It was different from his dream.
In reality, the older students at Edge Academy treated Zheng Qing, who was much younger than they were, with great respect. Classroom discipline was just as good as in the previous lesson, requiring no effort on his part at all.
This peculiar feeling inexplicably reminded him of a rather cruel saying: the rich needed only to show the poor a little kindness to receive an extraordinary amount of gratitude in return.
Here, the "rich" possessed wealth in a broader sense.
A word of praise from a company president to a low-level employee would probably leave that employee too excited to sleep all night; some inexpensive garment praised by a billionaire would be wildly sought after by ordinary people and sell out; if an academic bigwig was willing to spend five minutes looking at an article an unknown junior had spent three months writing, that junior would still be moved to tears with gratitude.
On some level, this reflected an imbalance in resources and inequality in reality. In other words, the tiniest contribution from the "rich" could equal everything a poor person possessed.
Edge Academy was a perfect example.
As an official student of First University, a scholarship student, and someone who had even entered the ranks of The Wand and received a gold Merlin Medal, Zheng Qing was an unattainable figure to the North District students, who had still been mere "tricksters" two years earlier. Every word he spoke in class was therefore treated as gospel and painstakingly recorded.
This unquestioning acceptance made Zheng Qing's job easier, but it also left him slightly uncomfortable. He kept feeling that something was missing from his teaching.
"Questioning."
"Don't go making false accusations. I never told you to torment yourselves!"
"Do you want to sleep for a