Chapter 42: Circle of Friends

As expected, Huang Tao immediately questioned Huang Guolun, “Dad, don’t you want to be a successful teacher? Otherwise, why haven’t you found me a new mom yet?”

“I haven’t stopped looking,” Huang Guolun replied. “I’ve been searching, but these things take time. It’s not something that happens just because you want it to.”

“I don’t think what you need is time, but a pair of discerning eyes. Don’t you realize that the perfect candidate for a new mom is right in front of you?”

“Who are you talking about?” Huang Guolun asked.

“Of course, it’s Sister Bai Yao!” Huang Tao exclaimed, launching into an excited explanation. “She’s the Snow Witch! If she becomes my new mother, I’ll be the child of a witch. How incredible is that! In the future, I could even learn magic! And if you marry her and become the Snow Warlock, you could learn magic too! Don’t you want to learn magic?”

Huang Guolun replied helplessly, “Your Sister Bai Yao’s ‘Witch’s Code’ clearly says that magic cannot be passed on to outsiders. So stop dreaming about finding loopholes to learn magic.”

“Rules are dead, but people are alive! Doesn’t Grandma always teach you this? Why can’t you figure it out?” Huang Tao nearly called his father’s head as thick as a brick, egging him on. “Just marry Sister Bai Yao first! Once she’s your wife, she’ll have to teach you magic!”

“Your Sister Bai Yao is only seventeen, still far from the legal age for marriage. Besides, I’m thirteen years older than her, and she’s my student. In what world would that be appropriate?”

“I saw on the news that a ninety-year-old scientist married his thirty-something-year-old student! You and Sister Bai Yao are only thirteen years apart. What’s the big deal?”

“Enough already. Stop getting ideas. There’s absolutely nothing between me and your Sister Bai Yao!”

“That’s your promise! So you’re not going to marry her?”

Huang Tao suddenly sat up, his tone threatening.

“I’m not marrying her,” Huang Guolun answered firmly.

“Fine! If you won’t marry her, I will! I’ll marry Sister Bai Yao, become the Snow Warlock, and learn magic!” Huang Tao declared with righteous indignation. “So what if we’re thirteen years apart? I’m thirteen years younger than Sister Bai Yao too! When I grow up, I’ll marry her! I’ll prove to you that thirteen years isn’t a big deal at all! And once I know magic, anyone who bullies me—bam! I’ll turn them into a popsicle!”

Huang Guolun was amused by his son’s childish vow. “You’re the one who bullies others; they’d be grateful if you don’t pick on them. Who would dare bully you?”

“Anyway, I like Sister Bai Yao! I’m going to marry her! If you have the guts, don’t marry her—leave her for me. When I’m grown, I’ll marry her!”

Huang Guolun teased, “Didn’t you say before that your favorite is Li Yaxin and you wouldn’t marry anyone but her? Why do you suddenly want to marry Sister Bai Yao now?”

At the mention of Li Yaxin, Huang Tao hesitated, then quickly changed his tune. “I’ll marry Li Yaxin too, and Sister Bai Yao! I’ll marry them both!”

Huang Guolun laughed. “Do you really think that’s possible?”

Huang Tao spoke with utmost seriousness, “Why not? I’ll make Sister Bai Yao my main wife and Li Yaxin my second wife! Whoever tries to stop me, I’ll turn them into a popsicle! With magic in hand, the world is mine!”

Huang Guolun tried to bring him back to reality. “Stop dreaming about Sister Bai Yao’s magic. The ‘Witch’s Code’ is clear: her magic cannot be passed on. If she taught anyone, it would cost her her life. Do you really want her to sacrifice herself to teach you magic?”

“Huh?” Huang Tao’s spirits plummeted. “There’s such a nasty rule in the ‘Witch’s Code’?”

“What did you expect? If not for such a strict rule, I’d have asked her to teach me magic already, long before you even thought of it.”

Huang Tao, frustrated, tugged at his blanket. “So annoying. I’ve been dreaming of learning magic from Sister Bai Yao.”

“Heh, don’t get your hopes up. Go to sleep now. Fall asleep within ten minutes, and I’ll buy you an ice cream cone tomorrow,” Huang Guolun resorted to his ultimate trick.

At the mention of ice cream, Huang Tao immediately complied, squeezing his eyes shut and lying obediently in bed. Still, he mumbled, “I’ve figured it out. Even if I can’t learn magic, I’ll still marry Sister Bai Yao. As long as she knows magic, she can protect me. Since you won’t marry her to be my new mom, I’ll marry her as your daughter-in-law. So, you decide.”

Huang Guolun nearly fell off the bed. If Huang Tao hadn’t started snoring within seconds, he would have given this little rascal a piece of his mind.

Lying on his side next to Huang Tao, watching his chubby, round face in the dim light, Huang Guolun smiled with a bittersweet ache.

This boy was becoming more like his mother with each passing day.

How did he get so clever?

This was no four-year-old; this was clearly Chen Jia at twenty-four.

At the thought of Chen Jia, a vague ache welled up in Huang Guolun’s heart.

Not wanting the pain to spread, he gently got out of bed so as not to wake Huang Tao, put on a jacket, and went to his desk to work on music.

Filling life with work is the best anesthetic for pain.

Bai Yao had been recording recently, and every evening, Huang Guolun would use professional music software to extract and edit her recordings, striving to piece together the best possible version.

From Huang Guolun’s study, the window glowed with light.

Two buildings apart.

In Building Six, Bai Yao’s bedroom window was also illuminated.

Bai Yao was hunched over her desk, diligently studying university-level mathematics.

Since moving into Bell Lane, both her living environment and her state of mind had improved dramatically. In such a good place, Bai Yao wouldn’t waste a single moment. Every night, after returning to Bell Lane with Huang Guolun and Huang Tao, she would seize every minute to study mathematics, often working until one or two in the morning.

Now that she lived close to Experimental High School, she no longer had to get up painfully early and cycle more than ten miles to school. She could sleep until seven and still arrive on time, giving her ample hours to burn the midnight oil.

As the saying goes: if someone better than you works harder than you, you’ll never catch up. Some, faced with this reality, simply think, “If I can’t catch up, why bother?” and resign themselves to mediocrity.

But with Bai Yao’s work ethic, ordinary people simply couldn’t keep up.

When she was immersed in mathematics, Bai Yao would lose herself in the world of formulas and models, barely noticing anything outside—unless she interrupted herself.

Tonight, she did just that.

Usually, even when heading to the bathroom, she’d carry a book, reading as she went. But tonight, having heard the school website would post a video of the recent anniversary performance—a show that left a deep impression on her—she was eager to watch it again.

She sat on the toilet, pulled out her phone, and logged onto the school website, but found only a few dull news articles and no video. Disappointed, she was about to turn off her phone and leave when she noticed over 800 unread messages in her WeChat class group.

This was astonishing.

Since their homeroom teacher, Ms. Chen, was also in the group, it was usually quite quiet. Only when Ms. Chen assigned group tasks did the chat liven up, and even then, it was rare to see 800 messages in a single evening.

What on earth had happened?

Still seated, Bai Yao frowned and opened the group chat.

Her phone was an old model—one she’d received as a gift from a tutoring client’s parent when she started high school. No matter how she maintained the system, it lagged terribly, especially with large numbers of messages, often freezing completely.

This time was no exception.

Opening the chat, her phone immediately froze. The screen was stuck on classmates’ posts praising Mr. Huang’s singing.

There was also a message from Zhang Liang, bragging that his video of Mr. Huang’s singing, posted to his Moments, had gone viral—108 likes, breaking his personal record.

Seeing these, Bai Yao understood. It must have been that during dinner, Huang Guolun sang, Zhang Liang recorded it, and posted it online.

Now she desperately wanted to know what Huang Guolun had sung to cause such a sensation.

She removed and reinserted the phone battery to restart the device. While waiting, she flushed and left the bathroom.

Back at her desk, she quickly tackled two analytic geometry problems. As soon as the phone rebooted, she went straight to Zhang Liang’s Moments to see what that big oaf had posted.

Bai Yao wasn’t anti-social at school; like everyone else, she’d added all her classmates as friends on WeChat and occasionally browsed their posts.

But as soon as she opened Zhang Liang’s Moments, she remembered that she’d blocked him just last week. She simply couldn’t stand his posts—they were too idiotic and painful to read. Blocking him had been the wise choice.

Just reading two of his posts from the previous week was enough to know how much his Moments could batter one’s intelligence.

The last post was about buying clothes at the West End Nationalities World—it was almost normal. The photo showed a trendy red jacket with a caption:

"Went shopping for clothes at Nationalities World. Spotted a white jacket, asked the boss how much? Boss said: two hundred! I said: Whoa, that’s expensive! What about the red one? Boss replied: That’s the new model, twice as ‘whoa’. Damn! So, folks, what do you think? Is this red jacket worth two ‘whoas’? If it is, I’ll go back next week and try to haggle it down to one and a half!"

All his posts were that kind of lowbrow humor.

His post from last Wednesday was even more of an assault on the senses—a photo of a messy toilet, captioned:

"Toilet at home clogged, no plunger, so I searched online. Found a tip: use a hose to blow air through. So I took the washing machine hose, stuck it in, and blew hard. But the internet didn’t warn me the water would shoot back from the pressure! Boohoo, enough said, let me go die!"

After reading that, Bai Yao had blocked his Moments without hesitation.

But tonight, just to see the video of Huang Guolun singing, she had to hold her nose and unblock him.

Sure enough, the top post was Zhang Liang’s video. The thumbnail was a blurry image of Huang Guolun holding a guitar in the restaurant, looking rather distinguished.

Zhang Liang’s caption, however, was as cringe-worthy as ever:

"Song written especially for me by Mr. Huang—‘Contentment’! Anyone with ears, come listen—it’s amazing! I’m wearing my awesome headphones and this song is so good, I’m about to pass out!"

Next to the post were 108 likes. Clearly, they were for Huang Guolun in the video, not for Zhang Liang.

The top comment was from Liu Xiaohui, their class sports rep. He wrote to Zhang Liang: "Next time, don’t wrap your headphone cord around your neck while listening. That way you won’t suffocate."

"Pfft."

Bai Yao couldn’t help but laugh at Liu Xiaohui’s joke.

Scrolling down, the rest were all classmates marveling at how moving Mr. Huang’s singing was—