I Have 10 Trillion Dollars only Usable For Simping
Chapter 797 - 597 Tutoring_3

Chapter 797: 597 Tutoring_3

The little devil that belies his age was not a new encounter for Jiang Chen. Lan Peizhi’s younger brother, Martial Saint, was also of the same sort.

Children from wealthy families tend to mature early.

Of course.

The Lan Family was an exception, a special case.

"What should I teach you?"

Jiang Chen asked casually.

"Teach me how to pick up girls!"

"Pick up girls?"

Jiang Chen was taken aback.

Meng Bei nodded vigorously, eyes sparkling, "You even managed to win over my sister, your girl-chasing skills must be incredible. Bro, teach me a few tricks."

Compared to being called a brother-in-law, Jiang Chen found this ’brother’ somewhat more bearable to the ear.

Looking at the boy’s eager face looking up to him, Jiang Chen said, meaningfully, "I thought you weren’t interested in young girls with just fluff for brains?"

"I don’t like girls with just fluff for brains."

Meng Bei explained, "The one I like is our Chinese teacher!"

"..."

Jiang Chen’s eye twitched, "You like your teacher?"

Meng Bei nodded unabashedly, "Yeah! She’s so gentle! And she’s so feminine! She’s incomparable to those fluffy-headed girls! Bro, teach me how to get her!"

Jiang Chen broke out in a cold sweat.

Although he hadn’t been a model of good behavior in his youth, he hadn’t been this outrageous.

Pursue your teacher?!

"I have her photo."

Meng Bei seemed to be reaching for his phone, about to show Jiang Chen.

"No need!"

Jiang Chen hastily interjected, initially wanting to explain that having a crush on a teacher was inappropriate and not allowed but then he thought better of it, realizing that a child with Meng Bei’s personality and background wouldn’t bother with such moralizing, so he kept his peace.

"Let’s discuss your homework instead. Bring out your assignment."

Jiang Chen changed the subject.

"Bro, can you write poetry?"

Meng Bei suddenly asked.

"Why?"

"Our whole grade has an assignment to write a poem with the Mid-Autumn Festival as the theme, to be submitted after the holiday. Didn’t I confess to her a few days ago..."

Wait a minute!

Jiang Chen hurriedly interrupted, "You confessed to your teacher?!"

"Yes!"

Meng Bei nodded, puzzled at why Jiang Chen was making a fuss, "She said if my poem can win an award at school, she’ll agree to go on a date with me."

Jiang Chen was speechless.

Presumably, the Chinese teacher was well aware of the Meng Family’s background and had devised such an excuse.

The child of a wealthy family certainly plays by different rules.

Otherwise, he’d likely have been sent home or expelled long ago.

Without a doubt.

This kid’s academic achievements were probably abysmal, not to mention winning an award, even getting him to write a decent poem seemed a fantastical dream.

"Bro, my sister said you’re a top student; you should be able to write poetry, right?"

Jiang Chen fell silent for a moment, knowing that reasoning would do no good; he had to take a more oblique approach, "Chasing a girl is about sincerity first and foremost. Your teacher asked you to write a poem..."

"I wrote it, but what I wrote is terrible, there’s no way it’ll win!"

Meng Bei interrupted him.

One had to admit, the boy was quite self-aware.

"Let me see what you’ve written."

Meng Bei immediately did so, scrambling over to his desk to rummage through his things before handing Jiang Chen a notebook, "Bro, take a look."

Jiang Chen took it and began flipping through.

And indeed.

The boy had indeed made an effort, having written several pieces, but the content was... unsightly to say the least.

"The theme is Mid-Autumn, why are you writing about the moon?"

Even lines like ’looking up at the bright moon, bowing my head in homesickness’ were copied, revealing a scratching-at-the-head level of desperation—it was clear he had really tried.

"Isn’t Mid-Autumn all about moon appreciation?"

Meng Bei asked, uncertain.

"..."

Jiang Chen was at a loss for words as he looked at the notebook in his hands, while Meng Bei watched him.

The room fell silent for several seconds.

"Bro, my sister said you’re a top student. Writing a poem should be a piece of cake for you, right?"

Meng Bei queried tentatively.

Jiang Chen knew the boy was goading him, and unusually, he felt a bit of mischievousness stir, "Do you really like that teacher?"

"Mhm!"

Meng Bei nodded without hesitation, "I even told my mom about her, and she said she doesn’t mind, that it’s fine as long as I can chase her down."

"..."

Jiang Chen was silent for a moment, then said, "Hand me a pen."

Meng Bei’s eyes lit up, and he quickly produced a Montblanc fountain pen.

Such a waste of resources.

Jiang Chen accepted the costly pen, pulled out a chair, sat at the desk, took up the pen, and wrote effortlessly.

"If you’re going to write about the moon, it shouldn’t just be about the moon.

Write about its waxing and waning, write about rain-soaked pear blossoms in the night, a solitary silhouette all alone.

Write about startled magpies on an alien branch, write about the difficulty to surpass distant mountains, write about the yearnings of a single cup of wine so somber and poignant.

Write about yesterday’s stacked brocade letters in the western chamber, a fleeting glance from the beauty, then about the snow that lingers on black hair turned white, and the fierce northwest wind that howls.

And only at the very end, suddenly break off your pen,

and weave yourself into the second half of the poem, singularly omitting the topic of parting."

Meng Bei’s eyes gradually widened.