Negative Electrode Material Chapter 6

Column Exposé

Chapter 6: Column Exposé

On the third day of the alumni association, an article titled “The Fountain Pen from the Far East” appeared in a London media outlet. The piece began by discussing the global layout of Chinese capital before pivoting its focus to Gao Xuefeng’s acquisition of a private school group. It was accompanied by a dim, blurry photo of an Asian man’s profile; those who knew him could tell it was Gao Huan leaning against the bar that night.

Although the British view almost everything as a tradable asset—the post office, railways, electricity, water, and gas—education remains a domain they consider untouchable. Some private boys’ schools are not merely educational institutions, but symbols of national tradition and class identity.

Soon, other media outlets followed suit, their tones ranging from bitter to cold:

“What does it mean when we send our children to the ‘cradle of gentlemen’ only to find the hands controlling the ledgers come from the distant East?”

“Tuition hikes may have nothing to do with Brexit.”

“Does the transparency of private school equity need to be subject to regulation?”

Inside the hotel suite, Wang Yuan curled his lip in a cold sneer. “Young Master, you’re about to become a trending topic in the UK.”

He had just stepped off a plane that morning, looking exhausted but still sharp and capable.

“Let them search,” Gao Huan said indifferently.

“This is exhausting. Tell Old Gao to just sell it; you’ve already graduated anyway. If the British want to cultivate their own gentlemen, let them do it themselves. Without Chinese capital, I’d like to see if these so-called ‘century-old private schools’ can last more than a few years.” Wang Yuan’s face was full of disdain as he handed over a file of investigative materials. “The author of this article is an alumnus of yours. I’ve already figured out how to deal with him.”

“I appreciate the trouble, Her Majesty,” Gao Huan said with a slight smile.

Wang Yuan immediately dropped the joking manner and said solemnly, “The key now is to get the founding families of several schools to step forward and take a stand. That step won’t be difficult. But take my advice—once the public outcry passes, you must return to China, even if it’s only for a while.”

Gao Huan knew Wang Yuan truly had his best interests at heart, as well as those of Gao Le and even Du Mei. He nodded slightly. “Alright.”

A few days later, the tide of public opinion suddenly shifted. Someone unearthed the reporter’s past comments, revealing a long history of racial prejudice. Others pointed out that his use of the term “Far East” in the article carried colonial overtones. Relevant screenshots were shared frantically across the internet, and the focus of the conversation quickly shifted from “foreign capital infiltrating private schools” to “media bias and manipulation.”

Soon after, another whistleblower revealed that the reporter himself was an alumnus of one of the prestigious private schools mentioned in the article. During his student days, he had been disciplined multiple times for bullying classmates and had even come close to expulsion. Consequently, his seemingly “protective” stance toward the schools was questioned as being motivated by personal grudges and prejudice.

At the same time, several of the named elite schools issued successive statements. Representatives of the founding families spoke in calm tones: “Since their inception, these schools have upheld tradition while continuously optimizing the quality of teaching. These core values will not be shaken by changes in capital structure.” These few words were both understated and effective at soothing public anxiety.

As the spearhead of public opinion gradually turned elsewhere, Wang Yuan chose the right moment to release low-key information, emphasizing that the original intention of the investment was to support educational diversity and resource sharing. As for Gao Xuefeng himself, he never issued any comment on the matter. Yet, because of this, his silence was interpreted as a form of “calm restraint,” bringing the crisis to a conclusion that was not altogether bad.

On the third day after the storm reached its peak, Gao Huan boarded a plane back to China.