Another graduation season arrived. Ning Sui saw all kinds of creative traditions on her Moments — seniors and fourth-years in their graduation robes jumping into the Unnamed Lake, marking the end of four years that had gone by in a rush and a roar.

By that point her WeChat was already enormously busy. Xie Yichen’s round of comments had essentially been an unofficial public announcement. They had quite a few mutual contacts — high school friends, university friends — and the moment people saw, they came flooding into her messages in shock, saying Oh my god, you and Xie Yichen are really together?!

Ning Sui could manage it at first. Then Liang Xinyue forwarded her a link from the Qinghua anonymous notice board.

The notice board required a Qinghua student ID and password to log in — she had no idea how Liang Xinyue had gotten in.

【WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT?! The Yao Program guy is unbelievable 【eyes wide】】

Reply below: 【What happened?? Just tell us already】

The original poster quickly uploaded an image. Ning Sui looked at it, and her heart rate promptly went unstable.

It was a compiled screenshot montage of all of Xie Yichen’s comments on her Moments, clearly put together by some mutual contact.

Below, a wave immediately followed:

【Holy — he basically just officially announced it?????】

【I’m in shock】

【My whole family is shook】

【I’ve been thoroughly demolished — so this is what a genius looks like when he’s in love??】

【The girl is so pretty — I’d imagined pretty but not THIS pretty 【crying】】

【Who just died of sweetness… that was me…】

Most staggeringly, a text post appeared from one commenter, who said: 【I accidentally saw Chen-master’s phone the other day and his nickname for his girlfriend is “Coconut Princess.” I cannot—!!】

Replies came pouring in:

【Can someone please explain to me why Coconut Princess?? 【eyes wide】】

【I heard her nickname is Coconut.】

【I cannot take this… this is too much to bear 【kneel】【crying】】

【I’m deceased 【crying】【crying】【crying】】

……

So for the next few weeks, whenever Ning Sui went to Qinghua to see Xie Yichen, she didn’t dare linger in any public space with him for too long. Even when they tucked themselves into a corner of the library to study, some students might still recognize them — and then track them with burning, intense eyes.

Beyond the two people at the center of it, the entire Huai’an crew was peppered with questions too, through every possible channel — class group chats, friends from both Siming Fourth High and Huahua High all somehow getting wind of it, the whole atmosphere practically simmering.

As Zhang Yuge put it, Xie Yichen was already someone people talked about at both his high school and his university, so this development had thrown a stone into still water and set off waves in every direction. Everyone who knew him came running to satisfy their curiosity. Those who hadn’t said anything in the chat were probably, he imagined, the ones who’d silently carried a torch for him, and were now nursing a quiet heartbreak somewhere.

People like Zou Xiao and Luo Qiongxue, who at least showed up occasionally in the class group chat — even they had completely gone to ground.

Someone asked Zhang Yuge whether being around Xie Yichen all the time made him feel like a secondhand victim.

Zhang Yuge sighed at the sky. Not a secondhand victim, he said — more like a repeatedly desecrated corpse. Eight months in, and the damage was total and irreversible.

The people who’d been at the class reunion were especially relentless, using the whole thing as conversational ammunition for ongoing commentary — after all, they’d been there firsthand to witness the two of them sitting side by side, doing a very convincing impression of strangers. They began knowingly cycling certain phrases through the group chat in a kind of running in-joke.

Wen Siyuan: 【Love it.】

Cui Xian: 【Beautiful.】

Cheng Feng: 【Cute.】

Hu Ke’er: 【My.】

Liu Xun: 【Princess.】

Hu Ke’er: 【right?】

Yu Zhiguo: 【【heart】】

Ning Sui: “…”

Old Yu, even you’re joining in??

AAAAAAH HELP! I can’t take this anymore! I genuinely cannot survive this!

By now Hu Ke’er had stopped calling her Sui-babe altogether and had taken to calling her “Coconut Princess” at every possible occasion — drawing the last syllable out in an elaborate trill with unrestrained satisfaction.

The entire summer break, Ning Sui endured this particular brand of mortification, until the new semester of second year finally began and the teasing gradually died down. Though whenever the two of them appeared together in a shared space, there was still an inevitable exchange of knowing, deeply meaningful glances between everyone who knew.

Ning Sui continued helping out in the Arts Department. The student arts festival was right around the corner, and she was meeting every few days with a direct-year senior and the vice department head to review and give feedback on each class’s submission. The senior’s name was Gu Yanmiao — the kind of person who was naturally confident, generous, and good at taking charge.

Gu Yanmiao, noticing Ning Sui’s appearance, had tried to coax her into taking on the role of host for the festival stage. But Ning Sui wasn’t particularly drawn to that kind of spotlight — and having just finished performing a lead role in the musical, she’d already had her fill of the big stage. She declined with graceful diplomacy.

Gu Yanmiao didn’t press it. She said Ning Sui had good aesthetic sensibility and asked her to help oversee a portion of the stage design work during the festival instead.

This senior had also gone to Siming Fourth High, and the two of them got along well. Ning Sui happily agreed.

Gu Yanmiao was formidably capable, and entertainingly sharp. During that time, there was a senior from the Arts Department who had absolutely no sense of how to read the room — knowing full well that Ning Sui had a boyfriend, he still tried to pursue her. During meetings he’d make offhand jokes with deliberately vague implications that made the atmosphere uncomfortable. Gu Yanmiao one day smiled serenely at him and said: “Han Hui, you know, you’d honestly be better suited to ancient times.”

He asked why. Gu Yanmiao said: “Because back then you could be kept as a male consort to your heart’s content.”

That was a sharp enough comment that even Ning Sui wanted to give her a thumbs up. The senior’s face flushed red with fury and he never came looking for Ning Sui again.

During rehearsals, she ran into Sun Xiaozhen a few more times. It was always Ning Sui who said nothing first, while Sun Xiaozhen would loop around her or change direction, making her avoidance unmistakably deliberate.

Since the end of last semester, the two of them had not exchanged a single word.

Xie Yichen had mentioned to Ning Sui earlier that the second-generation robot project they’d been working on was now essentially wrapped up. If there was a third generation to build, he’d do it with classmates from the Yao Program — start fresh on his own terms. In any case, he said, he wouldn’t be working with Sun Xiaozhen after this.

Ning Sui trusted him completely when it came to these things, and she didn’t give much thought to Sun Xiaozhen’s attitude toward her.

What did surprise her was that during the final round of dress rehearsals, Sun Xiaozhen came over and actively initiated conversation. The crew was scattered throughout the main hall eating boxed lunches. Sun Xiaozhen came and sat down beside Ning Sui with her plastic bowl, her voice warm and easy: “Sui, it’s been ages. How have you been lately?”

Not quite understanding her angle, Ning Sui blinked and answered simply: “Fine, thanks.”

Sun Xiaozhen paused, then said, with an apologetic note: “I’ve been really busy, so even when I ran into you lately I didn’t stop to say hi. Sorry about that.”

Ning Sui said: “No worries.”

Sun Xiaozhen smiled, then chatted casually about a few things going on among their mutual circle of acquaintances — nothing about Xie Yichen, purely items from within the department. Ning Sui chimed in here and there.

After about ten minutes, Ning Sui had more or less finished eating. She snapped the lid back on her lunchbox, ready to wrap things up: “The first dress rehearsal’s about to start — I should go check on backstage. Is that all right?”

There was busy movement all around, both onstage and off, with Arts Department members moving in every direction. Sun Xiaozhen’s expression went briefly still, and she looked slightly flustered: “Just a moment.”

“Hmm?”

“Sui, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

Ning Sui turned to look at her: “What is it?”

Sun Xiaozhen visibly struggled for a moment, then exhaled and said: “Could you… not apply for the Comprehensive Excellence Scholarship?”

Ning Sui blinked: “What?”

“I…” Sun Xiaozhen lowered her head, took a slow breath, but couldn’t seem to find any more words.

Ning Sui studied her expression for a moment — and then suddenly understood exactly what this was about.

Sun Xiaozhen’s academic ranking and hers were very close.

The Comprehensive Excellence Scholarship had only three spots. Although Ning Sui’s combined academic ranking across both semesters of first year had placed her fourth — with Sun Xiaozhen at third — this award also factored in student leadership contributions, cultural and athletic participation. With those components included, it was anyone’s game as to who would rank higher.

If Ning Sui didn’t apply, Sun Xiaozhen was essentially guaranteed one of the spots. But if Ning Sui did apply — factoring in the musical theater society, the Arts Department, her work with the Student Union, and various volunteer activities — the outcome was genuinely uncertain.

This was the highest-value scholarship, worth eight thousand yuan. Beyond that, there were other awards — the Academic Excellence Award, the Student Leadership Award, the Research Excellence Award — but none carried the same weight as the Comprehensive Excellence Scholarship.

Sun Xiaozhen said: “I know this is probably a difficult thing to ask. But my family’s situation isn’t that comfortable, and eight thousand yuan is… genuinely a lot for me.”

A brief silence settled over the space between them.

Ning Sui looked at her, and gave a light smile: “Eight thousand yuan isn’t a small amount for me either.”

Sun Xiaozhen was thrown off, the smile she’d been holding slipping at the corners. She pressed on anxiously: “But… your family’s situation must be better off than mine, right? Besides, you could apply for the Academic Excellence Award — there’s really no difference, they’re both just recognition.”

If a student’s family genuinely struggled financially, there were need-based grants available. But Sun Xiaozhen, too proud to apply for assistance, wanted instead for someone else to step aside from competing for the top honor — and there was no logic to that request.

Ning Sui didn’t particularly enjoy conflict and would usually look for a way to step back when one could be found. But this was different. She considered it, then said: “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can agree to that.”

“…”

Sun Xiaozhen’s expression turned stiff: “You can’t even do this for the sake of us being high school classmates?”

“As you said, the Comprehensive Excellence Scholarship represents real achievement. I’ve worked hard both academically and in student activities, and I’d like the chance to be recognized for that.” Ning Sui spoke evenly and without heat: “Beyond that — the scholarship is based on overall scores. I’m not even certain I’d be selected. May the best person win.”

Sun Xiaozhen pressed her lips together tightly and said nothing for a moment.

As Ning Sui rose to leave, Sun Xiaozhen said quietly from behind, with poorly concealed resentment: “But you already have so much…”

Ning Sui turned back calmly: “Hmm?”

“…”

Sun Xiaozhen swallowed the rest of what she’d been going to say. Finally she looked at Ning Sui directly and asked: “You’re really not willing to help me?”

Just then, Gu Yanmiao’s voice rang out over the microphone from the stage, calling everyone into their starting positions — the dress rehearsal was about to begin. Ning Sui returned the look with steady composure: “I think I’ve been very clear.”

“Fine.” Sun Xiaozhen let every expression drop from her face.

—

The scholarship results wouldn’t be announced until the start of the following semester — the grades from the first half of second year would also be factored in. Ning Sui went ahead and submitted her application through the online portal.

Xie Yichen had been relatively busy lately. Although Xie Zhenlin and Qiu Ruoyun didn’t want him putting more effort into FlashMap, he was still quietly helping Du Junnian behind the scenes.

He’d made this choice after researching FlashMap’s algorithmic technology in depth and evaluating the company’s trajectory — and the results bore him out. Over those six months, FlashMap’s valuation had surged almost tenfold, and its headcount had grown to several hundred employees.

With Xie Yichen occupied, Ning Sui redirected a portion of her energy toward the student arts festival.

She learned from experience that seeing a full arts festival production through from beginning to end was genuinely exhausting. The formal performance for their Math Department was the following evening, and thanks to thorough advance promotion, every seat was filled.

She sat with the stage design crew on the second floor, walkie-talkie in hand, closely monitoring the flow of lighting cues and sound effects throughout the show.

Apart from one incident during the raffle segment where the male host’s microphone suddenly cut out, the evening passed without any other technical mishaps — and even that moment had been deftly recovered by the female host. When the curtain finally fell and the whole thing wrapped smoothly, Ning Sui saw the visible relief wash over Gu Yanmiao’s face. This had been her first major production since taking over as Arts Department head, and it had delivered a solid result for the department.

There was a post-show dinner for the crew, but Ning Sui had an early class the next morning and skipped it.

Perhaps because her nerves had been pulled taut for days — it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet and she already felt worn out. Ning Sui went back to the dormitory, took a shower, finished her skincare, had a short phone call with Xie Yichen, and was in bed early.

She was half-asleep when she heard her roommates drifting back one by one.

Their dormitory was always full of energy. Seeing that Ning Sui had drawn her blackout curtain, Bi Jiaxi lowered her voice in curiosity: “Sui went to sleep this early?”

“She went to help backstage for the arts festival today — she’s probably worn out,” Yu Qin said.

Ning Sui hadn’t turned off the main light before getting into bed. They thoughtfully switched it off for her, then each opened their own desk lamps.

Bi Jiaxi still in hushed tones: “Xinyue, how come you look so tired too?”

Liang Xinyue’s voice came out strangely — a little hoarse, like she could barely get words out: “Close the door, close the door.”

When she spoke in that particular tone, it usually meant she had something absolutely monumental to share. The other two hurried to shut the door, then perched on their little stools, ears wide open.

Liang Xinyue hesitated — uncharacteristically so — and said nothing for quite a long stretch.

By now Ning Sui had half-woken up. She’d slept about two hours and was feeling somewhat revived, still deciding whether to pull back the curtain and say hello, when a fragile, charged, barely-breathed confession floated up from below:

“I finally know what it feels like.”

“…”

“OH MY GOD.” Yu Qin and Bi Jiaxi looked ready to pop their eyes right out of their heads. Ning Sui nearly twisted herself rolling over in shock. In their dormitory, apparently, no one kept any secrets from anyone.

It was a Saturday. Liang Xinyue’s boyfriend had come to see her. No good place to do anything on campus, so they’d gone and booked a room.

They’d been together for a while by now. Liang Xinyue had always styled herself as a veteran of the subject — but the problem was that all her expertise was entirely theoretical and had never once been applied in practice. This time, out of curiosity, she’d brought it up with her boyfriend. And then one thing led to another, and it entirely got away from them.

“Tell us EVERYTHING. Right now. All the details, spare nothing!!”

“So,” Liang Xinyue’s voice was husky in a way that made the air feel thick just listening to it. Even muffled by attempted quiet it was enough to make anyone’s face go red. She, who was not easily embarrassed, covered her face with her hands. “Going to the store first to get those — there were too many kinds, I couldn’t tell the difference, so I just grabbed a few different types.”

“Then we went back to the room. He held my hand and made me help put one on him, it was so slippery it took forever. Couldn’t figure out the — well, we had the lights off — and we were at it for ages trying to find the right place. But then somehow we stumbled into it.”

Liang Xinyue’s voice went soft: “We went in the afternoon. And then, honestly, the rest of it is kind of a blur, it was just — it was really, really good.”

“…” The room filled with the sound of sharp, electrified intakes of breath.

What on earth must that scene have looked like…?

Ning Sui had never once asked Xia Fanghui her stance on premarital intimacy, but knowing her mother as she did, she was almost certainly on the conservative end.

When it came to this aspect of life, Ning Sui genuinely had no experience whatsoever. Her only real exposure had been the few illustrated novels with mature content that Hu Ke’er had shared with her, and the animated films they’d secretly watched together under the blankets.

— She’d never even seen anything involving real people.

So she had absolutely no mental image of what any of this actually looked like in practice. She couldn’t honestly say she wasn’t curious. Ning Sui gripped the edge of the blanket tightly, curled on her side in her cocoon, the unventilated, close air pressed hotly around her until her cheeks felt warm — and she found she genuinely couldn’t imagine it at all.

They had been together for a year now. By Ning Sui’s measure, Xie Yichen had been reasonably restrained with her. The most he’d done was kiss her.

Ning Sui pulled the blanket over her head and lay curled up until her mouth went dry. Mercifully, Liang Xinyue’s threshold for embarrassment — while high — was not bottomless. She wound down before long, and Yu Qin and Bi Jiaxi, their faces probably still burning, didn’t push her to go on.

The night passed safely. No strange dreams.

After that came exam week, and the pace of studying grew steadily more pressured. The dormitory was saturated with the atmosphere of a final push — the coursework this semester was noticeably harder than first year, and their department was the training ground for the national math competition team. No one could afford to be careless.

Even Hu Ke’er was in full battle mode. Her old WeChat status had been: “I want to keep some small animals — BMW, Land Rover, Jaguar~” — now it read: “Working hard at studying :)”

Don’t ask. She was buried in massive English-language academic texts.

Going bald.

One comfort for Hu Ke’er, however, was that Zhang Yuge and Lin Shuyu — those two perpetually at leisure — had long since mapped out their winter break plans. With the cold season in full swing, they proposed organizing the whole group for a trip to Chongli for skiing — two days, one night.

Their Huai’an crew had five people. To make it an even number, they invited Cui Xian along, making six. They’d set off the moment exams ended.

Ning Sui had never skied before. It was on her list of things she desperately wanted to try, and she was genuinely looking forward to it. On the day of departure, Xie Yichen rented a six-seater car and drove them all himself — a journey of over two hours.

Ning Sui had stayed up late the night before. Xie Yichen drove with smooth, steady hands, and however long the drive lasted, she slept every minute of it.

She was woken up to find they’d already arrived at the hotel Zhang Yuge had reserved.

He’d chosen a fairly upscale five-star place — the exterior looked clean and elegant. The entrance was busy, cars pulling in and out in a constant stream, the lobby inside a bustling flow of people at the height of peak season.

“Two triple rooms.” Zhang Yuge strolled up to the front desk with easy confidence, pulled up his phone, and began liaising with the receptionist — but after a few brief exchanges, his expression started to shift in an unfavorable direction.

Lin Shuyu noticed and sidled over: “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

Zhang Yuge glanced at the others behind him, visibly cringing: “I’m an idiot.”

“?”

“I thought I’d booked on the app, but turns out the booking didn’t go through.”

“What the hell! Could you be any more useless?!” Lin Shuyu couldn’t help smacking him. “So what do we do now?!”

Everyone looked at each other. The receptionist cut in at that point: “We no longer have twin rooms available. What we do have left are three king room suites — would you be willing to consider those?”

“…”

Three rooms, each with one large bed. Two people per room, three rooms total.

Lin Shuyu, whose brain was apparently still loading: “Uh, so how do we divide up?”

There was a brief, loaded pause. Zhang Yuge’s eyes lit up with sharp intelligence. He slapped a hand over Lin Shuyu’s mouth: “What do you mean how — just figure it out. Be quiet.”