This bout of embarrassment ought, by rights, to have been shared equally among three people. But with Yu Qingjiang at the forefront absorbing most of it, the other two roommates quietly took a step back, removing themselves from the battlefield and pretending nothing had happened.

Every patch of skin on Yu Qingjiang’s body erupted in goosebumps all at once, as though she’d touched a live wire. In those few seconds of silence, her entire life had already passed before her eyes.

Life is so brief, she reflected. And yet there are so many ways to perish.

Fortunately, Yan Lie’s expression was maddeningly hard to read — he showed not the faintest sign of hostility. Yu Qingjiang stretched out a dry, stiff smile and attempted to bluff her way through.

Fang Zhuo gave Yan Lie a light kick with her foot. He took the hint with magnanimous generosity and said: “I was joking. I’m taking Fang Zhuo to the canteen now.”

Yu Qingjiang exhaled with relief, and before she’d thought too carefully about it, the words tumbled out: “Please, go right ahead. We don’t need attending to.”

Fang Zhuo: …?

Yan Lie pulled Fang Zhuo close by the shoulder and laughed. “Alright then, I’ll go and attend to our Zhuozhuo first — get her some dinner, and bring her back later.”

People are forever locked in a long and arduous battle with their own mouths. Yu Qingjiang, having made such a thorough spectacle of herself, found she had no particular fear left. She actually steadied herself and attempted one last recovery: “Actually, the scoundrel I mentioned — it wasn’t you. It was… not someone like you.”

“Thank you,” Yan Lie said politely.

Once they’d walked out of earshot, Yu Qingjiang let out a long, drawn-out breath. “Good thing I have a pretty average face,” she said in relief. “He probably won’t remember me.”

The other two roommates: …Is that actually realistic?

Yan Lie had chosen the canteen near the east gate of the residential area — the one the students called “Third Canteen” — because a particular cook there did Sichuan-style dishes, and the spicy tofu and chili chicken he made were, at a glance, exactly the kind of thing Fang Zhuo would love.

Two of Fang Zhuo’s roommates were local students who couldn’t eat spicy food; they preferred to go to the food court upstairs in First Canteen, where the stalls were mostly run by outside vendors and were comparatively expensive. So since the semester began, Fang Zhuo had already eaten several meals of plain rice dishes in a row.

Yan Lie ordered her a bowl of noodles, then collected several small side dishes and arranged them over the top of the noodles, turning that seven-yuan bowl into something that looked almost extravagant. He looked at her face for a moment, then said with mild suspicion: “Haven’t you been eating properly lately?”

Fang Zhuo rubbed her eyes. The cold air from the canteen’s air conditioning was making her drowsy. “I have been eating,” she said. “It’s just so hot. Summer is the right season for losing weight.”

The canteen had air conditioning, but the smell left something to be desired. A cleaning lady passed by carrying a bucket, adding a thread of disinfectant to the already poorly ventilated air.

Yan Lie leaned one elbow lightly on the table, holding his chopsticks, his gaze never leaving the person across from him. He watched her bow her head and eat with quiet concentration, then said softly: “I hope every day you get to eat the food you love.”

Fang Zhuo’s gaze drifted slightly toward him from the corner of her eye, then quickly came back. Yan Lie’s train of thought had already leapt forward, and he followed up in rapid succession: “And I hope every day you get to see the person you love!”

Fang Zhuo: …

She knew it.

Yan Lie couldn’t stop laughing at his own joke.

The two of them sat in a corner that was far from quiet, eating a long-awaited dinner together.

After leaving the canteen, Yan Lie walked her to the entrance of the dormitory building.

Fang Zhuo was about to swipe her card to enter. She had just reached into her pocket when she turned back.

Yan Lie saw her coming closer and stepped back a pace. “Don’t hug me — I haven’t showered yet.”

“Neither have I,” Fang Zhuo said.

“So this is what they call being drawn together by the same scent?” he said with a quiet laugh.

Fang Zhuo gave him a brief hug. She heard Yan Lie murmur near her ear: “Still my favorite smell.”

Terribly sweet. What was wrong with this person?

Fang Zhuo let go of him, looked away from his face, and jogged back to the dormitory.

Her roommates were sitting inside eating snacks. When Fang Zhuo pushed open the door, the conversation stopped.

Several pairs of eyes turned toward her in perfect unison. For a brief moment, time seemed to hold still. Then the excitement broke loose and the interrogators came at her all at once in chaotic chorus.

“When did you and Yan Lie get together?”

“Why did I hear from someone that he was still single?”

“Do you have any idea how awkward today was? If you’d just tipped us off a little, none of that would have happened!”

“Answer my question first!”

Fang Zhuo picked up her cup from the table, walked to the water dispenser, and answered without missing a beat: “Over the summer.”

“Oh —” A round of exaggerated gasps.

Fang Zhuo filled her cup, straightened up, and was immediately surrounded by all three of them.

A series of questions of questionable purity came flying at her one after another.

“Does Yan Lie have a good body?”

“What are his abs like?”

“How far along are you two?”

“Do you need any resources in the technical department?”

Fang Zhuo lifted her water cup and took a small sip.

Yu Qingjiang let out a smug little laugh, clearly delighted with herself. “Hah. Yan Lie can be as impressive as he likes — at the end of the day, the person sleeping in the same bed as his girlfriend is still me.”

Fang Zhuo: …This person has more or less lost her mind.

As military training neared its end, the weather finally showed some mercy and brought rain. It lasted less than half a day, but it was enough to bring the temperature down to something bearable.

The training squads were disbanded and reorganized into units by class. Their original instructor was transferred to the squad next door, and a new one took his place — a young instructor with an easy smile who looked to have a pleasant disposition.

Unfortunately, that pleasant smile lasted barely two days before the class’s marching form reduced him to speechlessness. With the tone of someone who had refused to believe it and then been forced to believe it anyway, he declared: “You are genuinely the worst group I have ever trained. And I am not saying that to be polite.”

After attempting remediation without success, the instructor accepted his fate and shifted his focus to the group singing competition, hoping they might at least win something there so that the written evaluation wouldn’t be too painful to submit.

That afternoon, he led them marching in formation across the campus, seeking out other squads.

Their class had a particularly high ratio of female students, and the instructor was nothing if not savvy — he wanted to find a squad with plenty of good-looking male students to fire up some enthusiasm in his group.

On the path from the gymnasium toward the student activity center, a group composed almost entirely of male students stood in the shadow cast by one of the academic buildings.

The lead male standard-bearer at the front of the formation was different from the tanned young men they’d passed before — after nearly two weeks under the sun, his complexion remained a healthy, clean white.

The instructor slowed his steps and gestured discreetly in that direction. A girl in the group called softly: “Instructor.”

The instructor stroked his chin with an ambiguous smile. “Understood.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and stepped forward to approach the other instructor waiting on the steps, and with a grin said: “How about a song rally? We’ve got a lot of girls over here.”

“Trying to set up a mixer, are you?”

The opposite instructor glanced back and checked with his students.

The male students got the hint and broke into excited, leading applause.

Most of the instructors were young — some barely twenty — exactly the age for enjoying a bit of lively chaos. Seeing the reaction, they called out warmly: “Come on, come on.”

The two groups gathered together and sat facing each other in the shade.

Fang Zhuo was at the far left of the third row, and Yan Lie happened to be at the opposite end of the formation. The distance was considerable. She wasn’t sure whether he’d noticed her.

The instructor leaned against the wall and started things off, getting both sides to trade songs and cheer each other on.

After a while, the other instructor called for the computer science students to sing a song together. That was usually where things wrapped up. But when the energy began to fade and the gathering seemed on the verge of petering out, the instructor wasn’t quite ready to let it end. He bent down and asked: “What time is it?”

“Ten more minutes until dinner dismissal,” a girl replied.

“Then let’s not bother practicing anymore — let’s sing one more song,” the instructor coaxed. “How about we get some students to do a talent performance? A duet, or a dance.”

His counterpart crossed his arms and asked coolly: “Well? Anyone want to go?”

Silence.

“Come on, be bold. What’s the matter? Don’t embarrass yourselves in front of the girls. Do I need to personally invite someone?”

Heads were turning and whispers were passing through the group, but still no one stepped up.

“No one’s going to volunteer? Fine, then I’ll pick someone myself.” The instructor took off his cap and spun it in his hand, quickly locking onto Yan Lie’s position in the group, and said with a cheerful smile: “You there — come up and show everyone what you’ve got. Anything is fine. Even just a salute. Come on.”

A ripple of egging-on laughter went through the crowd.

Yu Qingjiang reached over and plucked the cap off Fang Zhuo’s head, giving her a meaningful wink.

Fang Zhuo took it back without a word. As she lowered her head to straighten it, she heard the murmured conversation nearby.

“That’s from A Secondary, isn’t it? I’ve heard about him. Isn’t the new student representative this term supposed to be him?”

“Up close, he really is incredibly good-looking.”

“People who look like that usually never lack for girlfriends.”

Yan Lie was called out by name. He didn’t move from where he was sitting. With one finger, he pushed the brim of his cap upward, revealing the clear lines of his face, and declined with a smile: “Instructor, I have a girlfriend.”

The instructor blinked, expression freezing. “What does your having a girlfriend have to do with me?”

He gaped in disbelief. “That’s hilarious — he actually told me!”

Still unable to let it go, the instructor added: “Is he mocking me for not having a girlfriend? Does everyone here have one?”

The crowd burst into laughter and called out loudly: “No!”

Yan Lie said with perfect composure: “In my current position, it wouldn’t be appropriate to put myself on display. Your intentions are fairly transparent, Instructor. I can’t agree to this.”

One of his fellow students hollered: “Why not? Is it a matter of male virtue?”

Everyone found this enormously amusing. But Yan Lie, without so much as a flicker, replied: “That’s right. Otherwise, what do I do if my girlfriend isn’t happy about it?”

The crowd erupted: “Come on —!”

The instructor clutched his chest as though the blow had struck him personally.

He wrung his cap in both hands, rallying his last reserves of patience to make one final appeal: “It doesn’t matter — your girlfriend isn’t here right now, and we won’t tell her.”

“She is here,” Yan Lie said, raising his hand and pointing toward the opposite corner. “Right over there.”

He was pointing somewhat vaguely. Everyone craned their necks and looked around in all directions, eventually turning toward Fang Zhuo — and because her expression was so thoroughly impassive, they couldn’t quite confirm whether she was the one.

Yu Qingjiang was on the verge of laughing herself into unconsciousness. She slapped her hands together and kept exclaiming, “Well played.”

The instructor conceded. He turned toward that corner, made a small bow, and said with a helpless laugh: “Apologies — no disrespect intended, not trying to cause any trouble. Young lady, pretend I said nothing.”

He turned back, and amidst all the noise, delivered one quiet remark laden with meaning: “You, kid — you’ve got some nerve. I was wondering why your principles were so impressively high.”

“That sort of thing generally depends on one’s own conscience, I think,” Yan Lie replied with conviction.

“You,” the instructor said, half exasperated and half amused. “Close your mouth.”

The atmosphere had become enormously lively.

“There’s not much time left — let me call one more person up,” the instructor announced. “I refuse to believe your entire class is taken. I’m not accepting any excuse less compelling than male virtue.”

This time, a male student finally volunteered: “How about I sing a song for everyone? I’m single — I won’t cause anyone harm.”

The crowd applauded with enthusiasm.

Fang Zhuo quietly took out her phone and sent a message to Yan Lie.

Little Sun: What are you doing?

Yan Lie the Illustrious: Nothing much. I just wanted to tell everyone I have a girlfriend.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: A lot of people covet my beauty.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: And you never look after me. 🥺

Little Sun: …

Yan Lie the Illustrious: 😁