"What's wrong?"
"I can't explain it, it's just a feeling I have."
I said, annoyed, "Aren't you a god? Are you going to be punished by heaven or undergo tribulation?"
Liu Laoliu said sadly, "Some things are beyond the control of even gods. If we can't get through this, it will be a heavenly tribulation!"
I said, "The Heavenly Court Index has also fallen below 1300 points?"
Liu Laoliu shook his head and said, "When Sun Wukong made havoc in the Heavenly Palace, he reached 1500—now that you mention this, I remember you. When your Five-Star Juniper went public, you should get me some initial shares. Now, people who don't know the background of your products dare not buy them, especially food and drinks. Who knows when they might be found to contain poison."
I:"……"
After Liu Laoliu left, Yan Jingsheng called me and said that the central, provincial, and municipal governments had all issued documents instructing Yucai School to prepare for a visit by a group of international friends, including martial arts groups and various competitive sports organizations from different countries, as well as major media outlets from around the world. This visit was the culmination of the trouble that occurred during the competition in Singapore; everyone wanted to know what kind of school had produced such a monstrous and numerous talent pool.
Yan Jingsheng asked me, "Should we organize some students to rehearse a welcoming ceremony or something?"
I said, "No need. They're the ones who want to come, not us. You don't even need to tell the students. They can come whenever they want. We'll just continue as usual here."
"Then we'll need to invite some relevant leaders, right?"
"Well, you see. Oh, and please invite Principal Zhang up."
Yan Jingsheng smiled and said, "Of course, we must invite an honorary principal."
I said, "Let's drop the word 'reputation,' and take advantage of the excitement to make the old man happy."
Yan Jingsheng was taken aback, then said with a touch of sadness, "I understand."
Chapter Forty-Six: A Visit from the "Post Office"
This morning I really wanted Baozi to take me to Yucai School. The reason is simple: it's hard to get a taxi here, and I really don't want to keep showing up in that beat-up van.
While I wouldn't call myself a billionaire now, I'm certainly a well-off person, and my net worth exceeding 100 million is only a matter of time. Actually, I'm not picky about cars. Although since meeting Jin Shaoyan, we've frequently ridden in luxury cars worth millions, tens of millions, or even hundreds of millions, I'm not interested in things like airbags and GPS systems. In the city, I'm lucky if I can reach 40 mph; what's the big deal about a crash? Besides, I'm a native of this area. Even if I had two Hitler cavalry divisions, they might not be able to find me—and besides, can GPS tell you which sewers don't have manhole covers?
So buying a new car is now urgent. My requirements aren't high; a decent brand is fine, even if it drives like a beat-up van. After all, I have a special status now, representing the reputation of a school, and today even our country. Driving a van isn't really a problem, as long as it's in good condition, but having a lock on the door is a bit too pretentious. Although many famous and great people in the world have a habit of frugality, driving a beat-up car doesn't seem to be an exception, because from another perspective, it's irresponsible towards one's own life and the lives of others. The clutch of our car has been crushed like a deflated eggplant by Xiang Yu, and the gear lever vibrates wildly while driving. Most importantly, it's a filthy car, a car that hasn't been inspected for who knows how many years, and a car that has traveled ten times the distance the Red Army marched... For a car like this, driving to the edge of a desolate mountain, propping up a stick on the accelerator, and jumping off would be its best fate.
The plan fell through; Baozi had gone off somewhere crazy early in the morning. This woman had recently bought a whole bunch of gym and beauty salon memberships, seemingly preparing to become a pampered lady, but she got bored after just a few days. After all, she didn't need either of those things. Then she went and did some ridiculous market research; by the time someone had designed the questionnaire for her, she had completely forgotten about it, so she didn't become a successful businesswoman either. I advised her not to be discouraged, saying that Edison experimented thousands of times before finding the right material for the filament—the first two failures only meant she wasn't suited to be a pampered lady or a successful businesswoman.
So I had no choice but to drive my beat-up van again. My plan was to hide it far, far away from the school gate.
You know what, I never noticed it before, but after getting used to riding in nice cars, it's become very noticeable. This car not only leaks air, but it also shakes the roof off like crazy when going over a small bump. Not only can it shake people up, but the broken doors also rattle loudly.
But I realized I had made a mistake. When I was about 50 meters away from the parking lot at the main gate of Yucai School, the road ahead was blocked by more than a dozen buses from the airport, which were entering the parking lot one by one under Xiao Liu's direction. When I tried to back up, the road behind me was filled with several interview vehicles with the logos of a certain TV station, and behind that was an endless line of related vehicles, including reception personnel arranged by the government.
I was stuck, unable to move forward or backward, so I could only quietly follow them into the parking lot, hoping no one would notice me. At first, everything went smoothly; my beat-up car blended seamlessly into a row of large trucks, attracting no attention. But as soon as I entered the parking lot, I saw it was already packed with blond-haired, blue-eyed foreigners and reporters from various countries carrying cameras. Xiuxiu was there as a tour guide and translator, while Yan Jingsheng and several school teachers were handling reception. When they saw my car, they all pointed in my direction. I kept waving and winking at them from inside the car, but they thought I was greeting them. Yan Jingsheng led the applause and introduced the car to the foreigners, while a large group of reporters fearlessly rushed forward, surrounding me and snapping photos. I noticed several reporters specifically took extra pictures of the lock on my car door; I guessed they were preparing to publish them on humorous image websites like Bamuyao.
Oh no, we've brought shame on our country. Back then, even Premier Zhou Enlai was criticized by foreign journalists for using a Parker pen, but luckily he cleverly said it was captured on the battlefield. What could I say? Does Volkswagen make Jinbei vans?
I got off the bus, half-covering my face, and waved to people with a mixture of shyness and embarrassment. A tall foreigner with blond hair like a gold brick rushed over to shake my hand and said, "Hello, I am John from Time magazine. It's a pleasure to meet you, Principal Xiao."
I laughed and said, "Wow, you speak Chinese really well."
John said somewhat embarrassedly, "Besides being a journalist, I'm also a passionate martial arts enthusiast. I studied in China for seven years. This mission was something I fought hard to get. I'm curious, what made you achieve such remarkable results?"
Before I could even speak, a tall foreigner next to him scoffed, "If it were a freestyle fighting competition, we could sweep all the gold medals just the same."
John winked at him and said, “Even so, not all champions come from the same school.” He summed up the main point of today’s interview in one sentence. John smiled and introduced me: “This is Jim from The Washington Post, we’re friends.”
I scratched my head and thought: The U.S. Postal Service's internal newspaper is pretty good; I've heard about it a lot.
Xiuxiu whispered to me, "These two are reporters from mainstream media around the world, and there are also many people from other famous magazines, newspapers, radio stations, and TV stations."
With my hands behind my back, I calmly said, "That's great news." I turned to Yan Jingsheng and asked, "Did Principal Zhang send someone to pick you up?"
Yan Jingsheng said, "They sent them—and now they're here."
A school bus from Yucai School slowly pulled up, and several Yue Fei soldiers and Li Bai helped Old Zhang off the bus. The moment Old Zhang's feet touched the ground, he subtly pushed aside those around him, then waved to the crowd again with his classic old warlord air. Reporters rushed forward and snapped away. Xiuxiu then introduced, "Now, the two founders of our Yucai Martial Arts School are all here. Let's begin the tour."
Old Zhang looked exceptionally well today, better than ever before. He leaned close to me, squeezed my hand tightly, and asked, "What's the arrangement?"
I said, "No arrangements were made, and the children don't even know about it."
Old Zhang nodded: "You did the right thing."
Among these people, Lao Zhang and Xiuxiu are the ones who know our school's situation best. Actually, like me, they were a little confused when suddenly faced with this situation, not knowing whether to deliberately hide it or to publicize it. Now, we can only let nature take its course.
We had only taken a few steps when a burly man suddenly slithered out from the back of the group like a snake, stopped me, and said in broken Chinese, "I heard that Principal Xiao is the Sanda King in your country's competitions. I didn't see you at the Singapore competition this time. I wonder if I would have the honor of sparring with you?"
I glanced at him, frowned, and said, "Japanese?"
The man bowed to me and said, "I am Asajiro, a three-time professional karate champion in Japan. I watched the entire competition in Singapore and have come here to learn from you."
Although he spoke politely, his bulging triangular eyes were clearly a provocation. Basically, if he were to hold up a sign that read "Sick Man of East Asia," he would be like that pitiful prop man in the movie.
I patted the Japanese man, who was in his forties, on the shoulder a few times and said kindly, "Young man, you have a lot of drive, haha, you'll have your chance eventually. Now let's not take up any more of everyone's time, let's visit the school first."
Then I walked past him. Even though I still had cookies in my pocket, it would be beneath me to beat him up. Who do you think I am? As I brushed past him, I whispered, "You're considered tall in your country, right? You're almost as tall as me."
Changing one's mind constantly: "..."
After a rapid construction process akin to building an air force base, Yucai School is now largely complete, covering an area of over 3,000 mu (approximately 200 hectares). It comprises four main teaching areas, including a training ground and classrooms, as well as living quarters, a horse stable, a shooting range, and an outdoor swimming competition area. The entire campus is divided into an east gate and a main gate, with a barbican built inside the east gate. The campus itself is entirely landscaped with pavilions and terraces, with green space exceeding 65%. Currently, there are over 2,700 students, including the initial 300 students and over 300 students from Cangzhou brought by Cheng Fengshou. All students come from impoverished areas across China, aged between 7 and 14, and receive a completely free education.
I led the group starting from the fountain at the main gate and then gracefully made our way to the east gate. I suggested that they could tour the area from inside the school bus, but this was unanimously rejected.
We crossed a long lawn, and ahead lay the Vermilion Bird Martial Arts Arena. Along the way, scattered pavilions and artificial hills dotted the landscape. To complement the ambiance, stone tablets explained the names of the sites and their construction dates, the calligraphy sometimes elegant and sometimes bold. While the foreigners didn't understand, quite a few reporters from our country had come, and even though they weren't very professional, they couldn't help but marvel. The foreigners were seeing a school like this for the first time, finding it fascinating and snapping photos everywhere. Sometimes, when we walked through the dark woods, our group looked like a giant, mutated firefly.