The classroom was lively on this holiday evening, filled with excited chatter. When sudden silence fell, it meant trouble. Everyone instinctively looked toward the back door where, sure enough, Teacher Wang stood with his arms crossed, his face dark.
“Sheng Xia,” Teacher Wang’s voice suddenly turned gentle, “come out for a moment.”
Since her injury had affected her mobility, they had skipped the heart-to-heart talks. Wang Wei hadn’t called for her in a long time, so this must be important.
Indeed, Wang Wei got straight to the point: “Director Li told me about your plans to study abroad. If you need support from the school or teachers, just let us know. We all want to see you succeed in your future endeavors.”
He knew so quickly…
When Sheng Mingfeng mentioned “discussing” it, he wasn’t seeking her opinion – it was just a formality.
Sheng Xia remained silent. Wang Wei took her silence as agreement. “Then you can ease up a bit on other subjects. Some universities do look at high school grades, but they don’t weigh them heavily. Our grades don’t hold much reference value for them. Focus on learning the language.”
“Mm.”
Wang Wei continued, “Originally, Teacher Fu had found an independent recruitment program for you, but the requirements were numerous and difficult. Secretary Sheng planned for you – studying abroad is a good choice too. If you work hard enough to meet the conditions, you could get into a very good university overseas.”
Sheng Xia barely heard the rest of what he said, quickly latching onto one piece of information: “Teacher, what independent recruitment program?”
“It’s for River Qing University. I forgot which specific major, but it was something in the Chinese literature field.”
“River Qing University?”
Wang Wei smiled, “Yes, but this was originally under the principal’s named recommendation quota. Since you didn’t attend the affiliated school for tenth and eleventh grade, you’re not considered a full affiliated school student, so that path isn’t available anymore.”
The principal’s named recommendation was only available at provincial key schools – Second High naturally didn’t have it.
Sheng Xia asked, “You mean there’s another way? Another path?”
Wang Wei seemed to catch something in her tone and suddenly looked at her seriously: “You don’t want to study abroad, do you?”
Sheng Xia slightly furrowed her brows and nodded gently.
Wang Wei sighed. He remembered when Sheng Xia first arrived and he asked her why she chose the science track. She answered that her family chose it.
Now at another crucial crossroads, this seventeen-year-old girl still had no right to make her own choices.
But Wang Wei felt that Sheng Xia was somewhat different now.
Compared to her resignation to fate back then, there was now a force in her eyes that seemed ready to burst through all obstacles.
Though faint and subtle.
Wang Wei revealed: “You can ask Teacher Fu for the details. I heard the requirements are extremely stringent. None of the students in her three classes currently qualify – in fact, it would be hard to find anyone in the entire affiliated school who could meet them.”
Requirements are so stringent that hardly anyone in the affiliated school could meet them.
Sheng Xia didn’t know what the requirements were, nor did she have much confidence, but if Teacher Fu thought of her, didn’t that prove she had at least a glimmer of hope? Something called “aspiration” seemed to peek out its little point, tickling her, playfully saying: Hey, catch me!
Sheng Xia could hardly contain herself.
“Does Teacher Fu have evening study hall tonight?” she asked.
“Yes, in Class 22.”
“Teacher, I want to go ask Teacher Fu about it.”
“Now?” Wang Wei was surprised. He glanced at her leg. “You don’t need to rush. I’ll call Teacher Fu and ask her to come down after class.”
“No need!” Sheng Xia said urgently, “I’m almost better. I can walk without crutches now.”
“Then be careful,” Wang Wei said. “Take Zhang Shu with you.”
“No need, no need, Teacher. I’ll be right back.”
Sheng Xia went upstairs. She didn’t know why she was in such a hurry, or why she insisted on going up herself. Perhaps it was an emotion called taking a gamble – feeling like she had to stake something on this, then say: Oh heavens, seeing how hard I’m trying and how much I want this, please give me some good news.
But she wasn’t being reckless either. These past two days she’d fetched water without crutches and it barely hurt anymore. Still, since she had to climb to the fifth floor, she cautiously brought her crutch and slowly made her way up the stairs. When she reached the fifth floor, the view suddenly opened up before her.
Having always been on the first floor, she had no idea the view from the fifth floor was like this.
The affiliated school was an integrated building, with all teaching buildings and office buildings connected by corridors, allowing unimpeded movement even on rainy days.
From the fifth floor, you could see all the greenery, flowers, and shrubs on the connecting corridors – it was like a garden in the sky.
With such scenery, wouldn’t a single glance wash away all your fatigue when you’re tired from studying?
Though the first floor also had a garden, it was an entirely different view.
Just for this alone, the trip wasn’t wasted.
Class 22 was right by the stairs. With her crutch making her conspicuous, Fu Jie spotted her immediately and hurried over, leading her to sit on a bench in the corridor outside Class 22.
Students in the classroom craned their necks to look. Fu Jie called out: “Mind your studies!”
Most people retracted their gazes and returned to their work, except for a tall figure at the very back who kept stretching his neck to look.
Sheng Xia was slightly surprised – was that… Han Xiao?
“You’re here to ask about River University’s independent recruitment?” Fu Jie understood immediately. “You could have just called me!”
Sheng Xia lowered her head: “The classroom was stuffy. I wanted to come up for some fresh air.”
Fu Jie immediately picked up on something: “Is Zhang Shu bullying you?”
Sheng Xia was startled, staring at Fu Jie in shock.
“Haha, just kidding,” Fu Jie turned serious, “You won first prize in the Phoenix Tree Essay Competition before, right?”
Sheng Xia nodded: “Yes.”
“But now they’ve canceled the policy of guaranteed admission through essay competitions.”
“Mm, I know.”
She hadn’t entered the competition for guaranteed admission anyway – she just liked writing.
“River University’s independent recruitment program also allows admission with reduced scores at the first-tier university cut-off point, but it’s different from other independent recruitment programs,” Fu Jie took out her phone and opened River Qing University’s official website.
That night, Sheng Xia had browsed all over River Qing University’s website but never clicked on “Admissions” because she thought it irrelevant to her.
From guaranteed admission students, high-level art troupes, and high-level sports teams, to Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan, and overseas Chinese students, River University’s admission methods and target groups were quite broad. Beyond the college entrance exam, there were also the Strong Foundation Plan, Dream Building Plan, and others, mostly aimed at students with competition achievements.
Fu Jie clicked into the Strong Foundation Plan. Among the recruiting majors, surprisingly, there were History, Archaeology, Philosophy, and Chinese Language and Literature.
“This is it – Chinese Language and Literature. But it’s not that simple.” Fu Jie clicked on the admission guidelines.
“It specifies Classical Chinese Literature direction. It’s a newly established major with no option to transfer majors during the program. Apart from the uncertain career prospects, you can probably imagine it might be quite dry and boring.”
Classical Chinese Literature – Sheng Xia had a basic concept. “I’m not afraid of it being boring. I love Chinese.”
Fu Jie smiled, “Other independent recruitment programs mainly look at competition results, plus written tests and interviews. This one’s different – no written test or interview. You can apply if you meet the conditions, and get a score reduction if you pass the review. But the conditions are extremely stringent. With competitions, there are patterns to follow and competition classes to attend. This has none of that.”
Among the recruitment targets, besides the general clauses like full-time high school graduate, political correctness, etc., the substantive conditions included:
1. Published work in national-level literary journals (1 piece), or provincial-level literary journals (5 pieces);
2. Published literary work through a B-level or above publishing house (1 book, over 100,000 words);
3. Won third prize or above in provincial-level literary competitions;
…
…
Sheng Xia finally understood what “stringent” meant.
Getting published in national-level literary journals was the threshold for provincial writers’ associations.
“You’ve got no problem with the third item. Do you have any provincial journal publications too?” Fu Jie asked.
Sheng Xia answered: “Yes, I’ve published four pieces, but one is poetry.”
Fu Jie gave a thumbs up: “Five poems count as one piece so that one doesn’t count. That means you already have three pieces.”
Sheng Xia analyzed rationally: “Provincial journals might not be that hard…”
Hearing this, Fu Jie widened her eyes, looking at Sheng Xia with both admiration and shock. Only then did Sheng Xia feel she had bragged a bit too naturally. Embarrassed, she said softly: “I have some manuscripts saved up that I could try submitting.”
Fu Jie said: “Then the challenge lies in getting published.”
It could be said that this recruitment program was meant for those who were prepared – cramming at the last minute would not meet these conditions.
Never mind how difficult the first and second requirements were – even the third one, provincial literary competitions, would be impossible if you hadn’t participated before.
As for B-level and A-level publishing houses, they had very high literary standards. The whole publishing process would take at least half a year. Even with some shortcuts, three months would be the absolute minimum.
This independent recruitment announcement had just come out at the end of December, with the application period set for April 10th-15th. Publishing a book during this time was practically a fantasy.
Unless one had existing material.
“Teacher, I’ve written some poetry and classical literature appreciation pieces. An editor previously invited me to submit work that could be published as a collection, but it was a C-level publishing house, and I don’t have enough content yet,” Sheng Xia analyzed calmly.
She had planned to properly organize everything after the college entrance exam, add more content, and then submit it.
Fu Jie discovered that this usually quiet student was truly a hidden gem. “How much do you have?”
“About thirty pieces, each around 2,000 words, so roughly 60,000 words?”
“My goodness!” Fu Jie was overjoyed. Though the word count wasn’t enough yet, for a high school student to write over thirty pieces of poetry and literature appreciation was already incredibly impressive. “If you need to write more to meet the word count, how long would it take?”
Sheng Xia calculated, “One piece takes two to three hours in the evening, plus revision time – about a month total.”
A month – it would be very tight. At best it could be published by the end of April, but it was extremely tight.
Fu Jie hesitated.
Although this speed was already beyond what others could achieve, whether it could be published was another question. Investing such enormous effort at this time was essentially a gamble.
This time could be used for review and consolidation, which would surely yield good results. Moreover, Sheng Xia’s current academic performance wasn’t stable – falling below the first-tier university cut-off line wasn’t impossible. If she failed to reach that line because she was trying to meet the independent recruitment conditions, it would all be for nothing.
“It’s very risky,” Fu Jie concluded.
Sheng Xia’s eyes glowed as she said gently but firmly: “Teacher, I want to try.”
Fu Jie met Sheng Xia’s gaze and suddenly realized she had been wrong before. The girl before her wasn’t a jasmine – she was more like a snowwillow blooming from bare branches.
Precious, yet resilient; once blooming, enduring in its glory.
“Alright, I’ll contact publishers for you,” Fu Jie agreed.
“Thank you, teacher. Also, some publishing standards aren’t based on market release but on manuscript approval and ISBN assignment. Could you please ask River University’s admissions staff how exactly they verify this?”
Fu Jie was surprised by Sheng Xia’s knowledge of these matters – she spoke with such assurance and confidence. She nodded in agreement, “Then you…”
Before Fu Jie could finish, a figure burst out at the stairway entrance.
Truly burst out.
The young man had rushed up so hastily that he almost couldn’t stop at the top, nearly crashing into the wall. He blocked himself with both arms and bounced back, then looked around.
After seeing Sheng Xia sitting there quietly, the young man sighed in relief, catching his breath as he walked over and stood by the table with his hands on his hips. “Why are you running around? Oh great, so you can climb five floors without your legs or waist hurting now? Don’t you know it’s easier to go up than down? What if you fall when everyone’s getting out of class and end up limping for another two months?”
Sheng Xia stared blankly at the angry Zhang Shu.
What was he getting upset about now?
Fu Jie smiled, looking at the impetuous young man, and teased: “Zhang Shu, don’t you know how to greet teachers?”
“Hello, teacher.” Zhang Shu complied smoothly, though his tone sounded perfunctory. His eyes didn’t even move, fixed unblinkingly on Sheng Xia.
By now, more heads were popping up in Class 22. Students craned their necks to look, whispering and nudging each other, their expressions clearly saying: enjoying the show.
Han Xiao, grinning broadly, gave Zhang Shu a thumbs up…
Fu Jie sighed: “Alright, you two go back down. Don’t get my class all distracted.” They were all love-crazy.
“Are you coming?” Zhang Shu looked at the motionless girl.
Sheng Xia hesitantly stood up.
The two headed toward the stairs.
Zhang Shu crouched down in front of her, turning his head slightly. “Get on.”
“I can walk by myself.” She had been using the stairs by herself at lunch recently, and he knew that.
“Hurry up!” He seemed to lose patience.
Sheng Xia looked at the sturdy back before her, and inexplicably, her nose began to tingle.
The emotions that had been building up for several days seemed to surge forth all at once.
His concern for her was sometimes really too much. It wasn’t just her who might misunderstand anymore. Since the school sports meet, she had been constantly receiving curious glances and teasing remarks from those around them.
Though Sheng Xia had never dated, she had experienced being liked and matchmaking attempts before.
At first, she would react somewhat, but after several times she became numb, pretending not to see or hear.
After all, gossip and rumors cost nothing to spread. But responding and defending oneself consumed energy.
She didn’t want to waste her precious and already insufficient energy on such uncertain things.
But his words and actions kept making her confused and conflicted.
Since that day returning from Binjiang Square, she felt something had changed between her and Zhang Shu.
The simplest way for people to become truly familiar with each other is to share secrets. He had told her about his family, conveying a sense of empathy – the pressure she felt, he had experienced too, had been troubled by it too.
She had felt that dull ache in her heart acutely but also gathered the courage to change her situation and strive forward.
At that moment, she deeply felt their closeness.
After that day, their simple deskmate relationship seemed to have been pierced open, both of them cautiously observing and carefully probing through that hole.
Unable to advance, unwilling to retreat.
She knew this stage was called “ambiguity.”
However recently, Zhang Shu seemed to want to plug up this hole himself – he was taking the initiative to step back.
Why was that? Was it because the person he truly liked had finally made a move toward him? And was he struggling with this?
Sheng Xia wasn’t particularly sophisticated in these matters, but she was sensitive enough.
She could feel that he seemed to like her a little but also seemed not to like her enough.
At least, probably not as much as the person he had liked for several years.
So sometimes he was fierce, and sometimes he was very kind to her.
Sheng Xia looked at her leg – it was because of this, wasn’t it?
It was because of the protective instinct men naturally had toward the vulnerable, because of his guilt toward her. In such soil, what sprouted was just a temporary and shallow affection, right?
Soon, she would be healed. Soon, this semester would end. Soon, he wouldn’t be so conflicted anymore.
Soon, her tiny flame would be extinguished.
Yet at this moment, she found herself somehow cherishing the feeling of his care.
Once her leg was completely healed, there probably wouldn’t be any more chances for him to carry her, right?
Sheng Xia indulged herself, slowly lying against his broad back.
He walked very steadily as she held tightly around his neck.
At this hour everyone was in class, leaving the stairwell empty and quiet.
The outdoor spiral staircase offered a different view with each step beyond its railings.
From his back, she took in all the scenery from the fifth floor, fourth floor, third floor, and second floor.
Night had fallen completely. The distant city with its brilliant lights, the river’s shimmering waters, the nearby camphor-lined avenue hazed by streetlights, the lawn dotted with ground lights like stars in the firmament… everything was in view.
Each frame was like a slow-motion shot from a movie, breathtakingly beautiful. Against the varying depths of scenery, his back remained the eternal focal point.
This view, Sheng Xia would probably remember for a lifetime.
As they approached the first floor, Sheng Xia gathered her courage and asked softly: “Zhang Shu…”
The young man’s back stiffened – it had been a while since she had called his name so gently.
“What?” His tone softened too.
“Do you want my leg to get better quickly?”
“Obviously,” he answered.
Though Sheng Xia knew his answer carried no other meaning, that it was purely well-wishing,
Her heart still inexplicably tightened again and again.
She had known before that liking someone might not be a wonderful feeling.
But she hadn’t expected it would taste this bitter.
This couldn’t go on.