Momo's Gradual Change

C101. Caught in the Act.

Chapter 101: Caught in the Act

Miao Zhiruo emerged carrying a big bowl of fruit, but upon seeing Zhai Muyang, she slowed down, instinctively straightening her posture.

"Zhai Dage, would you like some fruit?"

Zhai Muyang picked up the pear from the top of the bowl, and Miao Zhiruo set the bowl on the counter.

He Yi glanced at the plate, now puddled with water at the bottom, and sighed. Even something as simple as this wasn’t within Zhiruo’s grasp—perhaps tossing her into military school might actually help her grow up.

"Momo, what would you like? I’ll grab it for you."

Without looking up, Song Yimo replied, “I’ll eat in a bit. First, let me teach Miao Mama these spreadsheet basics.”

Miao Zhiruo, hesitating, retracted her hand, which had been reaching for the fruit. “Should I…learn this too?”

“What for? Planning to drop out and help run a fruit shop?” Song Yimo picked up a pear, put it in Zhiruo’s hand, and teased, “Eat your fruit.”

Munching on the pear, Miao Zhiruo muttered, “I’m going to military school, obviously.”

Song Yimo chuckled, glancing over at Miao Zhiruo’s dad, who stood lost in thought. Quietly, she asked Muyang, “What’s on Dad Miao’s mind?”

“I suggested a few things, and he’s considering them.”

“Oh.” Song Yimo let it go, calling to Miao Zhiruo, “Could you grab a chair for Dage?”

Miao Zhiruo dashed off to comply.

Zhai Muyang flicked her forehead lightly. “I’m not a child—you don’t have to look after me. Go on with your work.”

“Mm.” With a bright smile, two dimples emerged on Song Yimo’s fair cheeks, her laugh carrying a sweet charm.

By the time they drove back, it was nearly five o'clock. Song Yimo and Miao Zhiruo climbed in first, while Zhai Muyang lingered outside, chatting with Miao Jun.

“I’ll be pretty scarce of time until the business finds its feet. Zhiruo, I’m not worried about—she listens to Yimo, even if she’s a bit mischievous. But with Yimo, I’m a bit concerned. Encourage her to focus more on her studies. I worry she shoulders too much.”

Zhai Muyang shook his head with a half-smile. “It’ll take time. She’s used to handling everything alone—relying on herself. Habits that deep can’t change overnight.”

Miao Jun sighed, “Alright, take it easy driving. Call if anything comes up.”

Zhai Muyang nodded, got in, and began the drive. City traffic was thick with lights, so the car moved slowly.

He glanced in the rearview mirror, noticing the girls looking drowsy. “Why don’t you both take a nap? With traffic like this, we’ll barely crawl out of the city. Might be seven by the time we get home.”

“This late?” Song Yimo raised her head, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

“I’ll call Grandma in a bit so she won’t worry.”

“Tell her to start dinner later. Miaomiao, want to join us tonight? We could even invite your grandma.”

Miao Zhiruo stifled a yawn, saying lazily, “Not tonight. After wasting so much time today, I need to catch up on reading tonight.”

Song Yimo tousled her hair. “Get some sleep.”

Before long, Zhai Muyang noticed the silence in the backseat. He glanced back and found the two of them asleep, leaning on each other. Smiling, he adjusted the air conditioning.

*

On their first day back at school after break, a lingering laziness hung over the students—prime time for gossip.

Chen Ying turned to Yimo with a conspiratorial whisper. “Yimo, do you know about the big news?”

Spinning her pen, Song Yimo looked up, ready to listen. “What big news?”

Chen Qiao leaned closer as well.

Chen Ying glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping before lowering her voice. “You know who our homeroom teacher’s husband is, right?”

Song Yimo’s heart skipped. “Yes, it’s Teacher Zhu. He transferred to the Education Bureau.”

“Exactly. Well, rumor has it he was caught in bed—by his own son!”

Song Yimo and Chen Qiao gaped.

“No one’s sure how his son discovered his affair, but he showed up with his uncles in tow. Not only that, but he brought along the husband and child of the other woman! They say the hotel room turned into a brawl—unbelievably chaotic.”

Chen Qiao clamped her hand over her mouth in shock, muffling her voice. “How do you know this? Is it true?”

“Of course it’s true!” Chen Ying said with a smug smile. “The hotel manager is my uncle. He didn’t recognize Teacher Zhu, but things blew up when our homeroom teacher showed up. He called my dad, and I happened to overhear.”

Song Yimo kept her thoughts to herself, feeling her brother’s involvement. He hadn’t pressured Teacher Chen, letting her son take action instead. This way, she would bear the least harm; her son wouldn’t despise her due to Teacher Zhu, and others couldn’t point fingers at her.

She has changed things.

She tightened her grip on her pen, sketching aimless lines.

Chen Qiao was still curious. “What happened after that?”

“The police got involved, and they notified both their workplaces. I’m not sure if there were any disciplinary actions after that.”

In the otherwise buzzing classroom, their corner had fallen silent.

After a bit, Chen Qiao said, "Teacher Chen must be really sad."

"Obviously," Chen Ying replied, her face turning sour, "she's a softie, but Teacher Zhu's a real jerk."

Song Yimo suddenly thought of something and turned around quickly. Sure enough, there was the teacher.

As usual, she looked stern, dressed in a gray suit, and her hair was neatly tied up. But she seemed a bit tired.

"After a few days off, you forget you're a high school student? What are the class monitors and study committee members for?"

The class was silent.

Chen Biling had left, and when Song Yimo looked back, she was gone.

After a long pause, Chen Qiao muttered, “I feel bad for Teacher Chen.”

“Well, she’s tougher than anyone’s sympathy. Want to see her smile? Improve your grades—that’ll do it.”

After a moment, Chen Qiao nodded, focusing on her book.

That day, Song Yimo’s spirits were low, though no one could tell.

When she got home, her brother wasn’t there.

Her grandma helped her unload her heavy backpack. “Muyang called earlier. He said he won’t be back tonight, so we don’t have to wait for him.”

“Got it.”

“Go wash up and eat.”

Later, Song Yimo dialed Zhai Muyang’s number.

He was still at a dinner, seated with some high-profile guests whose faces regularly appeared on TV—this level of gathering required him to attend personally.

Seeing Song Yimo’s name on his screen, Zhai Muyang excused himself, walking out of the hotel before answering.

Breathing in the cool air, a soft breeze helped dispel the heavy scent of wine surrounding him.

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TN:
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