Chapter Seventeen: The Scholar’s Heart is Far Too Dark

December is a month that belongs to the young—Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Year's Day follow one another in quick succession.

Every day, the first thing Mr. He said when he entered the classroom was, "Play, play, play—all you know is play! Waste a day now, and you'll waste your whole life! Get your minds back on track!"

Once, Zhao Zejun joked with Xia Yubing, saying, "Well, 'wasting your life' can be its own kind of fun. Too bad Mr. He will never understand that."

Xia Yubing stared at him with wide eyes, stunned for a long moment before she realized what he meant. Her cheeks flushed as she spat, "You pervert!"

Then she asked Zhao Zejun, "What are you doing for Christmas Eve?"

Zhao Zejun thought for a moment and replied that he was going to the internet cafe.

Xia Yubing looked at him for a few seconds, turned away with a breezy nonchalance, tossed out a "Go waste your life then," and didn't bring Zhao Zejun breakfast for the next three days.

The days passed, one after another, and Zhao Zejun knew the time he had left to eat Xia Yubing’s homemade buns was growing short.

As soon as the internet cafe license sold for the right price, even with all the cheek in the world, Zhao Zejun would be too embarrassed to keep eating Xia Yubing's buns every day. On the contrary, he’d owe her a heartfelt thank you.

On December 20th, the school suddenly issued a notice: to help alleviate the pressure of the college entrance exams, on the afternoon of December 31st, all six senior classes would hold a joint New Year's celebration.

"The school is out of its mind! At a time like this, organizing a party! When you all fail to get into university, there will be no tears left to cry!"

Mr. He relayed the news with a dark expression, and the class wore a spectacular array of expressions—wanting to laugh, but not daring to, everyone nearly bursting from holding it in.

"If you want to laugh, laugh! You kids, all you think about is having fun, as if I don’t know! Let me tell you, each class has to perform at the celebration. Our class can’t fall behind! If you have any talents, sign up. If you don’t, you’ll join the group chorus!"

The room fell silent for a moment, then erupted in a tidal wave of cheers.

Under Mr. He’s iron hand, they actually put together a chorus—everyone who didn't sign up for another act had to join.

The song was “Singing for the Motherland.”

Zhao Zejun had planned to join the chorus, but the song was just too bland. So he asked Xia Yubing if she wanted to do a duet instead.

"I'm dancing the tango," Xia Yubing replied, chin raised confidently.

He must have offended her with his earlier joke about Christmas. Grinning, Zhao Zejun said, "Actually, I know a bit of tango too..."

Xia Yubing shot him an incredulous look—as if to say, “Don’t try to fool me.” After all, a high schooler who could really dance the tango would already be famous at school.

"Even if you could, it's too late. My dance partner is a professional," she said, puffing out her chest on purpose, lifting her head, and once again, walking away with an air of casual indifference.

"Professional male dancers are all gigolos," Zhao Zejun thought, not without malice.

Not participating in the program left him with more free time. After school, Zhao Zejun would often swing by Da Xiang’s Storm Internet Cafe.

In December, with the heat turned on, business boomed—so much so that even regulars like Zhao Zejun had to wait for a spot.

One time, while waiting, he chatted idly with Da Xiang and casually mentioned the internet cafe license. Zhao Zejun hinted that he had a friend looking to sell a license and asked if Da Xiang was interested.

Da Xiang was interested, all right, and asked for the price.

Zhao Zejun didn’t answer directly, but smiled and asked, “Brother Xiang, what do you think is a fair price?”

Da Xiang was a shrewd man. Seeing Zhao Zejun’s expression, he was already mostly convinced.

He handed Zhao Zejun a premium cigarette, lowered his voice, and said, “If it were someone else, I’d offer five thousand. But if you really have a license, I’ll add another thousand—six thousand, that’s not a low price.”

At current market rates, six thousand was indeed a solid offer. The official cost of getting the documents was under two hundred, and with a bit of extra greasing of palms—perhaps a meal or two, a couple of cartons of cigarettes—it could be done. Da Xiang’s situation was a little special, but if he was willing to go all out, he could probably manage it himself.

But in ten days’ time, even six thousand wouldn’t buy you a single scrap of a license.

Being a little honest has its advantages. That day, chatting with Yu Jin, Zhao Zejun had confessed a few things, and Yu Jin had hinted at some inside information.

His knowledge from a previous life, combined with Yu Jin’s hints, made it clear that a crackdown on internet cafes was imminent.

Once he confirmed that Da Xiang truly wanted a license, Zhao Zejun left the cafe instead of waiting for a computer.

He had just stepped outside when Da Xiang hurried after him.

“Brother, do you really have a license?” Da Xiang was skeptical. Zhao Zejun was just an ordinary high school kid—how could he possibly have an internet cafe license to sell? Maybe it belonged to his family, or a relative?

With all three documents in hand, Zhao Zejun was in no hurry now. He smiled, “Brother Xiang, if you’re offering six thousand, I’m afraid there’s no deal.”

“So how much do you want?” Da Xiang asked.

Zhao Zejun didn’t answer, just smiled and looked across the street.

Da Xiang’s red Santana 2000 was parked at the curb, showing off in all its glory.

The mid-range model went for 150,000 new. This one had been driven for over a year, but even after depreciation, it would still fetch at least 120,000.

Da Xiang’s expression changed. He said stiffly, “Brother, if you really have a license and want to sell, name a serious price and I’ll talk business. What’s this supposed to mean—are you messing with me?”

“Brother Xiang, I’ve heard the city’s about to stop issuing internet cafe licenses,” Zhao Zejun replied coolly.

“Where did you hear that? No way!”

Da Xiang didn’t believe it for a second. “Brother, don’t try that with me. I run an internet cafe—I know the business better than you. There are so many unlicensed cafes in the city, and new ones opening every day. If they stopped issuing licenses, how would these people survive? Here, one price—eight thousand.”

“I’d be happy with eight thousand, but my friend won’t go for it,” Zhao Zejun said, lowering his voice. “Brother Xiang, my friend also told me some inside info. Not only will they stop issuing licenses, but the city will also launch a big inspection and crackdown on unlicensed cafes. If Storm gets shut down, you know better than I do how much you’d lose.”

“Your friend? Who exactly is your friend?” Da Xiang asked suspiciously.

“Brother Xiang, if you want to buy, buy. If not, forget it. Why do you care who my friend is?” Zhao Zejun replied.

The more mysterious Zhao Zejun acted, the less Da Xiang believed him.

No rational person would believe someone who came to sell a license, then claimed the city was about to stop issuing them and crack down on the market, but couldn’t explain who this mysterious “friend” was—it was obviously just a ploy to drive up the price.

“Kid, do you really take me for a fool?” Da Xiang said, annoyed.

“Brother Xiang, I’ve said what I came to say. If you don’t believe me, forget it.” With that, Zhao Zejun turned and left.

After Zhao Zejun left, Da Xiang replayed the conversation in his mind and grew increasingly uneasy.

While licenses hadn’t stopped being issued yet, they were definitely getting harder to obtain. He’d made several trips to the Culture Bureau this month—where before, staff would at least tell him what paperwork he needed, now they wouldn’t even give him the time of day: “It’s the end of the year, we’re busy. Come back after the holidays.”

Maybe Zhao Zejun really did have inside information?

A friend? The people who often came with Zhao Zejun included Jiang Xuan, and a skinny kid with glasses—surname Yu, maybe.

Jiang Xuan was a thug—good for muscle, but couldn’t possibly have inside info on policy. That skinny kid, though—he dressed in designer brands, spent money freely, obviously from a wealthy family. Maybe his family had connections.

Could it be that the skinny kid gave Zhao Zejun a tip-off? Or maybe the license actually belonged to that kid’s family?

Da Xiang sat behind the bar, puzzling over it for a long time without figuring it out.

“Damn, these bookish types look all refined, but their hearts are black as coal. It’s just a license—trying to squeeze ten grand out of me? Dream on! Even if there is a crackdown, I’ll spend a couple grand on gifts and dinners—pull the right strings, and everything will be fine!”