Li Jiawei did not show much resistance or distance toward Han Qian. The boy was naturally outgoing and had already heard his mother mention Han Qian several times. They had arranged to visit this uncle's home for dinner today. The boy had more or less forgotten what had happened that morning and now grinned cheerfully at Han Qian—though Han Qian could not bring himself to smile back.
The boy's eye was bruised, his cheek swollen, and he kept drawing in sharp breaths as he spoke—his mouth was likely injured from the beating. These were merely the visible wounds; they had yet to check the rest of his body. Han Qian's face darkened. Li Jiawei had lost his father at an early age. Though he seemed like any other child—eating, attending school—others failed to see the quiet absence in his heart. A child without a father often lacked the confidence others took for granted, as well as the shelter a paternal figure should provide. No matter how devoted his mother might be, she could not replace the sense of security and courage a father imparts.
Fatherless children worry about things others don't: what if the other boy's father comes and starts a fight? What if he causes trouble for his mother?
There was no pillar in the household. No broad back to shield them from the storm.
Han Qian felt anger swell within him, along with an ache of sorrow.
He followed Tong Yao into the office, where the other teachers seemed to hold a favorable impression of Li Jiawei. They greeted him with smiles and quiet inquiries.
Han Qian pulled a chair across from Tong Yao and sat down, his tone gentle.
"Miss Tong, you must be fairly new to the teaching profession, am I right?"
Tong Yao blinked in surprise, then nodded earnestly, replying with a hint of shy innocence, "Three months."
Han Qian gave a mild nod, then gestured for Li Jiawei to sit, offering a faint smile.
"I can tell. I only just learned of the fight. I also heard some parents brought thugs into the school to intimidate my nephew? Then would you kindly place a call and have them return immediately? What kind of nonsense is it to beat up a child and walk away as if nothing happened? My nephew is about to take his high school entrance exams. If this leaves a psychological scar and he fails, am I to hold the school responsible for letting outsiders in—or shall I simply go find someone to beat them back? What do you think?"
The other teachers in the office all quietly put down their pens. They had witnessed the scene earlier that morning—Li Jiawei's plainly dressed mother apologizing profusely, pleading for understanding. They had thought the matter settled. But now, this man claiming to be the boy's uncle clearly had no intention of letting it go so easily.
Tong Yao looked troubled. She had only just started her internship, and such an incident could already tarnish her standing. If she brought those people back and a scene broke out, she might well lose her position before her probation ended.
"Mr. Han, the matter has already been resolved. The parents of the other students have forgiven Jiawei. If we continue stirring things up, it may affect the children's studies..."
"Resolved? My nephew was beaten to this wretched state, and you're telling me it's over? Miss Tong, I am speaking to you calmly right now. If you're unable or unwilling to manage the matter, then kindly bring in your dean or the principal. Otherwise, tomorrow morning I'll be sending some young men to wait at the school gate—to make sure those other kids are properly looked after."
A thug.
That was the unanimous judgment among the teachers. Despite his refined appearance, there was no softness in his words when he grew angry. Han Qian stopped speaking to Tong Yao and turned to ask Jiawei about the cause of the fight.
As it turned out, it had stemmed from a juvenile rivalry. Li Jiawei had a close female friend. They went to class, ate, and spent breaks together. Over time, other students began teasing that they were in a relationship. Jiawei neither denied nor confirmed it, continuing to treat the girl as he always had.
This provoked a classmate named Li Bo, who appeared to harbor feelings for the girl. Fueled by jealousy, he poured a bucket of water over her. The weather was still hot, and the thin summer uniforms did little to protect her. Soaked through, her undergarments became plainly visible. Under the pretense of helping her dry off, Li Bo used the opportunity to grope her. Unable to bear it, Jiawei struck back. Though four boys ganged up on him, he managed to land a single punch that split Li Bo's lip.
Han Qian couldn't help but sigh inwardly. Youthful, spirited, and just a bit too precocious—he remembered his own junior high days, still playing with marbles in a dirt pit.
After grasping the situation, Han Qian asked if Jiawei had any other injuries. Just then, a middle-aged woman entered the office—tall and stylish, with glasses perched on her nose. She looked around forty-three or forty-four, and carried herself with presence.
The other teachers rose to prepare for their next classes. Tong Yao stood and greeted her quietly as "Director." Han Qian, however, paid her no heed. He lifted Jiawei's shirt to examine his arm and back.
Multiple bruises and swollen welts—some likely inflicted with blunt objects. This was no simple fistfight.
The director took Tong Yao's seat, her gaze cold as she looked at Jiawei.
"Class has started. Return to your classroom."
Jiawei seemed to fear the director. He started to rise, but Han Qian pressed him back down.
The director frowned.
"You're Jiawei's uncle? Since the others are no longer pursuing the matter, there's no need to make a fuss. There's only one semester left before exams. A transfer at this point would be disruptive for everyone."
Her words grated on Han Qian. He turned with a frown.
"Shouldn't you introduce yourself before speaking like that? Otherwise, I might mistake you for the other boys' mother. This isn't about them forgiving Jiawei—*I* intend to pursue *their* responsibility. And for the record, my surname is Han. A teacher ought to demonstrate at least some measure of decorum and basic civility."
"Heh."
The director sneered.
"You're still talking about holding them accountable? Haven't you heard that Li Bo and the others have been hospitalized? Jiawei's family is not well-off. If his mother hadn't begged this morning, the others would be demanding compensation for their medical expenses. What more do you want?"
"Hospitalized? So whoever ends up in the hospital is automatically the victim? You're not the one who decides who's right or wrong. If you're so eager to play favorites, then let's call in the police, have them assess the injuries, and assign fault. If it turns out Jiawei is responsible, I'll pay every cent of their medical bills."
As he spoke, Han Qian tossed his car keys onto the desk—not to show off, but because he knew it would help.
The Porsche key spun once on the desk. Han Qian continued coldly:
"Now, judging by my nephew's injuries, it's clear this didn't happen in a few minutes. Once I hold them accountable, I'll be coming after your school next. I do happen to know a few people at the Education Bureau. Should I call them now?"
Truth be told, Han Qian didn't want to make that call. He really did have connections—his so-called Aunt Zhao's husband held a significant position in the bureau. But every time she saw Han Qian, she forced him to call her "Sister Zhao" and insisted on asking the most intrusive questions—how often he and Wen Nuan slept together, whether his stamina was flagging—and she didn't even lower her voice or consider the setting. All under the excuse of caring for her "dear daughter."
The director began to doubt this young man's identity. After two minutes of contemplation, she turned to Tong Yao and spoke sharply:
"Call the other parents. See if they're available to come in."
Han Qian rose, stretched lazily, and added with a drawl:
"Tell them to bring plenty of company."