ITIEQ C68

Chapter 68 – Everyone Loves the Big Establishment

The system manifested into physical form, and beside the rocking chair appeared a blond-haired youth out of thin air.

Resting his chin on his hand, Shen Qinghe teased, “What’s this? Couldn’t bear to stay away anymore? I thought you said you were going to save up points to splurge on eating and drinking later.” These days, whenever he earned system points from completing missions, he deposited them straight into the system’s little treasury. Every few days, the system would slip away to loosen up. Shen Qinghe had only turned a blind eye, merely reminding it to be careful.

The system didn’t respond. The sun was warm and clear today, the temperature just right, enough to soften one’s very bones. Shen Qinghe had chosen such a day precisely to comb and wash his long, hard-to-manage hair in detail.

As he sipped on his goji-berry and codonopsis tea, the blond youth suddenly leaned down and lay across his lap. Shen Qinghe gave a startled “Eh?” before the system finally spoke, languidly: “It’s not like I’m entirely heartless.”

“Hahaha…” Shen Qinghe laughed until tears streamed from his eyes. Of course, as a small system, it was supposed to be heartless. “When you do this, you make me feel like some lonely old pensioner. What do you say—want to take care of me in my old age?”

The system raised a tiny pink fist and thumped lightly against his thigh—it didn’t hurt in the least. That only made Shen Qinghe laugh louder.

From a distance, Xue Bufan had already heard the unrestrained laughter coming from within the courtyard. He paused mid-step before lifting the bamboo curtain and entering.

By that time, the blond youth had already climbed up onto Shen Qinghe’s legs, determined to let the host have a taste of the system’s “meow-meow punches.” The two shoved back and forth childishly, and when they looked up together at the sound of the curtain being raised, the chair beneath them was still swaying lazily—

This was no ordinary chair. It had been remodeled through exacting engineering calculations, custom-fitted perfectly to Shen Qinghe’s body. Nowhere else in all of Great Yong could there be found another so comfortable. Before, he had always sat on those hard wooden chairs that bruised the hips; compared to this, there was no enjoyment at all. Now he couldn’t even part from it a single day. Teachers and students of the academy had completely gotten used to treating the chair as a stand-in for Shen Qinghe himself.

What Xue Bufan saw was this boyish frolicking. He glanced at the system once before speaking: “His health is poor. Don’t mess around with him like that.”

Naturally, the system couldn’t explain that its light weight would never harm its host. Originally, it could have kept its body in a child’s form forever, but Shen Qinghe had said it was too uncanny for him to remain a child for years on end. So the system had reluctantly adjusted its parameters—taller frame, refined features. Even so, fooling around in the same way as before did look rather unrestrained. Since its identity couldn’t be revealed, the system crawled down obediently.

Shen Qinghe rubbed his nose. Xue Bufan was getting more and more like a stern disciplinary director. In the academy, just his presence alone was more effective than a hundred teachers’ instructions. Still… he always wore that severe expression.

Normally, Shen Qinghe never behaved properly, always playing and laughing with the students. But whenever Xue Bufan was there, one look from that face of his would make Shen Qinghe think twice before cracking a joke.

“This month’s accounts.”

Xue Bufan found an empty spot, setting down the stack of ledgers he had brought. The new term had barely begun, and already the pile had risen half the height of a palm. Each little entry, carefully written—clearly much labor had gone into them.

Shen Qinghe casually picked up the topmost book. While glancing through it, he peeked sidelong at Xue Bufan, brows relaxed. “I knew it—leave things in your hands, and mistakes simply don’t happen. Even more precise than those students studying accounting.”

In the past, financial records were only rough logs of income and expense, which quickly grew confusing when things got even slightly complicated. Since Shen Qinghe’s appointment, he had gradually shifted to a new bookkeeping method: every item of business carefully listed in and out, clear to the eye, aiding future decision‑making.

“The only issue is that the ratio of boys to girls among new students is terribly skewed. That can’t do. For local children, the academy’s basic education is tuition-free; they only have to pay for meals. So why won’t people send their daughters to study?” Shen Qinghe mused. “Once the academy is running steadily, we’ll build more dorms, and then roll out compulsory education in the area.”

At this, Xue Bufan had his own complaints. “You’re something else. Who’s ever heard of an academy that makes newcomers ‘recognize’ teacher‑parents? The academy’s makeup is too complex now, no longer just ordinary commoner students. Now the thirteen provinces all have a share here.

“If word of this spreads, it could really hurt our image.”

“They say policies should suit local conditions. Precisely because the composition’s complex, you need measures like this. With staff stretched thin, you let the old guide the new. And in a society that values kinship morality, having such ties only makes the work easier.” Shen Qinghe smiled, blowing on his health tea. “Infamy is still fame. Build reputation first—even notorious. Then once renown and achievement are established, we can cherry‑pick students across all thirteen provinces.”

“Your solutions are always so crooked,” Xue Bufan remarked, looking down at his tea set. The porcelain cups from the kiln looked like pen-holders, and Shen Qinghe carried them everywhere, hugging a liter-sized vessel of tea without any refinement whatsoever. To watch him drink was like oxen munching on peonies—no elegance in it.

“Mmhm, as long as it works.” Shen Qinghe flipped the ledger around and flopped it over his face.

He had barely skimmed a page before tossing it aside. “You work from dawn till dusk—drink even a soup stewed in thousand‑year ginseng and it won’t replenish you.”

Shen Qinghe chuckled.

“What’s so funny—are you actually worried about me?”

Xue Bufan fell quiet. On the day he returned home in Yunzhong, his family had uncharacteristically confined him indoors. Who could have guessed so many disasters would follow. Now time had passed, Shen Qinghe laughed it away with his usual heedlessness, but Xue Bufan could not.

His symbolic family token had been taken, implicating Shen Qinghe into peril. When he finally emerged, even imperial physicians had sighed at his condition. One affair after another—it burned in Xue Bufan’s chest, unquenched.

After so long apart, he at last raised the matter that had long stood silently between them.

Shen Qinghe froze. The ledger slid slowly down from his face.

He rose, black hair falling gracefully down his back.

“Do you still remember my first arrival at Qiuquan—oh no, it’s called Qingbei County now.”

Initially, it had been idle wasteland. The name “Qiuquan” was given mockingly, as though the only thing to see here was hills and springs, nothing else of value. But after Shen Qinghe’s posting, heaven and earth of the county had transformed. Locals came to know it only as home of Qingbei Academy. The Emperor Zhaohuan himself then formally renamed it.

Xue Bufan: “I remember.” He remembered their first meeting at a banquet. Back then, he wallowed in frustration daily, drowning in wine.

“And you, back then, kept challenging me at every turn.”

Xue Bufan inhaled, heavy. “So you knew all along. I thought it was just me, my one‑man stage play.”

His unwillingness, his anger, his helplessness until he finally conceded—so Shen Qinghe had known it all.

“I’m not stupid. You were blinded by that so‑called lofty rhetoric from Qingxue, those delusions of aloofness. Wanting something is just that—wanting it. Want, and then strive for it. If you wanted the governorship position, why not contend with me openly and fairly? Instead you spoke one way, yet sulked another. Isn’t that just tormenting yourself? We live but once—why not live as we please?”

Xue Bufan squeezed out a bitter smile. “Countless matters in the world—how can any life be smooth in all things? Not everyone is destined for good fortune.” By now, admitting he was inferior to Shen Qinghe was no longer hard.

“There’s nothing left worth contending over. I truly can’t match you.”

“This isn’t the Xue Bufan I know.” Shen Qinghe frowned at his dejected state and finally pinpointed the root. “Is it guilt you’re carrying?”

Xue Bufan gnashed his teeth. “If not for me, you would never have—”

“It wasn’t you.” Shen Qinghe cut him off. His expression sank, one Xue Bufan had never seen before.

“It was Yue Ji. It was Gongyang Ci. One wanted my life; the other wished to climb atop my shoulders. You merely happened to be there. If it had been someone else standing there, the same.”

“They wanted to kill me. I bear no grudge—because we are enemies. If chances switched, I’d be the one to strike. But now—it’s you I’m angry at. Why did I employ you? Because you have talent, ability, and ambition. You see beyond a tiny plot of land—you see all thirteen provinces of Great Yong.”

Xue Bufan’s chest stirred faintly.

“The new campus has just opened, a mountain of work to do. I intend to make ours the first academy of Great Yong. But now you talk of not striving, not contending. How am I supposed to trust you like that?” Shen Qinghe slapped his chair loudly in emphasis. “If your conscience is honestly bothering you, then let’s solve it this way. The academy’s tight on finances as it is—your work here, I just won’t pay you for it.”

Xue Bufan’s face collapsed instantly. From between clenched teeth, he forced: “Dream on!”

Shen Qinghe burst out laughing, nearly pounding his thigh.

Xue Bufan knew better than to keep wrangling with this man without a conscience. He lifted the curtain to leave, but before going, he turned his head: “Never do something so foolish again. I don’t want to owe you my life.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Shen Qinghe waved lazily.

The system lifted its head, golden hair ruffling in the breeze. “Host, so you weren’t actually angry all along?” From its readings of the host earlier, it had thought he’d be pursuing blood feud with the Yue clan. The data had shown irreconcilable tension already.

Shen Qinghe thought back on what he had said and smiled lightly. “Angry, yes. But what does anger achieve?”

“Let them just wait for what’s coming.”

But that was for later. Right now, Shen Qinghe swept his mind clean of stray thoughts. The most important thing was to ensure the successful launch of the new campus. Cangzhou was remote—but that was its advantage. Charcoal kilns, iron smelting furnaces, textile factories—all could now be operated openly.

Its location also straddled Great Yong and the Hu* tribes. The Hu prince had already studied here for a year. With that precedent, when he went home on breaks, he’d be a walking advertisement. Which parent doesn’t push their children? Even if they spent their years flipping on horseback over the grasslands, they’d settle their kids into steady government posts later, enrolled in the great establishment.

Past and present, across the world—parents are all the same.

With enough exchanges, reputation would grow. Thereafter, foreign student recruitment could be opened smoothly.

Foreign candidates applying to the academy—transcripts, applications, recommendation letters, those are all required. No such papers? Then as Dean, Shen Qinghe had plenty of space to maneuver…

They say the steppe’s native horses are unlike ordinary breeds, and the beef is especially chewy. To bribe a teacher… what, at least a hundred eighty head of horses as tribute?

Not gluttony—simply to grant every hardworking student of the world an equal chance to study.

…

“Admissions application?”

Shen Qinghe sat up from his thickly padded recliner.

“Who is it?”

After hearing the details, he nodded in musing. “Oh—the Baizhang Academy.”

He remembered Baizhang Academy. Back in Qiuquan, once a certain art teacher had come with students—it was from there. What was his name? Ah right, Tan Ping. How had it ended again… Shen Qinghe vaguely recalled tears.

Back then, he’d wanted to establish an arts program, but conditions were impossible. The students in the academy barely had enough rice and salt to live on; how could “refined arts” be taught? Now that he was backed by the Wei family and surrounded by affluent students, it was the perfect time for Teacher Tan Ping to shine in the field of education.

Shen Qinghe placed one leg against the floor, the other bent across his knee, rocking the chair lazily up and down.

A special appointment teacher could save the academy a spot from its limited establishment quota. As a teacher, he’d have to contribute. If a gallery exhibition could be organized—that would boost the academy’s popularity, sell some tickets too. For students, half-price discounts with student ID, of course—a perk. And if publicity were pumped up properly, it could become a cultural landmark where literati and influencers alike “checked in,” while simultaneously hosting art exchanges, forums, and lectures—pulling tourism GDP upwards. One arrow hitting three birds; benefits aplenty.

“Well then, the academy isn’t formally open to the public yet, but since it’s an old acquaintance, let’s just open the back door for them!”

Shen Qinghe clapped his hands. Teaching is teaching, no matter where—but talent like his must be poached.

Footnotes:

1. Goji-berry and Codonopsis tea (枸杞党参茶) – A tonic brew believed to boost energy and nourish the body. 
2. Hu tribes (胡族) – A historical term used broadly by Chinese dynasties to describe nomadic tribes of the northern steppes. 
3. Big establishment / “tie fanwan” (铁饭碗) – Literally “iron rice bowl,” an idiom for a guaranteed lifelong secure job, often in government or public service. 
4. Recognize teacher-parents (认爹认妈) – A tongue-in-cheek description of Shen Qinghe’s policy requiring mentorship bonds among students to replicate kinship ties for management purposes. 
5. Baizhang Academy (百丈书院) – Another fictional academy. “Baizhang” literally means “hundred-zhang height,” possibly signifying ambition or lofty status.