As it turned out, words didn’t need to be many — they just needed to land.

By the time the full round of introductions was over, Zhu Yun found that the one who had left the deepest impression on her was still Number One.

“What do you think?” Fang Shumiao whispered beside her.

“Hm?”

“That Li Xun.”

Zhu Yun chose her words carefully. “He’s got a lot of personality.”

“There’s no way the teachers will let him keep that hair color,” Fang Shumiao said, frowning. “He’s an adult — what’s with the rebellious phase? My mom never let me spend time with boys who dyed their hair.”

Lucky for you, then.

Zhu Yun thought to herself that if it were her own mother, she would have gone straight to the principal and written a letter denouncing the decline of proper standards.

She glanced over toward Li Xun without thinking.

He was slouched lazily against the back of his chair, still looking half-asleep, eyelids drooping, breathing slow.

But people like him — those who did things their own way — seemed to draw attention wherever they went, especially with the title of “top scorer” attached to his name. During the break after introductions, a few classmates had gathered around Li Xun, making polite conversation and trying to get to know him better. He, for his part, did not appear especially interested.

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

After that, Teacher Zhang spoke for a while longer, giving a general overview of the program’s curriculum, career prospects, and research directions.

Zhu Yun noticed that ever since the introductions ended, Fang Shumiao had been bent over a small notebook writing something, occasionally pausing to furrow her brow and mutter quietly to herself.

“Well, I think that covers it for now.”

Teacher Zhang at last drew his lengthy remarks to a close. “We’ll finish with one final item — the election of class officers. I hope those who are interested will come forward. We’ll start with the position of class president. Would any student like to——”

Fang Shumiao had nearly finished memorizing whatever she’d been writing. She snapped the notebook shut, put on a very serious expression, and raised her hand.

…

Seeing someone volunteer so promptly, Teacher Zhang visibly relaxed.

“That’s Fang Shumiao, isn’t it? Come on up to the front.”

Fang Shumiao walked to the podium with easy confidence, cleared her throat, and began.

“Hello everyone. My name is Fang Shumiao. You may not know me very well yet, but that’s all right — we’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted. So I’ll get straight to the point. I’m running today for the position of class president, and I’d like to briefly explain my reasons and qualifications. First, I have a genuine desire to serve everyone. Second, I am eager to grow and challenge myself. Third, I have held the position of class president on multiple previous occasions. Fourth, I possess the commitment and determination to see things through. I’d now like to elaborate on each of these four points and share my understanding of what the role of class president requires.”

Zhu Yun: “…”

This was such a familiar approach that it felt practically like her own mother reincarnated. Zhu Yun sat up straight with a respectful sense of recognition and listened as Fang Shumiao spoke with impressive fluency for nearly five full minutes.

“…That concludes my speech for the position of class president. I hope each of you will cast your vote of confidence in me. Thank you for your support!”

The homeroom teacher led the applause.

Everyone came back to their senses and joined in with a scattered round of clapping.

Teacher Zhang: “Are there any other students who would like to run for class president?”

After hearing Fang Shumiao’s textbook-perfect campaign speech, everyone’s enthusiasm deflated. Teacher Zhang asked several times without getting a response.

And so Fang Shumiao was elected without contest.

“Come by the office after the class meeting — and try to bring a classmate with you. There are some materials to distribute.” Teacher Zhang reminded Fang Shumiao.

Back in her seat, Zhu Yun gave Fang Shumiao a thumbs-up.

“That was brilliant.”

“Thank you!” Fang Shumiao said. “Hey — are you free afterward?”

“I am.”

“Would you come with me to the teacher’s office? I think there are things to pick up.”

Zhu Yun nodded, then midway through the nod remembered something and turned around.

Ren Di — the Cake — had lost all interest in the class meeting from the moment Li Xun’s introduction ended, and had been sitting with her head down listening to music ever since.

Zhu Yun gave her a gentle poke.

“What?”

“I’m going with Fang Shumiao to the teacher’s office after this. Want to come along?”

Ren Di looked at Zhu Yun with cool disinterest. “Why would I go?”

“…”

The class meeting ended.

At the entrance of the teaching building, Zhu Yun asked Ren Di one more time, and got the same answer.

“Forget it, let’s just go ourselves,” Fang Shumiao murmured. “If she doesn’t want to come, don’t push her.”

They parted ways at the corner.

Zhu Yun watched Ren Di walk away, feeling a quiet unease.

It was only the first day, and things were already like this. At this rate, there was simply no hope of four peaceful years ahead.

Zhu Yun and Fang Shumiao were busy for the whole afternoon, then ate dinner at the cafeteria, and when they finally made their way back, they heard the faint sound of music drifting through the quiet corridor.

It seemed to be coming from their room.

Zhu Yun pushed the door open. Ren Di was sitting on her bed with a guitar in her arms.

“Oh — you play guitar?”

Zhu Yun closed the door behind her and tilted her head up in surprise.

From the moment they had come in, Ren Di had set the guitar aside. When she heard Zhu Yun’s question, she made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgment.

Zhu Yun was impressed. “That’s so cool. I can’t play any instrument at all.”

“Still learning. I’m not very good.”

A rare opening had appeared. Just as Zhu Yun was about to press a little further, there was a knock at the door.

“Anyone in?”

“Who is it?”

“I’m from the student council — just have a few questions.”

Zhu Yun opened the door. The upperclassman outside was holding a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other, apparently taking notes on something.

“The school wants us to record this — is anyone in your room a member of a religious faith?”

Zhu Yun looked back. Fang Shumiao shook her head. “Not me.”

Ren Di leaned out from her bed.

“Is there some benefit to it?”

The upperclassman looked puzzled. “Benefit?”

“Like, maybe people of certain faiths don’t have to attend morning or evening study sessions.”

Everyone: “…”

Zhu Yun very much wanted to chalk this up to Ren Di’s unique sense of humor, but her expression made it clear she was entirely serious.

The upperclassman scratched her cheek with her ballpoint pen. “That… I don’t think so. There hasn’t been any precedent for that.”

Ren Di quickly lost interest and retreated back into her bed.

Zhu Yun suddenly felt the urge to laugh. She turned back to the door. “So our room would be——”

“Are you not?”

Zhu Yun blinked. “What?”

The upperclassman was standing close and pointed at Zhu Yun’s collar.

She looked down, and found that the cross necklace had somehow slipped out from beneath her shirt.

“Oh, this…” Zhu Yun tucked the chain back inside. “It’s just a decoration.”

The upperclassman nodded and moved on to the next room.

Military training began.

The August sun was enormous and merciless. The weather that year was something else entirely — hot enough that even opening your eyes took effort. In just a single morning, not only were the new students drenched in sweat from exhaustion, even the drill instructor was beginning to struggle.

“Move the formation under the trees! Take a break!”

Everyone arranged themselves in a row along the side of the path.

Zhu Yun sat in a daze, half-cooked by the sun.

Fang Shumiao dropped down beside her with a thud, and Zhu Yun startled sharply back to consciousness.

“I’m exhausted. There’s so much paperwork to sort out for the class.” Fang Shumiao’s face was flushed crimson, her eyes shot through with red from the heat. She reached for her water bottle, found it empty, and let out a mournful groan.

“You’ve been working so hard. Let me go get water.”

“No, no, don’t worry!”

Zhu Yun shook her own bottle. “Mine’s empty too — I needed to go anyway.”

The vending machine was behind the laboratory building. Zhu Yun rounded two corners, looked up, and immediately froze in her tracks.

That head of hair was simply too easy to spot.

Li Xun appeared to be there for water as well, taking the opportunity to smoke a cigarette at the same time.

Should she go over?

…Better not. She had no idea how she would even start a conversation. Zhu Yun decided to wait until he finished the cigarette before approaching.

Three or four minutes later, Li Xun stubbed out the cigarette between his fingers and headed back.

Zhu Yun shuffled in small steps, adjusting her position so she was always directly behind a tree, hidden in line with it.

Only after Li Xun left did she walk over to buy the water, and it was only when she finally had the bottles in hand that she realized her mouth had gone completely dry.

She headed back out, twisting open one of the caps as she walked.

To make it easier to get through, the ground floor of the laboratory building was open all the way through, so you could walk straight across. Zhu Yun took the shortcut through the interior — and the moment she stepped inside, she saw Li Xun standing some ten meters ahead, in conversation with a girl.

Zhu Yun slipped to one side.

“Um — would it be all right if I got your contact information? I actually noticed you on registration day…”

Zhu Yun’s bottle cap was still not fully open. She complained silently to herself.

This is way too tight.

Silence.

Zhu Yun’s bottle cap finally gave, and she drank deeply, pouring half the bottle down her throat. She was more or less restored to the living. She glanced out — the girl had gone, and Li Xun was getting ready to head back to the training ground.

He hadn’t made it three steps before another girl came running over from a distance. Zhu Yun had no choice but to retreat into the corner once more.

“I saw you on the first day of school. Could you give me your contact information?” Nearly identical words.

“Give me your phone.”

…

Zhu Yun slowly leaned her head out from behind the concrete wall.

As expected.

This one was considerably prettier than the last.

A girl who somehow managed to make the shapeless military training uniform look alluring — one glance was enough for Zhu Yun to judge that this caliber of appearance definitely did not come from the computer science department.

His reputation had spread far and wide indeed.

Zhu Yun had no idea how many girls had come looking for him, nor how many had managed to catch his eye and successfully leave behind their number. All she knew was that by the midpoint of military training, a female upperclassman from the journalism school had started leaving with him every day.

And by the later stages of training, the upperclassman had vanished, and a new girl had appeared in her place — one who came every day, rain or shine, to bring him iced soy milk.

In other ways, things unfolded more or less as Zhu Yun had expected from the start. After the goodwill of those initial overtures went largely unreturned, most of their classmates chose to give up on the idea of befriending Li Xun. Zhu Yun also heard various comments and rumors about him circulating behind his back.

What struck her, though, was that university was genuinely different from middle or high school — people had matured considerably. When faced with someone who didn’t fit the mold, however uncomfortable they might have felt on the inside, most of them chose to simply leave well enough alone.

Or perhaps students at elite schools were shrewd enough that before they understood a situation fully, they wouldn’t risk showing their hand too early.

Who could say.

Either way, after a strange lingering period of residual heat, September arrived.

School officially began.