After Hu Ke’er made her guilty retreat from the conversation, the chat window fell pleasantly quiet.

Ning Sui opened the family group, where Ning Deyan was delivering an elaborate voice message documenting Ning Yue’s alleged crimes at the piano: “Debussy rendered as the Beatles, Tchaikovsky transformed into Gorbachev — which side of the family did this child inherit from?!”

“Tomorrow the company has its monthly com-fen meeting, and my head is already ringing — I don’t know how I’m going to speak in front of everyone.”

Sui Sui Sui:【?】

Ning Sui hesitated:【Dad, isn’t your company being a little harsh??】

Ning Deyan: “……”

Ning Deyan: “Monthly. Comprehensive management analysis meeting.”

Ning Deyan: “Going forward, no playing before noon or in the morning. Give our neighbors a break — don’t wake them from their sleep.”

Xia Fanghui:【But if he plays in the evening, they might lie awake until dawn.】

Ning Yue:【……】

Ning Yue had started learning piano at four years old — more than eight years now — and was preparing for his Level 10 certification exam. In truth, that pace was already exceptionally fast, and no small part of it was due to Xia Fanghui’s rigorous oversight.

Xia Fanghui had always wanted to learn piano herself when she was young, and never managed to — so she’d carried that unfulfilled musical dream ever since. When Ning Sui was small, she’d enrolled her with a well-regarded teacher in Huai’an.

Xia Fanghui had deliberately chosen a very strict one. Ning Sui still remembered: the teacher had a short temper, and always kept a pen and a ruler on the desk. The pen cap went under your palm to keep your hand position correct; a wrong note and the ruler would come down. It gave Ning Sui such a thorough complex about piano lessons that she’d dread standing beneath the teacher’s building every week, refusing to go up.

Playing piano became a form of torment, slowly grinding away what little interest in music she’d had.

Eventually she’d worn her mother down. As her schoolwork grew demanding, her natural talent in mathematics began to assert itself, and with Ning Yue available as a successor, Xia Fanghui gradually gave Ning Sui permission to stop practicing.

So when it came to the subject of piano practice, Ning Sui had a certain sympathy for the little one.

She sent Ning Yue a poke in their private chat, signaling a check-in. He fired back immediately:【Sis, I’ve been so frustrated these days, when are you coming home? 😭】

Ning Sui, warmly:【Not for a while yet. What’s going on?】

Ning Yue:【……】

Ning Yue:【Mom and Dad are making me do junior high competition math — all these problems about tables and chairs, peach trees and plum trees, apples and oranges — simultaneous equations — I’m going out of my mind!】

Right on cue, Ning Deyan posted a video clip in the family group of Ning Yue at the piano.

——Absolutely furious. He was hammering the keys with what could only be described as his entire life force. You could see this was his way of releasing something — a meltdown underscored by a thread of despair — but the expression on his face was unintentionally hilarious.

Ning Sui put away the impulse to tease him and took mercy:【Which problem do you need help with? Send it over and I’ll look.】

Gratitude poured through the screen — he sent several photos in quick succession. Ning Sui looked them over and finally understood what he meant by peaches and oranges:【These are just variations on the chicken-and-rabbit problem. You don’t even need simultaneous equations — just solve them normally, you’ve done this before.】

Ning Yue stared at it:【Oh — actually, you’re right.】

Ning Yue:【Sis! You’re my god! 😭】

Before Ning Sui could respond, he’d already pressed further, attaching more photos:【Dearest sis, if you do these problems for me, I’ll share half my allowance with you when you’re back. Deal?】

Sui Sui Sui:【How much is your allowance?】

Ning Yue, sensing hope:【Fifty a week.】

The reply came with impeccable politeness:【Can you go gra——ciously away?】

“……”

At this same moment, Xie Yichen was on the phone with his great-aunt. She was still gently and persistently trying to persuade him, offering him every kind of incentive: “Just try it — I swear by it, it’s a proper platform. Who knows, you might meet someone new?”

“Meet someone.” Xie Yichen pulled the corner of his mouth. “This is a university social app.”

His great-aunt Qin Shufen was a lawyer, currently handling a case — a dispute between two business partners over equity in a company.

The two had built a software called “Qinguo” together, one handling finance, the other handling technology. The tech partner had been set up by the finance partner in the contract — and had come to Qin Shufen to sue.

His great-aunt had her own particular logic: you read a person’s character first, then their capability. Even your own client can’t be taken at face value, because people always tell things from their own perspective. So she’d sent Xie Yichen to experience the app for himself — to assess whether it was something its creator had genuinely put care into.

Xie Yichen’s parents ran an internet company. From his earliest memories they had always been consumed by work — rarely home, perpetually absent. But his great-uncle’s household was different.

His great-uncle was a professor at Tsinghua who taught complex analysis. It was he who had first sparked Xie Yichen’s love of mathematics — the kind of man who insisted that a honeydew melon be divided into an odd number of pieces and cut in sinusoidal waves before it tasted right.

His great-aunt Qin Shufen was one of Huai’an’s most respected lawyers — sharp-tongued, principled, and clear in her values. Every Lunar New Year and holiday, Xie Yichen made a point of gravitating to their house for a meal.

“What’s wrong with a university social app?” Qin Shufen said reasonably. “It’s a legitimate platform — you need an ID to register. And aren’t you still single?”

Xie Yichen held the phone, glanced sideways toward the sofa: “You know as well as I do — all kinds of people end up on platforms like that.”

The Qinguo app worked like this: a sequential browsing format, where each day the platform pushed twenty profiles of potential matches — other-gender or same-gender, per the user’s settings — including information like university, interests, and so on. Users could tap “heart” or “not interested.” If both users tapped “heart,” the chat would unlock.

The app also tracked user preferences, continuously refining its recommendations through data analysis.

Qin Shufen was of course aware that certain platforms used dating as a front for less savory purposes — but she wasn’t willing to condemn the whole category on that basis. It was precisely because this platform had grown large and built a real user base that she wanted to assess it properly. She might even consider investing.

“What’s the harm in chatting a little? Nobody’s asking you to commit to anything — just make pleasant small talk with a few girls.”

Before Xie Yichen could object, Qin Shufen added, perfectly confidently: “It’s not like you’re incapable of it.”

“……”

Xie Yichen said flatly: “No.”

Qin Shufen had already anticipated this: “I’ll get you a new phone when you’re back.”

“No.”

“A new laptop.”

“That’s not necessary. Thank you.” Xie Yichen, entirely unswayed, and still sufficiently audacious to suggest: “If you genuinely care that much, why not have my cousin try it?”

“What would he accomplish? He’d actually get invested in chatting with someone, and then where would his focus on analyzing components, tech stacks, and modules go?” Qin Shufen understood her own son quite well. “Here’s the deal: you spend some time on this app for me, and I will never again ask you to tutor Tiantian in mathematics.”

Xie Yichen: “……”

Tiantian was the daughter of another of Qin Shufen’s clients. They’d gotten along so well throughout the case that contact continued after it concluded — and the daughter was now in second year of junior high, weak in science, particularly mathematics. This summer, Xie Yichen had been dispatched to tutor her.

The child was difficult to manage. She followed him around constantly calling out “Yichen-gege, Yichen-gege,” and he had no idea how much of each lesson she actually absorbed — because her eyes never left him for the duration of the class. And afterward she’d barrage him with messages. Were it not for the relationship with Qin Shufen, Xie Yichen would have found it thoroughly intolerable.

——The girl was thirteen already, practically a young adult. How was she still so completely lacking in self-control when confronted with a good-looking person?

Qin Shufen pressed on: “What do you say? Use it for one month, then tell me your impressions, and I’ll speak to Tiantian’s mother — you won’t have to go to another class.”

Honestly, Xie Yichen had no interest whatsoever in the app. But given that Tiantian was the price: “One week.”

“What can you possibly get from one week? Even going to the bathroom takes some build-up.” Qin Shufen said. “Three weeks.”

“……”

Xie Yichen: “Two weeks.”

Qin Shufen kept her expression neutral, but something quietly lifted at the corner of her mouth: “Deal.”

Ning Sui had gone quiet behind him. Xie Yichen turned and looked her way once while drinking his water — she was still in the same spot on the sofa, hadn’t moved, eyes apparently fixed on her phone with full concentration.

Xie Yichen held the phone to his ear and smiled slightly: “Anything else? If not, I’ll hang up.”

“You child, I’ve barely spoken to you a few minutes.” Qin Shufen knew he was away on a graduation trip and didn’t want to keep him long — just a few more questions. “Your father really didn’t say anything to you about turning down the journalist interview?”

Xie Yichen’s tone flattened slightly: “No.”

“My. Old Xie actually surprised me this time — more restrained than I expected.” Her younger uncle-in-law had a real talent for corporate public relations, perfectly at ease charming media and crafting an image. Everyone knew his marriage with Qiu Ruoyun was the model of a perfect partnership in public — though in private their feelings were more accurately described as cordially distant — but in front of cameras they presented a picture of warmth and domestic happiness. When Xie Yichen was young, his father would frequently bring him along for on-screen appearances together as a family.

Something like a son earning the provincial top score on the university entrance exams — in the past, Xie Zhenlin would have seized the opportunity to tie it to some kind of co-branding stunt with his IT company. These past two years he’d become noticeably quieter. Almost like a different person.

Xie Yichen gave a vague sound from his nose, neither confirming nor engaging.

Qin Shufen sensed he had no wish to continue on that subject: “Alright, I’ll make you something good to eat when you’re back.”

A brief pause. “And remember to buy me some souvenirs from Yunnan — oh, and don’t forget what I asked you to do!”

“I know.”

He ended the call. Xie Yichen rubbed at his forehead slightly and searched for Qinguo in his WeChat mini-programs.

It wasn’t an app, just a mini-program — convenient, as these things went.

Registration required filling in basic information: university and major, zodiac sign, height, hometown, MBTI type, and the upload of a photo to display on the profile.

Xie Yichen browsed his camera roll and selected a photo of Zhang Yuge.

——Taken at a sports meet in Year Two of high school. A side-profile shot, somewhat backlit, the features not entirely distinct, with a natural atmospheric quality. Xie Yichen remembered that Zhang Yuge had insisted on posing with a basketball, affecting the expression of a Renaissance youth in deep contemplation.

The form still had a fair amount to fill in.

Interests, most memorable trip, favorite book and film, daily life, greatest life aspiration, ideal type, and so on.

Xie Yichen was an ESTJ. For height he wrote 183cm, conservatively a few centimeters short. Sagittarius. From Huai’an.

For university, he considered briefly and wrote Peking University. Major: chemistry.

The sections that followed he’d intended to skip, but the system helpfully prompted him that the more complete the profile, the more compelling it would appear. Xie Yichen filled them in quickly and with minimal effort — partly true, partly fabricated.

Interests: travel, math/CS, sports.

Daily life: reading, listening to music.

Most memorable trip: /

Top life aspiration: travel the world.

Current song on repeat: Kepler.

Favorite book: /

Favorite films: The Chorus, Interstellar, A Beautiful Mind.

One word to describe yourself: rational.

Far too much work. Xie Yichen submitted his profile and the main page immediately began loading twenty recommendations.

All students from top universities. No shortage of attractive women with detailed, engaging self-introductions.

Xie Yichen glanced at them with no particular interest, then — using Zhang Yuge’s photo as his front — hit the “heart” button on all twenty, one after the other, without discrimination.

The system notified him that he would receive a WeChat notification if any match was made.

Ning Sui at this point was helping Ning Yue with his problems. In addition to junior high competition math, Xia Fanghui was also having him begin self-studying physics, chemistry, and biology.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Xie Yichen appeared to be free. She quickly waved him over, with a hopeful expression: “Xie Yichen, can you take a look at this problem for me?”

Xie Yichen walked over to the back of the sofa and propped one arm on the backrest, looking down: “What is this?”

Ning Sui said: “My little brother — he’s just finished primary school, and he’s doing junior high physics problems. He’s struggling, and I’m not quite certain either. In this situation, would the conversion of the ball’s potential energy involve any losses?”

Xie Yichen raised a brow: “He’s this dedicated? Starting junior high content over summer break?”

He leaned over to look. Ning Sui zoomed in on the photo Ning Yue had sent and, following his lead, leaned back slightly in his direction: “It’s entirely my mom’s doing — he’s not this self-motivated.”

When she turned her head, Xie Yichen had just leaned in from behind the sofa back, closing the distance considerably. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath.

Ning Sui found herself looking directly at his fine features — those deep, dark eyes, black as pooled ink — and caught a thread of clean, cool post-shower scent drifting softly around her.

Something shifted in her head for just a moment. Almost instinctively, she shifted slightly away from him.

As soon as she’d done it, she felt the movement had been rather obvious. But Xie Yichen simply looked up and straightened, no particular reaction: “Send it to me.”

Ning Sui murmured her assent.

Xie Yichen took his phone, unhurried, and made his way around to the sofa and sat back down.

He considered it briefly, and asked with a note of amusement: “This is a Year Three problem, isn’t it? Does your brother have any foundation? Going straight into this after primary school?”

Ning Sui did feel it might be a little extreme — but Xia Fanghui was genuinely impossible to comprehend. Everything she did was pushed to the outer limit of preparation, urgently charging ahead. Compared to Ning Deyan, the contrast was absolute. Ning Deyan was the type who, even as the sky fell, could finish one more bite of a jianbing egg crepe.

Ning Sui: “It’s probably a bit much for him.”

Xie Yichen: “Let me have a look.”

She’d expected to wait a while and had been considering whether to simply sit idle — but before she’d really settled in, he’d looked it over and delivered a verdict: “There are losses. You have to account for the friction along the track.”

Ning Sui turned to look at him.

When he cast his gaze down, his lashes were very long. In profile, his nose was high and straight. His lips were thin, with a quiet, muted color. In the lamplight, his features had a deep, carved quality.

She hadn’t quite come back from the state of staring at nothing, and said his name softly: “Xie Yichen.”

“Mm?”

“There’s something I’ve been quite curious about.”

He raised his eyes lazily: “What?”

“I heard that your combined science, mathematics, and English scores were all perfect marks……”

Xie Yichen waited for whatever she was about to ask. Instead, she blinked at him and said, with genuine puzzlement: “Then how did you lose those twenty-nine points?”

It’s not all from Chinese class, right? Your weak subject really is something.

“……”

Xie Yichen read every bit of that question from the bright clarity of her eyes. The corner of his mouth pulled, and he actually let out a laugh.

The two of them looked at each other for a moment. He was the first to look away, saying: “This year’s essay prompt was a four-panel comic, wasn’t it.”

A student’s grade drops from 100 to 98 and gets slapped; another goes from 55 to 61 and gets rewarded.

Top-scoring model essays tended to explore themes like “the score-obsession mindset must be rejected” and “we must not judge a person by small victories and defeats.” Xie Yichen’s expression turned somewhat complicated as he spoke: “I misread it.”

Ning Sui: “?”

“I thought it was 100 dropping to 55, and 98 rising to 61. I was trying to figure out how the second parent could be so mentally stable — beating the child for 98 points but not reacting to 61. So I wrote about not becoming arrogant in favorable circumstances, and staying optimistic in adversity.”

Ning Sui took a long moment to process this, having genuinely not expected him to founder on that. She couldn’t hold back a laugh that burst out before she could stop it: “Didn’t you notice the two children looked different? The high-scoring one is bald.”

How does a person get that confused.

“I have no idea.” What on earth came over me.

Xie Yichen hadn’t been in the best state during the Chinese exam — the person next to him had been sniffling nonstop, a rhythmic slurping sound exactly like someone eating sweet potato noodles — and he’d felt his brain switch off somewhere in the second half.

He let himself tip back against the sofa cushions and stared up at the ceiling in silence. “The comic panels were arranged like a matrix. I naturally read the horizontal ones as one group.”

Mathematics supremacy. Writing vectors horizontally, were you. Truly remarkable.

Ning Sui dissolved onto the sofa, shoulders shaking.

She genuinely hadn’t imagined the provincial top scorer misreading his essay prompt — and in such an extraordinarily specific way. His Chinese teacher would probably have a breakdown hearing this.

Ning Sui: “I’ve noticed you can actually be pretty funny sometimes.”

Xie Yichen: “……Thanks.”

She meant it. Ning Sui thought he was so much easier to be around than the so-called top students at her school — those ones were obsessed with pride, basking in their own results, then simmering with resentment the moment someone overtook them, combing through every mark to argue with teachers. Extraordinarily petty.

Hu Ke’er said the boys in her year were terribly immature — fragile egos and oversized self-regard — but Xie Yichen was nothing like that. Setting aside the fact that he genuinely had room to be arrogant, just this quality of his — easygoing, not the least bit condescending — made him seem considerably more mature.

At least, in Ning Sui’s eyes, he felt real.

Mid-conversation, a pained expletive rang out from upstairs. Both of them went quiet for a beat.

Xie Yichen didn’t need to think about it — clearly Zhang Yuge had failed to grab his sneakers. While the man upstairs was still in the midst of his crisis, Xie Yichen picked up his phone at an unhurried pace and stood, asking Ning Sui: “Where’s your guesthouse?”

It wasn’t too late to head back — she’d been thinking about leaving.

Ning Sui shook her head, candid: “I’m not sure. I’ll need to look.”

Xie Yichen glanced at the window. It was startlingly dark outside, the trees swaying dense and full, their shadows throwing shifting shapes against the ground.

He fell into step beside her toward the door and said simply: “Come on, then.”

Ning Sui was putting on her shoes. Xie Yichen picked up her bag for her without being asked. The two of them went out one after the other into the night.

Outside was a small stone-paved path. Not far ahead, an amber streetlamp glowed. Xie Yichen walked with his hands in his pockets, head slightly bowed, looking at the road ahead in an easy, unhurried way. The light fell from above, rendering his profile clean and striking, the line of his lashes long and dark and fine.

Ning Sui couldn’t help looking at him. He seemed to sense it, and kept walking at the same unhurried pace.

They walked shoulder to shoulder, neither saying anything.

When they were nearly there, he felt her gaze and looked over. Ning Sui pointed to the gate beside them: “I think this is it. Thank you.”

She was about to go in. Xie Yichen watched her for a quiet moment, a low sound of laughter rising in his chest: “Hold on.”

He stood where he was, unhurried, eyes tilted down. He was still holding her bag — and was wondering how someone managed to be this scattered: “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Ning Sui blinked, suddenly recalled to attention: “Oh?”

She searched her memory for a moment, something vague and half-formed beginning to surface.

Xie Yichen was very tall — she still wasn’t quite used to looking up at him at this angle. His dark hair fell loose over his forehead. Those sharp black eyes were fixed on her steadily, carrying an expression she couldn’t quite read.

This was…… what was he after?

Ning Sui studied him for a few tentative seconds, then said hesitantly: “Then — can you give me your phone number?”

“?”

That was a rather large leap.

Xie Yichen took out his phone and sent her the number, his dark eyes still on her: “WeChat is fine for regular use.”

You can always find me there.

“But there’s no money in WeChat.” Ning Sui pressed her lips together, sounding fretted: “You started out at too high a price. I can only transfer through Alipay.”

She gave it some thought, and negotiated carefully: “Could you come down a little? What about sixty-six — or six hundred and six for ten viewings, saved in advance?”

Xie Yichen: “……”