With no connections or background, Howard Grant was completely baffled, unable to understand why the elusive Old Principal had come to the office.

“Not you, I’m here for this kid.” The old man clasped his hands behind his back, nodding his chin at the even more bewildered David Clark.

Howard Grant felt a headache coming on. Could it be that this seemingly obedient but somewhat naive David Clark had caused some huge trouble, enough to alarm the school’s legendary overlord? In fact, Yangpu District had never managed to build a true university town, with all sorts of hidden issues that outsiders wouldn’t understand. But insiders all knew what it meant for an ordinary undergraduate college, ranked only in the 20s in Shanghai, to have a Principal who enjoyed vice-ministerial treatment as a special exception.

“So, you’re David Clark, right? I heard you got a goose egg in English, but still managed to score 570 overall. That’s gutsy. Do you feel wronged coming to our school?” The old man looked like a slimmed-down Maitreya Buddha, always smiling in a way that seemed harmless but was actually so shrewd it sent chills down your spine.

“No.” David Clark replied warily.

Howard Grant and the middle-aged man, who seemed to shrink a whole head in comparison, both had their facial muscles twitch violently in disbelief. Especially the latter, who was partly responsible for admissions, had heard early on about this “living Buddha” joining the school. The admissions office had even suspected a scoring error at first—otherwise, how could a “gaokao machine” who scored a perfect 150 in math and 296 in science make such a fatal mistake as getting zero in English? Even a primary schooler randomly picking C on all the multiple-choice questions would get twenty or thirty points.

“Math, a breezy 150. I heard you got bored and used college-level calculus to solve two problems in the blank space, leaving the graders speechless. Science, 296—higher than your province’s top scorer, right? Chinese, 124, which I think is four or five points below your average. As for English, as always, a goose egg. Honestly, coming to a trashy school like mine, I feel bad for you.” The old man didn’t sit down, just walked to the window, looking out at the brightly lit campus, and beckoned David Clark over. “But trashy as it is, this school still produces a few pillars of society and geniuses every year. So, in that sense, spending four years here isn’t wrong. Better to be a big fish in a small pond than a small fish in a big one—just like I was when I was young.”

Old Principal waved at the mid-level school leader and the young counselor, signaling them to leave the office. The middle-aged man, who had been lecturing David Clark about values just minutes before, immediately left and stood guard at the door, afraid anyone would interrupt Old Principal’s grand guidance.

Once the two had left, the old man immediately shed his occasional air of a master and reverted to his scruffy old self, smiling and lowering his voice: “Actually, your dad is acquainted with one of my students, and he’s already spoken to me, asking me to look after you. To be honest, your dad donated half a library to our school, so of course I’ll keep an eye on you. If you still don’t want to take English classes, just skip them. I’ll talk to the teacher for you.”

“Principal, you’re… really straightforward.” David Clark thought for a long time before finally coming up with the word “straightforward.”

“Being straightforward is often a kind of subtle flexibility. It’s low-cost, but the returns aren’t low—it’s a trick only smart people know.” The old man smiled amiably, pointing at the teaching buildings. “Outsiders say this is a cradle for financiers, but that’s all fluff. Even I blush when I say it. But the best thing about getting old is your skin gets thick—no one can tell when you’re blushing.”

“Very philosophical.” David Clark struggled for a long time before managing to squeeze out this comment, mainly because he hadn’t figured out the old man’s personality and didn’t want to shoot in the dark. He wasn’t strong enough to act like old friends with a wily fox he’d just met. Whatever capital he had that might impress his peers was probably just a tiny ripple in the eyes of this world-weary elder. David Clark was at least self-aware enough to know that. Every city and county across the country had its own top scorers, plus a bunch of students who got direct admission without even taking the gaokao—every year, there was no shortage of prodigies.

Maybe Jack Clark hadn’t given David Clark any extra lessons, but at the very least, he’d given him a starting point and perspective that others couldn’t reach, turning him from a frog at the bottom of a well into a toad squatting at the mouth of the well, making him firmly believe in the iron law that those who are always high-profile will eventually crash and burn.

“Of course, it’s not just because of that half a library that I’m making things easy for you. I actually hope that one day you’ll pick up English again. After all, if you want to deal with mainstream international finance, you’ll need a lot of professional English. I have high hopes for you, and I hope you’ll make the school proud.” The old man said earnestly.

“I do know a few English words.” David Clark said sheepishly, though it was clear he was lacking in confidence.