Chapter 22

Elegant pavilion. Tea everywhere.
Fang Xu looked at décor and pieces. Smiled. “Master Song—fine taste.”
Song Zhiqing beads in hand. Humble. “Common trinkets. Kind of you to praise.”
---
Fang Xu leaned to the tea table. Sharp eyes. “Why formal with me? We’re on the same side.”
Public Song Zhiqing—famous ceramic master. Dijing U professor. Students everywhere. Gentle. Untouched by money and fame.
Few like Fang Xu knew—the “master” mask. Fake virtue. Greed underneath.
This attic’s porcelain, calligraphy, ceramic pieces—any one worth tens of thousands.
Song lived in university faculty housing—but properties on one hand couldn’t count. Dijing land prices—don’t ask total.
“Master” plus “professor”—hard to do blatant business. So he invested through Fang Xu and others.
Studios like Pot Mirror—probably not the only one.
Every “lead credit” win or bulk order—Song Zhiqing ate name and profit.
Fang Xu saw the man clear. Still clung. Simple—
This society—interest and rank rule.
Song standing—Fang eats too. Who’d expose him publicly? Self-harm only.
Fang Xu’s “same boat” talk—Song smiled. Silent.
Pushed a brewed cup with tea stick—wouldn’t hand it himself. “Boss Fang talked long. Thirsty? Try my new tea.”
Fang Xu missed the contempt. Took it smiling.
Two sips. Remembered. “Master Song—Bai Xu’s fine right? Using project excuse—not showing at studio. Got ideas behind our back?”
Bai Xu—cheapest best worker. If he runs—bad deal.
Song lifted cup. Breeze calm. “Won’t. No guts.”
Freshman year Song dug—
Adopted orphan. Decent family on paper—not real backing. Else why part-time in college.
Bai Xu meek—softest squeeze. Even pathetic. Yet ceramic talent.
This trade—runs on spark.
Song’s inspiration dried years. Kept fame—stole student work as his own. Least likely to protest—Bai Xu.
Song bet—no nerve to backstab. Plenty ways to kill a honest kid’s career.
“Relax. I’ll message him again.”
Fang Xu satisfied. “Good. Deadline’s days away. No mistakes.”
Phone buzzed on the table.
Fang Xu glance. Answered. “Hello?”
“Boss!”
Secretary panicked. “Trouble!”
Fang Xu smile froze. “What?”
“……”
Fast briefing on the line. Fang Xu’s ease gone. Rage uncontrolled. “Who gave him nerve?”
Look at Song across. Dissatisfaction deep. “Got it! I’m coming back!”
Song didn’t grasp severity. Still sipping. “What?”
“Master Song.”
Fang Xu meaningful snort. “You said Bai Xu’s fine? No guts to fight you?”
“He hired real lawyers—suing Pot Mirror for long-term unauthorized name changes, theft, plagiarism of his originals! And—”
Fang Xu too angry to speak. Threw the phone on Song’s table.
Clunk.
Song’s hand shook. Two tea drops spilled.
Screen—secretary’s e-notice. Black white red seal. Real.
“Look—still saying we owe him bonus, performance, commission?” Fang Xu good mood zero. Teeth grind. “Oh—and that international show—he submitted personal entry this morning!”
Couldn’t hold fire. Stab. “Your good student, Master Song? Real face for you—huh?”
“……”
One line—mockery clear.
Song’s eyes locked on the e-notice. Rare “backstab” shame burned gut to gut.
Bang!
Cup slammed table. “Gentle” mask cracked—sharp vicious edge. True face showing.
“How much is he worth? Few bucks for a lawyer letter and Boss Fang shakes?”
“……”
Fang Xu sucked air. Fake polite. “Master Song—I’m not your level. Your move?”
Pot Mirror’s good craft projects—many Bai Xu’s hand. Award pieces—names moved.
If charges stick—studio’s future profit dies.
“Tea’s good—but scald the wrong person—”
---
Song looked at the stain. Grabbed rag. Wiped. Tossed trash. “Throw it out.”
…
Knock knock.
Bai Xu leaned in desk chair. Didn’t turn. “Unlocked. Come in.”
Xie Qi entered. “Mr. Bai.”
Chair spun. Bai Xu tossed a copied USB. “……Years of backup—too much. Timestamp screenshots. Long videos. Pass to Lawyer Zhang’s team.”
Xie Qi caught. “Okay. Pot Mirror knows by now?”
Pause. Worry. “Afraid they move first after the suit?”
Bai Xu got it. “Definitely.”
Public “offense” to Song and Fang—to save name and money—high perch types smear him?
Too easy.
Xie Qi frown. “Need me to—”
Bai Xu calm cut. “Fine. One thing at a time. Lawsuit matters. Rest—I’ve got backup. No rush.”
Early days Xie Qi might doubt “backup.” These days—
He believed what hid under this skin. “Okay, Mr. Bai—I’ll go?”
“Wait.”
Bai Xu stopped him. “Yanxiao really no sign of waking?”
Xie Qi pushed glasses. Routine. “Mr. Bai—you’ve asked a lot lately. I want Third Young Master up too—but no wake signs.”
“……”
Bai Xu brow pinch. Doubt lingered.
Even now—that “dream” felt too real.
But priority—war with Song and Fang. Yanxiao—after this.
Quiet sigh. “Alright. Work with Lawyer Zhang. You’re doing two jobs now—I’ll pay you. Not less than Yanxiao pays.”
Why compare paychecks?
Xie Qi laughed. “Mr. Bai—you’re kind.”
Door shut. Bai Xu phone—WeChat Moments.
Original’s hidden self-only posts—never deleted a word.
“Bai Xu?”
Seemed calling himself. Or someone else through him. “Sorry.”
Don’t know how to “leave” here. After this for you—hope your regrets shrink some.
…
As Bai Xu expected—within three hours of the legal notice Song moved.
Rare long Moments post—all accusation of Bai Xu:
Song claimed student Bai Xu copied and borrowed others in school. Caught—begged “hard family” for mercy.
Song gave youth a chance. Trained careful. Arranged post-grad job.
But nature unchanged—lazy at work. Recent relapse!
Bai Xu copied others as “original.” Stole Pot Mirror team work. Personal register and competition entry—vile!
Song reported thesis issues to Dijing U—verify then revoke degree and grades.
Not good at social—begged alumni and peers repost. See clearly—don’t let trash stay in the trade.
Long righteous screed. Disappointment. Anger. Industry “model” voice.
Song usually “kind mentor”—almost never public rage.
Sure enough—half hour—Dijing alumni replies piled.
—Huh? The Bai Xu I know? Master Song don’t be mad.
—How many Bai Xus in that major? Quiet in school—didn’t know he was this bad!
—Support Master Song! This kind ruins the field!
—Rare to see Master Song this angry. Must be the limit. I’ll repost to school forum!
Original’s WeChat friends few. Shared contacts—all one-sided in comments.
Bai Xu watched. Cold deeper:
Strike first. Song no antique fool—PR game strong.
No evidence—still smear hard. Industry network and rank—cut “his” road dead.
Too bad—the harder Song shouts now—the harder the reversal hits later.
…
Food smell again. Fixed dinner time at home.
Bai Xu pocketed phone. Downstairs.
Queyan in wheelchair at table. Xie Qi and Chen Yufei seated. Three looked at once.
“Why stare?”
---
Bai Xu easy. Still mood to scan the spread. “Dinner looks great today.”
Queyan brow pinch. “You’re relaxed? Didn’t see Dijing U forum trashing you?”
Bai Xu side seat. Brow up. “Little brother-in-law—following me that close?”
“Not my business. Xie Qi said.”
Queyan mouth hard. “You’re Third House now. Don’t—don’t shame my brother. Need help—say it. PR money—we can afford.”
Xie Qi to Bai Xu. Sitrep. “Mr. Bai—Master Song’s post hit the university forum. I’m watching comments—opinion tilting one way.”
“Paid reposts on other social too.”
Someone buying spread. Fake or not—long run hurts Bai Xu’s name.
Bai Xu slow spoon of fish soup. “No rush. Bigger noise—better.”
Song’s real character—digging his own grave.
Xie Qi and Queyan traded looks. Queyan still frowned. “Bai Xu—what’s your plan?”
Phone rang on table. Screen—Sister Qiu.
“Wait.”
Bai Xu eyes lit knowing. Answered public. “Hello—Senior.”
Senior—not Sister Qiu. Closer.
Qiu Yi happy with the title. Direct. “Bai Xu—I saw the forum post. Also—the people you asked me to find—I contacted all.”
Qiu Yi knew the plan early. Careful. “When do you move?”
Another spoon fish soup. Slow blow on steam. “Tomorrow night.”