[Gold Powder GL] True Elegance Comes with Knowledge - Chapter 7

According to Qingqiu’s original plan, she intended to return the gift and sever all ties with Jin Yanxi.

Once she realized that Yanxi’s affections were insincere, she also came to a painful understanding of her own shortcomings. While it was true that Yanxi’s carefully crafted persona had misled her, at the root of it, she had allowed herself to be swayed—because he had been generous with his money and indulgent with her every wish.

Qingqiu had always considered herself a scholarly woman, someone with a sense of integrity, above the lure of wealth. Especially when she was with Yanxi, she had gone out of her way to emphasize how little she cared for material things.

But now, seeing things clearly, she had to admit—she was not as noble as she had believed.

Naturally, she felt a mix of shame and anger. But more than that, she was shocked. For the first time, she truly saw her own vulnerabilities.

She was just an ordinary person after all.

What comforted her slightly was that everything was still at an early stage. From Yanxi’s perspective, she hadn’t yet given a clear response, so she still had time to pull back with her dignity intact. Any further, and the regret would have been unbearable.

Even so, Qingqiu felt that it was best to break things off with Yanxi completely and avoid future contact. Otherwise, every encounter would serve as a painful reminder.

But according to Yan Hui, it might be better to treat Yanxi simply as a regular acquaintance—to maintain a basic friendship. That way, the past could be passed off as nothing more than casual interaction, which would draw less attention.

On reflection, that made sense. It allowed her to preserve appearances.

But Qingqiu’s nature leaned toward avoidance, and although she acknowledged the logic, she couldn’t suppress her unease. Feeling lost, she turned to Yan Hui for guidance.

She felt deeply grateful for having Yan Hui as a friend. Without her intervention, Qingqiu might have remained in the dark, deceived by Yanxi’s facade for who knows how long. If not for Yan Hui, she would have been suffering alone, too ashamed even to confide in her own mother.

To Qingqiu, Yan Hui seemed wise and worldly—someone who could offer solid advice.

After all, Yanxi’s world was foreign to her. She had no idea what kind of gift would be appropriate—what might genuinely resonate with him.

In that light, she realized that her indignation was perhaps misplaced. Though Yanxi only spent money, he had at least used it thoughtfully. He gave her things she liked, things she wanted. He clearly had a talent for the finer points of entertainment and gift-giving.

But that only made it harder—what could she possibly give him that he didn’t already have?

She looked to Yan Hui, hoping for a solution.

Yan Hui rested her chin in her hand and thought. “When we went up the mountain the other day, I noticed Mr. Jin Qi didn’t have a camera. A camera might be a good choice. Or maybe a bicycle. Bicycles are still rare compared to cars. They’re trendy. I think he might like one.”

Qingqiu recalled seeing foreigners riding bicycles on the street—it was a novel sight. “How much would that cost?”

“I’m not sure,” Yan Hui said. “But probably a few hundred yuan at most.”

Qingqiu drew in a sharp breath.

Yan Hui, though not as extravagant as Yanxi, was still used to spending money freely. But for Qingqiu, even a few dozen yuan was a serious matter—let alone a few hundred.

Her family, the Lengs, weren’t destitute. They could afford to rent a courtyard and hire a servant. She attended a girls’ high school. Still, their means were modest compared to the wealthy elite.

Only her uncle earned an income, and Song Runqing had no stable job. Supporting the entire household was already a stretch. Coming up with several hundred yuan was impossible.

It was just too much. But she knew that if she gave Yanxi a cheap gift, he’d likely ignore it. Better not to give anything at all than to be dismissed so easily.

She bit her lip, torn.

Yan Hui glanced over and caught her expression. “Do you think it’s too expensive?”

“It’s not that I think your suggestions are bad,” Qingqiu replied quietly. “They suit him well… but I just don’t have that kind of money.”

Strangely, as she met Yan Hui’s gaze, the words came more easily.

When she had been with Yanxi, she’d always been sensitive to the difference in their social standing. She’d developed a quiet inferiority complex and avoided mentioning money at all. But Yan Hui was different.

Maybe it was because she knew Yan Hui wouldn’t laugh at her.

Yan Hui didn’t seem to care about wealth and status, and that made Qingqiu more open with her.

“Hmm… that is a problem,” Yan Hui said thoughtfully. “For someone like Qi Ye, a few hundred yuan might be nothing—just the cost of a round of mahjong. But for us, it’s a huge sum.”

“A few hundred yuan for mahjong? Really?” Qingqiu was astonished.

“It’s true,” Yan Hui replied. “High-stakes games can have a base of 500 yuan. Even casual games often cost 100 or 200. It’s not uncommon to lose a couple thousand in one night.”

She wasn’t exaggerating—this was what the books said.

Qingqiu had always known the rich were extravagant, but this was unimaginable. “At that rate, no amount of money would ever be enough.”

Yan Hui shook her head. “This is what they call restrained spending.”

Now Qingqiu was intrigued. Setting aside her own dilemma, she leaned forward. “Then what does unrestrained spending look like?”

She was, after all, a curious young woman. She’d never been part of wealthy circles, so she rarely heard such gossip. Now that she had the chance, she wanted the details.

“Oh, there’s a lot,” Yan Hui said. “The most expensive is banquets. Hosting one in a top-tier restaurant costs several thousand yuan. Friends take turns treating each other. There’s competition in the venue, food, guest list—everything. If someone else has something, you must have it too. If they don’t, you find a way to get it first.”

Qingqiu gasped. “It’s like those ancient stories about Shi Chong and Wang Kai competing in wealth!”

“Exactly. The details have changed, but the principle is the same,” Yan Hui nodded.

“What else?” Qingqiu asked.

“The second is supporting dancers or actors. That includes advertising, private boxes, floral displays, custom costumes… Thousands of yuan might not even earn you a smile. A private dinner could cost even more.”

“The third is spending time in alley establishments—less flashy than banquets, but still expensive. If a relationship deepens, a patron might even buy a performer’s freedom.”

“And of course, there’s gambling.” Yan Hui sighed. “To people like that, money doesn’t even feel like money anymore. If everyone around you spends it that way, how can you resist? Plenty of them end up bankrupt.”

Qingqiu bit her lip. “Does Yanxi… go to those kinds of places too?”

“Of course,” Yan Hui said. “Even if he doesn’t want to, his friends drag him along. Socializing these days often means going to those venues. You get used to it.”

Qingqiu was stunned.

She had once thought that Yanxi, while frivolous, had at least been thoughtful with his money when it came to her. Now, she realized—she was just another line item, no different from the rest. The money he spent on her didn’t even compare to what he spent on entertainment.

In the end, it was all about appearances.

No matter how she tried to rationalize it, it was clear: she was fooling herself.

She and Yanxi belonged to completely different worlds. Their paths should never have crossed.

“…Maybe I should just return the necklace,” she said quietly after a long pause.

A few hundred yuan was a fortune to her. But to Yanxi, it was nothing. Why should she go into debt just to preserve her pride?

She wasn’t afraid of losing face—she just wanted to be done with it.

Yan Hui was momentarily speechless, then laughed. “I didn’t say all this to discourage you. I just meant that, while it seems like a lot, it’s not impossible to earn. You just need to find a way.”

“Find a way?” Qingqiu sighed. “I’m already overwhelmed.”

“I do have an idea. It might be hard for me—but not for you.”

Qingqiu raised her eyebrows. “Really? Let’s hear it.”

“Writing,” Yan Hui said. “Submit stories to newspapers or magazines and earn royalties. You’ve read so much—you can definitely write.”

“Poetry?” Qingqiu frowned. “I can manage a few verses, but wouldn’t they just laugh at me?”

“Not poems. I mean serialized fiction—vernacular novels. You’ve read them, right? One chapter per issue, thousands of words each. Once accepted, it’s steady income.”

Qingqiu had read those novels, borrowed from classmates who loved them. But she had never imagined she could write one. She shook her head. “I don’t think I could…”

“Why not?” Yan Hui encouraged her. “You’re made for it. And how will you know unless you try?”

“But those stories are so full of twists and turns… I can’t come up with that.”

“There are formulas. The more you write, the easier it gets,” Yan Hui said, with the confidence of someone who’d read plenty of web novels. “Just try one and see.”

Qingqiu had always planned to support her family after graduation. The only stable path she could think of was to stay in school and become a teacher.

Maybe that’s why she’d been tempted by Yanxi—he represented a life where she wouldn’t have to rely on her own earnings.

But now she saw it for what it was—an illusion. A castle in the air. In the end, she couldn’t depend on anyone else. She had to make her own way.

Yan Hui was right. Compared to other jobs, writing was something she was actually good at. It didn’t require social skills, and that alone made it more approachable.
At last, she nodded hesitantly. “In that case… I’ll give it a try.”