The Scorching Sun - 23
Workdays after a holiday always make people sluggish. Fang Yiming wasn't in especially high spirits.
He took his seat in silence, turned on his computer, and when the woman walked by, politely thanked her, then casually set the orange she'd handed him on the corner of his desk.
Someone peeled one open, took a bite, and praised, "This orange is incredible, so sweet and juicy, way better than anything I get at the supermarket. Xu-jie, where’d you buy them?”
The woman stopped beside Fang Yiming and laughed brightly. "From Old Fang's daughter! They're homegrown, straight from the countryside. Four yuan a jin, a total steal. If any of you want more, ask Old Fang whether he still has some left."
Fang Yiming and the other colleagues froze. For a moment, it was difficult to connect the person she was describing with the Fang Yiming they knew.
At work, Fang Yiming had always maintained the image of a refined, cultured man. He was always impeccably dressed in a suit at work, projecting a life of careful propriety. Combined with his sharp features and upright appearance, he naturally gave people a good first impression.
Even though he wasn't particularly warm with his colleagues, his reputation had always been decent.
A colleague laughed awkwardly. "Xu-jie, you remembered wrong, surely? Brother Fang doesn't have a daughter. And anyway, how could his family be selling oranges?"
The woman rested a hand on Fang Yiming's desk, her red-painted fingernails tapping lightly against the surface as she cast a downward glance at him.
Her face was clearly arranged in a genial smile, but from Fang Yiming's angle, the expression somehow felt mocking.
"She's already grown up. Senior year this year. I heard she used to live in the countryside with her grandmother, and only moved back because there was no one left to care for her. She even came by a while back to bring Old Fang an umbrella. Isn’t that right, Old Fang?"
Fang Yiming's expression darkened. A powerful, visceral resistance and resentment swelled in his chest.
Even the least perceptive person could tell this woman was targeting him. What he couldn't understand was why.
He neither confirmed nor denied it immediately, and that silence alone was enough for everyone to tell the story was probably true.
The atmosphere instantly turned into a mixture of shock and awkwardness.
The colleague who’d first stepped in the minefield could only force out a dry laugh. It was too late to end the topic naturally now, so she awkwardly pressed on.
"Then... where'd the oranges come from? Did your hometown send them over, Brother Fang?"
"Oh dear, I really did remember wrong. Look at me." The woman clapped a hand to herself dramatically. "It just happened a couple days ago too. The oranges aren't from Old Fang's family."
A silent wave of relief swept through the office.
Before anyone could smooth things over, she immediately added, "They're from the maternal uncle of Old Fang's daughter."
Silence fell across the office.
Everyone lowered their heads and pretended to busy themselves with keyboards.
"I was out yesterday and saw the girl running a roadside stall. She’s staying with her uncle in the countryside now. I heard her elder has trouble walking, so she brought the oranges into the city to help sell them. Poor thing sat there all alone reading while running the stall. She’d been there a whole day without selling a thing. If I hadn't happened to pass by, who knows how much longer she would've stayed there?"
Still smiling, the woman walked back toward her workstation. Her high heels clicked sharply against the floor, her voice lifted with deliberate innuendo.
"Kids these days are really frugal. She wears the same clothes for years. You could tell at a glance they were old hand-me-downs. Even her school uniform was secondhand, and she clearly wasn't picky about shoes either. And she's so incredibly diligent, didn't forget to read her books even while out earning a living. So filial, sensible, and pretty too. I'm honestly jealous. If my son had half of what she’s got, I'd wake up laughing from my dreams!"
The air in the office seemed to thicken.
People held their breath while mechanically typing nonsense onto keyboards, only to immediately delete it again. They exchanged furtive glances, their eyes constantly flicking in Fang Yiming’s direction.
Fang Yiming finally raised his head. "I gave her five thousand yuan last month."
"Did you?" The woman sat down, an expression of exaggerated surprise on her face. "She's a student. Why did you suddenly give her so much money? Was your wife okay with that?"
This father's prior indifference toward Fang Zhuo had barely been concealed. Who among them hadn’t spent years navigating society? No one was blind to such a shallow display of feigned affection.
Still, family matters were the sort of thing people pretended not to notice. At most, they'd gossip privately afterward.
Fang Yiming knew he couldn't outtalk her, and for the moment couldn't think of an appropriate explanation either, so he simply shut his mouth.
After a while, he muttered, "She never told me she was short on money."
Then, disregarding everyone’s gaze, he forced himself back into work.
Unfortunately, his efficiency was terrible.
But his efficiency was shot. A summary report took him hours to finish, his mind looping endlessly on Fang Zhuo’s resolute expression as she'd left last time and the final, harsh words she had thrown at him, and concluded that this was revenge she'd planned for a long time.
He thought Fang Zhuo had gone too far.
If she needed something, why couldn't she just come talk to him directly? Why pull a stunt like this? Taking advantage of other people's sympathy and her own harmless appearance just to smear her own father.
What kind of child was she?
He also mused that Fang Zhuo was nothing like her mother, after all. Where had she learned to be so calculating, to become this terrifying?
The more he thought, the more his resentment festered. A dark, seething fire churned in his chest.
The probing eyes of those around him made him feel like he was sitting on a bed of nails, as if every second of his composure was an indictment.
Even the orange sitting in the corner of his desk had started to look offensive.
He snatched it up, tossed it into a drawer, and slammed it shut. Out of sight, out of mind.
Around noon, Fang Yiming requested leave from work, saying he wanted to visit Fang Zhuo at school and clear up the misunderstanding at home.
Then he hurried off carrying his briefcase.
A High School wasn't especially close to his workplace, but it wasn't far either. Driving himself, he reached a nearby parking lot within half an hour.
By the time he arrived at the school gates, he'd calmed down slightly. He rubbed his chin, schooling his features into something between a blank mask and a benevolent, fatherly mien.
However, once he entered the academic building, he was suddenly dazed to realize he had no idea which class Fang Zhuo was in.
He vaguely remembered it being either Class Five or Six, but he wasn't sure.
After checking his phone, he discovered he didn't even have her homeroom teacher's number saved.
In contrast, he could recite every detail of his son’s life, right down to his dorm room and the color of his bedspread. But Fang Zhuo's daily life barely registered in his awareness at all.
After all, one was the son he'd personally raised since childhood.
The other was just more like a relative he'd superficially interacted with a handful of times.
The senior grade only had a dozen or so classes. Fang Yiming decided to walk along the corridor, scanning through each classroom's window one by one.
Fang Zhuo was easy to spot.
After only a quick glance inside, he immediately found the girl seated in the back row, listening attentively to class.
He glanced at the door plate, thinking to himself: So she's in Class 1.
Fang Yiming walked around to the front door, knocked lightly, and pushed it open. "Hello, teacher. I'm here to see Fang Zhuo."
Dozens of eyes immediately swept toward the back of the classroom.
The gauze taped to Fang Zhuo's forehead looked especially jarring against her already pale complexion.
Seeing her remain seated, the teacher walked over with a stack of papers and asked, "And you are?"
Fang Yiming took a step back and said, "I’m her father. I’d like a quick word with her."
Only then did Fang Zhuo slowly stand up and make her way through the narrow aisle by the wall.
The sight of her moving around so lifelessly irritated Fang Yiming for some reason. He wanted to hurry her along but barely restrained himself.
Once she was finally close, he pulled her toward the far end of the corridor.
He deliberately ignored the injury on her head, his face dark as he demanded, "Did you get into a fight?"
"I didn't."
Fang Yiming didn't pursue it further. After choosing his words for a moment, he said, "Fang Zhuo, I'm still your father. If you have opinions about me, you should come directly to me. You shouldn't have resorted to tactics like this. If you'd really come to me asking for money, I would still have given it to you."
Fang Zhuo looked at him quietly. "What are you talking about?"
"Just what have you been telling my colleagues?" Fang Yiming said, and even with all his mental preparation, he couldn't keep the anger down. "You're a senior-year student. Why would you go set up a street stall? And what's going on with your uncle? Did he put you up to this? You’d never even met him before, and you just believe what he says?”
Fang Zhuo cut him off. "This has nothing to do with him."
Fang Yiming accused, "Why would you tell my colleagues I'm mistreating you?"
"I never said that." Fang Zhuo said flatly.
"But you made them think it! What was all that about selling things on the street? What kind of young person pulls a stunt like this?"
"What other people assume is none of my business."
Fang Yiming’s control began to slip. A surge of unspent fury rose from his neck, slowly suffusing his face with red.
He stared coldly at the girl before him. Before he could continue lecturing her, another voice interrupted.
"Fang Zhuo."
The homeroom teacher walked over. "What's going on?"
Fang Zhuo turned around and shook her head. "Nothing."
"Is this your parent?" the teacher said. "Go back to class. The senior curriculum is tight. Let me have a word with your parents.”
Without asking Fang Yiming's opinion, Fang Zhuo simply turned and walked back.
The homeroom teacher extended a hand politely. "Hello. Mr. Fang, correct?"
"Yes." Fang Yiming glanced toward the classroom before withdrawing his gaze distractedly. "Fang Zhuo's doing alright at school?"
"She's doing quite well." The teacher smiled. "Actually, I've been wanting to meet her family for a while. I was worried there might be difficulties at home."
Fang Yiming's perfunctory smile didn't quite reach the necessary standard. Tugging stiffly at the corners of his mouth, he said, "Nothing like that. She was raised by her grandmother before, so there are some habits she hasn't corrected yet."
"Is that so?" The head teacher retracted her hand and placed it on her hip. "I've been rather concerned about Fang Zhuo. Her life hasn't been easy."
Fang Yiming turned serious, his voice dropping. "What has she told you?"
"She hasn't told me anything. She says absolutely nothing, but as her teacher, I can see for myself." The homeroom teacher asked, "Do you know how she injured her head?"
A trace of embarrassment crossed Fang Yiming's face. "I was just asking her about that."
The teacher nodded calmly. "She was too hungry. She fell while walking and hit her head on the steps. There was a lot of blood."
Fang Yiming's eyes widened in shock.
"She didn't have money for food, so she went out during National Day break to earn some money," the teacher continued. "If there's some misunderstanding between you and your daughter, I think it's better to clear it up sooner rather than later. She's in her senior year. This is not the life she should be living."
The teacher's words left Fang Yiming so ashamed he could barely stand there.
For a moment, he even began doubting whether his earlier assumptions had been completely wrong. Unable to listen to any more, he made a hasty excuse and hurried off.
The homeroom teacher watched his nearly fleeing figure and sighed softly, thinking that all kinds of parents truly existed in this world.
After the dismissal bell rang, she called Fang Zhuo to her office.
Fang Zhuo had assumed the teacher had been swayed by Fang Yiming's words and was about to get a lecture on family values, so she came very unwillingly.
The moment she entered the office, she leaned against the wall with an expression that practically declared she'd already chosen selective deafness.
The teacher didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Your uncle already called me. Just focus on studying. If there's any problem, tell me. Your number one priority right now is preparing for the college entrance exams."
Fang Zhuo hadn't expected to hear Ye Yuncheng's name mentioned.
"What did he say?" she asked strangely.
"He didn't say much." The teacher rested one hand against the stack of lesson plans, thought for a moment, then added reassuringly, "You won't be transferring schools. Go back to class."
Fang Zhuo understood immediately.
He'd complained to the teacher for her sake.
In all her years of schooling, this was the first time she'd ever had a parent stand up on her behalf to a teacher.
Shen Musi, taking advantage of someone's absence, was draped over Yan Lie’s desk, whispering fervently, "So Fang Zhuo's family isn't actually that poor? I seriously thought she was poor poor."
Her words had barely landed when Fang Zhuo walked in through the back door.
Shen Musi panicked instantly and hurriedly changed the subject.
"Does your head still hurt?"
Fang Zhuo sat down and gave him a faint smile. "No."
Shen Musi shivered.
Terrifying.
Is this the calm before the storm?
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