After ninety-nine online romances, I finally met my ex in person when school started.

Inside the reception room, the air seemed to have been sucked away by some invisible force.

Even though the old man, Mr. Meng, was sitting quietly in the main seat, the murderous aura he exuded, born from battles fought amidst mountains of corpses, seas of blood, and treacherous political machinations, still made the temperature in the entire hall drop several degrees.

"Grandpa." Meng Wanqing tightened her grip on Zhu Xunchuan's hand, her palms sweating.

Zhu Xun Chuan, however, remained unfazed, staring directly at the old man. Far from being intimidated by the oppressive aura, he exuded a relaxed air of "all the famous scholars in the world are my friends," thanks to the blessing of the [Perfect Aura Halo].

"Elder Meng, I am Zhu Xun Chuan. I apologize for disturbing your peace." Zhu Xun Chuan bowed slightly, performing a proper junior's greeting, his movements neither humble nor arrogant, as gentle as a spring breeze rustling a willow.

Old Master Meng's hawk-like gaze lingered on Zhu Xun Chuan's face for a full five seconds. He had seen countless young people who claimed to be talented, and when they entered this door, they were either trembling with fear or pretending to be aloof. Only this young man in front of him had a worldly-wise magnanimity in his eyes, as well as an extremely arrogant... composure.

"Sit down." The old man tapped his dragon-headed cane on the ground.

Zhu Xun Chuan pulled Meng Wan Qing to sit down. A servant brought in fresh tea, but the old man picked up the cup without drinking, merely watching the rising steam. Suddenly, he spoke, "Just now in the front hall, you said you were a farmer?"

"We do have a few acres of poor land at home," Zhu Xun Chuan chuckled, taking a sip of tea. "But what we cultivate isn't crops, but a state of mind."

"Oh?" The old man raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, how do you plan to cultivate your state of mind on just a few acres of land?"

Zhu Xun Chuan put down his teacup and tapped his knee lightly with his finger: "Tao Qian wrote 'Picking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence,' and Wang Wei wrote 'Walking to where the water ends.' In big cities, everyone is vying for that sliver of hope, forgetting that the soil beneath their feet is their root. Farming is a constant reminder that even if you stand on the clouds in the future, your shoes must still have some mud on them. Otherwise, a gust of wind will blow you away, and you might fall to your death."

The entire reception room instantly became so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Meng Wanqing sat to the side, looking at Zhu Xunchuan's sharp profile, her heart skipped a beat.

She knew Zhu Xun Chuan was good at arguing, but she never expected him to elevate the identity of a "poor boy" to such a profound and dignified level.

After a long silence, Old Master Meng suddenly burst into a hearty laugh.

"What a sight to see with muddy soles!" The old man slapped his thigh, his eyes filled with undisguised admiration. "These young lads these days, they all want to present themselves as celestial beings, but you alone dare to take your rusticity as pride. Just for that kind of spirit, Wanqing made the right choice."

The uncles and elders of the Meng family, who had been waiting in the shadows to see the joke, now had expressions as varied as if they had been dyed.

Old Master Meng, however, had no intention of stopping there. He pointed to a tattered calligraphy scroll hanging on the wall: "I've had many experts restore this incomplete copy of the 'Preface to the Orchid Pavilion,' but none of them could capture its full meaning. Since you understand 'state of mind,' tell me, what should be filled in these three blank characters?"

Shen Shuzhu happened to walk in at that moment, and upon hearing this, a playful smile appeared on her lips. She had changed into a light purple chiffon cheongsam, and that mature charm emanated from her, spreading in the air.

"Little Xun Chuan, this is Grandpa Wan Qing's treasure. If you can't answer, you won't get any meat tonight." Shen Shuzhu teased in her signature sweet, childlike voice, but her eyes lingered on Zhu Xun Chuan's waist.

Zhu Xunchuan got up and walked to the calligraphy copybook.

That was the passage before and after "unaware that old age is approaching" in the Preface to the Poems Composed at the Orchid Pavilion. Zhu Xun Chuan looked at the incomplete section, and his [Specialization in Chinese Classics] ran rapidly through his mind.

He picked up the pen, but without dipping it in ink, he simply touched it lightly with his fingertips.

"Let's not talk about life and death, nor ask about the return date." Zhu Xun Chuan turned around and looked at Old Master Meng. "Old Master, if we fill in 'whatever happens, happens' with these three words, it's too vulgar; if we fill in 'happily and freely' with these words, it's too full. In your life, what you've been seeking is nothing more than 'what you can't have.' Filling in the blanks would only ruin the beauty of this imperfection."

"Not supplementing is the best supplement."

Old Master Meng's pupils contracted, and he abruptly stood up. He stroked his dragon-headed cane, staring at Zhu Xunchuan as if he were looking at a monster.

This is not just about talent and learning; it's about a resonance that transcends age.

"That's great!" the old man roared, looking at everyone present. "Those Ye family and Li family members, if anyone dares to mention the word 'marriage alliance' again, break their legs and throw them out! Background? The Meng and Shen families are our background! As for Xun Chuan, I accept it!"

The entire audience erupted in uproar. Meng's mother, Shen Xinrou, stood to the side, nodding with a smile, her eyes practically fixed on her own son.

Under the table, Meng Wanqing's gray silk high heel, which had been taut with tension, finally relaxed. She quietly reached out and, hidden by the tablecloth, grasped Zhu Xunchuan's hand, their fingers intertwined, her fingertips rubbing against his rough palm.

Zhu Xun Chuan then squeezed her palm.

Just then, Zhu Xunchuan's cell phone in his pocket suddenly vibrated violently.

It was an international video call.

Zhu Xun Chuan glanced at it and noted: [Xia Wan Ying].

A cold sweat instantly broke out on his back. This powerful female CEO, far away in Europe, was most likely video calling him at this time to check up on him.

Zhu Xun Chuan remained expressionless. His left hand continued its intimate gesture with Meng Wan Qing under the table, while his right hand discreetly slipped into his pocket. Relying on his blind typing skills, he directly rejected the call and quickly replied with a text message: [Attending a closed-door seminar led by Professor Meng, so video calling is inconvenient. Be good, I'll make it up to you when we get back.]

The text message had just been sent when a sharp squeezing sensation suddenly came from the side of my right leg.

Meng Wanqing had moved closer to him without him noticing. Her long legs, encased in gray silk, were precisely pressing the delicate tips of her shoes against the base of Zhu Xunchuan's thighs, concealed by the tablecloth.

She turned her head and smiled gently at Zhu Xun Chuan, her voice so soft that only the two of them could hear: "Seminar? Professor? Zhu Xun Chuan, you've done your homework quite well."

Despite the pain, Zhu Xun Chuan's facial muscles remained completely still. He even placed a piece of braised pork on Meng Wan Qing's plate, saying, "Sister Meng, eat more to nourish your body. When we return to Peking University, I still have many academic questions to ask you."

Meng Wanqing snorted coldly, and moved the tip of her shoe up another half inch, her expression full of provocation.

Just as things reached their peak, a mix of ambiguity and tension, a series of hurried yet steady footsteps suddenly came from outside the door.

The once noisy reception room seemed to have been muted.

Meng Changhe, Shen Shuzhu, and everyone except Old Master Meng all instinctively straightened up.

Two men in black jackets pushed open the door.

A middle-aged man in his early forties, with a resolute face and an aura of immense authority, stepped inside.

Even though he wasn't wearing a suit, just an ordinary dark shirt, his imposing aura, born from his long-standing high position, was still suffocating.

P.S.: The author has been updating four times a week and even held a giveaway for fans to boost the rating. This is a way to give the author some motivation and feedback. Thank you, fans!

I've already drawn all the passes for this week; check my following list.