Chapter 61: Give It All to Chen Shian to Drink (Thanks to Yunchen Summer for the Patronage)

Today’s morning self-study was Chinese. As Chen Shian took out his textbook, he asked Lin Mengqiu, “Class president, what time do you usually arrive in the morning?”

He was genuinely curious—every morning when he entered the classroom, she was already seated at her desk, and after evening self-study, when he left, she was still in her seat. The way these two moments overlapped made it seem as if she’d spent the whole night in the classroom.

“Six fifteen,” she replied.

“That’s a bit earlier than me.”

The class’s rule was to be in the classroom by six thirty for morning study, which was already earlier than the school’s official requirement. Yet Lin Mengqiu arrived even earlier, a clear sign of her self-discipline.

Chen Shian pondered over it—six fifteen, just when he happened to meet Xiao Zhi at the intersection, and the class president was already here studying. No wonder she always thought he was slacking off...

Still, he didn’t intend to compete with her—if he did, he might as well never go home at night.

He picked up the cup of soy milk on his desk, poked a straw in, and took a sip. Aunt Wen Zhixia’s family ran a breakfast shop, so freshly made soy milk was a daily offering. This handmade soy milk was much richer and more fragrant than the instant powder kind, and in places where it hadn’t been finely strained, there were even little bits of soybean pulp.

As he drank, Chen Shian glanced at Lin Mengqiu’s desk. In the corner of her stack of books sat a bottle of milk. He’d noticed it since the first day of school—it was always there but he’d never seen her drink it.

“Class president, aren’t you going to drink your milk?”

“I don’t like milk.”

“Then why do you buy it?”

“My dad buys it.”

“Oh—”

Chen Shian understood immediately. Most likely, her father saw his daughter’s thin arms and legs and wanted to nourish her with soups and milk. Unfortunately, his beloved daughter wasn’t very appreciative—she didn’t like soup or milk.

“But if your stomach isn’t well, you really shouldn’t drink much milk. The same goes for soy milk—they’re both cold in nature. If you have a cold stomach, drinking too much can make you feel bloated or even cause acid reflux.”

Lin Mengqiu turned to meet his gaze, confirming that Chen Shian wasn’t just talking to himself.

Yesterday at lunch, she’d already been curious about how he knew about her stomach problems.

“Did my dad tell you I have a bad stomach?”

“Uncle Lin never mentioned it, but I could tell. You’ve had this issue for quite a few years, haven’t you?”

She looked at him, surprised, though she hid it well.

Chen Shian was right—her stomach had been troublesome since middle school. She’d tried Western medicine and traditional herbs, but nothing provided lasting relief, especially when the weather turned cold.

Still... just how observant was he, to notice her condition at a glance? She’d long since gotten used to enduring the occasional stomachache, so much so that no one could ever tell when she was uncomfortable. She hadn’t even felt much pain lately, yet he could still see through it?

Of course Chen Shian could. The state of one’s organs reveals itself in subtle signs on the face and complexion. With his ability to read people, he could discern differences invisible to others at a glance.

Medicine is an art, much like music, chess, calligraphy, swordsmanship, and martial arts—all of which Chen Shian had studied, at least to some degree.

Lin Mengqiu nodded in acknowledgment of his assessment.

Everyone has a different temperament—some crave concern from others, while others reject it. Deep down, everyone wants to be cared for, yet they fear that accepting concern means exposing vulnerability. Human nature is always a tangle of contradictions.

Clearly, Lin Mengqiu was not the type who liked others to voice their concern. Chen Shian, adopting the air of a physician, simply continued, “Stomach issues can be minor or serious, but they’re the hardest to cure. You need to take care of yourself—your stomach is cold and your spleen weak. Eat slowly, in small amounts, to lighten the burden on your stomach. Avoid raw and cold foods. The stomach is also an emotional organ; stress, anxiety, and overthinking can all affect digestion. Nurturing your stomach means taking care of your mind as well.”

Ever since she was young, Lin Mengqiu had been afraid of doctors. As he spoke, she felt as if she were back in a clinic, catching a whiff of disinfectant and bitter medicine in the air.

Before “Dr. Chen,” her demeanor softened, and she nodded obediently.

“Did you remember all that?”

“I did…”

It took her a moment to recover, and seeing his triumphant look, she quickly straightened her face and glared at him.

“Look at you—didn’t you say to keep emotions steady? Only then can you have a healthy stomach.”

Lin Mengqiu ignored him.

She glanced at the bottle of milk on her desk, thought for a moment, and placed it in the middle of their shared table.

“Hm?”

“You drink it.”

She considered that she still had a whole box of milk at the dorm, courtesy of her father, and had been fretting about what to do with it. Now, she could just give it all to Chen Shian…

...

After the morning exercises, Mr. Wan went to the principal’s office.

“Principal Lin, you wanted to see me?”

“Ah, Old Wan, come sit.”

Mr. Wan sat down at the tea table. It was hard to tell whether the stool was too small or his frame too large, but he always felt cramped. Though he was a teacher, Mr. Wan considered himself a rough man and felt he hardly measured up to the scholarly demeanor of his colleagues.

He rarely saw anyone so meticulous as Principal Lin—brewing tea in a porcelain pot with tiny cups. Mr. Wan preferred a big mug with strong tea leaves.

In front of him sat a true man of letters. They were about the same age, and Mr. Wan knew how hard it was to get into a top university in those days, especially for someone from such a poor background. He deeply admired Principal Lin, but what he liked most was his loyalty and sense of justice.

Mr. Wan had read many martial arts novels, and as Chen Shian had said, he was straightforward by nature. Of all the administrators, Principal Lin was the only one he truly respected.

“Excellent tea!”

Mr. Wan carefully pinched the tiny cup with his thick fingers, afraid he might crush it. He didn’t know much about tasting tea—after all, one sip and it was gone, not nearly enough to wet his throat. Still, he offered his praise.

Years in the working world had taught him the subtleties of social courtesy. Though some of his bluntness remained, he’d learned to keep it hidden.

“Mr. Wan, you seem to enjoy Douyin quite a bit. If not for Shian’s video practicing Baduanjin, I wouldn’t have known you’d posted so many clips!”

Seeing Principal Lin’s relaxed demeanor, Mr. Wan eased up too, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. “Oh, I just post whatever for fun—bits of daily life, exercise tips, things I see while traveling. Reading the comments is entertaining.”

“It’s good. Times are different now; entertainment wasn’t as accessible in our day.”

Principal Lin chuckled and poured him another cup of tea.

That morning, as soon as he arrived, he’d heard from staff, “Principal Lin, our school is trending online!” His first reaction was alarm. The internet is a double-edged sword—good news rarely spreads, but bad news goes everywhere. He racked his brain for any recent issues, but after watching Chen Shian’s Baduanjin video, he finally understood.

“That video of Shian’s is getting a lot of attention—almost two hundred thousand likes,” Principal Lin said, holding his phone at a distance and squinting to see.

“If you think it’s inappropriate, I can delete it right now,” Mr. Wan offered, pulling out his own phone.

Principal Lin waved a hand. “No need. It’s nothing bad. Shian is a genuine Daoist. Since he agreed to let you post it, there’s no harm in letting others learn from it.”

“So you know about this stuff, Principal Lin?”

He smiled, “Back in the day, I even spent a month studying Daoism with Shian’s master!”

“Really! Then are you a Daoist too, Principal Lin?”

He shook his head with a laugh. “I didn’t have the aptitude. Old Master Chen agreed to teach me for a month—that was fortune enough for me. I wouldn’t dare dream of becoming his disciple.”

“Principal Lin, Shian doesn’t seem like an ordinary Daoist. I don’t know how to put it, but he gives you a different feeling…”

Mr. Wan scratched his head, struggling to find the right words.

“No need to dwell on it, Mr. Wan. There are plenty of things in the world we’ll never fully understand. Just do your job well.”

“You’re right, Principal. By the way, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“It’s about morning exercises. Our students aren’t very enthusiastic about the broadcast calisthenics. I was thinking, maybe we could switch to Baduanjin, like other schools have started doing. The freshmen haven’t begun learning the regular routine yet, so we could start them on this instead.”

“That’s a suggestion worth considering,” Principal Lin mused. “How about this: I’ll have each class do a survey, and if over half the students are in favor, we’ll implement it.”

“Great, great!”

(Thank you to Yunchen Summer for your generous support!)