Chapter 8: The first crack
Zhang Wei opened his bleary eyes to the shrill ring of his cell phone. He groped at the nightstand where he'd dropped it the night before, still half-expecting a triumphant update from the hooligans about Xueling's "lesson."
But the call was short, muddled, and unsatisfying. The details weren't clear — only that things hadn't gone as planned. He hung up, heart hammering uneasily. So they failed? His jaw tightened. Annoying, but not disastrous. Not yet.
He swung his legs off the bed, pulled on his shirt, and headed downstairs for breakfast.
The Zhang house felt wrong the moment he reached the landing. The usual chatter of servants was absent, the hall oddly hushed. His father, always the first at the dining table with a newspaper and black tea, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his mother sat stiffly, fingers worrying the hem of her silk sleeve. Across from her, his older brother paced the room with a phone pressed tight to his ear, his voice low and strained.
"What's going on?" Zhang Wei asked, forcing a smile.
His mother looked up, her eyes tired, a faint tremor in her voice. "The company… it's been sued. A developer claims we supplied faulty materials to their site. And now—" she broke off, glancing at the papers spread across the table, "major contractors are pulling bids. Two of our largest clients canceled contracts this morning. The phones haven't stopped ringing. Everyone is demanding answers."
Zhang Wei froze in place. He had imagined irritation, maybe a lecture from his father about money wasted on thugs — but not this. Not clients walking away. Not lawsuits. Not the foundations of the Zhang family business shaking underfoot.
His brother's voice cut sharp through the silence, snapping at the person on the other end of the call: "We're not at fault here! You can't just cancel outright—hello? Hello?!" The line had already gone dead.
Wei's stomach dropped. The house smelled of cold tea and fear. For the first time, he felt it: the taste of something unraveling, swift and merciless.
His mother pressed trembling fingers to her temple. "Wei, go to school. We'll handle this at home. Don't… don't let people see your face like this. We'll find a way through."
Her words were gentle but laced with panic. She wanted him out of the way. He nodded stiffly, grabbed his bag, and left the house, though his insides churned with dread.
The moment he set foot on campus, Zhang Wei knew something was wrong. The usual chatter in the courtyard wasn't the same background hum — it was sharper, buzzing, like a current passing from phone to phone. Everywhere he looked, students were huddled in groups, whispering, eyes wide.
The reason became clear in seconds.
"Have you seen the video?""It's insane—one girl, three guys. She floored them like it was nothing.""Look at her form. That's not random flailing. That's real martial arts."
Screens lit up all around him as the clip replayed over and over: a lean silhouette in an alley, her figure sharp under the harsh light of a streetlamp. She moved with terrifying precision — a wrist lock here, a sweeping kick there, an elbow that knocked the fight out of a thug twice her size. The three men fell like dominoes, one after another, and the video cut just as the girl adjusted her glasses and walked calmly out of frame.
The comments beneath the post burned hotter than the footage itself.
Who is she?Uniform looks like XX High.No way, it's ours. That's our tie!She's brutal, but elegant. Like a pro. Could be a rising star…
Two schools were already claiming her as their own, each pointing to the half-blurred uniform as proof. Debate threads exploded across the forums: who was this girl? Was she a martial arts prodigy? A hidden champion?
The clip had no name, no credits, just a figure with perfect proportions and merciless technique.
Zhang Wei felt sweat prickle at his neck. He recognized the setting too well. His gut told him exactly who that figure was. Yet his brain resisted the connection. How could it be her? Wasn't she supposed to be a good-for-nothing? Shouldn't she be the one shamed, not exalted?
But the crowd around him was electrified, not condemning. To them, the girl in the video wasn't a scandal — she was a mystery, a legend in the making.
His fists clenched, his chest tightening with a sense of rising panic. His plan hadn't just failed — it had backfired spectacularly. He had miscalculated. To be precise, he had never even considered the possibility that Feng Xueling could be so… capable.
The very act meant to humble her had instead sparked the first whispers of her rising star.
Does she know it was me? What else has she been hiding? His thoughts spiraled. And what about Yaoyao? Would she hate me for propelling Xueling into the spotlight?
With panic, dread, and trepidation twisting together in his chest, Zhang Wei forced himself forward, each step heavier than the last. By the time he pushed open the classroom door, his palms were damp and his face drawn tight.
Inside, the atmosphere was just as charged. Clusters of students huddled over phones, passing them back and forth with gleaming eyes.
"Did you see how she flipped him? Like an action movie!""She's lean but deadly — look at that form. I swear, she's a martial arts prodigy.""No way she's just a normal student. Bet she's been training in secret."
At the back, Xiaoman slapped her desk with excitement. "Look at this—look at this!" She shoved her phone toward Xueling, her eyes sparkling. "Can you believe it? One girl against three guys, and she wiped the floor with them! If she was at our school, I'd be her biggest fan!"
Xueling adjusted her glasses, her face calm. "Is that so?"
"Of course! She's amazing!" Xiaoman grinned, half-bouncing in her seat. "I'd buy her snacks every day just to learn a single move!"
A ripple of laughter went through the nearby desks. Xueling lowered her gaze to her book, hiding the faintest curve of her lips.
Zhang Wei, standing in the doorway, nearly choked. The praise that should have humiliated Xueling was turning into fuel for her myth. Worse, she didn't even have to claim the glory — it was being handed to her, wrapped in awe and admiration.
When the lunch bell rang and students spilled into the corridor, Zhang Wei couldn't hold it in any longer. He cornered Xueling by the stairwell, his face pale with strain.
"You," he hissed.
Xueling looked up from sliding her notebook into her bag. Her gaze, cool and measured, landed on him as though he were an afterthought. "What is it?"
Zhang Wei's fists trembled. "Don't play innocent. That video — it was you, wasn't it?"
Her brows lifted slightly, her expression unreadable. "Video?"
"Don't act like you don't know!" His voice cracked, attracting the attention of a few stragglers nearby. He lowered it, leaning closer. "You think you're clever? You embarrassed me. You—"
Xueling straightened, her eyes sharp behind her glasses. Her voice was low, but the calmness in it cut deeper than any shout. "If you have something to confess, Zhang Wei, do it properly. Otherwise, don't waste my time."
His mouth opened, but no words came. He saw the faint shimmer of amusement in her eyes, and rage and fear tangled in his throat.
"Stay out of my way," she said softly, her gaze steady as ice. "Was the lesson to your family not enough for you? Keep messing with me, and your family will sink deeper."
Zhang Wei's eyes went wide. "What?!! It's you?! Impossible!"
Xueling leaned closer, her voice quiet but edged like a blade. "Just try me, and you'll know."
His breath caught, panic flaring in his chest. He wanted to shout at her, to deny it, but the certainty in her tone and the cold clarity in her eyes rattled him to the core. Feng Xueling — the invisible, overlooked "good-for-nothing" — was standing over the ruins of his family with terrifying calm.
"No," he whispered, shaking his head as if denial could shift reality. "No, you… you can't be—"
But the words dried on his tongue. His world tilted.
That evening, when Zhang Wei dragged himself home, it was worse than the morning. His father's face was dark with exhaustion, his mother's eyes red from crying. Piles of documents, termination notices, and legal letters covered the dining table like battlefield wreckage.
His father slammed a palm against the table when he entered. "Enough of your sulking! Hua Construction won't answer us. Lian Development cut ties completely. We are drowning in lawsuits and investigations. We've lost three suppliers today! We need an action plan!"
Zhang Wei flinched, trembling.
His mother's voice was thin, pleading. "Wei, go to Yaoyao. She's close with the Gu family, and the Fengs will listen to her. Tell her everything. Beg if you must. If we can get her to speak for us, we might still salvage something."
Zhang Wei swallowed hard. The thought of kneeling to Xueyao scraped his pride raw, but desperation left him no choice.
The next morning, he waited for Xueyao in the corridor outside her classroom. When she arrived, bright and elegant as ever, he rushed forward, clutching a folder of documents.
"Yaoyao—please. My family… we're in trouble. These contractors, these lawsuits—we're losing everything. I know you care, I know you're kind—if you could just show these to your father, he might—" His words tumbled out in a desperate rush.
Xueyao blinked, her lashes lowering prettily. Then she covered her mouth with a gentle laugh, soft and sweet as dew. "Wei, don't worry. Of course I'll help you. Leave these with me—I'll tell Father right away."
Relief surged through him. "Really? Thank you, Yaoyao, thank you!"
She patted his arm, her expression the very picture of compassion. "You've always been good to me. I won't forget."
With that, she walked down the corridor, documents tucked neatly in her arms.
But the moment she turned the corner, her smile twisted. She flipped the folder once in her hands, then sneered. "Waste."
Without hesitation, she tossed the entire bundle into the nearest trash bin, the papers spilling into the shadows. Her heels clicked against the tile as she walked away, her expression serene once more.
The bell rang and the corridors filled with chatter. Zhang Wei returned to class with lighter steps, convinced that Yaoyao would help him. For the first time in days, his shoulders loosened. Yaoyao won't abandon me. She'll tell Uncle Feng, and things will turn around. She promised.
He didn't see the smirk she wore once she rejoined her circle of admirers.
"Do you know," Xueyao said in her honeyed tone, lowering her voice just enough to pique curiosity, "poor Zhang Wei is in such a state. His family is crumbling, and he actually begged me for help."
Gasps rippled through the girls around her.
"He did?""Begged you?""Doesn't his family supply half the district's building materials?"
Xueyao sighed, her lashes fluttering. "It's so pitiful. He came with a folder of documents, thinking I could fix everything. I told him I'd try, but… well, what could I do? It's not really my place." She pressed her hand to her chest, her expression perfectly crafted with sympathy and restraint. "Still, imagine… Zhang Wei, begging me like that."
The whispers spread like cracks in glass. By the end of lunch, the story had grown legs: Zhang Wei's family was bankrupt, Zhang Wei was desperate, Zhang Wei had groveled before Xueyao just to survive.
None of it reached his ears.
As he sat in class, head bowed over his notes, students stole glances at him, whispering behind their hands. Some with scorn, some with pity, all with amusement.
And in the back row, Xueling flipped through her math book, Xiaoman chattering beside her. She didn't look up, but the faintest curve touched her lips.
Her revenge had started to ripple outward, and she hadn't even lifted a finger.
A week passed, and the Zhang household only sank deeper. More lawsuits. More contracts pulled. Relatives who used to smile at them now refused to answer calls. At school, Zhang Wei felt the whispers press closer every day. Students glanced at him and laughed into their sleeves. His stomach clenched every time he caught a phrase — "bankrupt"… "begging Yaoyao"… "finished."
By Friday, the pressure was unbearable. He cornered Xueyao outside the library, clutching his bag like a lifeline.
"Yaoyao," he began, voice low, "did your father… did he say anything about the documents? My family—things are getting worse. We need help. Please, I'm begging you, just ask him again—"
Her eyes widened, all innocence. She glanced around theatrically, as if terrified of being overheard. "Zhang Wei… why are you pressing me like this?" Her voice was soft, trembling. "I told you before, I'd try. But these things aren't simple. My father is busy—"
"I'm not pressing you," Zhang Wei said quickly, hands half-raised. "I just… I just need an answer. Did he look at the documents?"
But her voice rose a notch, sweet and fragile, perfectly calibrated. "Wei, you're scaring me. I don't like this. Why are you forcing me in public?"
Several students turned their heads. Whispers flared instantly.
"Is Zhang Wei bullying Yaoyao?""She looks so frightened…""He's really fallen, hasn't he?"
Zhang Wei froze, horror slamming into him. He looked at her — at her trembling lashes, her fragile little smile that begged sympathy — and for the first time, he saw it. The manipulation. The performance. The way she turned his desperation into her stage.
His mouth went dry. So this… this is the girl I've been protecting?
"Yaoyao, I—" He stopped himself. No words could fix what the watching crowd had already decided.
Her soft, pitiful voice carried over the whispers. "Please, Wei. Don't ask me again." She brushed past him, the scent of perfume lingering like a taunt.
Zhang Wei stood rooted in place, classmates' eyes burning holes in his back. His face was flushed, his fists trembling.
And in the pit of his chest, something cracked — the image of Xueyao as a perfect, gentle goddess, shattering into pieces too sharp to hold.
Zhang Wei walked back to class in a haze, the echo of whispers clinging to him like smoke. He barely heard the teacher's lecture, barely touched his food at lunch. Every time he dared to look up, he saw eyes dart away — classmates murmuring with pity or disdain, no one meeting him directly.
And yet, what lingered most wasn't their laughter. It was her voice — soft, pitiful, trembling as though he had wronged her. He could still see her lashes lowered just so, her body turned at the perfect angle to appear cornered. He had seen her play this role before with others, but never against him.
She made me the villain.
The thought gnawed at him, but he said nothing. His loyalty, his infatuation, still tried to smother the doubt. No… maybe I misunderstood. Maybe she really is just delicate. Maybe she's under pressure too…
But the seed had been planted. The perfect goddess he had worshipped for years now had a hairline fracture, and no amount of denial could erase the image of her sly glance to the crowd as she brushed past him.
That evening, the Zhang household was suffocating with tension. He walked through the doors to find the servants moving like shadows, voices clipped and hushed. In the dining hall, his father sat slumped with a bottle of baijiu, his mother pacing with red-rimmed eyes. His older brother barked into the phone, his words desperate and sharp.
"Please, give us until next quarter. We'll raise the collateral. No—don't pull out of the project yet, if you cancel we'll…" He broke off, teeth grinding, as the line went dead.
"What happened now?" Zhang Wei asked, his voice thin.
His mother looked at him as if seeing through him. "Another creditor. Another investor gone. The company's shares are free-falling. Your father's name is being dragged through every business forum in the city." She wrung her hands, voice breaking. "We've already mortgaged both factories. If this continues—"
His father slammed the table with his palm. "If this continues, we'll have nothing left to mortgage! Do you understand, boy? Nothing!"
Zhang Wei flinched, swallowing hard. For once, he didn't argue. The classroom whispers, Xueyao's soft accusation, his family's collapse — it all tangled together until he felt hollow.
He went up to his room, locking the door behind him. In the silence, he sat on his bed, staring at his reflection in the darkened phone screen. His thoughts looped endlessly.
Was I wrong about her? About everything?
But the loyalty drilled into him for years still held. Even now, with his family in shambles, he couldn't quite let go of the girl he thought was light itself. Yet the crack in that image widened with every passing day.
And deep down, for the first time, Zhang Wei began to feel the faintest thread of betrayal.
The next day Zhang Wei waited outside the classroom until most of the students had left. His eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. When Xueling finally stepped out, carrying her books, he blocked her path.
"Xueling," he said, his voice rough.
She stopped, adjusting her glasses to look at him coolly. "What is it?"
He swallowed, pride curdling in his throat. "Help me. Please. My family… we're finished. Everything's collapsing. You're smart — you've always been good at solving things. Just… just tell me what to do."
Her eyes flickered with amusement, faint but sharp. "Strange. I heard you already begged Yaoyao for help."
Zhang Wei stiffened. "She said she'd try. But—she hasn't…" He trailed off, not wanting to admit the truth aloud.
"Then why come to me?" Xueling asked softly. "If even the most powerful, dazzling Yaoyao cannot save you, how could I?"
Her words were quiet, but each syllable cut.
Desperation broke through his pride, his voice cracking. "Because she won't help! But you—you're different. You don't show off, you don't pretend. If anyone can think of a way—it's you. Please, I'll do anything!"
Xueling regarded him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she shook her head.
"No," she said simply.
Zhang Wei's eyes widened. "Why not?!"
"Because you don't deserve it," she replied, her tone steady as steel. "Do you think I've forgotten the alley? That you paid others to hurt me?"
His face went pale. "That—That was a mistake—"
"Exactly," Xueling interrupted, her voice low and cold. "And mistakes demand a price. The backlash your family is facing isn't fabricated. The evidence of faulty materials isn't false. You cut corners, and now the contracts are gone. You tried to profit, and now you pay. That's how the world works."
Her gaze pinned him where he stood. "Actions have consequences, Zhang Wei. Don't beg me to erase them for you."
He stumbled back a step, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came.
Xueling adjusted the strap of her bag and walked past him, her voice drifting like frost in the air.
"Next time, think before you choose whom to offend."
Zhang Wei stood frozen in the hallway, classmates watching from the shadows, his pride in tatters. For the first time, he understood: Feng Xueling wasn't someone he could humiliate or control. She was someone he had to fear.
Xueyao had been walking back from her music elective when she saw it: Zhang Wei standing far too close to Xueling outside the classroom door, his posture bent, his voice hushed.
Her steps slowed, lashes lowering as a sharp pang stabbed her chest.
Why him? Why her?
Zhang Wei was hers — loyal, clumsy, and easily led. He was supposed to defend her, adore her, put her on a pedestal where she belonged. Yet there he was, begging Xueling, that pale shadow she'd always trampled underfoot.
Xueyao's nails pressed into her palm, her practiced smile never faltering. What could he possibly see in her? She's nothing. She should be nothing.
But as she watched, she noticed the way Xueling stood: calm, straight-backed, her glasses catching the light as she looked at Zhang Wei as though he were dirt under her shoe. And Zhang Wei — red-eyed, desperate — actually looked smaller in front of her.
Jealousy burned through Xueyao's veins, hot and venomous.
No. I won't allow it. Everything she has, everything she touches, should belong to me. She's not allowed to be admired. Not by Wei. Not by anyone. If the world dares to look at her with awe, then I'll turn their eyes into hatred.
She let her shoes click softly on the tile as she approached. "Wei," she called gently, her voice the perfect blend of surprise and concern. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"
Zhang Wei turned. His face flushed in shame and eyes red with what seemed like regret and an something else Xueyao couldn't read.
"Yaoyao," he said, voice tight. "What's wrong? Are you seriously asking me that? Don't you know what's wrong? It's all because of you!!!"
Her smile didn't falter. "Wei… why are you asking me that? What do you mean?"
He couldn't hold the pressure in his chest any longer. Words poured out harsh and raw. "Don't play dumb. Don't pretend you don't see it. I did what I did for you — I paid men to teach that girl a lesson because you were humiliated in front of everyone. Because I thought defending you would make you proud. Because I loved you. And now—now my family is ruined. Contracts pulled. Suits filed. Suppliers gone. All because of that girl. All because you wanted to keep looking like the golden daughter!"
Xueyao blinked, genuine confusion widening for the barest second across her face — then she folded it into the perfect mask. "Wei, you're scaring me." Her hand fluttered to her chest. "I don't understand. I never asked anyone to do anything like that. You… you did it on your own?"
"Yes!" he snapped, the word ragged. "I did it for you! Do you know what that means? I put everything on the line for you!"
Tears sprang to Xueyao's eyes as if on cue. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, voice cracking. "Oh, Wei… I'm so sorry. I would never— I would never want anyone to do such a thing. I'm so sorry you're hurting. Please, forgive me." Her small frame shook with faux sobs; her perfume — coconut, soft and clean — filled the air like a benediction.
Zhang Wei's anger faltered for an instant, confused by the tenderness she offered. But then something colder crept across his face: a slow, hard clarity. Her puzzled look had been real. She did not know that Xueling had fought back, did not know that he had paid thugs to corner the girl. For a horrifying second he realized how little of the truth she'd ever seen — how carefully she curated the world around her, and how willingly everyone had accepted the narrative she fed them.
"You don't know," he said very quietly. It wasn't a question. He watched the practiced concern on her face like a curtain finally drawn back. "You don't know anything about what actually happened."
Xueyao's tears became a whispering apology, her voice syrup-sweet. "Wei, I promise I'll tell my father. I'll ask him to—"
He cut her off with a small, bitter laugh that had none of the old boyish charm. "No. Don't tell him. He'll only try to bury it. He'll patch things up for the image of the family, not because he cares who suffered."
Her brow creased, genuine worry bleeding through the performance. "You're scaring me, Wei. Don't—"
He stepped back, the last of his illusions cracking open. Where there had been worship, now there was a plain, ugly view: a girl who wore her fragility like armor, who could twist a crowd with a tilt of her head. He had loved that image; now it revealed a sharp edge.
He could have told her everything — that Xueling had bested the men, that he'd paid them, that his family's contracts collapsed because Xueling orchestrated it. A confession might have shamed her, might have forced her to look at what she'd let happen in the bright light of consequences. But the knowledge would only have been another thing she could shape to her advantage.
So he didn't. Instead he let the silence hang between them like a verdict. He felt something settle in his chest: not relief, not satisfaction, but a patient, cold resolve.
"Keep your apologies," he said at last. His voice was flat. "You don't understand me. You never did."
He turned away before she could reach for him, before the last gleam of tears could harden into another performance. Under the wide eyes and hushed whispers of students lining the corridor, he packed his bag and left with the grim knowledge that both he and his family had paid a heavy price for his foolishness — for not knowing people well, for not knowing their own weight, and for offending those who cannot be touched.