The next time she saw Yan Lie was after University A’s official start of term.
Students had attended online classes for a stretch of time. Both the school and the subject instructors were anxious about this — afraid that this kind of learning environment would cause everyone to fall behind, making it impossible to arrange subsequent coursework properly.
University A placed considerable emphasis on student development. And besides, online classes did genuinely make it easy for attention to drift — even Fang Zhuo sometimes couldn’t help letting her mind wander. Fortunately, she had a qualified study partner.
Yan Lie, although he loved to chat with her, was always serious and focused when it came to studying.
Fang Zhuo went through course slides and wrote assignments alongside him, and sometimes felt a disorienting sense of being back in her third year of high school. She even dreamed, multiple nights in a row, about sitting at a school desk taking the university entrance exam.
Although she couldn’t see the questions clearly in the dream, she moved calmly through it, writing rapidly and at ease.
This time, she didn’t just pass University A’s cutoff — she was admitted to University B as well. Then, under Ye Yuncheng’s gratified gaze, she said, just as casually and offhandedly as Yan Lie had once done: that she would be staying at University A.
When she woke up, Fang Zhuo sat hunched on her bed, hands clasped around her head, for quite a while.
She had to admit: somewhere in her subconscious, she found Yan Lie’s exceptional results and his confident decisiveness quite cool.
Time seemed unable to withstand any amount of idling — it had slipped past in the blink of an eye.
Before the semester began, teachers from each course sent out a test paper for them to complete, and also notified them that there would be another one after the term started.
Ye Yuncheng went out early in the morning to stock up on supplies. Fang Zhuo packed her luggage on her own and headed to University A to register.
After such a long absence, a thick layer of dust had settled over the dormitory. Fang Zhuo walked into the bathroom and found that, because of the recent damp weather, two small brown mushrooms had grown on the back of the rotten wooden door panel. Some of the cracks had also gone moldy — the sight of it made her skin crawl.
Fang Zhuo had no time to sort out her own belongings. She grabbed the broom from the balcony and swept the dormitory from inside out, then sprayed disinfectant into the bathroom corners. Only after she’d broken out in a full-body sweat and the air throughout the room was wrapped in a light scent of cleaning solution did she finally stop.
She looked down at the time — it was already half past twelve. She hurried to take a shower and rushed to the dining hall for lunch.
At that hour, the windows were left with only cooled-over leftover dishes, and the crowd had mostly dispersed. Just as Fang Zhuo arrived, a fresh plate of oil-braised eggplant was carried out — steaming, richly sauced, and looking incredibly appetizing.
She picked up her tray and went looking for a clean seat. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a middle-aged man ahead of her with somewhat sparse hair.
He was wearing a blue-and-white striped undershirt and half-rimmed glasses, with rather unremarkable features. He was clearly not paying attention to his food — his head was bent over his phone, his expression utterly grave. Apart from that, his air wasn’t much different from any passerby on the street. This gave Fang Zhuo a sense of familiarity that made her look again.
At that second glance, the man looked up and their eyes met.
Fang Zhuo moved her gaze away without betraying any reaction and walked past him — then suddenly heard him call out: “Fang Zhuo?”
Fang Zhuo stepped back, and looked at him in surprise. The man also seemed caught off guard, as though he regretted having called out. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, and as the surrounding atmosphere grew increasingly awkward, Fang Zhuo came to herself and said: “Hello, Professor.”
He gave a slight nod, straightened the chopsticks that had been lying this way and that across his tray, and pointed to the seat across from him: “Sit.”
Fang Zhuo set her tray down on the table and was just about to sit when she finally placed him. This was the associate dean of their college — and she had also signed up for his course this semester.
The associate dean had conducted his online classes from his bedroom. To prevent glare, he often kept the curtains drawn, which meant the camera always showed only a dark patch — making it completely impossible to see his face. So Fang Zhuo hadn’t recognized him at first.
But more than anything, she was astonished that out of so many students, the associate dean actually recognized her.
The associate dean opened his mouth and asked: “You were studying during the winter holiday, I take it?”
Fang Zhuo nodded stiffly.
He asked again: “Have you finished previewing all the material for my course?”
Fang Zhuo continued nodding, and, hearing him bring up academics, quickly steadied herself and answered: “I looked through most of it and also worked through some problems.”
The man inclined his head: “Mm. That would explain it. The paper I gave had some content that went beyond the syllabus, and you came in first this time.”
He was privately rather pleased, though he didn’t let it show.
The questions on this exam had not actually been drafted by a graduate student — he had written them himself. And he hadn’t used last year’s past papers either.
He had been in a poor mood when writing the questions, dissatisfied with some students’ perfunctory approach to studying, and had deliberately raised the difficulty level — wanting to give this group of kids a taste of what a failing grade felt like.
He hadn’t expected Fang Zhuo to score ninety-eight points, making only a small arithmetic error at the very end.
He had a vague impression of this student. He’d heard his assistant talk about her family circumstances and didn’t particularly approve of the various part-time jobs she’d taken on. But then she’d started receiving scholarships from the second half of her first year, and her grades continued to improve. It seemed she was a diligent student.
“Is that so?” Fang Zhuo gave a stiff little smile, held it for two seconds, and let the corners of her mouth drop back down.
She stared at the oil-braised eggplant in front of her, feeling somewhat at a loss. Her chopsticks hovered in mid-air — she wasn’t sure whether she should eat or not.
Fang Zhuo rarely shared meals with elders, especially not someone of the associate dean’s standing in the field. She hesitated, wondering whether she ought to look eager and ask him some intellectually stimulating questions. Just sitting there eating in front of a professor like him seemed rather undignified.
The associate dean was also hunting for a topic of conversation. He scratched at his silvering temples, belatedly noticed her discomfort, and said quickly: “You eat. You eat, and I’ll just chat with you casually.”
Fang Zhuo said: “All right.”
The associate dean asked: “You seem quite attentive in class. Do you have any plans for the future?”
“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure yet,” Fang Zhuo said. Her fingers moved, mixing the sauce from the dish into her rice. “Study hard and aim for postgraduate study. If I can’t get in, then try for the civil service exam first.”
The associate dean’s brow furrowed noticeably, though Fang Zhuo didn’t see it. His tone dropped slightly and grew taut, carrying a hint of challenge as he asked: “Why the civil service? Because it’s stable, as a woman?”
Fang Zhuo looked up, not understanding his change in attitude, and answered as straightforwardly as ever: “Not exactly. There was a poverty-relief official in our village who also graduated from University A. He taught me a great deal. I feel that doing work like his is very meaningful and worthy of respect.”
The associate dean’s expression eased a little. He said: “It’s a valid path. The country does need people to contribute to its development. But the poverty alleviation work has already shown a great deal of progress now — talented people might actually create more value if placed at higher levels.”
Fang Zhuo said honestly: “I also genuinely want to keep studying.”
The associate dean waited, but no second half of the sentence arrived. He immediately felt that this girl was simply not suited for the civil service. Even if she went and sat the exam, she would certainly fail the essay portion.
Even if she’d just tacked on something hollow, like “studying will enrich my life” or “I have a passion for deep research,” that would have done.
“Don’t sit the civil service exam,” the associate dean said. “I don’t think you’d get very far in that line of work.”
Fang Zhuo: “…”
The associate dean said, with no softening at all: “Going into a private company isn’t much better either — someone who can’t navigate social dynamics is always going to be blamed for things in the workplace. Tiring work, low pay, slow advancement. Just take expense reimbursement alone — if you run into the wrong person, they can stonewall you completely.”
Fang Zhuo shot him a mildly aggrieved glance and lowered her head to eat.
“Your GPA seems quite good. The postgraduate direct-admission announcement is coming out soon — keep an eye on it.” The associate dean said, “Many students in City A prefer to go straight into the workforce, but I think there’s no rush. Supervisors have hands-on projects that pay well too. If your expectations aren’t too high, follow the right advisor and there’s no financial burden.”
He suddenly remembered something and added: “Mm… I recall seeing your family’s short videos before. Is your household doing all right now?”
Fang Zhuo said: “Doing well. Income is quite stable now. I’m not short on money for the time being.”
“Well then, if you’re thinking of pursuing postgraduate study, what research direction are you interested in?” the associate dean asked. “Are you thinking of going into mathematical statistics and probability, or risk management and actuarial science, or perhaps the pathology and biomedical side? Or something else entirely?”
He asked in a tone that seemed offhand, but right after, he quickly added: “Epidemiology — that’s an area our school isn’t especially strong in, to be fair.”
Fang Zhuo’s expression turned perplexed.
“No need to decide right away. Take your time thinking it over,” the teacher said, quite considerately. “Choosing a master’s supervisor is a serious matter — it has a big influence on a student’s future. Talk to some senior students and ask around. Different advisors have very different styles. Some projects pay well; some supervisors are exceptionally strong in research. As for me, for instance — I have quite a few projects on hand, and my students’ career trajectories have all turned out pretty well.”
Fang Zhuo did have thoughts about pursuing postgraduate study, and she’d asked senior students before. The truth was, she hadn’t originally planned on choosing this advisor.
She’d heard he was demanding and temperamental, apt to fly into a rage for seemingly no reason, and that many graduate students had a rough time under him. On the other hand, he was genuinely conscientious — unlike leaders in other departments who left students to their own devices — and his fellow students in the same research group were also quite protective of each other, so there was no shortage of top students competing for a spot with him. Fang Zhuo had thought her chances were slim.
After leaving the dining hall, Fang Zhuo’s mind was still slightly foggy, and she had the absurd impression that he had been trying to recruit her. On second thought, she decided it wasn’t likely — advisors tended to be rather reserved, especially someone of his standing. She stood at the entrance letting the breeze clear her head before she managed to empty it.
That afternoon, her dormitory roommates trickled back one by one, offering her heartfelt thanks for the thorough cleaning, and patting their chests to promise they’d take care of all the sanitation for the following month. Then they sat down at their desks and launched into frantic last-minute revision to prepare for the upcoming quiz.
At dusk, Yan Lie also arrived at school, and sent her a text message asking her to come out and meet him.