The pain of lost love only grows deeper with each remembrance. To help herself move forward, Chen Huan’er chose to spend her days with Huixin in the library, trying to drown her sorrows in coursework. Huang Lu was right – that big cry was just the beginning. Every bookshelf, every table, every couple sitting close together brought tears to her eyes. Like flowers shedding petals in sympathy with her emotions, her vision would blur without warning, forcing her to secretly wipe away tears before diving back into her sea of assignments.

She couldn’t understand how things had ended up this way.

One evening, walking back to the dorms after the library closed, Huixin linked arms with her and asked, “What are your plans after graduation?”

“Find a job, I guess.” Like most people – get employed, marry, have children, and find someone suitable enough to spend life with.

Just thinking about it made her nose sting with fresh tears.

Huixin stopped then, taking both her hands, “Huan’er, have you considered graduate school?”

“Me?”

At the start of the semester, their advisor had indeed distributed a ranking of three years of comprehensive professional courses. Chen Huan’er ranked fifth, but on the day of the meeting to discuss this, she had a high fever. In her foggy state, she’d only half-heard something over the phone about qualifying for direct admission before falling back asleep. Firstly, she had never really considered further education – while others were traveling nationwide for summer camps, she only focused on completing her experiments and getting good grades in finals. Secondly, since the start of the semester, she’d been trapped in the gloom of her breakup, putting all her energy into fighting her sensitivity and overthinking, having no interest in anything happening around her.

“Yes.” Huixin nodded solemnly, “Your grades are excellent, and your English isn’t bad either. The cell decomposition project we did together last semester is also a plus. If you’re considering it…”

Huan’er looked at the girl before her with reddened eyes, “Senior, what’s gotten into you today?”

“I…” Huixin gave a bitter smile, “I’m not continuing.”

It had been her goal since entering university. Huixin lived a life confined to four points: dorm, classroom, library, and cafeteria. Through scorching summers and bitter winters, she never slacked off for a single day. Her reward was ranking first in the department, with scholarships piling up.

Their advisor said her GPA was the highest in five years.

In other words, if the Pharmaceutical College had only one spot for direct admission to graduate school, it would go to Dong Huixin.

“Why?” Huan’er couldn’t understand.

“My brother’s in his final year of high school, and his grades are very good.” Huixin patted her chest, “As his sister, I should do my part.”

Huan’er understood, but her questions weren’t fully answered, “But staying at our university for graduate school means no tuition fees.”

“Besides tuition, there’s still time. Everything has an opportunity cost.” Huixin started walking again, “You know how envious I am of all of you? Qiu Li was just telling me she hasn’t decided between America or Australia, and Lu’er can graduate just by coasting along, worst case her family can help out. Then there’s you, Huan’er, living such a fulfilling life with such ease, even finding time for romance…”

“Stop.” Just mentioning that made Huan’er want to cry again.

Huixin put an arm around her shoulders, “There, there. It’s not worth crying over someone like that. Are you as unfortunate as me? Heaven gave me the talent for studying but not the fate to pursue it.”

At the crossroads of graduation, some approach laughing, in no hurry to cross, while others are pushed forward by fate’s traffic light, unable to pause even for a moment.

The campus was just beginning to show signs of autumn, with occasional green-yellow leaves falling intermittently, carrying the peculiar desolation of the discarded as they lay quietly in the grass, gazing up at the still-flourishing branches.

Huixin sighed softly, “I’ve only now realized that studying is the happiest thing in this world.”

Does doing the happiest thing make one the happiest person?

Huan’er mused to herself, “I suppose I could continue studying.”

Heaven had blessed her with good parents, and she’d never felt the pressure of making ends meet. Moreover, she’d been truly down lately, like a small boat lost in deep waters, drifting aimlessly without direction. Perhaps academics could become the lighthouse guiding her to shore.

“If I withdraw, there’ll be one more spot for graduate admission.” Huixin smiled, “If you’ve made up your mind, I’ll help you organize the materials when we get back.”

“Help me?”

“Consider it repayment for these three years of care.” Huixin lowered her head quietly, “Huan’er I know everything you all have done for me, it’s just that I… I had no choice, and I still can’t thank you properly. Later, perhaps, I’ll repay you bit by bit.”

The elders often say that taking a loss is a blessing. This old-fashioned, seemingly weak saying – Chen Huan’er understood it now. Taking a loss was like a chemistry experiment: if it fails, you extract the experience and start over, but if it succeeds, it produces immeasurable factors of kindness. This kindness is invaluable, and its greatest worth lies in telling the experimenter that they did the right thing.

Due to Huixin’s withdrawal, Chen Huan’er successfully took her place and submitted her materials. Though she missed the first interview and the university-wide English test for direct admission, she submitted her materials and three days later participated in the professional written test and departmental defense. She performed normally and received a confirmation notice that same day.

This meant she could at least choose to stay at her current university.

Huan’er went to meet with Professor Ding Heping, a research giant whose work appeared in domestic and international journals. She had attended his lecture when she first entered university, and just this meeting left her heart racing for a long time. That afternoon, they discussed many topics, including subject branches, future research directions, industry development trends, and pending projects. For the first time, Chen Huan’er felt that her hard work studying analytical chemistry, microbiology, and medical statistics had meaning beyond just earning good grades – perhaps she really could use them to do something for the world.

No, it didn’t need to be that grand. Just helping medical workers like her mother would be enough – she could forge a sword for them, lending her strength in their battle against difficult diseases.

From preparing materials to applying to being accepted, everything went more smoothly than imagined. The village fortune-teller was right – the worst had passed, and only good fortune remained.

She didn’t plan to consider other options. Firstly, their university ranked reasonably well, and the small department offered advantages in terms of freedom, providing maximum openness in both resource allocation and research topics. Secondly, although Professor Ding had some peculiar personality traits, he was professionally excellent, and joining his mentorship was a dream come true. As for internal factors, some people strive for the top and seek the best in everything, but unfortunately, Chen Huan’er wasn’t such a person. She had tried being extremely motivated to chase after those who were always ahead of her, but she gradually understood that there are countless personalities in the world – some wish to ride the wind and breakthrough waves to the ninth heaven, while others find poetry and art in securing a peaceful corner. Neither could be judged better or worse; each simply had their pursuits. She loved the school, loved this city, and now even loved the cold winters. Having a small space here to conduct research filled her with joy and utmost anticipation.

The good news was first posted in the Chen family group chat. Her mother quickly replied with a voice message – “You’re now the most educated in our family, don’t get proud. I’m heading into surgery, we’ll talk more later.”

Just as Huan’er was about to reply, a second message came – “Your dad’s busy with military exercises these days, I’m congratulating you on his behalf. Ask him for your red envelope.”

Well, these career enthusiasts, are both equally busy.

The second person to be notified was Huixin. Although she had given up on further studies, she still maintained her habit of going to the library in her spare time. Huan’er thought this might be her way of expressing lingering attachment and reluctance to let go. When she called, the other end wasn’t surprised at all. Faced with Huan’er’s repeated thanks, Huixin seemed somewhat embarrassed, “Your GPA was already sufficient, I didn’t do anything.”

“No,” Huan’er disagreed, “what you did was crucial.”

It was Huixin who showed her another possibility, and this path ahead, Chen Huan’er knew would completely change her life.

As for the third person to contact-

Before she could press the call button, Jing Qichi called first, “Congratulations, Scholar Chen.”

Huan’er was surprised, “How did you know?”

She had just received the notice.

“Your mom mentioned it to the head nurse before going into surgery, and the head nurse happened to run into my mom.” Jing Qichi laughed, “Aunt Lina has back-to-back surgeries, you’ll have to wait a while tonight.”

In the Third Hospital district, good news and bad news spread in the blink of an eye.

“It still feels unreal to me,” Huan’er shared her thoughts with him, “Since the start of school, it’s been like riding a rocket, everything’s so fast – losing things quickly, gaining things quickly, wanting to stop but unable to.”

She hadn’t seen Tian Chi for over a month.

“Don’t worry about what’s lost. As for what’s gained…” Jing Qichi’s throat itched, and he covered the receiver to cough twice before continuing, “Ever heard of ‘success comes after long accumulation’? This is the reward for your constant effort.”

Without a solid foundation of professional achievements, no matter how capable Chen Huan’er was, she wouldn’t have secured this position.

“Besides,” Jing Qichi’s voice was muffled, “you’ve always been lucky.”

“Really?” Huan’er thought about it and couldn’t help agreeing, “Yes.” Hearing his continuous coughing, she turned towards the bridge instead of heading back to the dorm, “Where are you?”

Jing Qichi waited for Chen Huan’er at the main campus library entrance. She wore a black long-sleeved dress that made her skin look fair and elegant, though what she carried seemed quite out of place.

She first handed over the small white plastic bag in her left hand, containing a box of cold medicine and a bottle of cough syrup, along with instructions to “drink it as soon as you get back.” Then she offered the large red plastic bag in her right hand. When Jing Qichi opened it, he found ten huge, round snow pears.

“This…” he weighed it, momentarily speechless, “Must be about six jin…”

“Eight and a half jin.” Huan’er said casually, “I picked all the big ones.”

Jing Qichi was a bit dazed.

How should one react when a beautiful, gentle young woman crosses two campuses carrying eight and a half jin of pears to stand before you?

Huan’er didn’t seem to expect a response, moving behind him to unzip his backpack and start packing them in, “These snow pears are only sold at our campus fruit store. Eat two a day for five days, they’re good for your lungs and cough…” Halfway through packing, she realized the problem, “Why is your bag so small?”

A full eight-and-a-half jin of pears would need a basket to fit them all.

“Stop… stop packing.” Jing Qichi felt the weight on his shoulders increasing in waves. He turned to look at her struggling with the zipper, “My laptop’s in there.”

“Oh.” Huan’er took out three pears and put them in his hands, then stuffed the medicine and cough syrup into the remaining space, finally completing her task with a pat on the bag, “Done.”

She stood in front of him and seeing Jing Qichi cradling the three pears like a baby, burst out laughing with a “puff.”

“Still laughing.” The Pear King’s throat bothered him and he started coughing again, then immediately scolded her, “Couldn’t you have bought fewer? Got too much money?”

“These are quite expensive, and coming all this way, I should show proper sincerity.” Huan’er pointed at his arms, “Why don’t you eat one?”

“I just ate.” Jing Qichi looked down at the nearly one-jin pear, “Let’s share one.”

Huan’er was still amused but immediately blurted out, “Two people can’t share a pear.”

Cannot share. Cannot separate.

“Never mind,” Huan’er smiled and took one from his arms, “I’ll walk you back.”

As she turned, Tian Chi appeared in her line of sight.