How Can a Construction Foreman Be the Public Girlfriend of a Top Celebrity? - Chapter 43
Chapter 43
Shu Xuan caught a glimpse of the name tag across from her—it was labeled “Professor Chen Die.”
“What’s wrong?” Zheng Ling noticed the shift in Shu Xuan’s mood.
“Nothing.” Shu Xuan lowered her head and took a sip of tea. The taste was exactly the same as what she used to drink back in her school days.
One summer, Shu Xuan had stayed in Beicheng during the break to work. That day, a heatwave had swept the city, and on her way back to the dorm from the campus gate, she nearly suffered from heatstroke. She found a patch of shade and squatted there, panting heavily. She could vaguely feel that her period had leaked. She didn’t have anything to cover up with and was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Fortunately, the campus was mostly deserted during summer, or the situation would have been utterly humiliating.
Chen Die had just returned to school from her studio that day to grab some materials. She ran a studio in Beicheng signing web novel authors, and many students from their major submitted work to her—it was a way for students to earn some pocket money.
“Shu Xuan?” Chen Die asked, dressed in a qipao. Though she was thirty-five, she looked no older than twenty-five or twenty-six.
Despite the discomfort, Shu Xuan looked up and saw Chen Die standing under an umbrella. A breeze lifted the hem of her dress, revealing pale ankles. She smiled warmly, showing no hint of judgment about Shu Xuan’s awkward state.
Chen Die pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with lotus flowers. “Here, wipe your sweat.”
As the handkerchief landed on her face, Chen Die’s unique scent gave Shu Xuan a fleeting sense of peace.
Chen Die helped her up and folded the umbrella, placing her arm around Shu Xuan’s waist so the umbrella would shield the stained part of her shorts.
“My dorm’s nearby. Want to rest there for a bit?” Chen Die’s gentle voice soothed Shu Xuan’s unease.
“Is that okay?” Shu Xuan felt it was a bit improper.
Chen Die furrowed her delicate brows slightly. “I’m your teacher. Of course it’s okay.”
She had been Shu Xuan’s professional subject teacher and had always favored Shu Xuan for her writing skills. They often bumped into each other on campus after class.
That day at Chen Die’s dorm, there wasn’t much water left—only a bit of hawk tea that had been chilled in the fridge overnight. She poured Shu Xuan a small glass. The tea had a unique flavor—strong and pure, more intense and aromatic than regular tea. It made her feel refreshed.
Later, Chen Die gave Shu Xuan a change of clothes.
The two became friends over time. Back then, Shu Xuan hadn’t yet entered the entertainment industry; she had thought she would work at Chen Die’s studio after graduation. But plans couldn’t keep up with changes. Shu Xuan was eventually swept away by the tide of fate and chose acting.
After graduation, Chen Die never messaged her again. Their relationship returned to that of a normal student and teacher.
Shu Xuan didn’t know if she had ever truly harbored those kinds of feelings for Chen Die—maybe it was simply admiration and respect. She never dared to desecrate the sacred bond between teacher and student.
By the time Shu Xuan came back to herself, Chen Die had already walked in. Today she wore another green qipao adorned with ruffled lotus-leaf edges. Many students admired her. Not only was she beautiful and wealthy, but she was also highly knowledgeable and had recently become the youngest professor at Qingbei University.
“Shu Xuan, long time no see.” Chen Die greeted her gracefully.
Shu Xuan stood and shook her hand without revealing any emotion. “Professor Chen, long time no see.”
“Let’s eat—everyone’s hungry,” Chen Die said as she took her seat across from Shu Xuan. Their table was finally starting the meal.
Zheng Ling took out a pair of disposable chopsticks for Shu Xuan, carefully removing any splinters. “Here you go, Teacher Shu.”
Chen Die added a piece of stuffed lotus root to her plate. “And who is this?”
“This is my spouse, Zheng Ling,” Shu Xuan said, though she hadn’t eaten anything yet.
“You two look very well matched,” Chen Die smiled, eyes crinkling into slits like a young girl in love.
Shu Xuan smiled but said nothing. Zheng Ling placed a piece of mung bean cake on her plate and responded politely, “Thank you, Professor Chen.”
“How long have you been married?” Chen Die continued, while others at the table began to tune in. Most were busy professionals who didn’t follow celebrity gossip, so they naturally got curious when reunited with old classmates.
“Almost four months,” Zheng Ling answered.
“Hmm.” Shu Xuan picked up the mung bean cake and took a small bite.
“I wouldn’t have guessed. You two seem like you’ve been together for years,” Chen Die said as she sipped her tea. “How’s the tea? I had the canteen prepare it especially.”
“It’s good,” Zheng Ling replied. It was her first time tasting such tea. “It’s different from the ones I’ve had before.”
Chen Die held up her cup. “It’s called hawk tea. It’s a special tea from my hometown. Shu Xuan used to love it. Would you like to take some with you?”
Back then, Shu Xuan would often go to Chen Die’s dorm to drink tea—so much so that she couldn’t sleep at night.
Now, Shu Xuan shook her head slightly. “Thank you, Professor Chen. I don’t really drink it much anymore.”
“Haha, makes sense. Taste changes over the years.” Chen Die took no offense and moved on to other topics.
After dinner, there was to be a casual meet-and-greet between freshmen and outstanding alumni. Many new students were excited to see Shu Xuan in person, and the school officials hoped she would give a short speech.
Shu Xuan naturally didn’t refuse, but she was concerned Zheng Ling might get bored.
“Boss Zheng, want to go exploring with Xiaoying?” Shu Xuan asked as they sat in the lounge. Most others were off chatting with friends.
Zheng Ling shook her head. “No need.”
“Alright.”
“Do you really like Professor Chen Die?” Zheng Ling asked softly.
“She’s alright,” Shu Xuan replied. Truthfully, she didn’t even know how to categorize her past feelings for Chen Die. Looking back, she chalked it up to her lack of affection growing up.
“Did you two have a falling-out? Things feel a bit awkward today,” Zheng Ling pressed. She didn’t like letting these things fester in silence—it would only wear Shu Xuan down.
“Boss Zheng, I…” Shu Xuan glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, then said, “Back then, I found Professor Chen really fascinating. But I don’t know what kind of feelings I had toward her.”
Zheng Ling leaned in closer, smirking as she whispered into Shu Xuan’s ear, “Didn’t think you were into that kind of play, Teacher Shu.”
Shu Xuan shoved her lightly. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Did your heart race when you saw her? Did you feel a flutter?” Zheng Ling asked more seriously.
“No racing heart. But seeing her made me happy,” Shu Xuan answered honestly. She really had looked forward to seeing her every day. Seeing her brightened her world.
“Did anything ever happen between you two?” Zheng Ling asked.
Shu Xuan told her all about her past with Chen Die, though she was nervous Zheng Ling might get upset. But Zheng Ling remained calm, which only made Shu Xuan feel a bit irritated for no reason.
Zheng Ling looked thoughtful. “Sounds like a classic case of big-sister crush that’s popular in our circle.”
“Boss Zheng, I’m straight,” Shu Xuan said—but even she didn’t quite believe it.
Zheng Ling glanced her up and down, her eyes saying, Yeah right, the only straight thing about you is the chair leg.
Then she shifted to a gentler tone. “It’s okay, Teacher Shu. If you ever feel like texting, text me. If you ever want to call, just call—no matter what. Your world isn’t lonely anymore. If you want me, I’ll be here, always.”
Zheng Ling understood why Shu Xuan would be drawn to someone like Chen Die. Shu Xuan had been abused by her father as a child. After her mother killed her father and took her own life, Shu Xuan was left to care for her younger sister alone. She had never known true love or warmth and could only rely on herself to hold together a broken home.
Meeting someone like Chen Die might easily be mistaken for something deeper. And today, the way Chen Die treated Shu Xuan made it clear: she simply saw her as a student.
Zheng Ling didn’t feel jealous. She just felt sorry for the woman before her, who acted so untouchable but carried so many scars.
She silently vowed to treat Shu Xuan twice as well in the future—even if she couldn’t fill all the years of lost affection.
“Alright, alright. You’re the straightest,” Zheng Ling teased, wrapping an arm around Shu Xuan’s shoulder in a move that looked very much like a public claim of territory.
At the alumni exchange session, when it was Shu Xuan’s turn to speak, she hadn’t prepared a script—it was meant to be a casual event anyway.
She stood on stage and took the mic.
“Hello everyone, I’m your senior, Shu Xuan.”
The crowd broke into enthusiastic applause—none louder than Zheng Ling’s.
“I’m very happy to return to my alma mater and honored to be here with you all. Many of my classmates are here, and honestly, they’re more qualified than I am to stand on this stage,” Shu Xuan smiled, then continued, “But I don’t regret the path I chose.”
“Many people ask me, why would someone who graduated from Qingbei choose to become an actress?”
“Well, the answer is simple—money. I’m sure many of you have heard something about my family situation online. It’s not pretty, but it’s reality.”
“Eventually, I fell in love with acting. I found myself enchanted by the beauty and fantasy of performance. I’d be exhausted after filming, and when I did idol dramas early in my career, I’d cry after every shoot.”
“Why? Because I knew those happy endings didn’t belong to me. My life was a mess.”
As she said this, the once lighthearted atmosphere turned solemn. Even in previous press conferences, Shu Xuan had never bared her scars so openly.
“I used to regret not going into a career related to my major.”
“But now I don’t think that way anymore. In this short life, we should first find joy, then live. I may not work in my field, and I may have started acting just for money—but I respect my craft. And I’ll do my best to use what I create to help others.”
“The purpose of learning isn’t to achieve accolades or be confined to a rigid framework, but to gain the tools to shape our future. Coming to Qingbei gave me a chance to change my fate.”