Chapter 1454 - Hidden Agendas (Part 4)
"You'll need it. Go home first, take a bath, get a good night's sleep. Don't worry too much about Yang Jihong's situation. Trust the organization. I've already instructed the Training Center to assign a maidservant to you to take care of your daily needs—temporarily, of course. How things are arranged afterward will be up to you."
After seeing off the dazed Transmigrator Yang, Xiao Zishan cranked the telephone twice and picked up the receiver: "Connect me to the Fragrant Fields Principal's Office!"
The call went through quickly—transmigrators at this level wouldn't be going home to sleep this early.
"Zhixiang—"
"Director Xiao! So late and you still have orders? Are you also recommending some domestic secretaries for senior elementary? No problem!"
"You know about Yang Xinwu's situation, I assume. He came to see me again today and actually proposed taking the blame himself!"
"Holy crap! That actually happened?!"
"Xinwu is someone who values feelings and loyalty, and he's a bit emotional. After Yang Jihong was arrested, he was understandably affected and has been saying some imprudent things. You, as principal, should show more concern for your colleagues!"
"Director Xiao, don't worry. Ziguang and the others and I were just planning to go see Xinwu. I've already got the liquor ready—no problem, I'll take care of it."
"I noticed he's not in great health. If the school schedule permits, I suggest you arrange a rest-and-recuperation leave for him."
"I'll definitely take care of it!"
Xiao Zishan hung up the phone and gazed at the pitch-dark night outside the window. It seemed the Lin Xiaoya case ran quite deep! Transmigrator Yang's sudden bout of madness today was rather inexplicable. He needed to redirect his attention as soon as possible.
He picked up the receiver again:
"Training Center? This is Xiao Zishan. Have you finished selecting the candidates I asked for last time? Rank doesn't matter—what's important is that cup size must be D. I know candidates meeting these criteria are rare—however many there are, send them. Tomorrow morning, first thing, have their files on my desk. Yes, I need to see them as soon as I start work."
He put down the phone, thought for a moment, then took his PHS from a locked drawer and dialed a number:
"Nanhai? Still at the teahouse? You really work hard. There's a matter—there's a transmigrator named Yang Xinwu—you know him? Good, I'll make it brief: I hear he's been idling around at your place lately. I'd like your help checking who visited your teahouse tonight. Even better if your people can recall who met with this Transmigrator Yang. You can get me an answer tomorrow? Excellent!"
Yang Xinwu was sent home by Administrative Office staff. Without even washing up, he collapsed directly onto the bed and slept until broad daylight the next morning. Fumbling for his watch, he saw it was already nine AM—something that had never happened since D-Day. Normally he was at his office at Fragrant Fields by six-thirty.
He scrambled up to call Zhang Zhixiang on his PHS. Before he could speak, the other party already said:
"The Administrative Office notified us yesterday that you need rest-and-recuperation leave. Take it easy at home these next few days. Ziguang and the others and I will come see you after work." Zhang Zhixiang's tone was a bit strange—vacation was practically a fantasy for transmigrators, after all.
A full night's sleep had cleared his previously muddled mind. These past days he had never felt so clear-headed and full of energy. It was as if his whole being had revived. In his churning thoughts, suddenly everything seemed to fall into place.
"What the fuck have I been doing!" Yang Xinwu grabbed his hair, suddenly realizing what an incredibly stupid thing he had almost done the night before.
Cheng-something... He wanted to curse the woman whose nonsense last night had nearly made him stumble into eternal regret, but he suddenly found he couldn't remember her name. Try as he might now, he couldn't even recall her face clearly—just a vague outline and the feeling of having been "stunned" at a glance.
Looking back now, he had been vaguely aware at the time that the woman intended to use him. Though he didn't understand her motive, in his desperation, it had seemed like the only viable option. Moreover, by then he had been so tormented by disappointed fury that he was ready to smash everything—he had discovered that he couldn't exert even the slightest influence in this matter! He had to quietly wait for the judgment of people whose identities he didn't know, seated somewhere he couldn't determine! He had no idea who they were, on what basis they would decide, or even which day they would make their decision.
He had gone begging everywhere, to every place he could think of that might be connected to the case. Every place offered polite, even warm and caring comfort—but not a single useful answer.
An intense sense of insignificance before the organization had engulfed him. The Senate was such a colossal behemoth. Though he was nominally a transmigrator, he was pathetically insignificant!
He had chosen the education field partly because he valued the importance of education and believed someone needed to do the unglamorous work, but also because he wanted to stay away from the factional struggles within the Senate. He'd had enough of such things at the bank.
But distancing oneself from power struggles also meant distancing oneself from the center of power. Being a soy sauce character came at a price. Now he deeply understood what that price was.
He recalled the advice Old Wu had given him a few days ago while drinking tea at the Farm Teahouse:
"You only need to say one thing publicly in court: 'I respect the law. Jihong received legal punishment because she deserved it. But she is, after all, the woman I spent my early transmigration days with, and she is the mother of my unborn child. So my home will always have a place for her.' With those words, whether it's the Arbitration Court or the Executive Committee, they'd have to give you some face—after all, you're still a transmigrator."
But... this was too damn humiliating! If he had to put up with this kind of humiliation even after crossing to this era, he might as well have accepted the punishment at the bank, lived on welfare, and worked as a debt collector!
By comparison, what that Cheng-whatever had suggested had a certain go-down-swinging, earth-shattering quality. Just thinking about it made his blood boil—too bad it was such a pitfall. If he had actually jumped in, he really would have been buried.
Just as he was lost in thought and stewing in his frustration, the doorbell rang. He opened the door to find Principal Zhang Zhixiang, with his close school buddy Yuan Ziguang behind him. Yuan Ziguang was carrying several bottles of liquor, while Zhang Zhixiang held a large rattan basket from which a fragrant aroma already wafted.
Principal Zhang had a chef's certificate and was a culinary master, but due to his busy schedule, he only personally cooked at faculty dinners or Senate annual gatherings. On ordinary days, he was too lazy to cook and just ate at the school cafeteria.
This time, cooking personally could be called truly caring.
Zhang Zhixiang said cheerfully: "Old Yang, we know you're having a rough time. Let us brothers have a good talk."
Since there was no one to tidy up, Yang Xinwu's quarters were a mess. The three cleared a space in the living room and set the food and drink around the table.
Zhang Zhixiang poured half a glass of rum, topped it off with soda, and handed it to Yang Xinwu: "A real man doesn't worry about finding a wife! Come, down this rum. This Senate's realm is ours—plenty of lolis, mature ladies, and milfs are waiting for us to enjoy. Stop being so wishy-washy."
"Right, right—there's no obstacle we can't overcome. A few of us are currently planning a Plaid Skirt Club—things are happening." Yuan Ziguang was practically drooling into his drink.
"What?! What kind of club is this? How come you never told me? I'm warning you, don't try anything funny!" Zhang Zhixiang's voice rose an octave.
"Boss, let me explain—this is something many transmigrators have been suggesting. There's a severe shortage of talent in arts and performance groups. So we're proposing to the Education Committee that Fragrant Fields establish a dedicated arts training class for targeted education. This isn't some shameful guro hobby." Yuan Ziguang hastily explained.
"I'm telling you—don't use public resources to satisfy your personal perversions! Keep it respectable! I can't afford to lose face like that!"
"Relax, this is definitely going through proper procedures. Hasn't the Senate been complaining that there aren't enough cultural activities? We're serving the Senate here."
...
Yang Xinwu stared at them, then drained his glass in one gulp: "Boss, Old Yuan, let me ask you—what did you come to this era for?"
Both were momentarily stunned. Thoughts of "racial specimen museum," "educating the young girls of the world," and "uniform fantasies" flitted through their minds, and they couldn't quite follow the train of thought.
"Why did we come to this era? Wasn't it to pursue a new life? Hoping to accomplish something, to become the ones calling the shots in this world? We thought the new era would have plenty of resources, that backed by the Senate, we'd just do our work well, and once the organization grew, we'd have our chance to shape history. But it seems we were all too naive! Where there are people, there's a jianghu. The Senate is one big jianghu, just like any place we've ever been! We've been comfortable in our ivory tower at Fragrant Fields, but day by day we've been marginalized, losing our voice. This time with Jihong's case, I couldn't do anything but sit around at Director Xiao's office day after day. I couldn't even get a shred of information. Yesterday I nearly fell into a woman's trap!" He couldn't help asking wistfully, "Is this Senate's realm really ours?"
"Of course it's ours. As long as it's still one person, one vote—even if we're just going through the motions at meetings, they still have to take us seriously." Zhang Zhixiang offered comfort. "Your situation is special. Even if Ma Qianzhu's domestic secretary did something like this, he might not be much better off."
"The Chief has no domestic secretary at all—those people are too cunning!" Yang Xinwu took a bite of Zhang Zhixiang's special braised donkey meat. "He has Tang Tang, and he has the Queen. What does he need a domestic secretary for? We can't compare ourselves to them!"
"Doesn't Director Wen have one..."
"Director Wen doesn't care. To him, a domestic secretary is just a talking blow-up doll that can do housework." Yang Xinwu sighed, feeling a touch of envy for Director Wen's almost cold-hearted nonchalance toward women.
(End of Chapter)