Chapter Sixty-Two: The Attack Begins

But when Wang Yuqing stepped into the living room, she was once again taken aback. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, slanting across the room, and the dazzling rays refracted through the crystal chandelier, imparting an air of opulence. Upon closer inspection, the room revealed carved beams and painted rafters, walls adorned with colorful murals, a deep red carpet spread across the floor, and a muted yellow sofa—all combining to create a scene of extraordinary splendor.

“Yuqing, let’s take a look at my room first, and then we’ll go to the music room. I’ll play a waltz on the piano for you, and afterward we can—”

“No need, let’s go straight to the study,” Wang Yuqing interrupted before Gao Zheng could finish. Hmph, I’m not here to tour your house, she thought.

“Uh… alright then!” Gao Zheng abandoned his plan. “Come on, the study is this way.”

He led Wang Yuqing up the stairs to the second floor, along the corridor, and stopped at the first room on the right. Gao Zheng opened the door and gestured with a flourish, “Here we are, Yuqing. Let’s go in.”

Wang Yuqing nodded lightly and entered. The study was expansive, boasting nearly ten thousand books—almost like a miniature library. Near the left wall stood a large desk, upon which rested brush, ink, paper, and an inkstone. A bold ancient character was inscribed on the wall, its strokes wild and flowing, clearly written in cursive script. Wang Yuqing studied it for a long moment before discerning it was the character for “quiet.”

Such wealth! This study alone was bigger than two and a half rooms in my uncle’s house, Wang Yuqing mused.

She walked to the desk, set down her backpack, and began pulling out books—math, English… As she did so, she asked, “Gao Zheng, which subject are you struggling with?”

Gao Zheng watched the beautiful girl earnestly digging through her books, a sly glint flashing in his eyes. “Language arts.”

“I brought every book except for that,” Wang Yuqing replied, surprised he had chosen the one subject. Language arts was generally considered quite easy, unless you delved deeply into it. Everyone knew the vastness of Chinese culture, but in high school, the subject was all about exam preparation. Even Xiao Lin, who hadn’t studied diligently, never scored below eighty in language arts.

At that moment, Wang Yuqing reflected, You just mocked Xiao Lin, yet you yourself can’t handle language arts. Still, you have the nerve to tease him. The thought brought a smile to her lips.

“What’s the question?” she asked.

“It’s a poem. I don’t understand its meaning. Could you explain it?” Gao Zheng said.

“A poem?” Wang Yuqing was momentarily stunned. “Which one?”

He smiled. “It’s ‘Butterfly Loves Flowers’ by Liu Yong.”

“Leaning on the perilous tower, the breeze gentle, gazing far, spring sorrow rises dimly at the horizon. Amid the lingering light, grass and mist blend, unspeaking, who understands the feelings behind the railing?

I wish to indulge in reckless abandon, seeking comfort in intoxication, singing to the wine, yet forced merriment tastes bland. My belt grows loose, but I do not regret it—wasting away for you, I willingly grow haggard.”

Gao Zheng recited with a slightly hoarse voice, softly.

“Yuqing, what is this poem about?” he asked, gazing at her with deep emotion.

“This one? Didn’t the teacher already explain it in class?” she replied. “The general meaning is that the poet leans for a long time against the tower’s railing, gazing into the distance as a gentle breeze blows. A thread of spring sorrow rises sadly at the horizon. In the lingering sunset, the vast earth is shrouded in mist and clouds—who can understand my feelings as I gaze afar?

He wishes to indulge in drink to relieve his sorrow, singing to the wine, but forced joy is tasteless. So, he resigns himself to fading away in longing, willing to grow haggard for the one he loves. The first half blends emotion and scenery: the poet climbs high and, moved by what he sees, is overwhelmed by spring sorrow. The second half expresses his feelings: he tries to drown his longing in wine, but it only makes him feel emptier, so he lets his thoughts soar, lamenting that he’s willing to grow thin for his beloved…”

As Wang Yuqing spoke, she noticed Gao Zheng had been staring at her the whole time, and paused. “What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”

“Yuqing, the last line—‘My belt grows loose, but I do not regret it—wasting away for you, I willingly grow haggard’—doesn’t it mean that if someone truly loves another, they’re willing to do anything for them, no matter what, and do it gladly?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Wang Yuqing recalled Xiao Lin and nodded gently.

“I thought so too, Yuqing,” Gao Zheng said with a smile.

“Huh? What is it?” Wang Yuqing, lost in thoughts of Xiao Lin and herself, was suddenly pulled back by Gao Zheng’s call.

“I’m willing to do anything for you, just like in this poem—willing to grow haggard for you,” Gao Zheng said, looking intently into her eyes.

“Ah!” Wang Yuqing’s face was full of surprise, uncertain if she’d heard him correctly.

“I said, I—Gao Zheng—am willing to do anything for you,” he repeated, enunciating each word.

Wang Yuqing was stunned for nearly two minutes before she managed to stammer, “Oh… what kind of joke is that? Don’t joke like this… I’m angry now…” She avoided his gaze, her heart pounding wildly, her hands unsure where to rest.

Gao Zheng watched her flustered demeanor, his face adorned with a smile. He said nothing more; he knew haste would only spoil things. His intention had been made clear, and now he would proceed slowly.

“I have something to do—I’ll head home now,” Wang Yuqing wanted nothing more than to leave, eager to escape.

“You’ve only just arrived! I still have more questions, and I was hoping you’d stay for dinner—I’ve hired a special chef,” Gao Zheng urged.

“No, no, I really have something to do,” Wang Yuqing replied, frightened by the prospect of more questions and dinner, waving her hands in refusal.

In the end, Wang Yuqing’s insistence won out, and though Gao Zheng was reluctant, he could only instruct Uncle Xiang to drive her home.

When she got home, Wang Yuqing’s mind was in turmoil. She didn’t greet her uncle or aunt, but went straight to her room, collapsed on her bed, and pulled the blanket over her head. Her heart was still pounding, thoroughly shaken by Gao Zheng’s words.

“Uncle Xiang, did Yuqing say anything on the way?” Gao Zheng asked, lounging on the sofa.

“No, Master Gao. On the way home, Miss Yuqing kept her head down and didn’t say a word. When we arrived, she hurried off, and as she got out of the car, she seemed quite flustered,” Uncle Xiang reported respectfully.

“I see,” Gao Zheng mused, rolling an agate bead in his hand thoughtfully.

Suddenly, he stood and tossed the bead into the trash bin five meters away, calling out, “Yuqing, this was only the beginning of my pursuit. Sooner or later, you’ll realize I’m the only one qualified to be your boyfriend.”