During the Republic of China era, I achieved unparalleled success by returning to the past.

The next day, just as dawn was breaking, Song Beiyou slung his canvas bag over his shoulder and got ready.

Wen Yingxue handed over a ceramic box, its edges chipped and dented, with pieces of glaze missing here and there. She softly instructed, "I've added an extra cake and a sweet potato."

Song Beiyou took it and stuffed it into his bag: "Thank you, sister, I'm leaving now." After saying that, he turned around and walked out of the house, wrapped his large old clothes tighter around his body, and walked quickly forward in the dim light of the day.

By the time they arrived at St. Paul's School, the sun had already risen.

At the school gate, golden light spilled out, like a golden veil. The sounds of bicycle bells, horns, and vendors' shouts created a noisy atmosphere.

Song Beiyou walked at a leisurely pace, heading towards the school gate with the other students. Looking up at the row of red-brick teaching buildings before him, he tried to recall the location of his classroom, and then stopped.

"You little pauper, get out of the way!" A harsh curse pierced his ears. Song Beiyou turned his head and saw the dark brown-faced Indian man staring at him sideways.

His attire certainly stood out among the group of students in stand-up collar, straight-cut Zhongshan suits.

Red-haired Ah San raised an eyebrow. Usually, poor children like him would walk with their heads down, watching their toes. He never expected Song Beiyou to dare glare at him like that. He immediately shouted, "Hurry up!"

Song Beiyou remained calm and quickened his pace. After walking a short distance, he came across a small pebble. He immediately switched to his inner strength, ground it under his foot, and with a powerful roll and kick, sent the pebble hurtling through the air.

The red-haired Indian let out a scream, spitting out a mouthful of blood and froth mixed with his front teeth. His missing tooth revealed a gap, and he let out a whistling, furious roar: "Who?! Who?!"

However, only passing students glanced at him in astonishment. Song Beiyou had already run far away, a smirk playing on his lips, and headed towards the first-year teacher training class.

A bronze plaque bearing the name "Senior First Division A" was nailed to the dark brown wooden door. Song Beiyou took a deep breath, composed himself, and pushed open the door with his thin, pale hand.

The classroom was already more than half full, the air filled with chalk dust and a faint scent of face cream. A white mist clung to the east-facing windowpane, and the morning light streamed in, making the grain of the wooden table crystal clear.

"Here it comes!"

The previously noisy classroom suddenly fell silent.

Song Beiyou paused slightly, noticing the students looking at him strangely. He was slightly startled. Had they figured something out? Impossible.

A student with a long face and a flat nose named Wang Jiahao was sitting on the podium, looking at him with ill intent.

Song Beiyou walked along the narrow passageway with an indifferent expression, seemingly unaffected.

Suddenly, Wang Jiahao's exaggerated, hoarse voice rang out from the podium behind him: "Mmm, mmm, mmm, next up is the next one. Hey? This one's not bad."

"To SWQ~" The hoarse voice even gave a slight tremor at the end. Song Beiyou frowned slightly, sensing that the gazes of the crowd were becoming increasingly strange.

"The winter wind blows through your window, carrying the faint fragrance of old sycamore trees. The teacher's words on the podium are powerful and resonant, but the handwriting under my pen has long since become distorted. My gaze passes over the scent of ink and the shadows of light, and gently falls on your drooping eyelashes."

"A wisp of hair at your temple is gently lifted by the wind, as quiet as moonlight falling on paper. I dare not utter a sound, but quietly grasp a wisp of fragrance that drifts by..."

"WYW, the 22nd day of the 11th lunar month."

"Wen Yiwen, is that you, WYW?"

"Hahaha!" Laughter filled the classroom.

"Who else but him could write such flamboyant poetry?"

"Who is that SWQ? Tell me quickly!"

"Is there even a need to guess? It's definitely Shen Wanqing!"

Dozens of eyes in the class were fixed on him. Song Beiyou's lips twitched. Had he arrived at a social disaster site set up by this group? He remained calm and ignored everyone's ridicule, walking straight to the back of the classroom.

A tall, burly man with a buzz cut suddenly blocked his way. Beneath his thick eyebrows, his eyes gleamed with mockery as he grinned and said, "Wen Yiwen, tell me, who is this for?"

"Wen Yiwen, you have the guts to write it but not the guts to admit it? Even a poor toad can have love, and no one will laugh at you." Wang Jiahao's flippant voice continued from the podium.

Song Beiyou looked up at the crew cut and said calmly, "Get out of the way."

The man with the buzz cut immediately widened his eyes in surprise, then scoffed, "What can you do if I don't move aside?"

The entire classroom fell silent.

Song Beiyou smiled and stomped his right foot forward without warning.

"Ouch!" The man with the buzz cut yelled, leaping three feet high, clutching his left foot and hopping and jumping until his face contorted in pain. "Ouch, ouch, you bastard, how dare you lay a hand on me!"

Song Beiyou's eyes turned slightly cold. He raised his foot and kicked, striking Song Beiyou's right shinbone, which was standing on one leg.

The man with the buzz cut felt a sharp pain in his calf, lost his balance, and involuntarily fell to one side. Suddenly, the bent iron nail hanging on the desk magnified rapidly in front of his eyes.

At the last second, his body, which had been falling, suddenly stopped. The nail was only an inch away from his eyeball. Still shaken, he then noticed a sharp pain in his right ear, which had been grabbed by a hand.

A powerful force struck, and he was grabbed by the ear and lifted up again, wincing in pain. He covered his ear, his mind reeling: Wen Yiwen was as thin as a monkey, when did he become so strong?

"Wu Yaowei, don't play such dangerous games next time," Song Beiyou said calmly.

The other students stared wide-eyed, not seeing what happened. Song Beiyou's kick was too fast; all they saw was the crew-cut man jumping up and down cursing, then suddenly falling down, only to be lifted up by the ear.

Wen Yiwen was different from the moment he walked in! The classmates exchanged glances and came to the same conclusion.

"Wen Yiwen, you fucking defy the heavens!" Wang Jiahao roared, grabbing a stool from the podium and charging over.

"Watch out!"

The bench slammed down on him, but Song Beiyou didn't retreat; instead, he advanced, his steps faltering, his back straight and waist low, and his elbow slammed into Wang Jiahao's chest.

Clang! The chair that was about to smash into him fell to the ground with a thud. Wang Jiahao's eyes bulged, he clutched his chest, his knees buckled, and he knelt on the cement floor with a thud.

Suddenly, Song Beiyou reached out with both hands, grabbed his ears, and lifted them up.

"Wow!" Wang Jiahao screamed like a pig being slaughtered.

Song Beiyou grabbed his ear with one hand and patted his contorted face with the other, smiling as he said, "I'm not your father, so don't kneel down to me. I can't accept that."

Wang Jiahao covered his bleeding ear, frozen in place as if in a daze, not moving for a long time.

Everyone else stared in astonishment; the entire classroom was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Song Beiyou walked to the front of the classroom, picked up the rough, yellowed notebook, glanced calmly at the nearly full class, and said, "This notebook is mine, but it was stolen. The poem Wu Yaowei just recited wasn't written by me either; I wouldn't write something so childish."

He paused slightly, his gaze sweeping over a girl in the third row—two jet-black braids falling over her shoulders, her large eyes looking at him, her eyelashes fluttering.

"As for who SWQ is, I don't know either. That's all." With that, he stepped down from the podium with a calm and composed expression and walked to the last table.

Regardless of whether Wen Yiwen wrote it or not, you should pretend that he didn't write it. As long as you're not embarrassed, it's others who will be embarrassed.

The classroom was silent, with only eyes darting around; no one had yet reacted to Song Beiyou's actions.

His deskmate hadn't arrived yet. At this time, the desks were all long tables and benches. Song Beiyou threw his canvas bag into the desk and sat down casually on the bench. His gaze swept around and met the sinister eyes of Wu Yaowei and Wang Jiahao.

It's unacceptable to act ruthlessly in front of so many people. He's not just here for revenge, but for a risk-free one. Besides, there are more than just these two culprits.