20demayo Chapter 198 William C. Bryant High School
Chapter 198 William C. Bryant High School
When Lin Yan emerged from seclusion, it was January 7, 1960. The winter sun streamed into the room through the window, carrying a touch of chill.
Charles waited outside the door like a precise clock. When Lin Yan pushed the door open and came out, he immediately stepped forward and bowed, his tone carrying just the right amount of respect: "Congratulations on your progress in cultivation, young master."
Lin Yan casually waved his hand, interrupting any further flattery: "Alright, stop with the bootlicking. Anything happening out there lately?"
"Reporting to you, young master, there is nothing special. During Christmas, Young Master Tang Liuqian visited, and I told him that you had returned to your family to visit your elders and have not yet returned," Charles reported meticulously.
"Okay, I understand." Lin Yan nodded, indicating that he understood. He stood by the window, looking at the slightly bleak winter street scene of New York, and on a whim, he contacted Alexander Winster, who was handling affairs elsewhere, in his mind.
"Alexander, how's everything going at school?" Lin Yan asked directly.
Alexander's respectful voice immediately echoed in his mind: "Young Master, I have completed all the transfer procedures for you. The school is William C. Bryant High School in Queens. As per your request, it's just a regular public high school, not an elite private school. Considering your previous instruction 'regular is fine,' I assume you have your reasons. This school is relatively close to your current villa, and the transportation is quite convenient. When would be a convenient time for you to complete the final enrollment procedures? Would you like me to accompany you?"
"No need, I can go by myself," Lin Yan refused decisively. What kind of talk would it be to experience ordinary life with a Golden Core cultivator by your side? "By the way, what documents do I need to bring? Like transcripts, identification, or something?"
"Young Master, please rest assured. All necessary documents and materials, including the fabricated past transcripts and identity information, have been properly handled and submitted to the school. Even this semester's tuition has been paid in full. You only need to go to the principal's office in person before the start of the semester to meet with the principal, go through the formalities, and confirm your enrollment." Alexander's efficiency was as reassuring as ever.
"Well done," Lin Yan praised, then cut off the telepathic communication.
He stroked his chin and looked out the window. William C. Bryant High School…that certainly sounded ordinary. Queens, well, no longer in the heart of Manhattan, the atmosphere should be more down-to-earth.
"Charles," Lin Yan called out.
"Young Master, what are your orders?"
"Help me get ready. I'll go check out the school later," Lin Yan said. He needed to see what this place, where he was about to "experience life," was really like.
"Yes, sir. I will prepare the vehicle." Charles bowed and replied.
"No need for a car." Lin Yan shook his head. "Give me a map, and I'll walk there or take the subway. Since we're ordinary students, we should act like ordinary students."
A flicker of surprise crossed Charles's eyes, but he quickly regained his composure. "Understood, young master. I will prepare a map of New York City for you, marking the locations of your school and home, as well as the nearby subway lines."
Lin Yan picked out an outfit from the high school uniforms Charles had bought and changed into it. Standing in front of the mirror, the boy reflected there was tall and slender, his lean frame encased in a thick oatmeal-colored sweater and slightly worn blue jeans. Over this, he wore a dark brown double-breasted wool coat and sturdy work boots. Charles had excellent taste; this outfit was exactly what ordinary middle-class American teenagers typically wore these days—comfortable, durable, and unassuming.
Lin Yan raised a hand to smooth the black hair that fell across his forehead. Looking at his young, clean-cut face in the mirror—a face that appeared almost too pale and handsome due to cultivation—his lips twitched slightly. This image was vastly different from the tailored suits he remembered, or the flowing robes he wore while cultivating in the small courtyard of his space. His power was restrained, his brilliance concealed; he now looked like any other somewhat scholarly Asian teenager who might appear on the streets of Queens.
Instead of asking Charles to prepare the car, he folded the clearly marked map, stuffed it into his coat pocket, slung a backpack over his shoulder, pushed open the villa door, and stepped into the cold winter wind of New York.
A blast of cold air swept over him, carrying the city's distinctive smells—a mixture of car exhaust and the faint aroma of food. He didn't use his spiritual energy to ward off the cold, letting the chill seep through his clothes and become a tangible sensation. He walked leisurely along the sidewalk, occasionally brushing past pedestrians hurrying by wrapped in their coats, listening to the crisp sound of their shoes striking the pavement, observing the slightly worn shops, the old-fashioned cars parked along the street, and the distant rumble of the subway.
All of this carries a raw yet genuine vitality, completely different from the refined elegance of the high society he usually encountered. This is "human relations," the everyday life of millions of ordinary people.
Following the map, he walked for more than twenty minutes and then transferred to the subway at another stop—crowded, noisy, and filled with all sorts of smells and sounds. Standing at the connecting point between the carriages, watching the city scenery rushing past the window, he felt like a drop of water merging into this ocean called "ordinary".
William C. Bryant High School soon came into view. It wasn't one of those elite private schools with long histories and ivy-covered walls, but rather a somewhat old, boxy brick building, occupying a considerable area, yet unpretentious in style. The paint on the basketball hoops on the playground was peeling, and the surrounding wire mesh was rusty. It was during the holidays, and the campus was quiet, with only a few staff members moving about.
Lin Yan stood outside the school gate and took a deep breath. He could clearly sense the lingering atmosphere of youthful vigor, anxieties, joys, and confusion that belonged to thousands of teenagers within the building. With a slight movement of his divine sense, he could have taken in every detail of the entire campus, but he immediately suppressed this instinct.
Here, he doesn't need to "see" so clearly. What he needs is to see with his eyes, hear with his ears, and feel with his heart.
He straightened his not-too-disheveled collar and strode toward the entrance marked "Principal's Office." He pushed open the slightly heavy wooden door, the hinges creaking softly.
Inside was an old but fairly tidy office, filled with the smells of paper, ink, and a faint hint of coffee. A bespectacled, gray-haired secretary looked up at him.
"Hello, young man, what can I do for you?" Her tone was businesslike yet gentle.
Lin Yan stepped forward, a slightly reserved but polite smile on his face.
"Hello, ma'am. My name is Lin Yan, and I'm a new transfer student. I have an appointment to see the principal today."
The secretary adjusted her glasses, glanced at the schedule on the table, and then gave a professional smile: "Please wait a moment while I inform Mr. Wilkins."
She picked up the internal phone and whispered a few words, then nodded to Lin Yan: "You can go in now, it's the first office on the right."
"Thank you." Lin Yan bowed politely and walked towards the principal's office.
The office door was ajar, and he knocked gently.
"Please come in." A slightly hoarse but strong voice came from inside.
Lin Yan pushed open the door and entered. It was an office that wasn't spacious but was neatly arranged, with bookshelves on all four walls, crammed with books and folders. There was a faint smell of tobacco and old leather in the air. Behind the desk sat a man in his fifties, with thinning hair and wearing black-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a crisply pressed but outdated white shirt and a plaid vest, and was looking up from a pile of documents.
"Hello, Principal Wilkins. I'm Lin Yan, the new transfer student." Lin Yan stood in front of the desk, maintaining a proper level of respect.
Principal Wilkins glanced at him, his gaze lingering for a moment on his overly handsome face, before picking up a file from the table and flipping through it.
"Lin Yan... yes, all your documents are complete. You transferred from... Hong Kong?" He read aloud the vague geographical description in the file, raising an eyebrow slightly, but didn't delve deeper. As the principal of an ordinary public high school, he had seen too many students from diverse backgrounds, and some families did not wish to reveal too much information.
"Yes, Principal." Lin Yan didn't elaborate further.
"The report card looks... well, very good." Principal Wilkins looked at the report card that Alexander had meticulously forged; all subjects had A's, but nothing particularly outstanding that aroused suspicion. "Mathematics and science are especially excellent."
"Thank you, Principal. I will continue to work hard."
Wilkins put down the file, leaned forward slightly, crossed his hands on the table, and looked at Lin Yan. His tone became more serious: "Mr. Lin, welcome to Bryant High School. Our school may not be as glamorous as those private schools in Manhattan, but we emphasize discipline and fundamentals. Most of the students here come from ordinary working-class families, and I hope you can adapt to the atmosphere here as soon as possible, abide by the school rules, and focus your energy on your studies." His words carried the unique sense of responsibility of a public educator—slightly tired but still persistent.
"I understand, Principal. I will abide by all the school rules and study hard." Lin Yan's answer was impeccable.
"Very good." Principal Wilkins seemed satisfied with his attitude, and his tone softened. "Your class is 11th grade (equivalent to the second year of high school) Class C, and your homeroom teacher is Mr. Morris. The start date is January 1th, next Monday. This is the school's timetable and credit requirements for each subject, as well as some admission information." He handed Lin Yan several printed sheets of paper.
Lin Yan took the course with both hands and quickly glanced at it. The courses were nothing more than English, mathematics, history, science, plus clubs and elective courses in sports and arts, which were very similar to the high school courses he knew in his previous life.
"Any other questions, Mr. Lin?"
"No, thank you, Principal."
"Well then, I wish you all the best in your studies here. If you encounter any difficulties, feel free to come to me or tell Mr. Morris," Principal Wilkins said formally, then gestured for him to leave.
"Thank you again, Principal. Goodbye."
Lin Yan bowed slightly, left the principal's office, and gently closed the door.
Stepping out of the administration building, the winter sun shone on him, bringing a touch of warmth. He looked down at the timetable in his hand; the paper was rough, the printing was somewhat blurry, and everything exuded a sense of age.
"Class 11-C... Mr. Morris..." he repeated softly, folding the timetable and putting it in his pocket.
He stood in the empty, quiet campus, looking around. Basketball courts, teaching buildings, library... For the foreseeable future, this would be his stage to experience "ordinariness" and conform to "human relationships."
A strange feeling welled up inside him. He, a peak Foundation Establishment cultivator, was being forced to sit in a classroom like a real seventeen-year-old, learning quadratic functions and American history. Forget it, with their meager history knowledge, it was better not to learn it at all!