HDRDTH -Chapter 55 An Insult to Culture

Five days later, 8:00 p.m.

At the main gate of Jiangcheng No. 1 Middle School, the situation had completely spiraled out of control.

What should have been a simple campus arts festival had forcibly evolved into a “cross-industry mass fandom gathering.”

Hundreds of sun-darkened, muscular men from the fishing world, each carrying folding stools on their backs, were loudly confronting the school security guards. Carbon-fiber rods were being waved so aggressively they were nearly poking the guards in the nose. Their chants shook the entire entrance.

“We want to see Master Yu!”

“We don’t ask for submarines—just let the master bless my main line so it never snaps!”

Nearby, a group of entertainment agents in tailored suits were squeezing through the crowd, lunging at any suspicious figure who might be Yu Xian, begging on their knees for a song collaboration.

Even more absurdly, in the crowd were several tech obsessives holding vernier calipers—R&D doctors from domestic lure-fishing equipment companies. They were arguing fiercely in front of the school surveillance feed, trying to reverse-engineer the force curve behind Yu Xian’s “titanium god-rod” casting technique.

In a few inconspicuous civilian cars at the edge, a group of cold-faced criminal investigators repeatedly reviewed the video of Yu Xian pulling up a national cultural relic. An old professor pushed his glasses up and solemnly concluded:

“This is the perfect fusion of top-tier investigative instinct and… metaphysics.”

“Today, even if we have to use handcuffs, we must invite Master Yu back for an academic seminar.”

This absurd, feverish scene had completely stunned reporters from the provincial TV station.

Through the camera lens, fishing rods and checkbooks flew through the air, research papers mixed with criminal notes, and the whole scene looked like multiple parallel worlds had collided in a traffic accident.

If Yu Xian showed his face now, this crowd would absolutely tear him apart alive.

Forget peaceful fishing—he’d probably be surrounded even if he went to the bathroom, forced to undergo micro-expression analysis by experts.

Amid the chaos, three provincial broadcast trucks finally squeezed into the campus.

At the entrance of the auditorium, two rows of half-person-tall red rose baskets and more than a dozen gold-lettered banners made the place look like the arrival of some divine miracle.

Yu Xian still wore his gray hoodie. He was squatting at the back steps of the auditorium on a slab of blue stone, a toothpick hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth, eyes half-closed as he stared at the shadow beneath his feet.

His back was pressed tightly into a blind corner, avoiding even the slightest exposure to the cameras outside.

At his feet lay a long, pure black ebony case containing his treasured titanium alloy lure rod.

To him, the outside world was too insane. If his identity was exposed, only this “staff” capable of fishing up national relics could give him a slim chance of escape.

“Dad.”

“My real dad.”

Wang Dafu, dressed in a navy suit with his tie squeezed so tight his neck fat trembled, rushed over in leather shoes clicking loudly.

“This scene is insane.”

“The people outside are basically out of their minds—checking surveillance, setting nets, they’re about to dig up the ground to find you.”

He leaned in and lowered his voice.

“Principal Shen is looking everywhere for you.”

“He’s almost crying.”

“In the front row… sits the head of the Provincial Education Department.”

“And those stubborn old guys from the Provincial Writers Association—they’re sitting like tombstones.”

“If this goes wrong, little Xixi’s future is over.”

Wang Dafu wiped sweat from his forehead and continued:

“Even if you just go out and nod once, no one in Jiangcheng’s underworld or white world will dare mess with us again.”

Yu Xian spat out the toothpick and lightly tapped the ebony box twice.

“No.”

“A bunch of people who only listen to tapes in offices—we don’t speak the same language.”

“If I go out now, tomorrow the criminal investigation team will turn my villa into a joint task-force office.”

He shifted his squat, lazily poking an ant nest with a blade of grass.

Wang Dafu chuckled awkwardly and didn’t dare continue persuading.

Then suddenly, his expression changed. His gaze passed over Yu Xian’s shoulder toward the VIP lounge beside the stage.

A group of people was walking over.

Leading them was a man in his forties.

His hair was slicked back with heavy gel, perfectly combed, wearing rimless gold glasses and an exquisitely tailored black tailcoat. His chin was slightly raised, every step radiating innate superiority.

Behind him followed seven or eight young men carrying heavy violin cases. They walked with chests out, eyes full of arrogance, looking at everyone else like weeds by the roadside.

Principal Shen was walking beside him, smiling and guiding him forward.

“What’s with the penguin-suit crowd?” Yu Xian asked.

Principal Shen quickly stepped forward and introduced him in a lowered voice:

“Mr. Yu, let me introduce you.”

“This is Conductor Liu Jianguo. He studied abroad in his early years and is now the principal conductor of the Provincial Symphony Orchestra. He’s here as deputy head judge and holds a veto vote.”

Liu Jianguo stopped in front of Yu Xian and looked him up and down.

His gaze paused briefly on the gray hoodie, then slid down to the ten-yuan plastic slippers.

Disgust leaked out from behind his lenses.

“So this is the so-called ‘folk expert’ Principal Shen keeps talking about?”

He slowly dusted his tailcoat sleeve.

“Mr. Yu, right? The child Su Qian has decent fundamentals.”

“I skimmed your program. The song is called Map of Rivers and Mountains?”

“The name is quite ambitious, but…”

He deliberately dragged out the tone, arrogant and forceful.

“I heard you plan to use big drums and Tibetan horns as accompaniment?”

Liu Jianguo sneered.

“Ridiculous.”

“Those things belong in rural weddings and funerals, not on a stage of culture.”

“This is a key provincial middle school auditorium. There are officials sitting below.”

“You bringing this kind of crude junk onto the stage—is this your way of humiliating Jiangcheng in front of the entire province?”

He took out a white handkerchief and carefully wiped his fingers.

“As deputy head judge, I have a responsibility to maintain artistic purity.”

“Take my advice: remove all that junk immediately and replace it with cellos and French horns.”

“Considering the child has potential, I can reluctantly have my team support her performance.”

“Otherwise, I have the authority to stop your performance for ‘inappropriate artistic direction.’”

“You won’t even have the right to go on stage.”

Wang Dafu’s face changed instantly.

If Su Qian lost her confidence or was barred from performing now, everything they had built would collapse.

But Yu Xian didn’t even change his squatting posture. He casually picked at his ear with his little finger.

Then flicked it lightly.

A tiny, warm speck flew through the air, perfectly passing Liu Jianguo’s glasses and landing on his spotless shirt collar, sliding into the inner lining of his tailcoat.

Liu Jianguo’s speech stopped instantly.

He froze like someone had hit pause. His eyes desperately glanced downward.

He could feel the tiny foreign object—warm, damp, and invasive—sliding along his expensive silk shirt like a crawling insect invading his sacred territory.

For someone with obsessive cleanliness who even disinfected his conductor baton regularly, this was worse than death.

His face turned from white to green, then to a deep purplish-red.

He trembled violently, wanting to grab his collar but disgusted by it, unable to move.

“You… you…”

“You… you’re an insult to culture.”

He finally spat out the words, then gagged, covering his mouth and backing away in fury.

“You wait.”

“If your performance finishes today, I’ll write my name backwards.”

With that, he stormed off with his students.

Yu Xian watched his retreating back thoughtfully.

He knew this kind of self-proclaimed “refined” person—once stripped of their pretentious mask—would be the most vindictive behind the scenes.

In his eyes, Liu Jianguo was just another white fish that refused to bite the hook.

“Dad, that old guy is definitely planning something,” Wang Dafu said nervously.

Yu Xian said nothing.

He picked up the ebony box and slowly walked toward the backstage of the auditorium.