Not long after Zhou Yi proposed the donation, one day Zhang Wu returned to the classroom with a strange expression on his face.
After sitting down, he kept glancing at Zhou Yi from time to time, as if struggling to speak—hesitating, then holding back, then hesitating again.
Zhou Yi pretended not to notice, focusing intently on the book in front of him, ignoring Zhang Wu’s fidgeting.
Finally, as the bell for the last class was about to ring, Zhang Wu couldn’t hold back anymore.
“W-why did you help me?”
His voice was quiet, laced with an awkward tension.
Zhou Yi calmly turned a page of his book, not even looking up as he replied, “Help you with what?”
Zhang Wu snatched the book from his hands, scrutinizing Zhou Yi with a probing gaze.
“You think I’ll be grateful for this!?” Zhang Wu snapped, frustration boiling over.
Zhou Yi suddenly smiled. “Do I need your gratitude? What good would that do me?”
Zhang Wu froze, pressing his lips together before muttering, “You donated money to the class’s poverty relief fund. Don’t pretend you didn’t see my name on the list.”
Zhou Yi shrugged indifferently. “I saw it. So what?”
“I deliberately humiliated you before! Aren’t you angry at me?”
“Why would I be? Seems like you already know you were wrong. I thought you were just a shameless, ungrateful jerk.”
The harshness of Zhou Yi’s words made Zhang Wu flush red. He stammered, trying to force a fierce expression.
“D-don’t think I’ll thank you! I won’t! I still hate people like you—hypocrites who act all high and mighty.”
Zhou Yi held out his hand. “Then give the money back. If you hate me so much, why take my charity?”
Zhang Wu stiffened, caught off guard.
Though it was only a thousand yuan, that money was crucial to him. He shrank back slightly, silent.
Zhou Yi smirked. “Guess you’re not as principled as you pretend.”
Zhang Wu lowered his head, saying nothing.
Zhou Yi took his book back, his tone cool.
“Relax, I won’t ask for the money back. And don’t worry about me retaliating—I’m too busy for that.”
Zhang Wu exhaled in relief, realizing just how far he’d gone wrong.
Before, he’d bullied Zhou Yi because Zhou Yi never fought back, never held grudges. He’d never feared consequences.
But now, Zhou Yi could have easily gotten revenge—yet instead, he’d helped him.
Zhang Wu’s emotions were in turmoil.
At first, he’d been defensive. Then conflicted. Then furious.
He’d rather Zhou Yi had punished him than shown him kindness.
It made what little conscience he had left twist in guilt.
When the class bell rang, Zhang Wu swallowed whatever else he’d meant to say.
Throughout the lesson, he zoned out, lost in thought.
Maybe he’d come to terms with things. Maybe he feared Zhou Yi would really take the money back.
Either way, after school, he sought Zhou Yi out to apologize.
Proud to a fault, he wouldn’t do it in front of the class.
Instead, he followed Zhou Yi out of the classroom, stopping him in a quiet corner.
“Zhou Yi.”
“What?”
Zhang Wu’s back was damp with nervous sweat before he finally forced out the words.
“I’m sorry.”
Zhou Yi raised a brow. So the kid wasn’t completely heartless after all.
Feigning ignorance, he replied flatly, “What was that? I didn’t catch it.”
Zhang Wu stood there, mortified, wishing the ground would swallow him.
Back when Zhou Yi first started changing, Zhang Wu had envied him, even schemed behind his back.
But now, the gap between them was too vast—he couldn’t even muster jealousy anymore.
He’d spent days dreading retaliation, only to be met with… this.
He truly owed Zhou Yi an apology.
“I’m sorry. What I did before was wrong. I’m apologizing.”
His voice was louder this time, still awkward but undeniably sincere.
Zhou Yi smirked. “Only apologizing because you’re scared I’ll take back the money?”
Zhang Wu’s head jerked up. “No! I mean it!”
Zhou Yi nodded. “Not much of an apology, though. You get my help, and all I get is a half-hearted ‘sorry’? Doesn’t feel very genuine.”
Zhang Wu tensed. “Then what do you want me to do? I’m serious!”
Zhou Yi pulled out his phone, showing Zhang Wu his fan page.
“From now on, you’re in charge of fighting my antis on Weibo. Anyone who insults me—clap back instantly. Play the delusional stan if you have to.”
Zhang Wu blinked. That’s it?
He’d expected some impossible demand, like walking through fire.
But just leaving comments? Easy.
“Got it! I won’t let those haters get away with anything!”
After Zhou Yi left, Zhang Wu dove into the fan page.
And immediately, his blood pressure spiked.
“What!? Someone actually said Zhou Yi’s looks are ‘nothing special’? Are they blind!?”
He fired off a reply to the insult:
[Which sewer lid did you crawl out from, you oxygen-wasting eyesocket-having waste of space? Let’s see your face first before you dare call Zhou Yi ugly—what, did the Leaning Tower of Pisa give you the confidence or what!?]
“Oh, so now they’re saying his orphanage donation was just for clout? That he should’ve given more if he’s so rich?”
[Wow, your face must be huge to fit all that audacity. Did the Notre Dame fire leave you homeless, so now you’re cosplaying Mother Teresa online?]
......
Zhang Wu’s trash-talking skills were no joke. Within minutes, he’d shut down every hater.
When they called him a brainless fanboy, he leaned into it proudly—after all, Zhou Yi had asked for exactly that.
Strangely, the more he argued, the more invested he got.
What right did these people have to mock Zhou Yi anyway?
Now he understood how pathetic he’d been before—just a jealous clown.
Single-handedly, Zhang Wu dominated the fan page, bullying the bullies into silence.
Say what you would about Zhou Yi, but the guy knew how to use people’s strengths.
And Zhang Wu’s strength? Being unhinged online. His comebacks were lethal.
Zhou Yi watched with satisfaction. The kid was teachable after all.
His Weibo had only one post so far—time for an update.
Using the account [Zhou Yi’s Assistant], he uploaded a new photo.
In it, the young man sat at a desk, sketching something, his focused frown giving him a sharp, intense aura.
The caption read:
[Prepping to take first place at the CGDA Design Competition.]
Zhou Yi’s internal monologue: When it comes to flexing, I don’t half-ass it.