Villain Strategy Rules [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 50

Three days later, all the exams were over. That evening, everyone was still immersed in the agony of checking answers. Those who did well were laughing and chatting, while those who didn’t perform as well had faces as dark as storm clouds, as if a downpour was imminent.

“Quiet down.” Teacher Zhang had somehow made her way to the podium. She rapped the desk sharply with her ruler, waiting for the class to settle before speaking slowly, “Recently, an alumnus of our school has made an investment. The top three students in each grade will receive financial support until they graduate from university. This applies to both midterm and final exams, so everyone should strive for it.”

“Even if you don’t make the top three this time, don’t be discouraged. There are opportunities in every major exam—keep pushing forward.”

The class fell silent instantly. Some students with consistently good grades inwardly rejoiced. Tang Mo whispered, “Does that mean Qin Nanxi is guaranteed to get it? Then she wouldn’t have to struggle anymore, and she wouldn’t have to worry about her family.”

Wen Zhixu turned around and, where Qin Nanxi couldn’t see, murmured softly, “Yes.”

Her mother was smarter than her. With so many executives in the company being alumni of their high school, it was easy to pull one in to sponsor the initiative—the company would provide the funds while the executive took the credit. It was a win-win situation, and to some extent, it concealed Wen Zhixu’s true intentions.

Even if someone else stepped forward, they’d still be an employee of the company. The good reputation would benefit the company as well. For such a small sum, if it made her daughter happy, she was more than willing.

Qin Nanxi would accept help from a stranger, but not from Wen Zhixu. Money could be repaid, but debts of affection were far harder to settle.

Tang Mo suddenly thought of something and pulled Wen Zhixu aside, whispering, “It’s not your mom, is it?”

“It is.” Wen Zhixu rarely hid anything from Tang Mo. She admitted, “But the money is from my mom—she’s just not the one publicly sponsoring it.”

“I see. You’re really going all out to help Qin Nanxi, huh?” Tang Mo chuckled. “You weren’t like this before.”

In the past, Jiang Qingyue had been a notorious flirt, falling for someone new every other hour—only to forget about them just as quickly. Her excuse was always the same: There was something about you that reminded me of someone I should love, but now you don’t anymore.

Because of this, Tang Mo had grown indifferent to her declarations of affection. Every time Wen Zhixu claimed to like someone, Tang Mo would just guess how long it would last. Qin Nanxi, however, was an exception—she had broken two of Jiang Qingyue’s patterns. She was the first to be given the title of “girlfriend,” and the first to make Wen Zhixu reconsider after a breakup.

Originally, Tang Mo had bet it wouldn’t last more than two weeks. Yet here they were, three months later, with her best friend still chasing after Qin Nanxi—seemingly without much progress. After National Day, Qin Nanxi had only grown more distant. It was all so hard to understand.

Wen Zhixu raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on her lips. “That’s true love.”

In Jiang Qingyue’s memories, meeting Qin Nanxi had felt like a gift from the heavens. Amid the chaotic crowd, she had only remembered Qin Nanxi’s face—as if she had finally found the person she was meant to love.

But then, for some inexplicable reason, she had suddenly claimed she no longer felt the same way.

“Sure, sure.” Tang Mo rolled her eyes. “I believe you.”

Wen Zhixu suddenly said, “Be quiet.”

Song Shuya had somehow ended up beside Qin Nanxi. Lately, no one knew what was wrong with her—her grades had plummeted drastically. Once consistently ranked second in class, she now struggled to stay within the top ten.

Rumors swirled that she had fallen in love with someone from out of town, spending every weekend with them. Others claimed she was preparing to study abroad and no longer cared about her grades. There were many theories, but none had been confirmed.

However, Wen Zhixu believed Song Shuya wouldn’t leave. For one thing, studying abroad still required good grades, and her current downward spiral suggested she might have gotten involved in something shady.

Qin Nanxi’s front-row desk mate had just stepped out, and Song Shuya took the seat directly in front of her. “Nanxi, how did you do on the exam?” she asked.

“Since when does she get to call her ‘Nanxi’?!” Wen Zhixu clenched her fist and slammed it on the desk. But Song Shuya acted as if she hadn’t heard, not even sparing her a glance.

“Take it easy,” Tang Mo said, lowering Wen Zhixu’s hand. “Your fracture just healed—do you want to break it again? Do you really not care about playing piano anymore?”

Wen Zhixu leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on Qin Nanxi. A reckless impulse surged within her—she wanted to make Qin Nanxi her private possession, to hide her away, lock her up, keeping her only for herself.

But that would mean sacrificing Qin Nanxi’s freedom, turning her into a caged canary. She probably wouldn’t be happy like that.

Song Shuya glanced sideways at Wen Zhixu. She despised this self-righteous girl. Why did someone like her get such a privileged family, such a wonderful mother? Why? She couldn’t understand. It felt like fate was playing a cruel joke on her. She hadn’t done anything wrong, so why was she stuck in this situation?

She should have been the top student. She should have been the favored one. She should have been the one living that life.

“Nanxi,” Song Shuya pressed, “how did you find the exam this time? Was it difficult?”

Qin Nanxi didn’t know that this exam was tied to a sponsorship opportunity. The school had many students from poor families who excelled academically, and those three spots were crucial for anyone.

Assuming Song Shuya was asking on behalf of her desk mate—since Song’s own family was well-off—Qin Nanxi replied, “The exam wasn’t too hard. Most of it covered material we’ve already learned, so everyone probably did well. Even if someone didn’t rank high this time, there’s still the final exam. Teacher Zhang said every test is a new opportunity.”

Wen Zhixu frowned. Qin Nanxi’s voice wasn’t quiet, and they were sitting close. She couldn’t fathom why Song Shuya was asking this. Based on her observations from the weekly quizzes, the top three students all came from struggling families—exactly the ones who needed this sponsorship.

At their school, weekly evening self-study sessions included small tests, so everyone had a good grasp of their standings.

Song Shuya feigned indifference. “I have to say, this alumnus is really generous. I don’t have any personal interest in the sponsorship, but my desk mate could really use it. I was just asking if you’d let him check his answers against your paper?”

It was common for students to compare answers after exams, but Qin Nanxi wasn’t particularly close with her classmates. Though many wanted to borrow her paper, few dared to ask.

Before Qin Nanxi could respond, Song Shuya suddenly reached out and brushed her fingers against Qin Nanxi’s forehead, tucking a loose strand of hair aside. “You had something in your hair,” she said lightly. “I got it for you.”

Song Shuya deliberately raised an eyebrow at Wen Zhixu—clearly on purpose. Wen Zhixu saw through it, but she wasn’t angry anymore. So, what if she was tired? Qin Nanxi didn’t like him anyway, so why should she waste her emotions on something so trivial?

“Nanxi,” Wen Zhixu suddenly stood up, leaning over the desk to rest her head against Qin Nanxi’s shoulder. “There’s a problem I don’t understand. Can you teach me?”

Not to be outdone, Song Shuya—still unaware of the current dynamic between Wen Zhixu and Qin Nanxi, assuming they still disliked each other as before—grabbed Qin Nanxi’s arm. “Nanxi, I recently bought a set of Olympiad math papers. How about we go over them together? The problems are pretty tough.”

The implication was clear: Wen Zhixu wasn’t on their level. She didn’t need to rely on academics, but they did.

But Qin Nanxi simply pushed her hand away, pulling a stack of test papers from her desk drawer. “We’re studying now. You can take these back to check your answers and return them to me later. If there’s nothing else, you should go.”

Wen Zhixu secretly rejoiced. She hadn’t been wrong—in Qin Nanxi’s heart, she mattered more.

Song Shuya froze, her face flushing with humiliation at the rejection. “You’re going to study with Wen Zhixu?” she asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

Wen Zhixu scoffed. “Yes. Exactly. Need me to repeat it?”

Qin Nanxi stayed silent until Song Shuya left. Then she said, “Study on your own first. Let’s see how you score this time, and I’ll go over the answers with you in detail later.”

She knew Wen Zhixu was doing this on purpose, and she had tacitly allowed it. But now, alone with her, her thoughts had shifted. She couldn’t keep this up. Wen Zhixu had a bright future ahead, while she… would never escape her cage.

Momentary happiness might shield her, but in the long run, what would become of them? If she had never known this warmth, she wouldn’t yearn for it—wouldn’t be unable to return to how things were before.

Wen Zhixu returned to her seat, grateful for her omniscient perspective. If she hadn’t known what was truly in Qin Nanxi’s heart, she might have run away too. She was just as stubborn. If both of them were like this, they’d only end up parting ways.

Three days later, the results came out. Qin Nanxi ranked first, earning a scholarship from an alumnus—bringing both benefits and unforeseen consequences.

The principal, eager to showcase the school’s prestige and attract more funding, publicized the achievement. Unbeknownst to her, this also alerted those with ulterior motives.

During evening self-study, Wen Zhixu sat beside Qin Nanxi as they reviewed the test papers. Suddenly, Teacher Zhang entered the classroom and approached Qin Nanxi. “Your mother is here. She’s waiting for you outside the school gates.”

At their school, parents weren’t allowed to enter freely unless their child was ill. For other matters, they had to contact the homeroom teacher, who would then escort the student out.

At these words, Qin Nanxi’s pen slipped from her fingers. Suppressing her panic, she nodded stiffly. Once the teacher left, she couldn’t hide her terror any longer—her body trembled uncontrollably. Wen Zhixu quickly grasped her hand and whispered, “Don’t be afraid.”

Qin Nanxi’s mind reeled as if trampled by a thousand horses. Her hands shook violently. Her worst fear had come true. Her legs felt like lead, refusing to move. Eyes burning red, she choked out a trembling question to Wen Zhixu: “Why?”

Teacher Zhang had already left. Qin Nanxi knew that if she didn’t go out, something even worse would be waiting for her. But if she did go out, could things really be any better?

“Shall I go with you?” Wen Zhixu asked cautiously. “She wouldn’t dare do anything.”

“No!” Qin Nanxi wiped away her tears. “You can’t show yourself.”