The day before a new course began, Zhu Yun opened her book to review as usual.

The first lesson covered introductory theory. Zhu Yun skimmed through it at a light pace, then flipped ahead.

What came after made her eyes slowly grow wide.

She didn’t yet know the specific meaning of those functions, but the underlying architecture of the programs had left a deep impression on her.

This is the cross-the-river-and-die game.

The speed at which Zhu Yun turned pages grew faster and faster, the mediocre textbook rustling loudly in her hands.

When she reached the last page, she drew a long breath.

She closed the book.

Stared at the thick, bold characters on the cover.

“C Language…” It was the first time since the end of the college entrance examination that Zhu Yun had felt a blazing, combative enthusiasm for any subject.

That night she read until well past midnight. She was awake again before six the next morning, and kept reading.

By the time class started, she had worked through three chapters.

The C Language instructor’s surname was Lin. Word was he was a professor of considerable standing — just past fifty, already mostly bald, and with the aged look common to people who had spent their lives in front of computers. He was also very fond of smiling, which had only multiplied the wrinkles on his face, giving him the appearance of a wizened little old man.

The class was held in a multimedia room.

Multimedia rooms were the easiest places in the world to zone out and slack off.

For one thing, several rows of computers were all running at once, generating heat alongside the students, and after more than half an hour the air became stifling. For another, the computer screens provided a natural barrier — as long as the teacher stayed at the front, you could sleep in whatever position you liked and no one would say a thing.

But Zhu Yun, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain — as if she had someone to prove something to — had made up her mind to take this course seriously. She walked into the classroom and sat down in the front row, as close to the teacher as possible.

The bell rang.

Zhu Yun’s eyes drifted involuntarily around the room.

Not here yet?

…Surely he wouldn’t be arrogant enough to skip altogether.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the top scorer strode in with his characteristic long steps. He had apparently just woken from a midday nap — his golden hair was standing up in every direction like a Super Saiyan.

He walked straight to the back row, and had barely sat down when a classmate informed him:

“That machine won’t turn on. It’s broken.”

“…”

Li Xun stood, looked around.

Zhu Yun found it quietly amusing — the back seats in a university classroom were claimed on a first-come basis. Not knowing even that, and he’d been taking a nap?

Old Professor Lin had finished preparing his lesson plan, steeped his tea, cleared his throat, and was just about to begin — when he looked up and found Li Xun standing on one foot at the back of the room, like a stork.

He waved Li Xun over and pointed in Zhu Yun’s direction.

A sense of foreboding immediately settled over Zhu Yun.

…

Sure enough, Old Professor Lin continued: “There’s a seat available here, young man.”

Zhu Yun’s inner voice: “No——!“

The Super Saiyan walked over and dropped down into the seat beside her. Zhu Yun looked down at her textbook without any expression.

Old Professor Lin began the class.

He cradled his teacup and addressed the students: “Has anyone had any prior exposure to C Language? Or perhaps tried writing a small program in C before?”

Zhu Yun cast a sideways glance at Li Xun in her mind.

Raise your hand. Didn’t you already make a cross-the-river-and-die game?

Seeing no response, Old Professor Lin smiled. “Everyone’s quite modest.”

He set down his teacup.

“As everyone knows, we are living in the information age. The pace of development in computing is extraordinarily rapid, and the same goes for programming languages. Compared to the newer languages emerging today, C Language is rather like myself standing before you — well past its prime.”

Old Professor Lin wore a kindly expression, his smile tinged with mischief.

“But as the saying goes, ‘ginger grows spicier with age.’ There are advantages to being old. C is rich and rigorous. Whether you go on to study algorithms, compilers, databases, or operating systems — the skills you learn from C Language will be sufficient to serve as the foundation for everything you do in programming.”

“But before we begin, there is one thing I want to say to all of you, and you must remember it. Seven words: mastery lies beyond technique.“

The students below all listened in quiet attention.

Old Professor Lin raised one finger, his gaze clear and sharp.

“You have every right to be proud of yourselves for getting here. But remember — do not fall into the trap that good students so often fall into: drilling the textbook to death.”

Zhu Yun felt a sudden sting, as if something had lodged itself in her throat.

“Over four years of university you will learn many programming languages, but no matter which language it is, remember — do not get lost chasing clever tricks and shortcuts. You must learn to look at problems from a broader perspective, even with the simplest program.”

“All right — what I’ve said just now probably isn’t entirely clear to you yet. It’s something you’ll come to understand gradually through the process of learning. Now, everyone look at the screen. Let’s begin.”

Zhu Yun was still quietly turning over Old Professor Lin’s words when she happened to glance sideways and see the top scorer sitting with his head down, playing on his phone.

Li Xun was tall, and those long legs of his had nowhere comfortable to go. He had kept himself in check at the start, but gradually relaxed more and more, inch by inch encroaching on Zhu Yun’s territory.

By the end of it, Zhu Yun had been reduced to sitting like a demure woman from another era — both legs pressed together, drawn up onto the stool, completely motionless.

Her legs were so stiff.

She desperately wanted to stretch.

This class was agony.

“So — to begin studying C Language, we must first understand its history and characteristics. Who can tell me about the development history of C Language?”

Old Professor Lin posed the first question of the lesson.

Zhu Yun was not ordinarily the type to volunteer answers in class, but at that moment she was so desperate for any movement that her hand went up almost of its own accord.

She was sitting close to the front. Old Professor Lin spotted her immediately.

“Yes, this student.”

The effects of last night’s preparation made themselves felt. Zhu Yun stood and delivered the answer fluently from memory.

One question answered, her blood had fully circulated through her body. She felt as light as someone who had just used the bathroom.

Zhu Yun sat back down in pleasant relief, glanced sideways, and found Li Xun turned toward her with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and a smirk.

“It’s you.”

So you only just noticed me now?

Zhu Yun gave him a polite nod, and watched Li Xun respond with a contemptuous little hum before dropping his head back to his phone.

“…”

Old Professor Lin said: “So you see — you’re all just being modest. When I asked just now whether anyone had any prior knowledge of C Language, not a single hand went up.” He looked toward Zhu Yun. “What’s your name?”

Zhu Yun responded quickly: “Zhu Yun.”

Old Professor Lin found her in the registration book and put a check mark next to her name.

“You’re the class representative now.”

Zhu Yun: ?!

That was never my intention, Professor!

A quiet laugh from beside her. Zhu Yun looked sideways. Li Xun still had his head down — it was impossible to tell whether he was laughing at her or at his phone.

The first class focused primarily on foundational knowledge, only getting to a very basic introduction of code content right at the end.

The moment Old Professor Lin finished, the bell rang.

He didn’t keep them over. He put the lid on his teacup: “Anyone who has finished the program may go. Don’t shut off the computers. Class representative, please stay and do a check.”

Li Xun put down his phone and rattled away at the keyboard.

It was called “rattling away,” but in under five seconds he was already standing up and heading out.

Old Professor Lin brought the registration book over to Zhu Yun and said: “Mark a tick for completed, a cross for not. Thank you for your trouble.”

“…”

The program was very straightforward, and students finished and trickled out one by one. Zhu Yun, list in hand, looked first at Li Xun’s computer.

She pressed the spacebar to run it.

A line of text appeared on the screen instantly —

“hello world”

Zhu Yun looked at it, and for some reason she couldn’t quite explain, she suddenly smiled.

More than half a month into the term, the absence rate for morning and evening study sessions had climbed high enough that the homeroom teacher had no choice but to step in personally.

Zhu Yun had seen this day coming for a long time.

She had also long assumed that, given the extraordinary personalities of the golden-haired anomaly and the cake girl, the homeroom teacher was heading into a difficult fight — but to her surprise, barely two days after it began, the conflict came to a peaceful end.

Did that mean Li Xun and the others had started attending study sessions obediently?

They had not.

Did it mean the homeroom teacher had given up on managing them?

That wasn’t it either.

Fang Shumiao was the one who told Zhu Yun what had happened.

This Li Xun truly had a talent for unconventional solutions.

On the very evening before the homeroom teacher was scheduled to speak with him, Li Xun submitted a full set of prepared documents and materials to the department office. The following day, the department head personally approved the establishment of a “Digital Technology Practice Center” for first-year students.

The center came with three special provisions:

First: it was classified as a second-classroom practical activity.

Second: it earned academic credit.

Third: participants were exempt from morning and evening study sessions for the duration of center activities.

“…” Zhu Yun listened to the whole account and asked flatly: “So this center — it operates twenty-four hours a day, I assume?”

“That’s right! Twenty-four hours! Around the clock, without interruption!” Fang Shumiao slapped her knee. “But honestly, this works out well — once and for all! I never have to worry about the attendance rate again!”

The center was nominally headed by the department head, but in reality the old man hardly showed his face. Everything was handled by Li Xun. Old Professor Lin, on the other hand, took a keen interest — he signed on as faculty advisor and dropped by the activity center whenever he had a free moment.

The news sent the department into an uproar.

Speculation and gossip flew in from every direction like snowflakes, all orbiting a single theme: Li Xun’s family background. People from all corners of the school pooled their efforts, and Zhu Yun heard a different version of the story practically every day — each one vividly detailed, delivered with the absolute conviction of established fact.

Life went on as it always had.

One day Zhu Yun went to deliver an assignment to Old Professor Lin, and found Li Xun in the middle of discussing something with him.

Old Professor Lin had his glasses on, bent over Li Xun’s laptop with an expression of such focused scrutiny that Zhu Yun didn’t dare take another step forward.

Finally, their discussion came to an end. Li Xun tucked the laptop under his arm and headed out, noticed Zhu Yun in the doorway, tilted his chin upward in a casual gesture.

“Well, if it isn’t the class representative.”

“…”

Zhu Yun placed the assignment on Old Professor Lin’s desk. Old Professor Lin sipped his tea with a smile, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

A passing teacher from the next office leaned in and said to Old Professor Lin with a grin: “Quite a character, your student.”

Old Professor Lin made a noncommittal sound.

The other teacher added: “The rumors have been flying around something fierce.”

Old Professor Lin’s expression sharpened. “That’s all rubbish! Let me tell you——”

The other teacher’s phone rang. He waved at Old Professor Lin, turned around, and took the call.

Old Professor Lin had been cut off mid-breath. He turned to Zhu Yun instead and said: “Let me tell you — you’ll all understand in time.”

…?

Zhu Yun stood there for two seconds.

Understand what, exactly? You could at least finish the thought.

Old Professor Lin moved on to discussing the assignment, and the moment passed.

A week later, the commotion over the practice center gradually died down. But Li Xun’s name — simple, easy to remember — had quietly imprinted itself on many people’s minds.

Upperclassmen mentioned him with careful ambiguity. Students from his own year spoke of him with evasive, hedging words.

And Li Xun himself remained exactly as he had always been.

Absent from morning and evening study sessions. Typing code at extraordinary speed. Taking his midday naps. Always with that head of short golden hair, perpetually disheveled as a patch of wild weeds.