Chapter 94: “You Are a Rare Gem in This World (I)”

The Secondary CP Extra
Chapter 94: “You Are a Rare Gem in This World (I)”

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Originally, Chu Xiangbin’s surname wasn’t “Chu”; it was “Wen.” His full name was Wen Bin, a name chosen by his biological father.

During elementary and middle school, Chu Xiangbin developed slower than most boys, so he always appeared frail and undernourished among his peers. Whenever he introduced himself on stage, saying, “My name is Wen Bin—‘Wen’ as in cultured, and ‘Bin’ as in refined,” the audience would burst into laughter.

Over time, Wen Bin became exceptionally quiet. He never spoke in crowds, kept his head down, and walked alone along the walls.

As he grew older, his hair began to grow longer, half-covering his eyes. His clothes always seemed one or two sizes too big, hanging loosely on his frame. The lively, attention-seeking students never noticed this pale and frail boy who stayed hidden in the corner.

But Wen Bin was intelligent.

In elementary school, his brilliance wasn’t particularly evident. In their small county, the schooling system consisted of five years in elementary school and four in middle school. When he entered middle school, with more subjects and increased difficulty, Wen Bin’s intellect and academic performance easily stood out.

In his first year of middle school, he ranked in the top three during the midterms. When the results came out, the homeroom teacher and subject teachers were all surprised—this was a student they barely noticed. He never answered questions in class or sought help after school.

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Mblu yppwxle kv oyp y qzwjl.

Jwv ewakdt vbl qkdyzp, Eld Jkd aydjle qkapv kd bkp ldvkal tayel yv vbl xkeezl pnbssz—y rlaqsaxydnl vbyv nswzed’v cl ktdsale. Mbl vlynblap yde pvweldvp qkdyzzu cltyd vs ryu yvvldvksd vs vbkp qaykz csu obs yzoyup oyzjle yzsdt vbl nsadla.

Tsolhla, clkdt dsvknle cu bkp nzyppxyvlp oypd’v y tsse vbkdt qsa Eld Jkd.

Tl oyp iwklv, kdvashlavle, yde pszkvyau, yzoyup jllrkdt vs bkxplzq. Tkp elzyule rbupknyz elhlzsrxldv xyel bkx yrrlya vos sa vball ulyap uswdtla vbyd bkp rllap, xyjkdt bkx y vyatlv sq alflnvksd, lprlnkyzzu yxsdt vbl csup.

Omnlzzkdt ynyelxknyzzu sdzu rykdvle y ckttla vyatlv sd bkp cynj, vwadkdt bkx kdvs vbl qsnyz rskdv sq vblka cwzzukdt.

Mbasod vlmvcssjp kd vbl vaypb, elpjp nshlale kd pnakcczlp, nbykap vspple kdvs vbl cwpblp swvpkel, yde vly rswale kdvs bkp cyt—cwzzukdt clnyxl y eykzu snnwaaldnl.

Eld Jkd oyp y vsr pvweldv, ps vbl vlynblap ryke lmvay yvvldvksd vs bkx. Rdkvkyzzu, bkp bsxlassx vlynbla oydvle vs blzr, cwv Eld Jkd dlhla srldle wr. Ohld obld nyzzle vs vbl sqqknl yde ypjle ekalnvzu kq vblal oyp yduvbkdt vaswczkdt bkx, vbl qaykz csu fwpv pvsse pkzldvzu, pyukdt dsvbkdt.

Xhla vkxl, lhld vbl vlynblap zspv ryvkldnl.

He would retrieve his books from the trash, wipe his desk clean with a cloth he carried, and find his chair in the bushes. Sometimes, Wen Bin didn’t even bother attending class. Instead, he would sit in the hallway with his chair, staring quietly out the window for an entire period.

No matter how others treated him, Wen Bin remained unresponsive. Eventually, his bullies grew bored. They enjoyed watching the weak beg or run, but no one liked wasting time on someone so indifferent.

This changed during his fourth year of middle school.

At the start of the first semester, the school organized a parent-teacher meeting. On that day, heavy rain made the roads slippery. Wen Bin’s mother, who was frail herself, fell while cycling to the school, arriving covered in mud and looking disheveled.

While parents attended the meeting, students were supposed to gather on the playground. However, because of the rain, most hid in the art and music classrooms or the gymnasium.

A troublemaker from the class returned from the main building and walked into the art room, laughing loudly.

“I thought some beggar wandered into the school, but turns out it was Wen Bin’s mom! Wen Bin, I heard your dad’s dead, right? No wonder you study so hard. Is your mom begging on the streets to pay for your school?”

The classroom erupted in laughter.

Everyone was used to mocking Wen Bin, the boy who still looked like a first or second-year student despite being in his fourth year. Jokes at his expense were nothing new.

So when Wen Bin suddenly charged at the boy who spoke, punching the smirk off his face, the entire class was stunned.

Wen Bin didn’t stop.

He pinned the boy to the ground and kept punching him—again and again. His fists bloodied, the boy on the floor wailing like a pig being slaughtered. The rest of the class stood frozen in shock. Some of the braver ones tried to intervene, but it took a great deal of effort to pull Wen Bin off him.

The room was in chaos.

A teacher quickly arrived after hearing the commotion.

In a fight between the school’s top-performing, quiet student and a troublemaking classmate, it was no surprise that the teachers sided with the former.

Before the bruised boy was helped to the infirmary by his companions, he glared at Wen Bin with venom in his eyes, silently mouthing, “You’re done for.”

Wen Bin remained calm, as if he hadn’t seen or heard anything.

That evening, four delinquent boys cornered him in the narrow alley behind the school. Leading them was the very boy Wen Bin had punched earlier, his face still bruised.

Wen Bin was frail, and his outburst earlier in the day had been fueled by rage and the other boy’s lack of preparedness. Faced with four boys, each stronger than him, he stood no chance.

The rain had turned the alley into a muddy mess.
Mud splashed everywhere as fists and kicks, accompanied by curses, rained down on the boy curled up against the wall.

His oversized shirt, washed so often it was nearly translucent, clung to his thin body, revealing his pale, bony back. Wen Bin bit down hard on his lips, drawing blood, but remained silent as he curled up, enduring the beating.

The rain intensified. Eventually, the boys, tired from kicking him, left amidst curses and insults. Wen Bin remained motionless in the corner, his body still curled up.

Then, a teasing voice broke through the sound of rain:
“Hey, are you dead or what?”

The voice was lazy, casual, and carefree—exactly like how Chu Xiangbin would remember Luan Qiaoqing many years later, when they crossed paths again in a bright and spacious office.

In that narrow, rain-soaked alley, Wen Bin lifted his head and saw a girl standing at the entrance of the alley.

To call her a “girl” was an assumption based on her voice—her hair was even shorter than his, barely longer than a buzz cut.

But there was no denying her beauty. She had a sharp, slightly upturned nose and lively, expressive eyes that gave her a vibrant, slightly roguish charm.

The girl strolled over with an umbrella, crouched down in front of him, and said, “I saw them beating you earlier, but I didn’t dare step in. It’s just me today, and I couldn’t take on all of them. Don’t blame me for not helping you, okay?”

Wen Bin stayed silent.

The girl continued, “But those upperclassmen are shameless, ganging up on a younger student like you. How thick-skinned can they be?

Still, Wen Bin didn’t respond.

He suspected there might be something wrong with this girl. She was overly familiar, her words were all over the place, and she wouldn’t stop chattering.

The girl rambled on for a while before noticing that he hadn’t said a word. The pale, frail boy in front of her had longer hair than hers, with bangs that nearly covered his eyes, wet and sticking to his cold, pale skin.

She leaned in closer, trying to see his eyes. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Wen Bin remained silent.

“Are you in first or second year? You look so delicate, like a girl.”

No response.

“And just now, you didn’t make a sound while they were beating you. Are you mute?”

Again, silence.

The girl continued, “Well, little mute, can you still move? If you can, get up and come with me. Otherwise, you’ll freeze to death here, and I’ll be too scared to ever take this shortcut again. That won’t do—this is the quickest way to my house. If I have to take another route, it’ll add so much time.”

Wen Bin felt his head buzzing from her incessant chatter.

He had never encountered such a talkative and persistent girl before. Between her chatter and his aching body, he gave in. Not wanting to worry his mother by going home in such a state, he slowly stood up, using the wall for support, and followed the short-haired girl step by step.

The girl generously shared half of her umbrella with him, which only resulted in both of them getting soaked by the time they reached her home.

“My parents are separated. I live with my mom, but she’s hardly ever home,” the girl said as she led him into a high-end apartment building. From the elevator to the doorway, she casually revealed her family situation.

Wen Bin grew more certain of his suspicion: this girl was probably a bit of a fool.

“The shared bathroom is here. You can use it. I’ll go to my room to shower,” the girl said, tossing her umbrella outside the door.

Wen Bin hesitated but finally rasped in a hoarse voice, “Aren’t you afraid I might be a bad person?”

The girl turned around, surprised. “Oh, you’re not mute?” She looked at him with wide eyes before laughing. “You’re shorter than me, clearly just a little first- or second-year kid. And you couldn’t even fight off those guys. Why would I be afraid of you? Besides, I know those guys—they only bully honest students who won’t fight back. What kind of bad person could you be?”

Wen Bin stayed silent.

Before he could say anything more, the girl frowned. “Ugh, being all wet is so uncomfortable. I’m going to rinse off. You should get cleaned up too.”

With that, she turned and ran off.

Wen Bin stood in place for a long moment before limping into the shared bathroom she had pointed out.

It was his first time stepping into a home that felt luxurious to him. Compared to the simple faucets and washrooms he was used to, the high-end bathroom fixtures in the girl’s house felt both unfamiliar and fascinating.

Using his sharp observational skills and quick judgment, Wen Bin figured out how to use the advanced facilities in no time. He took a hot shower, washing away the blood and mud from the beating he’d endured.

After finishing, Wen Bin soaked his clothes in water, rinsed them thoroughly, and wrung them out.

As he was about to put on his damp clothes, there was a knock on the frosted glass door of the bathroom. Then, the door opened slightly.

A small, fair hand reached in, holding a neatly folded set of clothes: a white shirt, black trousers, and a towel.

The girl’s cheerful voice accompanied the gesture:
“I started buying boys’ clothes a couple of years ago. I think you’re just a little shorter than me, so my clothes should fit you perfectly.”

Wen Bin stared silently at the hand and the clothes it held, saying nothing.

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