After Zhu Yun finished speaking, Li Xun showed no reaction, but Gao Jianhong did ask one question:

“The graduate school?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure you didn’t see wrong?”

“Absolutely.” He was far too gaunt — thin as a skeleton — and had left a strong impression on Zhu Yun at the time.

Gao Jianhong thought for a moment and asked, “Do you remember which supervisor he was under?”

Zhu Yun shook her head. “I’ll have to ask Fang Shumiao.”

Gao Jianhong glanced at Li Xun. The latter lowered his head to light a cigarette, and when he looked up again, said, “Let’s head back. What’s the point of standing around here.”

Zhu Yun kept the matter in mind, and as soon as she got back, she went to find Fang Shumiao.

“Which one? What graduate student?” Fang Shumiao had forgotten the whole thing entirely.

“You know — that time you went to the city as a student representative for a meeting, remember? A whole group of you went together. It got so late that I even came to pick you up.”

Zhu Yun did her best to jog her memory. Fang Shumiao licked her lollipop, eyes drifting upward in thought.

“Oh! The skeleton!”

“That’s the one. He’s from our department’s graduate school, isn’t he.”

“Right, his surname is Han… Han something-or-other.” Fang Shumiao bit off half her candy. “He wasn’t a student representative — he went on behalf of his supervisor.”

“What’s his supervisor’s name?”

“I can’t quite remember, but I do recall it was a woman. Why?”

Zhu Yun shook her head. Fang Shumiao asked, “The student council has been keeping me so busy lately that I haven’t had any time to visit the lab. How are things going? Did your project come through?”

Zhu Yun: “We’re waiting to hear back, but it should probably be…”

Should be fine, right.

Whether the project would be fine remained to be seen. The next day, that skeletal graduate student came to the lab in person.

His name was Han Jiakang. He arrived and immediately called Li Xun outside, and the two of them talked for a long time.

Before Zhu Yun could make sense of the situation, her afternoon class was starting.

Li Xun did not return for the entirety of the C Language session, and Old Lin did not ask after him either. Just as the class was winding down, Zhu Yun noticed a female teacher had appeared outside the classroom, exchanging greetings with Old Lin at the doorway.

Old Lin instructed Zhu Yun to organize and assign the coursework and then dismiss class on time, before heading off with the woman.

Zhu Yun was still trying to work out what was going on when Gao Jianhong slid over from the back of the classroom and dropped into Li Xun’s usual seat. He hadn’t even settled properly before he spoke: “It collided.”

Zhu Yun: “What collided?”

Gao Jianhong: “The project.”

In truth, when Zhu Yun had spotted Han Jiakang at Langan Company the day before, she had already felt a dim premonition stir inside her. Now Gao Jianhong had confirmed it.

“Of all the rotten luck,” Gao Jianhong muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on the doorway where the figures had long since disappeared. He lowered his voice. “I looked into that Zhang Xiaobei. She used to be in automation — no one knows whose coattails she latched onto at the university, but she made associate professor this year.”

Zhu Yun: “Automation? How did she end up in the computer science department?”

Gao Jianhong gave a cold laugh. “That dingy little lab of hers — how much could there be in it for her? She switched fields.”

Seeing that Zhu Yun had nothing to say, Gao Jianhong adopted an air of mysterious insight. “Do you have any idea what kind of figures this project of ours could fetch?”

Zhu Yun shook her head. Under the desk, Gao Jianhong held up two fingers.

“…”

She had misjudged Li Xun. He wasn’t shallow at all. They were all adults — it was only reasonable to be guarded when money was involved.

Li Xun still had not returned for the next two periods. Zhu Yun endured the classes in a restless haze, then picked up her bag and headed to the lab.

The yellow-haired oddity was in his usual place, hunched in the chair writing code.

Zhu Yun walked up to him. Li Xun looked up, saw that it was her, and pointed to the surface of the desk. Zhu Yun picked up the paper lying there — it was a formally compiled list of project requirements and a timeline.

“The sections marked in green are yours. Stick strictly to the schedule.”

Zhu Yun skimmed through it roughly.

“Why has so much content been cut?”

Li Xun appeared to have typed a line of code incorrectly. He raised his little finger and tapped the delete key lightly, then set the laptop down on the desk, stretched his long legs out, and rolled his shoulders in a lazy stretch.

“Has Gao Jianhong come yet?” Li Xun rubbed his eyes. The words had barely left his mouth when Gao Jianhong walked in from outside. “There he is.”

Li Xun beckoned with two fingers, drawing them both together.

Gao Jianhong set down his bag. “A meeting?”

Li Xun: “Wait a bit.”

Shortly after, another group arrived from outside. Leading them were Zhang Xiaobei and Old Lin, followed by Han Jiakang and three or four other senior students.

Zhu Yun and Gao Jianhong instinctively straightened up. Li Xun opened up the classroom next door, and the group filed in and took their seats.

Zhu Yun looked over at Zhang Xiaobei.

She appeared quite young, wearing light makeup, tall and slender with long hair falling loose over her shoulders, her expression pleasant and mild.

Old Lin rubbed his hands together, smiled, and spoke first:

“The reason I’ve called both sides here today is mainly to explain this situation. Our lab took on a software outsourcing project, and as it happens, Teacher Zhang’s lab had also submitted an application for the same project. Teacher Zhang came to speak with me just now, and our thinking is this — the two sides should cooperate, pool our strengths. You’ll also get a good opportunity to learn from the senior students. As for the attribution, it will fall under Teacher Zhang’s name. After all, a graduate research lab does bring a more professional standing.”

Neither side’s students said a word. Zhang Xiaobei said, “It really was just a coincidence. Director Liu was away on a business trip before, and on our end, the students were so focused on their own research topics that they were out of the loop — otherwise it never would have overlapped.”

Zhu Yun glanced back. Han Jiakang sat in the back row, his expression perfectly composed.

Old Lin: “No harm done — collaboration is good too, a chance to exchange ideas and resources. Let my students get a bit of outside exposure. Like this one here—” He pointed at Li Xun, smiling broadly. “Someone with this kind of temperament — sky-high ambitions — could use a bit of being brought back down to earth.”

Li Xun scratched his chin.

Old Lin’s words were unsparing, yet the pride and boasting buried in his tone were unmistakable to anyone listening.

Zhang Xiaobei turned to Li Xun. “So this must be Old Lin’s prized student. I’ve heard much about you.” She tilted the corners of her eyes with an appreciative click of the tongue. “One look and you can tell — Old Lin’s students are no ordinary lot.”

Old Lin waved it off. “Hardly. He’s like a wolf cub — when he gets into something, even I’m a little afraid of him!”

Zhang Xiaobei laughed.

Old Lin then pointed toward Zhu Yun. “For anything that comes up, speak with my class representative — she’s steady and reliable.”

Zhu Yun was startled, and quickly gave Zhang Xiaobei’s side a nod.

They chatted a while longer, and then Old Lin, who had a class to teach, excused himself and left.

Zhang Xiaobei turned to Li Xun. “Although you are undergraduates, Old Lin has told me you are all exceptionally capable. The intention for this project is also to give you genuine hands-on experience through real practice. If you run into any questions or difficulties, come to me directly — or you can reach out to your senior students. Don’t feel shy about it.”

Li Xun gave a slow, easy nod.

“Then that’s settled. Han Jiakang, you stay behind to work out the details. Everyone else, if you’ve got nothing pressing, get back to work. Efficiency is everything.”

That left four of them.

The skeletal senior student wore the same unreadable expression as always.

“Any questions?”

Li Xun gave a slow, easy shake of his head.

“Then I’ll be off as well.” He produced a pen and paper, wrote down a string of numbers. “This is my number — save it, and call me if anything comes up.”

He rose, preparing to leave.

“When did you put in your application?” Zhu Yun spoke up suddenly.

Han Jiakang turned back.

Zhu Yun asked, “Your group didn’t seem to be among the ones who applied earlier, did you.”

Han Jiakang studied her with an appraising look.

Zhu Yun smiled. “If I’d known a graduate supervisor would be leading a team, we wouldn’t have had to work so hard ourselves.” She turned to Li Xun. “Isn’t that right? All those nights burning the midnight oil — exhausting.”

Li Xun gave a slow, easy nod.

Han Jiakang’s brow relaxed slightly. “When registration opened, we still had a research project in its final stages. By the time that wrapped up, the registration deadline had already passed — but the company heard about the supervisor’s credentials and made an exception on the timing.”

No one spoke.

Han Jiakang added, “At the presentation, even though we didn’t take the stage, we actually had our materials prepared. Teacher Zhang’s thinking was to avoid internal competition and wasting resources.”

Still no one spoke.

Han Jiakang’s skeletal face betrayed no expression whatsoever. “Any other questions?”

Everyone looked at Li Xun.

Li Xun gave a slow, easy shake of his head.

Han Jiakang left.

Li Xun straightened up, stifling a yawn, when beside him Gao Jianhong shot up from his chair, his expression dark. “Li Xun, come with me for a minute.”

Li Xun and Gao Jianhong stepped outside to talk. Zhu Yun lay across the desk scrolling on her phone.

During class that afternoon, Zhu Yun had already looked up Zhang Xiaobei. She was thirty-two years old this year, with a teaching career that had sailed along smoothly — promotions coming rapidly — yet her academic record was thoroughly unremarkable. For an associate professor, she had never independently published anything of note in a core journal.

Lying there, Zhu Yun felt a sudden exhaustion settle over her, body and spirit alike. The accumulated fatigue of weeks seemed to bear down all at once. She closed her eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep.

When she opened them, the sky outside had gone dark.

Gao Jianhong was nowhere to be seen. Li Xun was leaning against the windowsill, smoking.

Perhaps not to let the smoke drift toward Zhu Yun, or perhaps simply wanting a breath of air, Li Xun stood by the window, far from where she had been sleeping.

If not for the curling thread of smoke, she might have thought she was looking at a painting.

“Li Xun?”

Li Xun glanced over. “The steady and reliable class representative is awake?”

Zhu Yun: “…”

She walked over. He stubbed out the cigarette.

It had just rained outside. The air carried the damp, earthy smell of wet soil.

“Where’s Gao Jianhong?”

“Went back to work.”

Zhu Yun blinked. Li Xun looked over at her. “What — you thought he’d quit?”

Zhu Yun said nothing. That was exactly what she had thought.

Li Xun smiled, leaning against the windowsill with an unhurried ease.

The school grounds were lovely. Outside the window stretched a grove of bamboo.

Ink-dark leaves. Deep gray fabric. Golden hair. The cold white glare of fluorescent light.

It felt as though they had slipped back into being old friends again.

Li Xun folded his arms, eyes dropping to look at her. “He said everything he had to say. Do you have anything to add? Go ahead.”

Zhu Yun was silent.

Li Xun smiled slightly. “There you go again. If you want to say something, just—”

“Are you really all right with this?”

Li Xun raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

Zhu Yun looked up at him. “Old Lin has always kept his head down in pure academic work — he never pays attention to these kinds of underhanded dealings. He doesn’t know. But you should. You know exactly what Zhang Xiaobei is here for. They’re even putting it all under her name — that means we’re going to be working for her? I’ve grown up hearing about supervisors like her. We didn’t have to cave so easily. There have to be other ways to handle this. And even without them, with our abilities, building this website on our own wouldn’t be a problem.”

Li Xun laughed at the last part. “The princess is full of confidence.”

For the first time, Zhu Yun was completely unmoved by his teasing.

Her back felt hot.

Who had put in the most effort for this project. Who had done the design and planning. Who had been staying up night after night. Who had built that solid, robust framework.

How could he still make jokes.

Zhu Yun searched his face for any trace of anger, and found none.

“You’re not even angry?”

“Why would I be angry?”

You strut around like you’re better than everyone, looking down on this and that, and then the moment things get even slightly difficult, you go and back down?

— She swallowed those biting words.

She couldn’t say them. Not even considering all the nights he had pushed through — she couldn’t say them.

The frustration knotted in her chest. Unable to stand it any longer, she looked away.

A few seconds of quiet passed. Li Xun leaned down slightly.

“Are you crying?”

Zhu Yun turned back and glared at him. Li Xun said, “Your eyes are red.”

It’s from holding it in!

Li Xun smiled. The small bamboo grove outside rustled in the night wind. Into Zhu Yun’s silence, Li Xun asked quietly: “Princess — have you ever met a truly bad person?”