“One final check.” Zhu Yun placed the registration form in front of Li Xun. Li Xun was thoroughly exasperated. “How many times have you already checked it?”

Zhu Yun said evenly, “When did you ever actually read it carefully? I filled out this entire form myself.”

She sat beside Li Xun and went through it with him item by item.

“Also — once this form is submitted, it can’t be changed. Everything that follows, including traveling to the capital for the finals after passing the preliminary round, and all communications with the panel of expert judges, you are required to attend every single one. And furthermore—”

Li Xun snatched the form out of her hands.

“Hey!” Zhu Yun reached to grab it back, but Li Xun simply raised his arm — tall as he was — and there was nothing she could do.

Li Xun folded the form in his hand and tossed it to Gao Jianhong. “Put that away.”

Gao Jianhong took it with a smile.

Mid-April: registration confirmed. Late April: their competition entry was essentially complete.

There was still nearly two weeks to go before the preliminary round.

Zhu Yun went to find Li Xun and asked to be given work on the base’s projects.

“Look at you,” Li Xun gave a derisive laugh. “Already got enough bandwidth to juggle two things at once, have you?”

Zhu Yun: “…”

Trying to help and still getting mocked — there was nowhere else in the world quite like this.

In the end, Li Xun didn’t give Zhu Yun anything to do.

“Didn’t you say winning was non-negotiable? Then everything else can wait until after we win.”

So for the remaining two weeks, Zhu Yun stayed buried in the competition entry, testing the data over and over again. By the end, she had even pushed through one more software update.

At last, the day of the preliminary round arrived.

The preliminary round took the form of a remote submission. That morning, Zhu Yun was up at the crack of dawn and was the first to arrive at the base.

“Well, well — didn’t leave all night, did we?” The top scholar Li Xun walked in, bag in hand.

Zhu Yun turned around. Li Xun glanced at her screen. “Click send. What are you waiting for?”

Zhu Yun looked at him and asked quietly, “Do you think… should we run one more test?”

Li Xun switched on his own computer and leaned against the desk, drinking from his water bottle.

“Everything’s already packaged. What’s the point of testing now? Just submit it.”

Zhu Yun’s index finger hovered over the mouse, moving up and down several times without clicking.

“What if the platform has issues?” she said anxiously.

“The competition platform only supports three systems — Windows, Linux, Unix. It would be hard for anything to go wrong.”

Zhu Yun was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “But what if—” She’d barely gotten half the sentence out before Li Xun, no longer willing to listen, simply reached over and pressed submit for her. Whoosh — the email was gone.

Zhu Yun stared at the “Sent Successfully” notification on the screen, stunned for a long moment, then sank back in her chair.

She hadn’t slept the whole night before — her mind had been entirely consumed by the competition. She’d been a bundle of nerves while the entry was still unsent; now that it was gone, she was surprised to find herself breathing freely.

Li Xun dealt with a few things at the base, then tugged Zhu Yun toward the academic building.

“Come on. Class.”

Zhu Yun floated through the first lecture, barely held on through the second, and finally crumpled in Professor Lin’s class. She dozed off in a haze right under the old professor’s nose, and by the time she woke up the class was already over.

That afternoon, Zhu Yun went to hand in an assignment to Professor Lin, with Gao Jianhong in tow.

Gao Jianhong was just as anxious about the competition as Zhu Yun, and kept grilling Professor Lin about their situation until the old man was almost dizzy from the questioning.

“Goodness, the two of you — what are you so worked up about?” Professor Lin said, lifting his teacup. “This is only the preliminaries. Do you honestly think your entry won’t make it to the finals?”

Gao Jianhong said with a smile, “Asking more questions just puts our minds at ease.”

“You’re all being far too dramatic, every one of you, trembling like this.” Professor Lin made a dismissive sound, then added, “…Though I’m forever telling that insufferable Li Xun he’s too arrogant, sometimes you do need to take a page from his book. Young people should have confidence in themselves.”

Zhu Yun stood to one side, speechless. When have you ever sincerely meant it when you scold him…?

“Oh, right.” Professor Lin suddenly set down his teacup and began rummaging through his bag. “I nearly forgot.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers. “The competition directory for all schools has been compiled — I had it printed. Take it and have a look.”

Zhu Yun’s heart gave a jolt. Gao Jianhong was already reaching over to take the directory and paging through it. “Professor Lin, have you looked at this already? Can you help us analyze the competition?”

Professor Lin said, “What is there to analyze? There are only so many schools with strong computer science programs, plus a handful of national defense universities. Nothing to break down — let your abilities speak for themselves. Take a look for yourselves.”

Gao Jianhong browsed through it while Zhu Yun stood too far back to get a proper look, so she simply waited.

Professor Lin continued, “I’ve already reviewed your entry. Judging by previous years’ standards, there’s absolutely no question you’ll advance. As for your final placing, that will depend on the overall direction of this year’s competition — the focus shifts somewhat from year to year.”

Leaving Professor Lin’s office, Zhu Yun seized the directory and flipped rapidly through it. When she reached a particular school’s name, she stopped cold.

Fang Zhijing had indeed entered the competition — and was listed as team leader.

Zhu Yun read on to their competition entry: “USB Smart Encryption Adapter Interface.”

Back at the base, Zhu Yun went online and spent several hours reading through product listings and academic papers on USB encryption devices without saying a word.

Finally, as the sun sank low, Zhu Yun looked up with a furrowed brow and asked the person beside her, “Can you build an encryption adapter interface for a USB device?”

Li Xun looked up from his screen. “What?”

Zhu Yun repeated herself. Li Xun tilted his head to one side and said lazily, “Turn my back for one second and you’re off cooking up something again.”

Zhu Yun: “I’m asking seriously. Can you do it?”

Li Xun studied her expression, stroked his chin, and thought it over. “An encryption adapter… if you only need it to be functional, you’d use a microcontroller as the main processor, then work out the interface chip. I’m not very well-versed on the hardware side — that would take some research. The software would be straightforward enough: handle the interface firmware and key management and you’re done.”

Zhu Yun: “How difficult would it be?”

Li Xun gave her a sidelong look. “What’s going on, Princess? Outsourcing work to the base now?”

Zhu Yun: “…”

Li Xun curled the corner of his mouth approvingly. “Not bad — you’ve learned to find your own business. Let me make one thing clear upfront: know your worth, don’t undersell yourself. We don’t come cheap.”

Zhu Yun had been reading papers all afternoon and her head was pounding. She didn’t have the energy to go back and forth with Li Xun. She took a slow, deep breath and said, one word at a time: “I’m just asking — if you did it, how many days would it take?”

The more urgent she was, the more relaxed Li Xun became. In the end he simply tilted his chair to one side, propped his arm on the desk, and smiled. “The number of days depends on the price.”

Zhu Yun: “If the price makes you extremely, completely satisfied, and you gave it everything you had — how long?”

Li Xun looked at Zhu Yun’s intent, bright-eyed expression. “That depends on the requirements. There are countless encryption methods in the world, and they vary enormously in complexity. High-level encryption development could take any amount of time. If you only need the basic function of an encryption adapter, it can be done very quickly.” He paused, then said matter-of-factly, “What’s going on? These are things you should already know as common sense — why are you asking me?”

Zhu Yun wasn’t entirely sure herself. She simply wanted to ask Li Xun — as though asking him would be enough to set her mind at ease.

“I’m going to eat.” Zhu Yun closed her laptop.

Li Xun watched her retreating figure with a thoughtful expression.

After a moment, he stood up, reached out, and took the competition directory that Zhu Yun had been reading all afternoon and left tucked inside a book.

That night, Zhu Yun stood on the balcony smoking.

She leaned back against the railing, head tilted high, looking up at the night sky.

Still no stars.

Zhu Yun was puzzled. This city was considered to have one of the better environments in the country — so why couldn’t she ever see the stars?

About a week later, the preliminary results came in. Zhu Yun’s group had advanced to the finals without any surprises.

Three teams from their school had entered the competition. Two had made it to the finals.

Zhu Yun sat in front of her computer in a daze.

On the other side of the room, Gao Jianhong was going over the finals format with Li Xun.

“The presentation is only ten minutes, followed by a demonstration of the entry. You’re required to coherently showcase the innovation, technical approach, and potential applications of your work to the panel of experts within that time frame.”

Gao Jianhong read out the requirements word for word to Li Xun.

“Then there’s a defense session at the end — pay particular attention to this part. It says right here: ‘Answers should be delivered with confidence, but never with arrogance or self-promotion. A humble and objective attitude must be maintained at all times.’ Li Xun, do you see these words? Humble! Objective! …Li Xun? Are you even listening? Hey!”

Gao Jianhong called out several times without getting a response.

Li Xun was leaning beside him, smoking, his gaze drifting in another direction — toward Zhu Yun, who was still sitting in her daze.

Gao Jianhong frowned. “What is going on with the two of you?”

Zhu Yun snapped back to attention and quickly came over with her notebook and pen.

Gao Jianhong ran through the finals format once more, and at the end reiterated, “Li Xun, your manner during the defense absolutely has to be appropriate.”

Li Xun said flatly, “If you’re that worried about it, you do the defense.”

Gao Jianhong: “By convention, it’s always the team leader who does the defense.”

Zhu Yun also said to Li Xun, “You’re the strongest of us. You defending is the safest option.”

Li Xun glanced at her through the cigarette smoke and said nothing.

“That’s settled then.” Gao Jianhong pushed his notebook forward. “There’s still quite a bit of time before the finals. We can do another polish on the program.”

Time flowed on, unhurried.

One afternoon, Zhu Yun was writing code at the base. In the midday stupor, she had laid her head down on the desk for a short nap. When she woke, the sweat at the corner of her eyes stung as it ran in.

It was late June. The heat had grown fierce.

Zhu Yun looked out the window.

Sunlight filtered through the bamboo grove and fell across the stone-paved path in shifting, dappled patches.

Most of the semester’s coursework was essentially done. They had entered the revision period now, and exam week was right around the corner. Once exams finished, they’d be on break by mid-July.

Time had gone by so fast.

Zhu Yun turned her head and saw the person beside her, fingers moving over the keyboard.

Summer afternoons drained the energy from everything. The air conditioning wasn’t on yet, and the room was stuffy. On the cold surface of the iced drinks they’d bought back at lunch, a faint film of condensation had formed, gathering bit by bit in silence before slipping soundlessly down the side.

In the blink of an eye, their first year was nearly over.

This year, Zhu Yun’s mother hadn’t placed any particular demands on her end-of-semester grades. Knowing she had been deep in competition preparation, her mother had called a few times to check in. Each time, Zhu Yun had told her not to worry.

She should be able to rest easy.

Everything that could be done had been done. She had given it her all, and she refused to believe she couldn’t beat Fang Zhijing.

Since the finals were scheduled for late July, there were nearly two weeks left after the break began when they’d still need to stay on campus. To make management easier, the school had consolidated all students staying behind into one building. Li Xun, on his own schedule entirely — as usual out of step with ordinary people — simply went to stay at Ren Di’s studio.

Their competition entry was tested and updated so many times that in the end even Professor Lin couldn’t bring himself to look at it anymore.

He left them with the words: “If this team makes any more mistakes, I’m retiring on the spot” — and then turned his full attention to the other competing team.

And so another two weeks passed. On a clear and tranquil morning, Professor Lin led both of the school’s competing teams and boarded a flight to the capital.