Volume II: The Youth of a Thousand Faces, as Real as False Chapter Forty-Seven: Even If Scarred and Broken, Smile Like the Morning Sun

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Huo Ye sat alone backstage at the book signing, letting out a melancholy sigh. Why, he wondered, had he been so impulsive as to send his manuscript to a publisher in the first place? If not for that momentary lapse, couldn’t he have simply written for his own amusement, free from all this trouble?

A lucky accident, truly. To all the struggling writers out there, you may not believe this, but I, Huo Ye, never dreamed of becoming a great author.

Now, though, there was no turning back. When the editorial department asked if he had a new work, he’d been heartsick over Qingxue’s departure and had decided to write a book in her memory, agreeing without much thought.

But thinking back, why must a new work always be published? Is there an inextricable link between creation and commerce? Surely not. He must have lost his senses once again.

Now, Huo Ye was a bit afraid. At his earlier signings, he’d met Shangguan Yudie without his special mask. If she had used her mind-reading ability back then… the consequences would have been unimaginable.

Just then, his crystal-brain chimed. He answered the call, and Alice’s voice came through his earpiece. “Hey, big bro, how are you holding up?”

“What do you think?” Huo Ye shot back.

“I think you’re doing just fine! I’m wandering around outside right now. Have you seen it? The whole academy is filled with your merchandise! Wow, this little crow is adorable, and your pen name is engraved on it. Hehe, I wonder what it would look like with your real name instead? Little Crow Huo Ye—hahaha!”

“You’re even more insufferable than my own sister,” Huo Ye replied through gritted teeth.

“Oh, come on, bro. If you’re stuck at the signing later and need any merch, I’ll buy it for you. Hey, do you think if I set up a stall to sell your autographed photos, I could make a fortune?”

Huo Ye took a deep breath before answering, “I suddenly feel like playing the abusive older brother for once.”

“Yeah, right. You’d never lay a finger on me and you know it. Anyway, I won’t bother you any longer. Only two minutes to go before your signing officially starts. I’m already at Central Plaza—good luck!”

“Thanks. Wish me luck,” Huo Ye said.

Outside, a staff member knocked on the door. “Teacher Night Rain, it’s time.”

“I understand,” Huo Ye replied. He stood, taking out the half-mask specially made for him by Leilimi.

Last night, Huo Ye had personally carved patterns into the mask. Originally plain as a block of black inkstone, he’d added gilded wing motifs to both sides.

He suddenly recalled a night when he’d sat in the martyrs’ cemetery through a light rain, listening to the cawing of crows as bleak as dead grass, his mind empty, the road ahead unclear.

Donning the mask, his whole demeanor shifted. The once sunny youth was suddenly infused with a brooding aura, like a flickering flame in the cold, dark night. He whispered to himself, “The sound of rain at night, the caw of bitter crows—better to keep the mask on and press forward.”

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Now he understood: when trapped with no way out, one must forge a path for oneself. Along that road would be farewells, sorrow, and pain, but no matter what, the mask must remain in place.

Even if battered and scarred behind it, always greet the world with a smile as bright as the rising sun.

This was Huo Ye’s creed.

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Yanmotang was feeling disgruntled. Why did a writer’s book signing at Bancroft require the student council to maintain order across the entire academy?

After all, the student council was mostly made up of the presidents and vice presidents of the major societies, elected through annual dueling competitions—naturally, only the strongest made it in.

“What’s a guy who only knows how to play with words doing stirring up trouble in our battlefield of learning?” Yanmotang grumbled.

“Oh, stop complaining,” said a young man with blue-gray hair, coming over to pat him on the shoulder.

This man wore black-framed glasses that radiated an air of intellect. His eyes were narrowed in perpetual gentle amusement, but Yanmotang knew better—this was a smiling tiger.

He was Qin Shiqian, president of the Polar Domain, one of the seven great societies, and the student council’s treasurer.

Qin Shiqian joined Yanmotang, pulling out an abacus from his storage box and deftly resting it on his left forearm. Though the abacus had long been replaced by computers a thousand years ago, under Qin Shiqian’s flying fingers, its beads moved so swiftly that the eye could not follow, rivaling any digital calculation.

Amid the clattering of beads, Qin Shiqian said, “I heard from the director that Night Rain Crow is actually a student at our academy. This signing is the perfect opportunity to use media coverage to promote us. Many talented applicants shy away from us simply because our campus is located in the Wilds. Based on big data, I’ve calculated the number of these students, their average family assets, and factored in our annual investment. If we translate those lost applicants into the academy’s potential growth, our yearly loss amounts to—”

He pushed the last bead into place, ready to reveal the astronomical sum. But before he could speak, a fair hand seized his abacus and gave it a quick shake. With a crisp click, all the beads snapped back into place, erasing his calculation.

“If the two of you are idle, why not join the patrol team? There are many visiting ability-users today, including mercenaries hired to protect the public. There could be troublemakers. The student council must stay alert—this is a serious matter, and not the slightest mistake can be allowed.”

The two looked at the flowing sleeves of the figure before them and chorused helplessly, “Yes, Vice President.”

As Huo Xialan walked past, she paused, suddenly remembering something. Without turning, she called back, “Qin Wan, wait a moment.”

Qin Wan was Qin Shiqian’s nickname—ten lots of a thousand make ten thousand, and the name Qin Wan had a smoother ring, so it had nearly become his real name.

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Qin Shiqian turned to see his abacus flying toward his handsome face. He caught it, about to ask what Huo Xialan wanted, when she said coolly, “Your abacus.”

Qin Shiqian fell silent. He knew better than to push his luck with her.

Yanmotang and Qin Shiqian were used to Huo Xialan’s way of shutting down conversations with a single line. Still, Yanmotang suddenly felt something was off. This biting conversational style… wasn’t it just like that other jerk surnamed Huo? He’d never noticed before, but now that he thought about it…

There was a difference, though. Huo Xialan killed conversations because she disliked pointless chatter, which everyone knew. Huo Ye, on the other hand, did it purely out of mischief. Why else could he say things like, “Smile for me, let’s see it,” with such composure?

That phrase had become a psychological shadow for Yanmotang.

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Shangguan Yudie had finished all her tasks. Organizing the fans online these past days had exhausted her, but it was worth it. If not for her reputation as the “First Lady of the Circle,” today’s signing wouldn’t have been nearly as lively.

Now, all the streets and alleys of Bancroft were filled with visitors here for the event.

Couples strolled arm in arm, the girls pointing out novel sights and the boys smiling wryly, happy just to see them happy.

Fans who had come alone mingled with friends they’d met on the train, discussing their favorite chapters of “Rhapsody in the Rainy Night.”

Soon, they would see Teacher Night Rain again. Now that she thought of it, it had been two years since his last public appearance. Who knew when they would meet again after today? She resolved that, whatever happened, she must arrange a private meeting with him—otherwise, she would never be at peace.

A temporary stage had been set up early in Central Plaza. At its center stood a massive desk piled high with Huo Ye’s new book, “The Speech of Flowers.”

Two minutes flew by. At precisely one o’clock in the afternoon, the salute cannons erupted skyward, shooting into the blue.

Fireworks blossomed above; the plaza roared with excitement. The new book signing for Night Rain Crow had officially begun.