123 got ripped off.

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Interstellar Super Empire

I’ll make up one chapter of three thousand words first, and repay the other two tomorrow. We’re only twenty-three votes away from seventh place now. Come on, brothers, don’t hold back—once we pass them, I’ll add another chapter.

Choosing a major was a decision that could affect a person’s entire life. No matter how busy Zhong Pingjiang was, he still set aside an evening to discuss it with his wife and son.

Zhong Yun himself did not care much either way. He was only telling them out of respect for his parents.

After discussing the matter for quite some time, Zhong Pingjiang and Yun Rong finally turned to him. “Which field are you most interested in?”

“Me?” Zhong Yun rested his chin on his hand and began to think.

Zhong Pingjiang looked at him expectantly. Zhong Machinery’s business was flourishing and had already grown to a considerable size. He very much hoped his son would choose a management-related major and take over the company after graduation, carrying on the family business.

But Zhong Yun clearly had ideas of his own. “I think I’m more interested in the arts.”

Zhong Pingjiang and Yun Rong exchanged bewildered looks. They had never imagined that their son would be interested in art. He had never shown the slightest sign of it before.

“Why would you think that?” Zhong Pingjiang asked.

An artistic career was not necessarily without prospects. The problem was that they had never noticed any exceptional artistic talent in their son. They were afraid this was merely a passing whim, a burst of enthusiasm that would last no more than three minutes.

Choosing a major in the first year of high school was extremely important. If one made the wrong choice, it was possible to change later, but the time lost would be wasted forever. Making the right plans early on would be greatly beneficial to one’s future.

“Because I have talent.” Zhong Yun was extremely confident. Without even mentioning anything else, his singing alone could guarantee him a comfortable life for the rest of his days. He simply had no interest in becoming a celebrity.

“That doesn’t convince me.” Zhong Pingjiang shook his head. Though open-minded, he would never be persuaded by such a childish claim.

Zhong Yun knew that he would not get past his parents without showing them some real ability. He took out the paper and pen he had prepared earlier and began drawing on the table.

Zhong Pingjiang and Yun Rong exchanged another glance, both seeing confusion in the other’s eyes. They had no idea what their son was up to. The two leaned closer, and after watching for a while, they gradually understood.

Their son was drawing.

Although both of them were usually busy with work, they had never neglected their son’s studies or daily life. Yet they had never known that he could draw—and judging by his serious expression, he clearly was not merely fooling around.

Galan’s sketching technique looked miraculous, but in reality it consisted only of basic skills: using rough lines to create a refined effect through the power of the mind. This was also one of the most distinctive characteristics of Galan art.

Zhong Yun finished the final stroke in barely three minutes. Zhong Pingjiang and Yun Rong had long since been stunned, especially Yun Rong. As a lover of painting, she understood even better how valuable this drawing was.

In disbelief, she picked up the paper and examined it again and again.

The picture showed a man and a woman leaning close together. The man was concentrating on fastening a necklace around the woman’s neck, while the woman’s eyes rested on his wrinkled collar.

A gentle warmth seemed to radiate from the entire image.

Zhong Pingjiang lightly tapped Zhong Yun on the head and laughingly scolded him, “You’re young, but you’re already such a little rascal.”

The man and woman in the picture were obviously Zhong Pingjiang and his wife. The necklace was the gift he had given Yun Rong for their twentieth wedding anniversary.

Zhong Yun made a face at him.

“Where did you learn this?” Yun Rong finally managed to accept what she was seeing. Had she not witnessed it with her own eyes, she might never have believed it. This was the long-lost Galan technique.

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Whenever questions like this came up, Zhong Yun found them extremely troublesome. If someone else asked, he could pretend to be mysterious. But the person asking now was his own mother, so he had no choice but to answer.

“On a website,” Zhong Yun said, lying without even blinking.

“What website?” Yun Rong asked suspiciously.

Zhong Yun immediately opened his portable computer and entered a website. As he did so, he explained, “You have to answer the questions correctly before you can enter the main page. The questions are quite difficult.”

Yun Rong leaned toward the computer. The very first question stumped her. It was far too obscure.

“There are ten questions in all, and you have to finish them within thirty seconds. Each person gets only one chance a day, and the questions are different every day.” As he spoke, Zhong Yun swiftly entered the answers.

Yun Rong and Zhong Pingjiang stared at the screen in bewilderment. The questions covered all kinds of subjects and involved several different fields, yet they were all highly obscure. Zhong Yun answered them with ease, as if he had known the answers beforehand. In less than ten seconds, he had completed all ten.

Could this really be their own mediocre son?

The same question arose in both Zhong Pingjiang and Yun Rong’s minds.

“I happened to discover this website by accident. I only visited it because I was bored,” Zhong Yun continued, ignoring their dazed expressions. “Then I found that it contained a lot of information about painting. It was the first time I realized how interesting drawing could be.”

That strange thought had only just begun to form before Zhong Pingjiang and Yun Rong cast it away to some unknown corner of the universe. Their son becoming smarter was always a good thing. Although his change seemed to involve more than merely becoming smarter.

Their attention returned to the website. After looking through it for a while, they were both full of admiration and began speculating that it must have been created by some kind of god.

Seeing that his parents had accepted his explanation, Zhong Yun secretly breathed a sigh of relief. The website had naturally been created by him—and it would be shut down in a few days.

He had no intention of studying management as his father wished. He did not want to be trapped inside a single company. He had grander ambitions, and that was why he had chosen an arts major, which offered the greatest freedom.

Having successfully bluffed his parents, Zhong Yun boldly filled out his course selection form with Introduction to Art History, Fundamentals of Drawing, and Painting.

To cultivate students’ diverse interests, the school required them to participate in an extracurricular activity in addition to their three elective courses. Participation was also tied to their academic credits.

Zhong Yun casually chose sculpture.

The extracurricular activities were scheduled for that afternoon. The Sculpture Association was considered a rather unusual club, and its activities were held on the second floor of the building opposite his classroom.

Zhong Yun pushed open the door and walked in. To his surprise, there were quite a few people inside. Nearly a hundred students filled a room of more than two hundred square meters. He had assumed it was an unpopular club, but apparently that was not the case.

“Oh? Zhong Yun, is that you?” a familiar voice called out.

Zhong Yun was still standing at the doorway when he turned toward the voice. What a coincidence—it was the enthusiastic senior girl he had met on the first day of school, Gong Yao.

“What a coincidence. You’re in this association too?” Zhong Yun greeted her, then noticed that the surrounding students were looking at him rather strangely.

“I’m the president of the Sculpture Association.” The dimples at the corners of Gong Yao’s mouth appeared again. “You must be our newest member. Come over, and I’ll introduce you.”

Zhong Yun followed her.

Gong Yao led him to the center of the room and clapped her hands to attract everyone’s attention. “Our association has welcomed another new member today: Zhong Yun, a first-year student.”

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A scattered round of applause broke out. Zhong Yun stepped into the middle and greeted everyone. “Hello, everyone. My name is Zhong Yun. I hope you’ll take good care of me from now on.” It was merely a formality.

Gong Yao then handed him a small booklet containing introductory information about sculpture.

There were many different types of sculpture, including wood carving, stone carving, ice carving, clay sculpture, and plaster casting.

According to the method used, sculpture could also be divided into free-standing sculpture, relief, openwork carving, and other forms.

The Sculpture Association was only an amateur club, however, so no one attempted anything too professional. Most members worked with wood or clay.

Sculpture required a whole set of tools, and Zhong Yun had brought nothing with him. For today, he could only watch from the sidelines. Since he was new, Gong Yao, being the warm-hearted president she was, accompanied him as they looked around and explained things to him.

Everyone in the room was occupied with something different. Some were carving partially finished pieces of wood. Others were beginning to assemble frameworks on stands. Still others were kneading and shaping lumps of clay.

Zhong Yun felt as though he had entered a whole new world. He had never been exposed to sculpture before and had chosen this extracurricular activity only because it had a slight connection to painting.

Besides learning something new, Zhong Yun also made another discovery. He keenly noticed that the male members here did not seem particularly friendly toward him.

The reason naturally lay in the beautiful and enthusiastic president standing beside him. Zhong Yun suddenly understood. No wonder this relatively unpopular club had so many members—most of them had come because of Gong Yao.

The session ended quickly.

Having become interested, Zhong Yun searched out some materials on sculpture after returning home. Comparing the sculptures of Galan with those of Davor, he discovered that Galan’s sculptural style was indeed distinctive.

It used very few tools—basically just a carving knife—whereas Davor’s sculptors used an astonishing variety of implements: knives, hammers, chisels, pincers, and more.

Davor pursued meticulous craftsmanship, striving to express every last detail. Galan, by contrast, placed greater emphasis on a sculpture’s spirit and charm. With just a few rough cuts, an ordinary piece of wood could be transformed into a work of art.

It was difficult to say which style was superior, but Zhong Yun preferred Galan’s. It gave him the feeling that a sculpture was created by nature itself, with artistic perfection discovered through a moment of inspired skill.

At dinner that evening, Zhong Yun noticed that something seemed wrong with his father. Zhong Pingjiang looked deeply troubled.

Zhong Yun began to wonder. It seemed that his father’s company was facing serious difficulties.

Although his father appeared cheerful in front of him, the occasional flicker of worry between his brows could not escape notice. From a few scattered remarks by his mother, Zhong Yun could roughly guess that the company had run into trouble.

He kept the matter in mind but did not question his parents. Although they had begun to look at him in a new light, deep down they still regarded him as a child. Even if he asked, they would not tell him.

That evening, Tianhai and Chen Wen came over again. The three of them had arranged to see a movie.

Sitting in Chen Wen’s shuttle car, Zhong Yun asked, “Has something happened to my father’s company?”

Chen Wen gave a sly grin. “I was just about to tell you.” He did indeed know what had happened. “It’s not merely a problem. It’s a major disaster.”

Hearing how serious Chen Wen made it sound, Zhong Yun frowned. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Tianhai leaned closer as well.

“Zhong Machinery was caught in a trap. They were swindled out of more than ten billion.”

P.S. I recommend a friend’s book: Little Hat’s Taking Command of the World, where the world’s splendor lies within one’s grasp. The First Man of the Realm, book number 1194006. The flames of war burn anew, continuing the legend of the Housekeeper. Page (3/3)