The Glamorous Comeback of the Ousted Heiress

She wore a loose white pajama, lazily sitting by the window, her hair all swept to the left, the left hand holding a towel against her hair tips, while the right hand scrolled through the screen reading about Long Aotian.

She could speed-read ten lines at a glance.

Could there really be such a thing as rebirth?

After reading a few chapters and seeing nothing about how Long Aotian was reborn, Bai Lian skipped ahead, ready to listen to some English, when a message from Jian Zhe popped up at the top of her phone.

Bai Lian clicked on it and took a look, “Your family, that Mr. Jian, he looks a bit like one of my elders.”

Bai Lian: “?”

Jian Zhe: “The one I told you about before, the one who learned zither as a child, does this Mr. Jian play the zither?”

Upon reading this, Bai Lian sat up straight, methodically tapped on the head of the Calligraphy Association’s director, took a screenshot, then replied—

“He didn’t come back for the New Year.”

It was ten minutes later, while chatting with Ji Heng, that the director of the Calligraphy Association saw the reply, “Just don’t let him spread my message.”

After reading the reply, Bai Lian relayed to Jian Zhe, “It’s him.”

At the other end of the phone, Jian Zhe, who had just boarded a taxi, suddenly wanted to stand, his head banging hard on the car roof.

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror, braking in alarm, “Young man, do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No need, no need,” Jian Zhe replied stiffly. Though he had suspected the old Mr. Jian was his elder from the moment he first saw Jian Zhongyou.

Still, the shock was inevitable when Bai Lian confirmed it.

The Jian family would resort to anything to meet Jian Zhongyou, even spending a lot of money every year to bribe the people around him.

For example, when Jian Zhe saw yesterday that Jian’s father and the rest couldn’t meet their target, he thought it was another false lead, but he didn’t expect that Jian Zhongyou really came to Xiangcheng.

And he was at Bai Lian’s place?!

How did he know Bai Lian?

**

The next day.

Jian Zhe, with panda eyes, came to study with Bai Lian and the others.

When Pu Xiaohan arrived holding her incomplete winter holiday homework, she was startled by Jian Zhe.

“Hi,” Jian Zhe greeted Pu Xiaohan.

They had met at the Calligraphy Association, and at that time, Pu Xiaohan was rather distant with Jian Zhe. Seeing him studying with Bai Lian and the others today, she felt a bit more familiar.

“Let me copy the winter holiday homework, I didn’t do many of the tough questions,” Pu Xiaohan murmured, asking Tang Ming for the homework.

The extended questions were too difficult.

She didn’t dare to ask Ning Xiao, his stern look was a big improvement over Jiang Fulai, if it weren’t for Bai Lian, Pu Xiaohan would not even dare to speak to him.

Tang Ming pulled out his homework for her.

Jian Zhe was shocked as he looked toward Bai Lian and Jiang Fulai. They didn’t care?

Why couldn’t he even sneak a moment on his phone?

By two in the afternoon, Pu Xiaohan finished copying the homework and had gone through the wrong questions given by Bai Lian, then she packed her bag and quietly said goodbye to Bai Lian, “Bai Lian, I’m going to see Grandfather Jian.”

She was an online friend of the director of the Calligraphy Association and knew he was going to the eastern city tourist area, so Pu Xiaohan volunteered to be his tour guide.

Eastern city.

The director of the Calligraphy Association arrived first. He was dressed in a gray shirt, holding a fan Ji Heng had given him.

Just after getting off the tourist bus line, a volunteer approached him, “Grandpa, are you here alone for the sightseeing? Would you like some water?”

He unscrewed a bottle of mineral water and handed it to the director of the Calligraphy Association.

On the sixth day of the lunar year, the crowd was continuous at the eastern city. The volunteer saw the director alone and of considerable age. He made a point of finding a young person to be responsible for his safety. Pu Xiaohan hadn’t yet arrived when the director was taken to watch a puppet show.

Next to it was a stand for performances by the audience.

The volunteer gave the director a sugar painting and even led him to the stand prepared for amateur performers. In addition to puppets and masks, there was an erhu placed beside the stand.

A child of seven or eight years old went up to perform a face-changing act.

The director, motivated by the warmth, spur of the moment sat down and picked up the erhu beside him.

He was proficient with most instruments, except for this one.

“Grandpa, play ‘Moon Reflected in the Second Spring’!” A bunch of people below were clapping.

Here, no one recognized him but they were clapping and cheering below the stage, not for grading or performing, but for the sheer joy of sharing the experience.

The director sat on the stool, his right hand relaxedly holding the bow, with his middle finger and ring finger casually inserted between the bow stick and hair. With a mostly young audience and during the festive period, it didn’t seem right to play sad music.

What did young people like again—

Suddenly the director had an idea, then he nonchalantly crossed one leg over the other, squinted his eyes, and drew the bow across the strings, his middle finger and ring finger lightly touching them, bringing forth a lively and vigorous sound from the stage.

It was like a wave of joy splashing into a calm lake, bringing about a performance.