Sheng Xia discovered that Zhang Shu had become obsessed with the Three Kingdoms period.
While she edited photos and videos, he watched TV dramas. When she memorized her lessons, he read “Romance of the Three Kingdoms.”
Sheng Xia was puzzled: “Didn’t you read it in middle school?”
“I did, but I’m not familiar with it.”
“Why do you suddenly want to be familiar with it?”
Zhang Shu looked up from his book, stared at her intently for a moment, then reached across the desk to pull her neck closer and gave her a fierce kiss before sitting back down to continue reading, saying nothing.
Sheng Xia: …
After finishing the novel, he began diving into the actual historical records, alternating between “Book of the Later Han” and “Records of the Three Kingdoms.” The historical texts were difficult to read, and that’s when Sheng Xia served as his classical Chinese dictionary, providing real-time audio annotations.
Every time she explained something, he would praise her: “You’re amazing.”
Sheng Xia: “You’re exaggerating.”
As finals approached, Zhang Shu brought Cheng Zhuoyang to Heqing several times, so Sheng Xia also brought Liao Jing along.
They studied separately, occasionally exchanging ideas.
During breaks, Sheng Xia and Zhang Shu discussed Three Kingdoms military commanders, spending half an hour debating why Guan Yu couldn’t defeat Pang De, followed by another half hour arguing whether Guan Yu could beat Ma Chao.
But throughout their discussions, they were just debating—even when they disagreed, their voices never rose. When Sheng Xia occasionally couldn’t keep up and lost an argument, her tone would show frustration.
Meanwhile, Zhang Shu remained consistently calm, using the same tone whether saying “you’re right” or “you’re wrong.”
Liao Jing and Cheng Zhuoyang were completely different.
Their gaming arguments could draw stares from everyone in the café.
Of course, it was mostly Liao Jing raising her voice while Cheng Zhuoyang remained as quiet as a wooden doll, which only made Liao Jing angrier.
Sheng Xia asked confused: “Are they playing against each other?”
Zhang Shu: “No, one’s jungling, one’s support.”
Sheng Xia: “So they’re on the same team?”
“Yes.”
“They argue even on the same team?”
“That’s exactly when people argue.”
“I see.”
As soon as Sheng Xia finished speaking, Zhang Shu turned her face toward him, stared at her for two seconds, and finally just pinched her cheek.
It hurt a little.
Sheng Xia could read a hint of restraint in Zhang Shu’s gaze. She knew that if there hadn’t been people sitting across from them, he would have kissed her again.
Back at the dormitory that evening, Liao Jing said: “I’ve noticed you two never argue. Have you ever fought?”
Sheng Xia had never thought about this question and was stunned for a moment.
It seemed they hadn’t.
She would occasionally show tiny flashes of anger and extremely subtle dissatisfaction, but Zhang Shu always noticed quickly and defused it.
They had never had red-faced, heated arguments, much less given each other the cold shoulder.
“People say small arguments make romance sweeter. If you don’t argue, how do you deepen your relationship?”
Sheng Xia thought for a moment and answered seriously: “Does kissing count?”
Liao Jing: “…You might as well count on staying out all night too.”
Sheng Xia didn’t know about other couples, but she felt their kissing frequency was a bit too high. Others said the honeymoon phase lasted three months, after which, if you hadn’t grown tired of each other, things would tend toward stability. Stability also meant passion would fade.
They seemed different.
Whenever they were together, their hands never separated. During walks, Zhang Shu would frequently stare at her, and whenever she met his gaze, he would kiss her. Sometimes when she got annoyed, she would bite him, but instead of getting angry, he would laugh, pecking her soothingly while stroking the back of her head. Once she calmed down, he would deepen the kiss.
His favorite kissing position was one hand on her waist, one hand on the back of her head, or both hands cupping her face—all very dominant poses.
When he finally released her, she would be the one who couldn’t pull away, in a daze, making all her previous “resistance” seem like deliberate teasing.
Sheng Xia also had her favorite kissing position.
She liked to kiss him while standing on steps or curbs. He would hold her waist, and when they finished, he would look up at her slightly, his gaze slowly moving from her lips to her eyes. When their eyes met, it always made Sheng Xia’s heart flutter.
It was heart-fluttering.
Being with him brought new flutters every day.
Why would anyone want to argue with someone like that?
Sheng Xia asked Liao Jing: “You and Cheng Zhuoyang argue every day, in person and over voice chat. Has that made your romance any sweeter?”
“Hahahaha!” Zhong Lujie, who had been quietly observing, burst out laughing.
Liao Jing’s face stiffened, and she turned away.
Sheng Xia thought her question was perfectly normal; she wanted to know the answer.
Zhong Lujie was still laughing, “Xia Xia, stop teasing her. She’s struggling with whether to admit she likes the plaid shirt guy now.”
Sheng Xia: “Should I tell Cheng Zhuoyang to stop wearing plaid shirts?”
Liao Jing: “Sheng! Xia!”
Zhong Lujie held her stomach laughing; she always found Sheng Xia amusing.
When they first met, she only thought Sheng Xia was beautiful and good-natured. Getting to know her better, she found her gentle but with hidden depths, keeping a wall between herself and the outside world—easy to approach but hard to get close to. After spending more time together, she realized Sheng Xia was very down-to-earth, with a kind of beautiful-but-silly quality.
For instance, her sense of humor and what she found funny were different from others, often giving her an endearingly detached air.
Moreover, she had a warm heart and was very attentive to those around her.
If a girl like this didn’t have a boyfriend, wouldn’t the Literature Department’s door be worn down by various suitors?
Some presumptuous junior students had shown interest, but after learning about Sheng Xia’s boyfriend, they sheepishly retreated.
Some people were just like that—they could deter rivals without even showing up.
…
Regarding being senior students, the Room 219 group was quite impressive. Zhong Lujie was promoted to director in the college student union, Fan Jingshu became a debate team coach, and Liao Jing was already leading planning meetings in the drama club…
Only Sheng Xia didn’t have any “official” position. In the photography club, she held no position and rarely participated in outdoor shoots—because the first time she attended, she was pulled in to be a model. She wasn’t comfortable with that, so she started doing her own thing afterward, occasionally attending club lectures to learn.
She only took casual photos, posting photography collections on Weibo weekly and updating a vlog monthly. Initially, it was just for practice, but looking back, she realized most of her vlogs were about Zhang Shu—how could he look good from all 360 degrees, from any angle? This made her want to document more, occasionally taking selfies, and her video editing became increasingly sophisticated.
She never used tags or topics, with only Teacher Sprite and Xin Xiaohe commenting and liking. During exam weeks when she stopped posting, Teacher Sprite would comment asking for updates.
Summer passed to autumn, winter to spring, endless scenes recorded in her little world.
Sheng Xia’s days passed leisurely, while Zhang Shu’s life moved at an extremely fast pace, his location constantly changing, without even normal holidays.
During winter break, he was kept at the laboratory, following his advisor for research visits to various places, including Nanli, but the schedule was so tight he passed his home three times without entering.
For the next semester, he applied for summer research and spent the summer break studying at Stanford.
Sheng Xia wasn’t idle either. Inspired by her discussions with Zhang Shu about the Three Kingdoms, she wrote a collection of hero biographies, looking at historical heroes from various periods from a gentler perspective, finally submitting the manuscript after nearly half a year of writing.
Zhang Shu claimed credit: “Don’t I deserve a percentage of the royalties?”
Sheng Xia was generous, even though there weren’t any royalties yet, “What would you like?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she was in trouble. Sure enough, Zhang Shu’s face suddenly drew close, his gaze following a path she knew all too well.
Sheng Xia instinctively closed her eyes, feeling his warm breath on her face, but the expected kiss didn’t come. She slowly opened her eyes to find Zhang Shu’s smiling eyes.
Realizing she’d been teased, Sheng Xia glared at him. Just as she was about to turn away, he cupped her face and covered her lips with his warm, moist ones.
“I want priority reading rights.”
Was it that simple?
Sheng Xia blinked: “Just that?”
“I want to read it now.”
Sheng Xia didn’t suspect anything and sent him the electronic version.
So he read from morning until evening, and continued after dinner, occasionally discussing points with her. As they discussed, curfew time passed without Sheng Xia noticing.
Zhang Shu was still asking: “Song Jiang is Liangshan’s number one hero, why is he so far back in your book? Last place?”
Sheng Xia yawned, “Second to last, he’s the grand finale.”
“Who’s last?”
“Haven’t written it yet.”
“You really like Song Jiang?”
“I suppose so.”
Sheng Xia was too tired and just answered whatever he asked. Seeing his rather surprised expression, she became a bit more alert and asked back: “You don’t like him?”
“Not particularly,” Zhang Shu was characteristically honest—in these matters, he would never pretend to like something just because she did.
“He is controversial.”
So they continued their “debate” until the café staff reminded them that late-night study hours were over.
Sheng Xia was startled: It was midnight?
Between Heqing University and Haiyan University, there were several cafés along the street. During the day, they were like ordinary cafés, but at night they became study bases for nearby students. After midnight was late-night study time, and during exam weeks or thesis defense periods, it was impossible to find a seat.
Sheng Xia frowned: “I’ve missed curfew again.”
Zhang Shu calmly stated: “I brought my ID.”
The implication: Don’t think about making me leave.
Although staying at hotels had become standard procedure after missing curfew, Sheng Xia still felt extremely embarrassed each time, only raising her head during facial recognition.
This time, when she heard Zhang Shu’s account had become a platinum member, her ears instantly turned red.
What the heck!
Why did hotels need a points system for this kind of thing?
Sheng Xia just wanted to get upstairs quickly, not wanting to hear about member privileges.
“Previously, when I went out with professors and senior students, I was responsible for booking rooms, so the account upgraded quickly,” Zhang Shu explained beside her, attempting to cool down her ears. “It has nothing to do with you.”
The receptionist gave them a meaningful glance, and Sheng Xia saw her smile as she looked down!
Ah, how annoying! Why did he have to protest so unnecessarily?
As soon as they entered the room, Sheng Xia threw herself onto the bed, grabbed a pillow to cover her face, and rolled around making muffled sounds.
Zhang Shu quietly stood by the bed waiting for her to calm down, then knelt on one knee on the bed and pulled away her pillow. “Still shy, when will you stop being shy?”
This question had been bothering Zhang Shu for a long time.
Without the pillow’s cover, Sheng Xia covered her eyes with her hands and made up an answer: “Of course, I’ll stop being shy when it’s legal.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she inwardly groaned. Sure enough, she heard his laughter the next second, followed by him lying down on top of her, pulling her hands away and pinning them above her head. “The writer’s choice of words is indeed extraordinary, so authoritative?”
Before she could speak, he kissed her lips once, “Oh no, that was illegal.”
Another kiss, asking with a laugh: “What’s the punishment?”
Then he captured her lower lip, “Which law would this fall under?”
He followed with a hard kiss, seriously asking: “Hmm?”
Sheng Xia was disturbed by his last syllable, unable to answer anything.
Dense kisses fell as he freed his restraining hands.
Sheng Xia felt her armpits tighten from the pulling, her whole body suddenly tensing as she stared at him wide-eyed.
His hands and lips were both busy, only asking between kisses: “Then is this a crime?”
“Mmph—” Sheng Xia cried out in pain, nine parts numbness, one part hurt.
“How about this?”
Sheng Xia’s eyes reddened with embarrassed anger, almost crying from his questions.
Zhang Shu propped himself up to examine her, his gaze fixed, then lowered his head again for gentle, dense kisses.
“Want to commit a crime.” His voice was so close it seemed to vibrate in her ear canal, his soft, thick hair invading her neck, making her shiver.
Sheng Xia called softly: “A’Shu, I need to shower first…”
“You’ll need another shower anyway…”
“Shower first…”
“Can’t wait.”
“Then turn… turn off the lights…” her voice was as faint as a mosquito’s.
Zhang Shu pressed his forehead against hers, asking vaguely: “Can we leave them on?”
“You’re pushing your luck!”
“Unfair accusation, where am I pushing… well, not that far…”
Sheng Xia realized the meaning of his words, her face almost burning up. “Vulgar, scoundrel!”
“If you keep being shy, I’ll end up being a heinous criminal.” Zhang Shu replied casually, kneeling up like a cat, crossing his hands to grab the hem of his T-shirt and pull it up, gradually exposing his narrow waist, expanding chest, and broad shoulders. His body tensed, showing ridges and valleys, his skin gleaming like pieces of white chocolate.
Sheng Xia instinctively turned her head to the side, just as his discarded T-shirt was casually thrown onto the headboard in front of her.
The next second, Zhang Shu turned her face back, pressing his forehead against hers, negotiating: “How about combining all the crimes? I’ll accept life imprisonment.”
Though it was a question, he didn’t wait for her response, already steadily living up to the accusation of pushing his luck.
Sheng Xia always showered first, and just when she’d finally dried off and cooled down, he would come out of his shower and wrap her in his steamy embrace, holding her like an octopus, kissing her face fiercely, then claiming her pillow and finding a comfortable position before going still.
As Sheng Xia was about to fall asleep, she heard him ask by her ear: “When do you want it to be legal? I’ll cooperate.”
Sheng Xia instantly became wide awake, turning around in his arms, and placing her hands on his chest to create some distance. “You’re not even of legal age yet?”
Zhang Shu also opened his eyes, eyebrows dancing: “So you mean once I’m of age it’s fine?”
Of course not!
“Can’t be too early, who gets married while still in school?”
Zhang Shu’s tone rose in disbelief: “So you mean you’re going to stay shy for another five, six, seven, eight years?”
Sheng Xia planned to pursue her master’s under Professor Tan, and Classical Chinese Literature requires combined master’s and doctoral studies. By the time she finished her doctorate, it would be at least six years.
“Not during undergraduate! During master’s isn’t good either…”
Forget about herself, Wang Lianhua would probably be the first to object.
Zhang Shu’s brows furrowed deeper and deeper as if already worrying about the next five to eight years.
Sheng Xia kissed his chin, her hand searching for his abs under the blanket. In this state, they were soft on the surface but still had angles and hard spots, very smooth, really like chocolate.
“Baby.”
“Hmm?” She moved downward, her actions provocative.
Zhang Shu’s whole body tensed as he asked in a deep voice: “Don’t want to sleep anymore, do you?”
Sheng Xia hugged his neck, “I’m learning how not to be shy… wait for me a bit longer.”
Zhang Shu looked down, catching sight of her ear tips peeking through her hair, bright red, her eyes still sparkling in the dim room.
She looked up at him intently, obedient and serious.
“Wait a bit longer” had a double meaning.
Zhang Shu crossed his hands behind his head, presenting an open and available posture. “If you pass tonight’s test, I’ll consider it.”
Sheng Xia hesitated for a few seconds, then lowered her head to kiss him, trying to remember how he did it, wanting to copy his technique. But halfway through thinking about it, her whole body started heating up, his body temperature even hotter in her palms, pulsing strongly. She didn’t dare move anymore, collapsing onto him with a whimper, biting his Adam’s apple in frustration before burying her head in the crook of his neck and admitting defeat: “I can’t…”
Her whole body swayed and shifted with the motion of burrowing into his neck, making Zhang Shu, her human cushion, tense up more and more.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he stroked her hair, looking up at the ceiling and laughing helplessly, “You can, no one can do it better than you.”
He rolled on top of her, cupping her face and kissing her deeply.
…
Sheng Xia asked him to wait for her, but Zhang Shu knew it was she who was waiting for him.
She wasn’t in a hurry, but his pace wouldn’t slow down.
Zhang Shu’s GPA increased by a few tenths each semester, quite an achievement given his base score. He had previously said his professional courses were far behind the competition students, and there would be a gap in junior year.
But there wasn’t.
He achieved excellent grades in his junior year when they had the most major courses, and he wrote version after version of business plans, though they all disappeared like a stone in the ocean, with no response.
When everyone else started worrying about graduation theses, Sheng Xia seemed particularly relaxed. She had published two books in three years, had countless papers, and had plenty of original material, making plagiarism checks a non-issue, truly enviable.
Besides this, she still had time to edit videos for Weibo, and her life rhythm was unchanged.
If there had to be a change, it was probably that Professor Tan had already started treating her like his student, assigning work without hesitation, though he would also be protective—when criticism of Sheng Xia’s books appeared online, the old man would occasionally snap back with retorts.
The professor who had once complained “Linguistics is linguistics, literature is literature, what’s the point of putting them together? Negative times negative equals positive, cold friction generates heat” had, over three years, either had an epiphany or compromised. Sometimes he would even comment that “integration has its sophistication.” Classmates thought Professor Tan’s temper had improved, but Sheng Xia only vaguely worried—this was the calm before the storm.
With Professor Tan’s permission, she sometimes included him in her vlogs, gradually taking over Zhang Shu’s “screen time,” with quotable moments emerging constantly.
“Xia Xia, among all of us, only you seem like someone from the Literature Department. I should say, you’re what an ideal Literature student should be like.”
During their last night of talks in junior year, Liao Jing suddenly sighed.
Liao Jing was preparing for graduate school entrance exams in a different major, planning to study law.
“Yes, your writing is fragrant with ink, your words carry songs—it’s an enviable life.” Fan Jingshu also sighed. She had found an internship at a TV station and planned to work after graduation.
Zhong Lujie was struggling between continuing to graduate school or following her parents’ advice to take civil service exams.
They say senior year is life’s second biggest turning point after the college entrance exam, but Sheng Xia felt this point was coming earlier—some people started preparing in junior year, and others had planned their path since entering school.
Thinking carefully, she seemed to have no plans, just naturally doing things and accepting the natural results.
“Hey, Xia Xia, Zhang Shu is working so hard to improve his grades, is he planning to study abroad?” Liao Jing asked.
Sheng Xia shook her head: “Haven’t heard of such plans.”
This topic was sensitive because Cheng Zhuoyang was preparing to study abroad. Liao Jing and he had been in an ambiguous relationship for over a year without officially dating—except for the lack of intimate gestures, they were no different from a couple.
The reason was that Cheng Zhuoyang had planned to study abroad since freshman year; all his undergraduate activities were building stepping stones to MIT.
Liao Jing: “But they’ve been in the lab for so long, they both want to work in artificial intelligence, right? Going abroad seems like a necessary path…”
“He probably can’t bear to,” Fan Jingshu said, “Who would leave Sheng Xia here to study abroad alone?”
“Yeah, I couldn’t bear it either,” Liao Jing agreed, with a hint of melancholy in her voice.
Is that so?
Sheng Xia stared at the ceiling, sleepless all night.