Chapter 83: Chapter 83: Getting Song Baiyan’s Private Number Chapter 83: Chapter 83: Getting Song Baiyan’s Private Number Upon hearing this, Tang Li paused while zipping up her bag.
She turned her head and asked Fu Si, “Is your uncle really the Finance Minister?”
Fu Si’s suspicious gaze fell upon her, and instead of answering, he countered, “How do you know?”
“Last week, I was at the administrative building for so errands and overheard other girls talking about it,” Tang Li explained, then paused before continuing, “They said you were boasting in the principal’s office, but I didn’t believe it. If your uncle really were the Finance Minister, you should be going to Capital Movie Academy, not a school like ours.”
“Who’s boasting?! I hate it when people question ,” Fu Si imdiately retorted, “My uncle is Song Baiyan. He even ca to the school last week because of .”
“That’s not very convincing,” Tang Li said.
Then, she beckoned Fu Si with a hooked finger.
As he leaned in, Tang Li whispered to him, “Actually, my father is a National Congress mber.”
Wu Xuehan had already leaned in and said, “Then, can my father be the President?”
The bratty boy felt like he was being ridiculed by the group.
These ignorant humans!
“Song Baiyan, Minister Song, is indeed my uncle, believe it or not!”
“Oh,” replied Wu Xuehan as she returned to her seat.
Fu Si: “…”
Tang Li also turned back around, leaning against the chair, checking her cellphone ssages, clearly not planning to continue the pointless conversation.
For the first ti in his life, his background was being questioned.
His pride was profoundly hurt, Fu Si reached out, grabbing Tang Li’s ponytail and complained, “It is beneath to lie, but your attitudes amount to an insult to my character, a trampling of my dignity!”
Tang Li freed her hair from his grasp and said, “Then prove it to us.”
“Prove what?”
“Prove that your uncle is Song Baiyan.”
Tang Li paused for a mont then added, “Of course, it’s okay if you don’t want to prove it.”
“How should I prove it?” asked Fu Si.
“Give your cellphone,” requested Tang Li, reaching out.
“What do you need my cellphone for?”
Despite his words, he still took out his cellphone and handed it over.
Tang Li flipped through to the contacts list and scrolled down until she saw Ji Ming’s na under the “J” section; she skipped right over it and stopped at the contact nad “Uncle.”
Upon opening it, she saw both a landline and a mobile number.
Tang Li’s gaze fixated on the 11-digit mobile number.
“This is my uncle’s private number,” Fu Si’s voice rose next to her ear, “Not many know it. On a regular day, for non-urgent matters, I contact Old Ji, who stays by his side.”
Tang Li closed the contact list and returned the cellphone to him, “I’ll believe you for now.”
“What do you an ‘for now’?” The bratty boy was angered, and the consequences were severe. He quickly tapped the screen with his finger and then brought the phone close to Tang Li, “Open your eyes wide and look carefully, here’s a photo of my uncle, taken at his private residence!”
In the photo, Song Baiyan was sitting on a tatami mat.
In front of him was a chessboard.
The pieces of Chinese flag chess were scattered about.
The curtain behind him was spilling halfway open, with the sunset shining through the window.
Song Baiyan was wearing a smoky grey shirt, sleeves habitually rolled up, two buttons undone at the collar, black trousers, and dark cotton socks – a dull color palette that didn’t seem old-fashioned on him, but rather exuded a calm and composed elegance.
Opposite him, there lay a Tibetan Mastiff with an Iron Clad Gold coat.
Such serenity and leisure in the scene also held traces of Zen.
Then Tang Li averted her gaze from the picture: “A candid photo doesn’t count.”
“…” Fu Si.
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