The Young Uncle of the F1 in the Elite Academy - Chapter 4

The thin and frail figure of Song Xingqiu became the center of attention in the dining hall. Watching Song Xingqiu walk straight into the trap as expected, Jiang Xing clenched his fists in excitement. From the secondary dining area on the first floor, hushed gasps erupted from the noble students.

The real show was about to begin.

Most had assumed that after the harsh “welcome gift” from his classmates earlier that morning, Song Xingqiu would have learned some restraint. They expected him to lower his head and minimize his presence, or at the very least, avoid wandering in front of F1. Instead, he seemed completely unfazed by the earlier lesson. He chose to meet the challenge head-on, heading straight for the second floor where F1 resided.

“He certainly has nerve,” one student whispered. No one believed for a second that Song Xingqiu was unaware of F1’s presence upstairs. It was too obvious; his actions were deliberate.

“Song Wenyue is the future head of the Song family. By offending him, Song Xingqiu is ensuring his future will be miserable.”

“A loser who failed the power struggle actually dares to be this arrogant.”

“Haha! You are wrong there. He did not fail a power struggle; he never even had the qualifications to compete!”

It was famous gossip among the upper class: years ago, after his eldest son had already married and had children, Elder Song fathered a young son with his second wife. This youngest son was actually a year younger than his own nephew. The scandal had dominated the headlines and trending searches multiple times.

“He was born with status, but clearly without a proper upbringing.”

“He was sent to the Federation as a child. How much could he possibly understand?”

“Foolish.”

“If I were him, I would not have even shown up at this school. Would it not be better to just take the inheritance and live a quiet, comfortable life?”

“He is young. It is only natural to have unrealistic delusions.”

The noble students in the secondary area freely voiced their mockery. Each spoke with an air of self-importance, critiquing Song Xingqiu, who was their own age, as if they were battle-hardened veterans. To them, Song Xingqiu’s decision to confront F1 was irrational. They had seen many such failures of wealthy families. From their perspective, the only proper path for him was to hide in a dark corner and avoid further embarrassment.

If the Head of the Family was feeling generous, he might give him a subsidiary to manage or resources to start his own venture. If not, he could simply live off his inheritance for the rest of his life. Usually, people who reached this realization were at least forty years old, having fought their siblings and accepted defeat. Someone like Song Xingqiu, who had lost at the starting line of birth, was rare. It was normal for him to feel resentment, but being stubborn was one thing; being stupid was another.

The scholarship students also watched Song Xingqiu’s every move. Many did not know who he was until hushed discussions revealed his identity: the young uncle of F1. It was a title that rang loudly in their ears. Their feelings toward Song Xingqiu were less about complexity and more about confusion. Theoretically, he should have been one of the noble students who bullied them, making him their enemy. Yet, in reality, he was looked down upon by those very people. The elite cliques did not accept him; they used the same tactics against him that they used against the scholarship students. In that light, he seemed more like one of them.

While the scholarship students were still struggling to categorize him, Song Xingqiu had already reached the second floor.

From the first floor, the second level looked narrow and cramped. However, once Song Xingqiu arrived, he found the space to be remarkably spacious. The seating was sparse, making the layout feel even more open. The decorations on the ceiling were more lavish and elegant than those below. Without the noise of the food counters, the second floor felt like a high-end, vintage restaurant: quiet, low-key, and luxurious. It was a perfect place for an afternoon rest or quiet study.

The second floor was not full. Clearly, very few people had the status to be there. Most students chose not to provoke the F4 group. Consequently, the group occupying the best window seats was particularly eye-catching. The sunlight was bright, casting them in silhouette and blurring their features. Their gazes, however, were as cold as ice, piercing through the air like sharp blades.

Before Song Xingqiu could speak, a voice rang out from the shadows: casual and flippant, contrasting sharply with the heavy atmosphere.

“Yo, I was wondering who else besides Song Wenyue could make such a scene just coming for a meal.”

“So, it is you.”

“I have heard much about you.”

“You really are cut from the same cloth.”

The speaker had short, sandy-gold hair. Unlike most of the academy’s students who preferred the understated, refined styles of high society, his hair was slightly long, fluffy, and curled. He had a pair of flirtatious, almond-shaped eyes that held a mocking glint. Several piercings lined his ears, adorned with silver jewelry. His fitted school uniform was worn loosely. The top button was undone to reveal his collarbone and a faint, reddish mark.

He was undeniably handsome. Song Xingqiu looked at him and thought: Finally, a teenager who actually looks like one you would see in the outside world.

The boy Song Xingqiu labeled as a “teenager” flashed a brilliant smile, revealing pearly white teeth. He looked warm and radiant, as if he were being friendly. However, the smile did not reach his eyes. His amber pupils glinted with a cold, predatory light. Song Xingqiu immediately recognized him: Mu Zhihuai, the F2 of the group.

After his seemingly friendly greeting, Mu Zhihuai turned and patted the shoulder of the boy sitting next to him. “Wenyue, that is your young uncle. Are you not going to say hello?”

Song Xingqiu followed the gesture to the person sitting beside Mu Zhihuai: Song Wenyue, his biological nephew and the leader of F4. Wenyue was a classic beauty, but his features held a fierce, aggressive edge. He bore a slight resemblance to Song Xingqiu, but his expression was stained with a wild, untamed arrogance that placed them in two entirely different worlds. Hearing Mu Zhihuai’s prompt, he tilted his chin and looked over with a gaze full of cold disgust.

This was the first time Song Xingqiu had met his titular nephew. He was even more boring than he had imagined.

Nearby students stirred at the sound of Mu Zhihuai’s voice. The once quiet air became restless and charged with tension. Mu Zhihuai’s words seemed considerate, but in reality, he was tossing fuel onto a fire. With a single sentence, he had successfully dragged the underlying conflict into the light. Even the scholarship students knew Song Wenyue despised his uncle. The fact that Wenyue had practically issued a “wanted poster” for him was common knowledge. By asking Wenyue to “say hello,” Mu Zhihuai was forcing a confrontation.

Everyone felt the shift. Wenyue is going to be furious, is he not?

Song Xingqiu was not surprised by the development. When a bored spectator meets a troublemaker, there is only one outcome. Sure enough, he saw the hostility in Song Wenyue’s eyes. Even a fool could see Mu Zhihuai was doing this on purpose, but Song Wenyue could not. He followed the script perfectly. With a sneer and a look of pure loathing, Song Wenyue delivered the classic line: “Uncle? An abandoned loser who was exiled long ago? I do not recognize such a person as my uncle!”

“He has no right to be my uncle.”

Ah, there it is, Song Xingqiu thought. That specific flavor of idiocy and self-importance. Hearing the exact response he had predicted, Song Xingqiu wondered how his brilliant older brother and sister-in-law could have produced such a pure simpleton.

From Mu Zhihuai’s performance, he appeared warm, generous, and well-bred: simply reminding his friend that his relative had arrived. He had fulfilled his social duties to both parties. Even if Song Xingqiu wanted to pick a fight with him, he could not find a flaw. But Song Wenyue? With just two sentences, he had shattered the veneer of peace and publicly insulted his own uncle. If Song Xingqiu wanted to settle a debt, he would aim directly at Wenyue, not anyone else. A truly smart person would let others do the dirty work of offending people. Song Xingqiu truly could not understand how Song Wenyue maintained his position as the academy’s leader with such low emotional and intellectual intelligence. No wonder Song Cheng had invited him back.

Standing behind Song Xingqiu, Jiang Xing felt a weight lift from his heart upon hearing Song Wenyue’s words. He stepped forward, intending to complain to Wenyue about his treatment, but then he heard Song Xingqiu speak.

Song Xingqiu replied calmly, “Being your uncle does not require your approval.”

“I was born to my father; therefore, I am your uncle. If you do not wish to recognize me, it is quite simple: have my brother break his ties with our father.”

At this, the faint smile on Song Xingqiu’s face vanished. His expression turned cold, and his voice became as steady as an undisturbed lake, yet his words carried the weight of a thunderbolt: “Or, you can simply break your father-son relationship with my brother. You can just get out of the Song family.”

Song Xingqiu did not even say “your father”; he said “my brother.” With a few simple words, he had framed Song Wenyue as the outsider. He knew the fool was being used as a pawn, but that did not stop him from insulting the pawn. Though his voice was not loud, the restaurant had fallen silent in anticipation of the conflict. His words were like a stone thrown into a still pond, shattering the calm completely.

The room fell into a stunned silence. Song Wenyue had never expected that he, the recognized future head of the Song Group, would be “kicked out” of the family in three sentences by an exile he despised. It was a complete reversal of the natural order. The mocking coldness on Wenyue’s face vanished. He had been maintaining his aura as the school’s “boss,” but upon hearing Song Xingqiu’s words, he slammed his hands down and stood up. All traces of disdain were replaced by a dead, dark silence in his eyes.

Then, a flame of rage ignited. The previous wildness was gone, replaced by a cold, pure desire for destruction. Song Wenyue’s voice sounded as if it were being squeezed through his throat: “Song… Xing… Qiu!”

The air grew heavy, like the silence before a mountain storm. No one spoke. The entire restaurant remained in a collective, conscious silence, adding to the suffocating atmosphere of Wenyue’s rage. Such an atmosphere could be lethal. All the pressure was concentrated solely on Song Xingqiu. In his thin frame, Song Xingqiu looked like a small boat caught in a massive, overwhelming wave. Standing beside him, Jiang Xing broke into a cold sweat, unable even to swallow.

Song Xingqiu spoke again, and to everyone’s horror, a hint of a smile touched his eyes. “Oh? You are not calling me uncle? It seems you have accepted my suggestion and plan to leave the Song family.”

He then slowly clapped three times. The sound of his clapping echoed through the silent hall, each strike feeling heavier than the last, pounding against the hearts of the students. Jiang Xing gasped. Even now, Song Xingqiu was still provoking him! This man was a lunatic!

The gloom on Song Wenyue’s face deepened, his rage almost becoming a physical force. Mu Zhihuai, watching this unexpected turn of events, raised an eyebrow. Spectacular. He had received word that Song Xingqiu was not a pushover because he had intimidated Jiang Xing, but he had assumed the report was an exaggeration. Now, he realized the report had been conservative.

On a nearby sofa, a black-haired man who had been sitting with his head down completely devoid of presence until now, slowly looked up. The moment he raised his eyes, the fog of invisibility surrounding him vanished. A pale, sharp, and breathtakingly beautiful face was exposed to the sunlight. The faint shadow cast by his brow made his eyes look exceptionally deep.

His face was so beautiful it seemed almost devoid of life, and combined with his habit of lurking in the shadows, he carried a gloomy, deathly aura. His dark eyes locked onto Song Xingqiu with an inhuman, obsessive focus. This was Qin Xiushi, the F3 of the group.

Song Wenyue had imagined many ways his meeting with his uncle would go. He thought Song Xingqiu might jump up in anger, or cry and call their grandfather to complain, or even throw a tantrum. He never imagined that Song Xingqiu would push him to the brink of fury with just a few calm words.

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