In the first few days after enrollment, class meetings, college welcome parties… a series of fixed procedures kept Chun Zao so busy that she had almost no opportunity to stop and carefully appreciate the new campus. Even meeting Yuan Ye for meals had to be squeezed in during brief moments, happening pitifully few times.

But through these successive activities, Chun Zao was gradually influenced by the free and open atmosphere of higher education, slowly gaining a real sense of advancing from high school student to university student identity.

In the first few days, Chun Chuzhen worried about her clothing, food, and daily life, insisting on video calls every night.

Chun Zao answered everything, telling her not to worry, and only then did the woman focus on her own tourism endeavors.

In her first week at Peking University, she was like a mole that had plunged headfirst into the jungle to burrow tunnels, sniffing and exploring everywhere, novel and joyful, fulfilling and smooth.

However, challenges soon arrived.

That was course selection. Peking University had over 1,800 total courses of various types, dazzling to behold. Each student was allocated 99 preference points, similar to a lottery pool system. If some courses had more applicants than expected, they had to rely on bidding preference points for a luck-based competition.

Two days before course selection, Yuan Ye asked Chun Zao on WeChat what she planned to register for.

Chun Zao propped her chin, scrolling through the dense lists in the academic system backend: I discussed with my roommates. For general education courses, I plan to prioritize Film Analysis, but this course is the most popular, so I’ll need to spend many preference points to have a chance of getting in. The second choice would be University Chinese Literature, which is also popular.

Yuan Ye immediately followed suit: Then I’ll select the same ones.

Chun Zao: You have no opinions of your own.

Yuan Ye: This isn’t called having no opinions, this is called saving time.

Fine—okay—Chun Zao was impressed. Anyway, whatever he said made sense.

As a freshman with fixed professional courses and clear schedules, she couldn’t help but care about her free-spirited boyfriend’s course planning for this semester: Your Yuanpei, can you attend classes freely, right?

Yuan Ye: Mm.

Chun Zao asked: Have you thought about which direction to develop?

Yuan Ye said: Law, Information Science, Mathematics – I should go explore them all.

Seeing the professional name ranked first, Chun Zao smiled and commented: You’re quite omnivorous.

Yuan Ye: Who made me have no weak points?

“…”

Chun Zao sent back a “despise” emoji: You can run around freely for professional courses, just don’t drop the ball on general electives and public electives.

Yuan Ye was confident: How is that possible? Film Analysis and University Chinese Literature – see you in class.

Two days later, the fiercely competitive Film Analysis was hopeless, but Chun Zao successfully enrolled in the coveted University Chinese Literature course.

While Yuan Ye, who had invested even more preference points and had never lost money whether in stocks, funds, or being a middleman in games, never expected to be punished by Peking University’s temperamental academic system.

The usually digitally sensitive boy suffered a major blow, leaning back in his chair, unable to accept reality.

His roommate came out from showering, saw his gloomy expression, and asked while drying his hair what was wrong.

Yuan Ye sat up straight: “Didn’t get into my girlfriend’s class.”

Roommate Zhang Huaiyuan was this year’s liberal arts champion from Jiangsu Province. Hearing this, he laughed: “Your girlfriend’s class? Is she a professor?”

Yuan Ye picked up his mug to sip water and closed the webpage.

Zhang Huaiyuan put on his glasses, seeing him so annoyed his fingers kept tapping on the desk, asked: “Which course?”

Yuan Ye said: “University Chinese Literature.”

Zhang Huaiyuan paused, delivering a second blow: “I got into that one.”

Yuan Ye scratched his eyelids, self-mocking: “How am I the only unlucky one?”

Zhang Huaiyuan sat at his desk, opened his laptop, and logged into the system backend: “I selected quite a few courses and didn’t miss many. I’m just not sure I’ll have time to attend them all. If you really want to take the same class as your girlfriend, let me see if I can drop this course in a couple days. Then you can wait for my drop time and try – maybe you’ll get in?”

Yuan Ye was stunned, thanked him, and said tomorrow lunch at Xinjia Garden dining hall, his choice.

Zhang Huaiyuan glanced at him: “Looking at you, you seem to have scumbag potential, but you’re lovesick. Boring.”

Yuan Ye: “?”

Taking an alternative approach, Yuan Ye didn’t rush to tell Chun Zao about missing the course. Thinking that relying on hand speed alone might not secure a spot, he called Tu Wenwei at Tsinghua across the way on WeChat voice.

This old classmate had also done well on the college entrance exam and was currently studying Computer Science at Tsinghua.

Yuan Ye walked out of the dorm with his phone, stopping by the green plant wall in the hallway: “Hey, my good buddy.”

Tu Wenwei was silent for two seconds: “Spit it out.”

Yuan Ye continued in a gentle tone: “Why so fierce? I just wanted to catch up with Brother Tu.”

Tu Wenwei: “Don’t, please, if you keep talking like that, I’m hanging up.”

Yuan Ye chuckled, stopped beating around the bush, and switched back to normal tone: “Busy? Help me write a plugin.”

Tu Wenwei: “I’ve only been in school for a few days, and you want me to write plugins?”

Yuan Ye said, “Getting one from your classmates or seniors works too. Urgent.”

Tu Wenwei was curious: “What kind of plugin?”

Yuan Ye said: “For course grabbing. The faster the response, the better, the kind that can fill spots as soon as someone drops. Or you could tell me how to write it, I’ll make a JS command myself.”

Tu Wenwei was curious: “You guys need to grab courses too?”

“Not exactly.” Yuan Ye explained everything to him.

Tu Wenwei immediately made a disgusted sound: “I thought it was something important, but it’s just this lovey-dovey, trivial stuff bothering your Brother, Tu.”

Yuan Ye stopped being polite with him and demanded, “Just say whether you’ll help or not.”

Tu Wenwei knew this old deskmate’s romance brain would only get worse, never better, and agreed: “Fine, fine, fine, I’ll ask around.”

“As soon as possible,” Yuan Ye then cared about Tu Wenwei’s current situation: “Have you selected your courses?”

Tu Wenwei said, “Already done, just these couple of days.”

Yuan Ye continued making small talk to seem less utilitarian and goal-oriented: “What did you choose for PE?”

Tu Wenwei: “Shooting.”

Yuan Ye: “Worthy of us both. I chose archery.”

Tu Wenwei suggested in confusion: “Why don’t you just take the same PE class as your wife?”

Yuan Ye was quiet for a second: “Chun Zao insists on learning judo.”

“Judo?” The other end burst out laughing: “Brother, you’re in trouble.”

Yuan Ye was too lazy to waste words with him, only urging, “The plugin, remember, preferably within half an hour.”

Tu Wenwei impatiently: “Got it, get lost.”

That night, Yuan Ye successfully obtained the tutorial, stayed up all night studying JS, coded his course-grabbing program, and only went to sleep peacefully after successfully testing it on the academic system.

—

Learning that her boyfriend had lost the course despite spending all his preference points, Chun Zao rarely burst into thunderous laughter in the dorm.

Roommates all looked over, so she coughed to cover it up, pretending to be serious.

She screenshot her well-arranged, colorful course schedule and sent it to Yuan Ye: “Look at my gorgeous and perfect schedule.”

Then circled “University Chinese Literature” in it: Do you have this one?

Yuan Ye: No.

Chun Zao said: What to do? If only it could be cut in half like cake to give to you, but unfortunately I can only enjoy it alone.

That tone was as smug as could be.

Yuan Ye just wanted to laugh. He pretended to be speechless and replied with a “.”

Chun Zao fake-comforted: Don’t be sad. After Wednesday’s class, I’ll share my post-class thoughts with you on WeChat.

Yuan Ye: Thanks.

He changed the subject: Which dining hall do you want to go to tomorrow?

Chun Zao: Sorry, I’ve already made plans to eat out with my roommates tomorrow. We’re having a girls’ dorm tea party to celebrate enrollment, can’t stand them up.

Yuan Ye fell silent.

After a while, he sent a soul-searching question: Am I in a relationship? I’m not so sure anymore.

Knowing he was implying she’d been too busy lately to pay attention to him, Chun Zao explained: I just want to experience more and quickly adapt to the rich and broad university life. If I only go in and out with you every day, what if I make my social circle too narrow from the start?

Yuan Ye sent a broken heart emoji.

Chun Zao acted coy while continuing to attract hatred, like a nouveau riche desperately trying to show off a pigeon egg-sized diamond ring: Oh, don’t be unhappy~ How about after Wednesday’s Chinese Literature class, I’ll come find you and share the class content with you in person.

Yuan Ye: How long are you going to show off this course?

Chun Zao: Hehe.

Of course, the longer the better.

When the actual class day arrived in the afternoon, lucky Chun Zao arrived early at the designated classroom with her laptop, excited, only to find Yuan Ye already sitting in the back two rows, looking at his phone.

She paused by the podium, somewhat surprised.

The boy immediately noticed her, put down his phone, and looked over from afar, calm and composed.

There were still fifteen minutes before class started, and not many students in the classroom, so she found a seat toward the front.

Yuan Ye also picked up his laptop, followed and moved seats, choosing the spot directly behind her, even pretending to be a stranger and not saying a word.

It felt like having eyes on her back.

Full of pressure.

Chun Zao straightened her back, took a breath, and pretended to calmly turn on her computer.

She was completely puzzled and was about to turn around to ask when a buzz-cut male student stopped beside Yuan Ye and greeted him enthusiastically: “Hey? Handsome guy, you also registered for this course?”

Yuan Ye looked at him, quickly determining this was a fellow resident of Building 35 who had played board games together in the basement two nights ago, and smiled slightly: “Yeah.”

Eavesdropping, Chun Zao’s brow furrowed even tighter.

Yuan Ye began socializing skillfully: “Xue Yiming, right?”

The male student named Xue Yiming was immediately flattered: “You remember my name?”

Yuan Ye “mm” ed: “You kept getting eliminated that day.”

Xue Yiming sat down beside him. He was a local with a Beijing accent: “Yeah, bad luck.”

He also pulled out his computer, curious: “How come you’re alone?”

Yuan Ye: “What’s wrong with being alone?”

“Didn’t a senior ask for your contact info that day, and you said you had a girlfriend who also goes to our school? Didn’t you take the same elective as your girlfriend?”

Yuan Ye said flatly, “She and I are currently long-distance.”

Xue Yiming paused: “What?”

Chun Zao was both angry and amused, her two index fingers starting to randomly slide on the laptop touchpad.

Soon, she lowered her head and sent Yuan Ye a WeChat message from under the desk: Who’s long-distance with you?

Yuan Ye picked up his phone to look and replied: Chun Zao?

Chun Zao: Stop slandering and defaming me.

Yuan Ye cited her previous messages repeatedly declining to meet, each attached with two words and a number: Evidence 1, Evidence 2, Evidence 3…

Chun Zao learned and applied, also citing his previous lie claiming he missed the course: You’re the big liar, clearly you got into this course but lied to me saying you didn’t.

Yuan Ye: I did miss it at first.

Chun Zao was confused: What about later?

Yuan Ye: To avoid being “long-distance,” I went to great lengths.

Chun Zao laughed and buried her head low, swaying back and forth twice.

She asked: How did you do it?

Yuan Ye: Come sit next to me and I’ll secretly tell you.

Controlling her smile was super difficult, okay?

Chun Zao pressed her lips together tightly: But you’re long-distance with your girlfriend. How can you casually and secretly talk to other girls?

Yuan Ye: So, hurry up and end the “long-distance,” otherwise the girl in front of me keeps pestering me to chat.

“…”

Chun Zao, playing “dual roles,” was speechless.

Anyone who could get into Yuanpei wasn’t an idiot.

Before long, Xue Yiming felt something was off.

The handsome guy from his building next to him and the girl in front left – the two kept looking down at their phones one after another, then typing. What did it look like, “back and forth communication”?

After several observations, Xue Yiming became increasingly suspicious and felt something was wrong.

So he hatched a plan, glanced at Yuan Ye, and used his pen to poke the girl’s back.

She turned around in surprise.

Xue Yiming pretended to be attentive: “Which department are you from, miss?”

A cold, pale, slender hand reached over, the back of the hand gently blocking that ballpoint pen:

“Her?”

“She’s from the Not-To-Be-Messed-With Department.”

Xue Yiming immediately showed a “I knew it” pained expression and swiftly stood up, requesting to change seats.

He was truly convinced. These two weren’t even embarrassed – whose long-distance relationship was less than half a meter apart?