Monday morning at Wolven High arrived with a heavy fog, mirroring the murky rumors swirling through the hallways.
Thanks to the **Lane family's** efficient damage control over the weekend, the narrative regarding the "Master Wei Concert Incident" had shifted dramatically. The shocking sight of **Ren** entering the VVIP channel had been explained away with a logic that satisfied the elite students' prejudices.
*"Did you hear? Faye wasn't chosen as a disciple, but Master Wei praised her technique."*
*"What about Ren? Someone saw her go backstage."*
*"Oh, that? My mom knows Madam Vivian. Apparently, Ren was working there. She has good hearing, so she got a temporary job moving equipment and helping tune instruments. That's why she used the staff entrance."*
*"A worker? That makes sense. She is from the countryside, after all. She probably needs the money."*
The rumors spread like wildfire, extinguishing the brief spark of awe that Ren had ignited on Saturday night. By the time the first bell rang, the hierarchy was restored: **Faye** was the misunderstood genius, and **Ren** was the blue-collar laborer scraping by.
Ren, the subject of these whispers, couldn't care less. She walked through the school gates with her headphones on, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her windbreaker, a lollipop stick protruding from the corner of her mouth.
"Ren! Wait up!"
The gate security guard, a kindly older man who had taken a liking to Ren, waved her down from the guard booth.
Ren paused, pulling down her headphones. "Morning, Uncle."
"You have a package," the guard said, heaving a large, heavily taped cardboard box onto the counter. "It arrived early this morning. It's quite heavy. Do you want me to help you carry it to the dorms?"
Ren looked at the box. It was nondescript, wrapped in layers of brown tape, with no return address—just a stylized drawing of a husky dog in the corner.
She sighed, recognizing the sender immediately.
"No need," Ren said, effortlessly lifting the heavy box with one hand as if it were filled with cotton. "I'll take it to class."
***
**Class 9** was buzzing with morning energy.
**Lily** was at her desk, anxiously reviewing notes for the upcoming speech contest. Beside her, **Joey** was boasting about his weekend gaming rank.
When Ren walked in carrying the large box, the conversation stopped.
*Thud.*
Ren dropped the box onto her desk. The sound was solid and heavy, vibrating through the wood.
"What's this, Ren?" Lily asked, looking up from her notes. "Did you buy snacks in bulk?"
Ren slumped into her chair, kicking her legs out. She pulled a physics book from her bag and covered her face with it.
"For you," came her muffled voice from under the book. "Someone sent too much junk. It takes up space."
"For me?" Lily blinked. "Can I open it?"
"Do whatever."
Curiosity piqued, Joey leaned over the back of his chair. "Open it, Lily. Let's see what kind of 'junk' Ren considers heavy."
Lily borrowed a box cutter from a neighbor. The rest of the class, sensing a distraction, gathered around. Even **Wendy**, the class study committee member who usually ignored Ren, glanced over with a frown.
Lily carefully sliced through the tape. She opened the flaps.
The box wasn't filled with snacks.
It was filled with albums.
Rows and rows of black vinyl records and sleek CD cases.
Lily picked up the first one. Her hands began to tremble.
It was a black cover with a stylized silver font: *Silence*.
"Oh my god," Lily whispered.
She picked up the next one. *Rebellion*.
And the next. *The King*.
"These are..." Lily's voice rose an octave. "These are **Ian's** albums! All of them! Even the limited edition debut vinyl that was only sold in the Capital five years ago!"
The classroom erupted.
**Ian** was not just a singer; he was a phenomenon. He was the top idol in the country, a musical genius who wrote, composed, and produced his own hits. His albums sold out in seconds. Scalpers sold his debut vinyl for five figures.
"No way," a girl screamed, grabbing her face. "Is that a signature?"
On the cover of the *Silence* album, in bold silver marker, was a sprawling, arrogant signature: **Ian**.
"It's real," Joey gasped, his eyes bulging. "I've seen his autograph online. That's his handwriting! Ren, where did you get these?"
Ren didn't answer. She was still under the physics book.
Lily was hyperventilating. She dug deeper into the box. "There's something else at the bottom... something hard."
She pushed aside the albums and pulled out a heavy object wrapped in velvet cloth.
She unwrapped it.
A golden light blinded the students for a second.
It was a trophy.
A heavy, gold-plated trophy in the shape of an old-fashioned gramophone.
The room went dead silent.
Joey, who prided himself on knowing everything about pop culture, felt his knees go weak. He pointed a shaking finger at the object.
"That..." Joey choked out. "That's a **Golden Gramophone**."
"A what?" someone asked.
"The Global Music Awards!" Joey shouted. "Ian won the 'Best International Artist' award three months ago! It was all over the news! He's the first artist from our country to ever win one!"
The students stared at the object in horror and awe.
This wasn't just merchandise. This was a piece of history. A global accolade that belonged in a museum or a high-security vault.
And it was sitting on a high school desk in Class 9.
Ren finally removed the book from her face. She looked annoyed by the noise.
She reached out and took the heavy gold trophy from Lily's trembling hands. She weighed it in her palm, frowning.
"Heavy," Ren complained. "Useless dust collector."
She tossed it carelessly onto a stack of textbooks. *Clang.*
"Ren!" Joey screamed, diving to catch it before it could roll off. "Be careful! That's worth more than my life! That's the actual trophy! Is it real? It has to be fake, right?"
"It's real," Ren said, pulling out her phone. "I told him I wanted the albums for a friend. He just stuffed that in as packing material."
*Packing material.*
The class looked at Ren as if she were an alien.
Ren unlocked her phone. Under the gaze of thirty stunned teenagers, she opened WeChat. She pinned a contact with a profile picture of a husky wearing sunglasses.
She typed four words:
**[ Ren: Brain damage? ]**
A second later, a reply popped up.
**[ Ian: Sister! Did you get it? The courier said it was heavy! I threw the trophy in because I ran out of bubble wrap. Also, I have a new demo. The bridge sucks. Can you fix it? Please? ]**
Ren didn't reply. She locked her phone and put it back in her pocket.
"The albums are for you," Ren said to a frozen Lily. "Take them. I'm going to sleep."
***
The morning classes were a blur. The news of the "Box of Treasures" spread through Class 9, but strangely, nobody dared to leak it outside. It felt too surreal, too dangerous.
Ren spent most of the morning sleeping.
However, in the back row, **Wendy** was seething.
Wendy was a model student. She worked hard, followed rules, and desperate to succeed. She was the leader of the English Speech Contest group, the same group Ren had been forced into by the teacher.
Wendy watched the other students fawning over Ren. She saw Lily treating those albums like holy relics.
*Why?* Wendy thought, gripping her pen until her knuckles turned white.
*Ren is a dropout. A delinquent. She sleeps in class. She cheats on exams. And yet, she gets everything.*
*She gets into the VVIP area of the concert. She gets rare albums. She gets attention.*
Wendy looked down at her notebook. It was filled with research for the speech contest. She had spent weeks organizing the data, writing the drafts, and correcting the grammar.
And what did Ren do?
Ren had refused to write a single word. She had refused to attend the meetings. She had simply said, *"Just give me the script, I'll read it."*
The unfairness of it burned in Wendy's gut like acid.
"Lily," Wendy called out sharply during the break.
Lily was busy wiping a smudge off a CD case. She looked up, startled. "Yes, Wendy?"
"We need to finalize the speech draft," Wendy said, her voice tight. "Stop playing with those toys. The contest is tomorrow."
"Oh, right," Lily said, looking guilty. She carefully put the albums away. "I have the final draft on my USB drive. I printed a copy for Ren to memorize."
"Ren hasn't even looked at it," Wendy snapped, glancing at the sleeping girl. "She's going to ruin us. We worked so hard for this, and she's just going to stand up there and humiliate our class."
"Ren is smart," Lily defended weakly. "She has good pronunciation."
"Pronunciation isn't enough!" Wendy hissed. "It's a complex topic about global economics. If she forgets a line, we all fail."
Wendy stared at the USB drive on Lily's desk. A dark, ugly thought began to form in her mind.
If Ren didn't have the script... she couldn't perform.
If Ren couldn't perform, maybe the teacher would let someone else—someone prepared, like **Xavier** or Wendy herself—take the stage.
It would be for the good of the class, Wendy told herself. It would be saving them from disaster.
***
While Wendy plotted and the class buzzed, **Xavier** sat quietly by the window.
He was spinning a pen between his fingers, his gaze fixed on the golden trophy that was now serving as a paperweight for Ren's physics textbook.
He had seen that trophy on TV. He knew the weight of gold. He knew the craftsmanship.
It wasn't a fake.
Xavier felt a headache coming on.
First, the "God-Tier" physics notes that turned out to be from the mysterious man in the Capital car.
Then, the Black Gold VVIP invitation to Master Wei's concert.
Now, a personal package from the country's top idol, Ian, containing a global award used as "packing material."
The clues were piling up, forming a picture that was impossible to ignore but terrified him to accept.
Everyone thought Ren was a bottom-feeder. A girl from the countryside with no background, scraping by on manual labor.
But Xavier looked at Ren's sleeping profile—calm, unguarded, arrogant in her silence.
*You're not a bottom-feeder,* Xavier thought, a chill running down his spine. *You're a shark swimming in a pool of goldfish.*
He looked over at Wendy, who was glaring at Ren with jealousy written all over her face.
*Don't do it,* Xavier mentally warned Wendy. *Don't provoke her. You have no idea what you're dealing with.*
But he knew his warning would go unheard. The stage was set for the speech contest, and the storm was coming.
**[Chapter 41 End]**