Chapter Thirty-Six: Unending Turmoil

Today marked the final lesson for the institute’s graduating class. Those who had chosen to pursue further studies, naturally, would not come to disrupt the proceedings; instead, they would watch via an internal livestream broadcast to all students within the institution.

The instructor accompanying Yuan Xiangdie for her graduation was an elderly man whose first impression was one of utter disregard for appearances. He wore a melon-shaped cap on his head—somewhat comical, if one cared to remark on it. In one hand, he perched a pair of reading glasses on his nose, while the other produced a blank sheet of drafting paper.

No one knew what this old man was up to; even Yuan Xiangdie’s heart waged an intense struggle. This design, so prized in the current climate, nevertheless possessed a quality absent from those explosive hits—it had a certain refinement. What worried her most was that the elements integrated into this piece were ones she loved to draw before her time in prison.

This was likely to clash with Lan Feng’s designs, and Yuan Yao’er was conspicuously absent today—her reasons unknown.

The old man, surnamed Jia, was called Jia Liang. An associate professor at the Nanjing Academy of Fine Arts, he had been invited here today, perhaps at someone’s request.

“Professor Jia, are you satisfied with the performance of today’s cohort? Our institution is quite unlike before. If there’s any promising talent to be found, it would be the one before you,” said the executive, a familiar presence at every opening speech or major event, known for his eloquence.

“Good, yes, but there are some surprising elements,” Jia Liang replied. He was not an unkind man, though he knew the recent trend leaned toward national style, with occasional fluctuations. Those fond of Western culture would bring street fashion into play. He was too old now to keep pace with the youth’s trends.

Removing his reading glasses, his gaze became unfocused—Yuan Xiangdie could tell he suffered from severe myopia. It seemed her graduation was doomed; she watched as the old man crumpled her draft and tossed it unerringly into the wastebasket behind him.

The institution’s director was stunned—this was a clear rejection of her work, though it had amazed them at first sight. He broke out in a sweat, reaching to retrieve the paper from the bin, fumbling for words as he did so.

“This… what is this, sir…?” he stammered.

Jia Liang rose from his plastic chair, hands clasped behind his back, gently urging the director to sit aside. His benevolent demeanor gave no hint he had just discarded a design, nor did he display any severity, only a slow, aimless sway.

“All these years, your skill hasn’t improved much. Watching people, too, you’ve regressed—even my eight-hundred-degree myopic eyes see more.”

“Professor, please explain—what’s happened? I watched this child grow step by step; she’s never done anything dishonest.”

It was baffling. Yuan Xiangdie’s past was no secret in the city, but this was not the reason.

“True virtue lies in admitting mistakes and correcting them. If the girl is willing to be honest with you, I won’t expose her. But if not, I’ll have to reveal the truth, for all to see.”

Though only an associate professor, Jia Liang’s words carried weight. The director, Xu Tian, was also a former associate professor from the academy and had once guided theses.

Yuan Xiangdie couldn’t grasp the intricacies; she only sensed she was about to become a laughingstock before countless viewers. Yet she wasn’t truly afraid—she had designed the piece herself, and even if it used her favorite elements, it hardly warranted being labeled plagiarism.

“Sir, what do you want me to admit?” she countered, refusing to remove her cap.

Jia Liang, facing the young girl, felt a measure of admiration.

“This draft is indeed fluid, the subject very novel, and the structure extraordinary. With the finest materials, it would be a star piece of national style.”

Yuan Yao’er had deliberately stayed away today, and the rumor had reached the associate professor. Jia Liang was renowned for his love of ancient literature; he had even studied at the history department to perfect a garment. Now, hearing of a highly creative national style draft, he was drawn here.

“Didn’t you say before class you didn’t want to lose to Yuan Xiangdie, and that you’d take over Lan Feng properly?” Zhang Xi was late today, having prepared some things the night before and slept deeply.

“Don’t ask; just wait and watch that wretched woman embarrass herself. It’s supposed to be a graduation design, yet she uses her style from two years ago—what’s that? That’s cunning, hiding her new ideas for a future triumph.”

It was ironic; whether the mother-daughter duo wanted to forge a new path or test the waters, these national style drafts had, by chance, become hits.

“To be honest, I truly don’t know what part of this draft offended you,” Yuan Xiangdie replied, though she had some idea—the design’s similarity to Lan Feng’s would make many accuse her of plagiarism.

The young girl remained calm, simply asking for the reason. Even her classmates were silent; in earlier times, many would have seized the opportunity to jeer.

Looking closely, the girl possessed a certain ethereal quality, resembling the design she had just submitted—nothing awkward about it.

“You surely understand this draft. I won’t bully you. Just tell me—what is your relationship with Lan Feng?”

The question caused an uproar in the livestream; Lan Feng had many loyal fans, and William had intentionally not invited Yuan Yao’er, claiming Lan Feng was outmoded.

Instantly, a barrage of criticism forced the platform to disable comments to escape disaster.

Yuan Xiangdie laughed, not intending to defend herself—what she sought was experience.

“So the professor thinks mine is plagiarized? I, on the contrary, believe Lan Feng plagiarized me.”

She laughed to herself, her face growing ever more radiant. Jin Yuan, inexplicably, had the butler open the livestream. “What’s going on—why is Auntie on the phone?” Little Wei was a good child, already awake by this hour.

“She’s graduating today. Would you like Auntie to take you out for a meal?” Jin Yuan didn’t know his own motives, merely asking offhand. Graduation deserved celebration, though he doubted anyone cared about such matters.

“Yes, yes, it’s been ages since I saw Auntie,” Little Wei replied.

Seeing the young master willing to speak to sir, the lake butler sighed. The child had been troublesome, refusing to sleep or eat, insisting only on seeing Yuan Xiangdie.

This was more difficult than before—previously he simply didn’t talk, now he would speak only about that woman, uncertain whether it was good or bad.

Seizing the moment, Jin Yuan quietly moved the carrots, broccoli, and boiled egg aside, bringing them back.

Little Wei was disgruntled—these were the most unpalatable. But just now, big brother had promised to see Auntie.

He could only frown, his bun-like face resembling someone forced to confront a dreadful villain, as if compelled to do something fatal.

“This draft wasn’t my first. I posted it on a certain forum three years ago. If anyone insists this style is plagiarized from Lan Feng, it’s far more likely Lan Feng plagiarized mine.”

On the other side of the screen, Yuan Yao’er, previously full of confidence, shuddered twice unseen by her mother. Even those involuntary movements made her despise herself—coward.

With so many viewers, the issue drew in even students who never watched livestreams. The administrator wanted to shut down the platform, but was ordered to keep it running.

This was the vice principal, surnamed Zhu—a notorious old scoundrel.

“It’s graduation; the ceremony must proceed. We can’t let one person tarnish our collective honor.”

Zhu Ye had been bought; he knew some internal details about Lan Feng. Nowadays, Lan Feng no longer followed the national trend, leaning toward aristocratic elegance, perhaps due to its management. Recent designs had grown increasingly irrelevant, no wonder William hadn’t invited them.

Still, considering Yuan Yao’er’s family status, he only wanted to expose a plagiarist—the vice principal was aware of this.

“If you doubt this draft, you can search for it on a certain website—a post from three years ago. The copyright was already sold, and the documentation published on the platform. Few used it back then, so it wasn’t widely known.”

Jin Yuan, unusually, opened his phone, exited his usual business meeting records, and, though not deft, found the software mentioned in the livestream. The platform lagged under the sudden surge.

This move, undeniably, allowed Yuan Xiangdie to clear her name. As she had said, the livestream and many webpages were flooded with comments, even causing the platform to freeze.

Jia Liang had never imagined such a work would have been created three years ago by a girl—a style and grandeur, though the technique was not fully mature, yet the brushwork and details of both pieces unmistakably belonged to the same hand.