Fate was a good word.
Because no matter what went right or wrong in your life, you could always blame it on fate. You would never be wrong.
But to Zheng Qing, fate was more like a synonym for misfortune, like a noose on the gallows tied around his neck, tightening bit by bit and refusing to loosen even in death.
Just like now, that noose tightened a little more.
The young publicly funded student could not help tugging at his loose collar, feeling as though he could barely breathe. The moment Jiang Yu read out the name of that article, he had sensed something was terribly wrong. Counting on his fingers, he realized that the Daily Horn Newspaper article had come out exactly seven weeks ago. He had never imagined that anyone would still care about it.
Or rather, that someone would still make an issue out of it.
He had thought the uproar had gradually died down with time—especially after the Winter Hunt, after seeing a palm as huge as a mountain descend from the sky and nearly crush his memories of that article into the deepest recesses of his mind. Yet in the blink of an eye, someone had rudely dug them back out again.
No wonder the fatty had called it "old news."
At that thought, the young publicly funded student could not help glaring angrily at the fatty again. The Fat Wizard innocently shrugged and popped another sugar-coated sour plum into his mouth.
Jiang Yu's clear voice as she read the newspaper echoed among the four listeners.
Everyone was fully focused and very quiet—though some, like Xiao Xiao, were genuinely listening carefully to the report; others, like Zhang Jixin, were only pretending to be serious; while still others, like Zheng Qing, were trembling with fear