AVRL 50

Yu Tingzhi left to handle his work, so Meng Chi called a ride to head home by himself.

Vehicles from outside couldn’t enter the campus, so Meng Chi had to walk to the pickup point at the main gate of Zewu University.

As he passed through a quiet, deserted path, Meng Chi suddenly heard the sound of an argument nearby, the voices sounding intimately familiar.

Curious, Meng Chi leaned closer to take a look, immediately spotting Chen Yan shouting furiously at a long-haired man walking away: “Zhou Wan, stop right there!”

Zhou Wan, who was rolling his suitcase in front, kept walking without batting an eye. Chen Yan had no choice but to chase after him in a rage, grabbing him to ask, “Make this clear to me! What the hell do you mean by ‘terrible technique’?”

“What’s there to clarify? Don’t you understand plain English?” Zhou Wan didn’t slow his pace. Compared to Chen Yan’s frantic, angry tone, his voice was completely flat, devoid of any emotion.

“My technique is terrible? Who the hell was screaming non-stop last night?!” Perhaps thoroughly provoked, Chen Yan’s voice grew louder and louder, completely forgetting that he was still in a public place.

As the two walked further away, Meng Chi could no longer hear what Zhou Wan said after that, but that didn’t stop him from filling in the rest of the drama in his head.

It seemed that Chen Yan, a self-proclaimed dominant top and seasoned veteran in the romance department, had been rejected—and rejected directly to his face, no less.

No wonder he acted like he had eaten gunpowder earlier.

Meng Chi shook his head with a chuckle, deciding not to gossip at a time like this, and rolled his suitcase away from Zewu University.

When he returned to the Jingya Neighborhood, Meng Chi noticed the lights inside the apartment were on. Remembering that today was Sunday and Yang Zile had the day off, he didn’t think much of it. However, the moment he stepped inside, he saw that alongside Yang Zile, Yang Youran was also there.

One was sitting on the sofa playing on his phone with a foul face, while the other was lying on the sofa drinking boba tea and watching a TV drama.

“Yo, look who’s back.” Wearing a hoodie and jeans, Yang Youran raised her eyelids to glance at Meng Chi, throwing her empty boba cup cleanly into the trash can with impressive precision.

“Sister Youran, judging by your tone, it sounds like you didn’t want me back,” Meng Chi put his suitcase off to the side and sat down in another single-person armchair.

“I thought you’d need a couple more days to chase him. Did you succeed?” Yang Youran raised an eyebrow. Seeing the flush of affection on Meng Chi’s face that couldn’t be hidden even by his fatigue, she knew the answer and smiled: “Then again, our little Chichi is so handsome.”

Meng Chi gave a noncommittal chuckle. Glancing at Yang Zile, who was sulking and ignoring everyone on the side, he asked Yang Youran, “What’s wrong with this kid?”

Yang Youran: “He got into a huge fight with my dad over the promotional video.”

Meng Chi creased his brows, letting out a small sigh, and looked over at Yang Zile: “Didn’t I say to wait until I got back so I could talk to Master myself?”

Yang Zile pouted in displeasure: “It’s not like I brought it up first.”

It really wasn’t Yang Zile who brought it up—at least, he hadn’t actively raised the topic in front of Yang Zhengfeng.

With less than a month left before the college entrance exams, Yang Zile, as a high school senior, was naturally under heavy scrutiny. Earlier this afternoon, he and Yang Youran were casually chatting at home about his ideas for the promotional video. Yang Zhengfeng overheard a few sentences and couldn’t resist slipping back into his old ways, scolding him not to waste his energy on these things all day and driving him back to his studies.

In the Yang family, except for their mother, no one had a good temper; they frequently blew up at each other within three sentences.

With the entrance exams approaching, Yang Zile was already under massive pressure. Mutering a few defiant words in protest, things quickly escalated into a shouting match with Yang Zhengfeng, leading him to blurt out a lot of disrespectful words in the heat of the moment.

Stuff like, “You’re just an autocratic, old-fashioned tyrant who always demands everyone listen to you, regardless of whether you’re right or wrong! My sister wanted to sing, you wouldn’t let her; I want to take the tea master certification exam, you won’t let me either! Controlling us is one thing, but you even punished Brother Meng Chi just for working as a model!”

And stuff like, “You really think you’re still that famous tea master in Zewu? Look at the customers coming to the shop lately—how many of them are coming for you? Aren’t they all here to see Brother Meng Chi?!”

He choked Yang Zhengfeng into complete speechlessness, turning his face beet red with rage. Raising the walking stick in his hand, Yang Zhengfeng made to hit him.

Yang Zile still refused to back down, his voice carrying an aggrieved sob: “We worked so hard just to make business better for the shop, so it wouldn’t go bankrupt under your hands!”

Yang Zhengfeng’s face turned rigid, his teeth clenching until they clicked. Yet, the strike he swung froze abruptly in midair, and in the end, he didn’t bring it down.

Yang Youran pulled Yang Zile back, signaling him with her eyes to shut up. Yang Zile was still in the heat of anger, but seeing Yang Zhengfeng’s sad expression—a mix of shock, rage, and disappointment—he finally closed his mouth.

Yang Zhengfeng looked at his pair of children, who were already taller than him. After taking several heavy, deep breaths, he threw his walking stick aside, swallowed his anger, and returned to his room.

Xue Qin sighed, pulled Yang Zile over, and gave him a stern scolding, asking how he could talk to his father like that.

Feeling both self-reproachful and deeply aggrieved, Yang Zile ran back here and had been sulking ever since.

Meng Chi rubbed his forehead with a slight headache, casting a side-glance at the calm Yang Youran: “Sister Youran, you should have kept an eye on him. How could he just say whatever came to mind?”

Yang Youran shrugged: “What he said wasn’t wrong, even if his tone was a bit harsh.”

Meng Chi: “…”

“It’s fine, my dad isn’t that fragile. We’ve been arguing like this for years. He can just go back tomorrow, serve him tea, and apologize,” Yang Youran reassured Meng Chi calmly. After thinking for a moment, she added, “Though regarding the promotional video, you still need to get his consent. It’s his shop, after all.”

Meng Chi sighed and nodded.

He naturally wouldn’t completely disregard his Master’s feelings and act recklessly, but with Yang Zile fueling the fire like this, doing the persuasive work now was bound to be difficult.

However, before Meng Chi could even figure out how to bring up the subject, Yang Zhengfeng conceded on his own.

When Meng Chi was called by Yang Zhengfeng to the stone tea table under the osmanthus tree in the courtyard, he was still contemplating how to start the conversation, only to hear Yang Zhengfeng suddenly ask, “Do you want to debut as a celebrity too?”

Meng Chi: “…Huh?”

“I heard that Youran’s manager wants to sign you and turn you into a star.” Yang Zhengfeng’s face was expressionless and his tone had no fluctuation, as if merely engaging in casual banter.

“He was just joking,” Meng Chi let out a relaxed laugh and added, “Even if he wasn’t, I have no intention of doing that.”

Yang Zhengfeng lifted his eyes to glance at him, asking, “Then what do you want to do?”

The confusion in Meng Chi’s heart deepened, but he could also sense a subtle change in his Master. As he picked up the teapot to pour a cup for Yang Zhengfeng, he carefully weighed his words: “I don’t have grand ambitions, nor do I possess a pure, immaculate heart to comprehend any grand Tao. I just want to do my best not to waste the craft I’ve learned.”

Noticing a hint of deep scrutiny in Yang Zhengfeng’s eyes, a light, teasing smile appeared on Meng Chi’s face as he added, “To have a stable source of income, be able to support myself, and if there’s a little extra left over, that’d be best.”

Yang Zhengfeng gave him a lukewarm look, hummed lightly, and set his tea tasting cup onto the table, producing a crisp click.

This posture seemed to indicate anger, but Meng Chi didn’t feel nervous in the slightest. He hadn’t missed the slight upward curve at the corner of Yang Zhengfeng’s tightly pressed lips—meaning his Master wasn’t angry at all, and was even in a pretty good mood.

Without saying another word, Meng Chi lifted the teapot again, using a standard tea-pouring posture to refill Yang Zhengfeng’s cup.

The afternoon breeze carried the warm heat of sunlight, slightly dry yet infused with the cool freshness of early summer. Sweeping through the greenery in the courtyard, it stirred up an elegant tea aroma. Dappled spots of light flickered beneath the shade of the tree as master and disciple sat in quiet tea tasting, the atmosphere serene and pleasant.

It wasn’t until Yang Zhengfeng finished his second steep of tea that he spoke again, his voice carrying a weighty, heartfelt tone wrought with the vicissitudes of life.

“Little Chi, you want to make money, so you brought in people to do promotion—there’s nothing wrong with that. But using yourself as a gimmick means putting yourself right at the heart of the storm. Do you understand?” Yang Zhengfeng looked at him, a firm light gleaming in his old, cloudy eyes, beneath which Meng Chi could clearly see hidden care and affection.

“I don’t want you to be mentioned by seniors or peers in the industry in the future only to be dismissed with: ‘Chasing fame and reputation, superficial and hollow.'”

Another gentle breeze blew past, a warm gust wrapped in tea aroma brushing against Meng Chi’s face, as if entering his body through his slightly widened pupils and flowing over his heart like a warm current.

He had experienced this exact feeling not long ago—right after he rushed back from Xichi and confirmed Yang Zhengfeng’s health was fine, opening the unplayed voice note in the family group chat.

That was the message Yang Zhengfeng sent before losing consciousness when the accident happened. In a tone filled with expectation and regret, he had said: “All of you must take care of yourselves. Also, the teahouse… Little Chi has a share in it too.”

Yang Zhengfeng’s speaking tone was consistent with the sternness of his appearance; even when giving a final message, he spoke with resounding firmness. Yet it was precisely because of that steadfastness that his regret at the time felt all the more palpable.

Meng Chi’s eyes had turned red and filled with tears the moment he heard it back then.

After a moment of silence, suppressing the sour sting in his nose, Meng Chi curled the corners of his lips into a smile. His lips parted, leaving only one line: “I know, Master.”

“It’s not that I insist on controlling you. It’s just that you’re a good kid, and Master hopes you can achieve something great in the art of tea.” Yang Zhengfeng softened his tone, though it still carried a trace of cold stiffness. He stood up, facing the sunlight, and continued, “Since you understand, and since this shop will eventually be handed over to you children anyway, go ahead and do whatever you want to do.”

Meng Chi looked up at his Master’s tall, imposing figure standing in the sunlight. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, Yang Zhengfeng turned his head back, pointing a finger at him in warning: “Just one thing: don’t embarrass me!”

The swollen emotions in his chest discharged like a bursting dam, and Meng Chi let out a knowing, heartfelt smile.

“Master, even though you said I have a share in this shop, I’ve never regarded it as my shop,” he said. “This is my home.”

How could he not pour his heart into taking care of his own home?