Fang Zhuo hadn’t had much experience with military training.

Her middle school training had lasted only seven days. Back then, their school hadn’t had adequate grounds, and they’d temporarily borrowed dormitories from a neighboring high school for the duration of the training. But the high school dormitory buildings had no air conditioning — eight to a room, with a single electric fan.

Fang Zhuo remembered that summer had been particularly brutal. After just two or three days of training, students had steadily begun breaking out in heat rashes and suffering from heatstroke. The whole affair eventually concluded in a spectacularly perfunctory fashion.

First year of high school had been much the same — the rural school simply didn’t take it seriously.

University A’s military training was noticeably more regimented. Even the performing arts showcase held after training concluded was organized with a degree of ceremony and formality.

Yet this one night of celebration, this release of accumulated physical effort, was all they got. The following day, they said farewell to their instructors and began selecting courses, attending classes, and embarking on their new academic lives.

The process of university course registration was entirely unfamiliar to Fang Zhuo — she didn’t know which teacher to choose for a required course, how to plan around her elective courses, or which publisher and editor to look for when buying secondhand textbooks.

Fortunately, Yu Qingjiang had already asked a senior student in advance and compiled a list of the more popular instructors. She laid out a timetable for the dormitory and told everyone to take turns in the queue when it came time to register or swap courses.

Yan Lie had also quietly shared with her a course-registration plugin that had been passed down through the generations of computer science students.

Perhaps because this quietly circulated plugin had spread so far and wide that everyone had it, and therefore everyone had equal footing, the university network simply buckled under the pressure — and not long after the registration system opened, it crashed, producing a mix of the lucky and the unlucky.

Fang Zhuo was, as was customary, among the unlucky ones. Even with Yan Lie helping her operate alongside her, she still missed two courses. Yu Qingjiang told her to hurry to the course instructors and get a written exemption, and to apply for a transfer as soon as possible.

She was anxious about it for several days before the matter was finally completely resolved.

Before she’d had a chance to exhale with relief, club recruitment season arrived hard on its heels.

Fang Zhuo was genuinely at a loss — she couldn’t identify a single distinguishable skill. Beyond studying and earning money, she had no particular hobbies, and she didn’t feel much enthusiasm for clubs.

But Yan Lie told her that with the right club membership, part-time work opportunities would follow. She thought about it and found this perfectly logical.

For the moment, however, it was still the early weeks of the semester. Fang Zhuo was unfamiliar with everything, and the space available for part-time work was limited. The most stable and least demanding option remained the work-study program through the canteen.

The canteen staff were warm and approachable. On her first day reporting for duty, the auntie assigned to look after the work-study students walked them carefully through the canteen’s daily schedule and told them she would set aside their preferred dishes for them — on the days they worked, they could eat at the canteen for free.

The aunties at University A didn’t have the trembling-ladle problem of legend. They doled out each dish in firm, confident scoops, as though afraid the students might not have enough. This manner put Fang Zhuo at ease; she didn’t need to worry about giving too much or too little and affecting anyone’s performance metrics.

But her favorite task was folding dumplings.

Fifteen cents apiece. The school subsidy rate turned it into something she approached with professional seriousness — her single-handed output could rival that of a veteran canteen auntie.

And the task required almost no mental effort, so she could recite vocabulary while she worked.

Because phone use wasn’t allowed during the work-study shifts, Yan Lie often couldn’t reach her. Their schedules also barely overlapped — her work-study location was in Third Canteen, the same one with the Sichuan dishes Yan Lie had introduced her to. Since Yan Lie couldn’t eat spicy food, the two of them almost never ran into each other there.

He knew her schedule, though. When something came up, he would come to the canteen directly to find her.

One particular evening, Fang Zhuo had no classes and began working the service window from four in the afternoon onward.

During the peak rush, the queue stretched out several meters. Fang Zhuo, wearing her mask and cap, swept her gaze over the crowd and spotted the tall figure of Yan Lie. He was inching forward with the queue, glancing at his phone, then lifting his head to look at the day’s dishes.

When he reached the front, he placed his meal card on the reader and rattled off what he’d just decided: “Cauliflower and shredded potato.”

“Those are both spicy dishes,” Fang Zhuo said.

Yan Lie looked up at the sound of her voice. Only then did he realize it was her — the surprise lit up his face, and he broke into a smile. “Wow, and I still ended up with you.”

Fang Zhuo told him to wait a moment, went to the back kitchen, and returned with a portion of corn and spare rib soup. She also served him a dish of stir-fried cabbage and a portion of sweet-and-sour pork ribs, charging it all directly to his meal card.

Yan Lie said cheerfully: “Thank you, my dear. I’ll be waiting for you by the wall near the right entrance when the meeting wraps up.”

Fang Zhuo gave a small nod.

The male student behind him stepped forward and said: “I want corn too.”

Fang Zhuo put the ladle down. “There’s none left.”

“Then why does he get some? Can’t you go in the back and scoop out another portion?”

“That was my own dinner I’d set aside,” Fang Zhuo said. “He’s my boyfriend.”

The friend behind him laughed. “You brought that on yourself, man.”

“Then cauliflower and shredded potato. And one braised pig’s trotter,” the student said with a theatrical moan of mock grief. “Everything he can’t have — I want all of it.”

Fang Zhuo: …

“Sorry about him,” the friend said, struggling not to laugh. “He’s just a little unwell upstairs.”

Half an hour later, the canteen crowd thinned. Two of the service windows closed and the dishes were consolidated.

Fang Zhuo handed off her shift, collected a portion of food, and went to find Yan Lie. Sitting down at the table next to his, she realized with a start that the student who had made the joke with her was sitting right there with Yan Lie — they were clearly friends from the student council.

Yan Lie saw her and gave her a smile, then tapped his watch and held up five fingers to indicate he’d be done in about five minutes.

The others at the table glanced over at her in turn. The student who’d teased her earlier said something, and a few of them laughed.

Fang Zhuo turned her attention back to her own food.

She hadn’t been eating for long when a shadow fell across the table from the other side. A male student who worked the same shift as her set his tray down and asked quietly: “Is this seat taken?”

Fang Zhuo shook her head.

He picked up his chopsticks and took a couple of quiet bites of rice, clearly eating without much appetite. After a moment, he asked: “Do you have anything going on tonight?”

Fang Zhuo had been free for the evening — but since Yan Lie had come to find her, her plans were more or less already filled. She was about to decline when Yan Lie came over, carrying his bag, and sat down right next to her. From behind, he reached his arm around and nearly pulled her against him.

Fang Zhuo instinctively leaned her shoulder away, but Yan Lie had already drawn her in, pulling her into his arms. And though there wasn’t a particularly generous amount of warmth in it, he kept his expression deliberately nonchalant as he said: “Your braised fish with chili looks incredible.”

Fang Zhuo let her eyes pass slowly over his face and said without hurry: “You can’t even eat it.”

“Eat slowly,” Yan Lie said with an air of genuine concern. “Wolfing it down isn’t good for you. I’m not in a rush — I’m very patient.”

Her hand had been pinned by his, and she couldn’t eat at all. Expressionlessly, she pointed at the space beside her. Yan Lie, having some sense of self-awareness, willingly shifted over and sat separately, one hand propped on the table, chin in hand, watching her.

One of his student council friends passed by from behind and waved. “We’re heading out. Happy birthday.”

Fang Zhuo remembered at once, with sudden clarity. “Today is the great Confucius’s birthday.”

“I don’t know any great Confucius,” Yan Lie said with a smile. “But today is my goddess’s birthday.”

Fang Zhuo glanced over at him and said: “Today also happens to be World Rabies Day.”

Yan Lie reached out — he’d been about to pinch her cheek, but raised his hand slightly and instead ruffled her hair instead, saying with mock grievance: “What’s that about? Are you insulting me?”

“Of course not,” Fang Zhuo said. She gave a small lift of her chin toward the person across from them as a signal, and said: “So I’d like to spend my male idol’s birthday with him. If you need someone to cover your shift, I have time tomorrow afternoon.”

The male student stretched out a dry, hollow smile and said: “No, it’s fine, no need. Happy birthday.”

With nowhere obvious to go and no graceful way to stay, he found himself in an awkward limbo and simply put his head down and shoveled his food.

Fang Zhuo picked up her tray, said a brief goodbye to him, and left with Yan Lie.

Outside the canteen, the evening wind came blowing — quick and warm.

Fang Zhuo caught Yan Lie’s sleeve. He took her hand in return.

Fang Zhuo signaled him to stop, then stepped in front of him and looked steadily at his face. “Yan Lie,” she said, “your behavior today was not very gentlemanly.”

“Me?” he said.

“Your acting was transparent, and your methods were not exactly gracious,” Fang Zhuo said. “If you hadn’t shown up, I could have declined him very naturally, and we could have maintained a perfectly pleasant working relationship.”

Yan Lie regarded her with a skeptical look.

Fang Zhuo gazed into the middle distance with a wistful expression. “He’s actually a good person. Comes from a modest background, but worked his way up. What matters is he was willing to share his wealth-building secrets with me. He’s a third-year, and his contact list has an impressive number of business owners.”

“You little money-grubber,” Yan Lie said with a helpless laugh. “Don’t you know the saying — when someone is inexplicably kind to you without reason, they’re either after something or up to something.”

“When you first sat at the same desk as me, you were also very kind to me,” Fang Zhuo said.

“That’s because I had completely dishonorable intentions from the start,” Yan Lie said without a moment’s hesitation.

Fang Zhuo: …