Regarding Jiang Xiaoxiao’s matter, Yun Qing had no particular stance.
From the start, she only intended to be a bystander, occasionally intervening to gain some benefit.
She never thought about stepping onto the stage herself.
But when all eyes turned to her, Yun Qing panicked.
Once the heart is flustered, one tends to rush, and in that rush, many words go unfiltered.
Driven by an instinct to seek benefit and avoid harm, Yun Qing subconsciously shifted the responsibility to the absent Su Yao.
She forgot that although Hua Mingye had asked her to find Su Yao about the script, there were no other specific demands.
So Yun Qing acted on her own accord, taking credit for the script and reaping quite a few benefits, greatly satisfying the vanity that her insecure heart longed for.
Now that she told the truth, the things she had consumed before turned into poison.
Sure enough, the group of girls looked at Yun Qing with loaded glances.
Actually, this wasn’t a big deal.
Yun Qing had bought the script with money, not stolen or cheated for it.
At least she hadn’t pocketed someone else’s credit.
Even if it got exposed later, it wouldn’t be a problem.
A mutually agreed transaction wouldn’t evoke sympathy or strong resentment toward Yun Qing’s actions.
Some might even regret not thinking of doing the same.
They would think: If I had bought the script, then the credit would be mine!
That’s just the way the world works.
Yun Qing’s mistake was speaking up now and using this as an excuse to dodge responsibility.
This was a critical moment—her faltering was akin to being caught cheating.
Ji Yun, standing to the side, secretly smirked with thinly veiled schadenfreude, making sure no one saw.
When Zhang Li heard Yun Qing’s words, she was dumbfounded.
She hadn’t expected the blame to circle back to Su Yao, who was currently missing.
Where was she supposed to find her now?
She had pinned her hopes on Yun Qing, only to receive a sharp betrayal.
With Jiang Xiaoxiao at the front and Yun Qing behind, although Yun Qing’s “crime” wasn’t severe—barely a fault, really—and she did have prior contribution, Zhang Li couldn’t defend her in her heart.
Her impression was deeply tarnished.
Thinking of the imminent performance, Zhang Li felt powerless.
Being a teacher was really not easy.
DE…….
Zhang Li sighed and rubbed her temples, fatigue showing on her face.
She scanned the group, intending to pick someone bold to decide on her own, pushing them forward regardless of the outcome.
Then she’d try to soothe the “Little Princess” herself.
But Zhang Li didn’t hold much hope.
With Jiang Xiaoxiao’s personality, she would never admit fault—even if she was wrong. Others had to accommodate her.
So Zhang Li placed her hopes on the former plan.
As for finding Su Yao—the author most familiar with the script—to perform herself, that was highly unlikely.
Plus, knowing Su Yao’s nature, she would never agree to go on stage.
So Zhang Li didn’t consider it.
She looked around at the girls again.
Including Su Yao, there were thirteen in the class.
Su Yao’s whereabouts were unknown.
Luo Yu had slipped away again.
That left eleven.
Jiang Xiaoxiao’s group took three, leaving eight.
Excluding Ji Yun, who had a role, seven remained.
Looking at these seven, Zhang Li said,
“You seven should all memorize the lines.
Whoever goes on stage will receive a separate bonus from the teacher, and the whole class will commend them.
If the performance is good, the reward may be increased.”
Zhang Li pondered a moment, then glanced at the boys—some idle guys.
Who said boys couldn’t play witches?
With that thought, she told them to quickly memorize the lines, and she would choose someone to go on stage later.
Then she headed toward Jiang Xiaoxiao.
Those forced into the witch candidate role exchanged looks, unsure how to open their mouths.
Yun Qing had lost her voice.
Everyone thought this issue should be borne by her alone.
Now she was dragging them into it.
They were all just spectators—when you fight and pull the audience into it, it’s bad for the image.
“Where’s Su Yao? She wrote the script; she must know it well.
Let her do it!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“So, where is she?”
“She slipped away earlier. Someone went looking but couldn’t find her.”
“Then what do we do?”
“Keep looking?”
Everyone was scratching their heads for solutions.
Yun Qing, already sidelined, quietly watched them chatter without any intention of memorizing lines to cover the role.
She curled her lips, thinking this was a ridiculous useless mob, always shirking responsibility when trouble arose.
Though she was much the same herself, it didn’t stop her from mocking them.
This mess was getting dull, so Yun Qing turned her gaze elsewhere.
Unexpectedly, but not unreasonably, she saw someone.
The backstage connected directly to the football field’s entrance and exit corridor.
One entrance led inside to the basketball court, which had been requisitioned during the event as the actor Waiting Area.
Su Yao had come this way because Mu Nanqiu was there.
One basketball court had a Temporary House set up—a free makeup area provided by the Program Group for performers, complete with a dedicated Makeup Artist.
Truly meticulous arrangements.
After Mu Nanqiu finished performing, she naturally returned here to change clothes.
Su Yao had come early so she could meet Mu Nanqiu sooner.
But she hadn’t expected to be surrounded along the way by classmates.
Two boys led the group.
They quickly moved ahead of Su Yao.
At first, they thought they had the wrong person.
Although the clothes matched Su Yao’s, they’d never seen her with long hair before.
They guessed it might be a coincidence of matching outfits, but the scarf convinced them otherwise.
At least, they wanted to see her face first, so they blocked her path.
As expected, the long-haired girl without a hat was indeed Su Yao.
It was their first time seeing her with flowing long hair.
Coupled with her delicate features, the words they wanted to say caught in their throats.
They had always thought Su Yao looked like a girl.
But Su Yao was so low-key and rarely spoke, so they assumed she might have some issues in that regard and didn’t pay much attention.
They never imagined she was this beautiful.
Boy? No, she must be a real girl.
Su Yao frowned at them, realizing she hadn’t worn a hat or covered her hair.
She quickly turned her face away, planning to slip past them.
But before she could take a step, she was surrounded—and no one seemed willing to let her pass.
“Su Yao?”
“T…”
Su Yao wanted to argue, but it seemed the facts left no room for protest.
She lowered her head, intending to break through forcibly, but someone grabbed her.
“The script was bought by Yun Qing from you, right?”
Su Yao was stunned.
She hadn’t expected this to be known.
She glanced around and saw Yun Qing not far away, watching this scene.
When their eyes met, Yun Qing visibly looked uneasy.
As if sensing Su Yao’s confusion, someone explained,
“Yun Qing said herself that she bought the script from you.
So, Su Yao, you’re actually the primary author of the script, right?”
Su Yao remained silent, offering no reply.
“Silence means you agree, right?”
“Su Yao, since you’re the primary author, you must be very familiar with the characters in the script.”
This was said not as a question, but as a statement—telling Su Yao that since she created it, she knew the script well, and that’s what they needed.
Their words had reached this point.
Even if Su Yao was dull, she sensed something was wrong.
Seeing these classmates around her, afraid she’d run off, frowning, she had a bad premonition.
Several exchanged looks, none willing to be the scapegoat, but time was pressing.
Eventually, someone had to speak.
Then Su Yao heard a voice made up of several others.
“Jiang Xiaoxiao ran into some trouble and might not perform.
The teacher hopes you can fill in for the witch role she was going to play.
There’s not much time left, so you’re the only hope as the author.
The teacher said there will be bonuses and such, and if you cover for her, everyone will be very grateful.”
Zhang Li?
After hearing this, Su Yao was stunned.
She looked around at those people, but none dared to meet her gaze.
It was as if they knew their behavior—using authority to shirk responsibility and push it onto others—was shameful.
Although shameful, it was an easy way to offload their pressure onto someone else.
So, why not?
Su Yao felt a chilling coldness.
Those evasive eyes reminded her of years ago, when nine-year-old her knelt bewildered in the rain, clutching the hand of a loved one, unwilling to let go.
Around her stood strangers holding umbrellas, silently watching from a distance, their eyes just as evasive.
At that time, little Su Yao’s heart was filled only with sorrow and fear.
The rain fell mercilessly, just as cold and piercing as now.
“Make way.”
A low female voice sounded.
Su Yao felt a warm hand grip hers, pulling her out.
She looked up.
In little Su Yao’s eyes, that was an old, frail woman.
But now, Su Yao saw a tall woman.
Mu Nanqiu didn’t care what others thought.
She held Su Yao’s hand tightly.
Having promised to hang out together, she would keep that promise!