Don't Be That Butterfly

"Parents, this is a school."

Lin Mo's voice was neither loud nor soft, but it carried clearly to everyone present.

With a slight tug, he yanked backward sharply.

Tong Guirong staggered, nearly losing his balance. Once steady, his face flushed with rage as he glared at the young man who had suddenly intervened.

"Who the hell are you? None of your business! You want me to beat you up too?"

Lin Mo released his grip, leisurely dusting his sleeves before crossing his arms and tilting his chin up with a faint, mocking smile.

"Go ahead. If you don’t, you’re my grandson. But let me warn you—I’m Lin Mo, the one who snatched first place from your son.

"If that slap lands on my face, the situation changes. I’ll make sure you spend a few months behind bars to cool off."

Tong Guirong’s fury was doused like a bucket of cold water. He stared blankly at Lin Mo, mind racing.

He wasn’t stupid enough to actually hit Lin Mo in a fit of rage—especially after that display of strength. He wasn’t even sure he could win in a fight.

For a moment, he hesitated.

Finally, his gaze settled on Tong Dong.

Hitting someone else was illegal, but hitting his own son? That was fair game.

Seething, he redirected all his resentment into a venomous glare at Tong Dong, who had remained silent the entire time.

"Your own father gets humiliated right in front of you, and you just stand there like a damn corpse! If I can’t touch him, I sure as hell can touch you!"

The angrier he got, the more his hand trembled. With a swing, his palm shot toward Tong Dong’s face.

The surrounding parents tensed, some instinctively looking away.

But the expected slap never came.

Tong Dong raised his hand, catching Tong Guirong’s wrist with uncanny precision. His movements weren’t fast, but they were exact.

Slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes were calm—no sorrow, no anger—just an unfathomable stillness, like an ancient well.

That eerie composure sent a chill down Tong Guirong’s spine, making him instinctively try to pull back.

"In your eyes," Tong Dong’s voice was quiet but razor-sharp, "what exactly am I?"

"A trophy to brag about to your drinking buddies? Or just something to assert your authority over?"

Without waiting for an answer, he twisted his wrist and shoved Tong Guirong back, sending him stumbling.

Tong Guirong’s face twisted with humiliation. He staggered but forced himself forward, puffing up like an enraged bull.

"You ungrateful brat! I brought you into this world—you’re mine! I can yell at you, hit you, whatever I damn well please!"

The crude outburst drew frowns and stifled laughter from the onlookers. Tong Guirong’s face turned beet red, the weight of their judgmental stares like needles on his skin.

He glared at the crowd, but no one stepped forward. They knew better than to provoke a man like him.

Lin Mo, however, was about to intervene—until Tong Dong moved first.

"Did you ask me before bringing me into this world? Or was I just a byproduct of your own pleasure?"

He took a step forward. Tong Guirong retreated.

"And ‘raising’ me? That was Grandma. How much money did you ever contribute?"

Another step. Another retreat.

"After I started high school, you even took my scholarship money to fund your drinking. If the school hadn’t waived my tuition, I wouldn’t even be here."

Tong Dong’s tone remained flat, but each word was a scalpel, dissecting Tong Guirong’s pathetic excuse for fatherhood.

"You’ve never shown up to a single parent-teacher meeting. The only reason you’re here now? To ask the teacher when my competition prize money will arrive."

He paused, his gaze distant, as if looking straight through his father.

"No wonder Mom divorced you. No wonder my sister chose to live with her. You’re nothing but a worthless drunk."

"If parenting required an exam, you’d fail every time."

Silence.

Tong Guirong’s lips trembled, but no words came out.

"So," Tong Dong concluded, "here’s my advice: start treating me with respect.

"Because when you’re old and helpless, counting on me to support you—I’ll give you money. But how much? Whether it’s enough for a meal or just gruel? That’ll depend on my mood."

The hallway was dead silent.

Tong Guirong stood frozen, face alternating between red and white, as if stripped naked in public.

Some parents awkwardly looked away. Others bit back laughter, shoulders shaking.

Even Lin Mo was stunned.

He’d never expected the quiet, manga-obsessed bookworm to have such a brutal tongue.

He couldn’t help but give an impressed thumbs-up.

Tong Dong turned to Lin Mo, his voice softening.

"You stood up for me. I couldn’t just hide behind you forever."

Then, to Tong Guirong:

"If you still want to call yourself my father, then go home. Do whatever you want. I’m not your puppet. If I do well, you benefit. Think about it."

With that, he walked away.

Tong Guirong stood alone, the crowd blocking any chance to follow.

Whispers rose in his wake.

"Neglects his son, then leeches off him. If he doesn’t wise up now, he’ll regret it when he’s old and alone."

"Exactly. Dying with no one to care for you—that’s the real tragedy."

"Tong Dong’s the second-ranked student in the school. A future top-university candidate. And this fool’s burning his own bridges."

The words sank into Tong Guirong’s mind.

In a fit of shame, he spun around and stormed off.

Lin Mo didn’t follow or speak. He just watched Tong Guirong’s retreating figure.

If he remembered correctly, Tong Guirong would die this summer.

No accident—just a brain hemorrhage, like Xu Sheng’s vascular disease.

Rumor had it he’d been drinking with friends, all too drunk to notice when he collapsed. By the time they woke up, his body was already cold.

Lin Mo had no intention of telling Tong Dong.

For him, it might be a blessing.

Probably.