s not that I was trying to be underhanded."
Old Fang’s tone grew serious. He glanced at Li Jianming, his eyes filled with the wariness of a man guarding against a thief.

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