Having made up her mind, Sheng Xia struck while the iron was hot and began working on her book.
Writing an article only took two or three hours, but it required extensive research and reading beforehand. So after returning home in the evenings, Sheng Xia could no longer continue with her test papers, immersing herself entirely in poetry and verses instead. Sometimes she slept at one, sometimes at two, dreaming of ancient poets and lyricists.
This left only the noontime as a complete and uninterrupted period.
Every day, Sheng Xia would hurriedly finish lunch and head straight back to the classroom to work on test papers instead of returning to the dormitory. She'd nap for fifteen minutes at her desk before afternoon classes began. Whatever remained unfinished, she'd continue after dinner.
This week, she was seated in the solitary row—undisturbed, alert, and independent.
Her daily sleep was reduced to just four or five hours. Jasmine tea was replaced with white tea, then green tea. Sheng Xia didn't care what kind—as long as it kept her awake.
Apart from slight physical fatigue, she felt mentally invigorated, as if pumped with adrenaline.
During the one-day New Year's holiday and an additional evening study session, Sheng Xia wrote three literary appreciations and completed a comprehensive science test paper.
What was New Year's Eve? She didn't know.
She spent it with Li Qingzhao.
While the poetry lamented the passing of seasons, her real-life spirit soared. The slowed rhythm of composing verses late at night was compensated by the equations and formulas of daytime. Sheng Xia felt that before becoming a "well-rounded scholar" excelling in both arts and sciences, she might first turn into a "split personality" failing at both.
During a short break, she browsed through her social feed—something she rarely did before. Lately, she didn't know why she'd developed this habit.
New Year's Eve posts were predictably lively, especially from her old classmates at No. 2 High School. Some were setting off fireworks by the river, others gathered at barbecue stalls, and a few were even partying in glitzy nightlife scenes.
Then Sheng Xia came across Hou Junqi's post.
The caption was unremarkable: "Happy New Year."
The accompanying photo was artistically shot—centered on a hand holding a glass of... well, some intoxicating yellow beverage. He must have taken it while sitting, with a pool table blurred in the background. Despite the fuzziness, Sheng Xia could make out the figure of someone rolling up their sweatshirt sleeves to take a shot—it was Zhang Shu.
Recently engrossed in studying his notes, constantly marveling at how academic prodigies were forged, Sheng Xia had almost forgotten that her deskmate was no well-behaved student but a "multi-tasking" delinquent genius.
What kind of time was this to still be fooling around?
Typical.
Sheng Xia quickly posted a status update herself before closing her phone to focus on writing.
...
Hou Junqi's house, basement.
"Clack"—a perfect shot.
Zhang Shu finished his turn and set the cue aside. "Next."
Han Xiao eagerly scrambled to gather the balls and break, starting a game of eight-ball with Liu Huian.
Zhang Shu slumped onto the sofa, pulling out his phone to launch a game horizontally, looking thoroughly disinterested.
Noticing this, Wu Pengcheng suggested, "Duo queue, A-Shu?"
"Yeah, let's go," Zhang Shu replied without enthusiasm.
"Oho? Someone posted a status," Hou Junqi suddenly announced with great interest while scrolling through his phone. He read aloud: "'The roc soars over the northern sea, the phoenix greets the morning sun, once more with books and sword the endless road is spun. Next year when I rise above the clouds in flight, I'll smile at worldly scholars bustling in vain plight...' What does this even mean?"
Just as their game matched, Wu Pengcheng leaned over. "What's all this mumbling about?"
"Someone's status update," Hou Junqi said mysteriously.
Zhang Shu's eyebrow twitched slightly.
Among the people Hou Junqi knew, there was probably only one who would post something like this...He minimized the game window and opened QQ. Wu Pengcheng had already entered the game alone when he realized Zhang Shu hadn't joined at all. He started yelling, "Shu, hurry up and confirm! What are you doing?"
Zhang Shu ignored him and clicked into his QZone.
He didn't have many friends, so right below Sheng Xia's post was Hou Junqi's photo that looked rather "extravagant and decadent."
Damn, he was even in the shot.
Zhang Shu raised an eyebrow. While praising herself for quietly studying hard in her post, was she actually mocking him for indulging in pleasure?
He suddenly laughed—how adorable these cultured people were, even their sarcasm was so civilized.
Wu Pengcheng noticed Zhang Shu's smile and rubbed his arms. "What's with that lovesick grin?"
Hou Junqi said meaningfully, "Heh, figuring out what a beauty is thinking is way more interesting than the game, isn't it?"
Wu Pengcheng thought for a moment and immediately understood. Who else could have such an impact? Of course, it was Sheng Xia. Now he didn't enter the game either, abandoning it to ask earnestly, "So what does that post actually mean?"
"No idea," Hou Junqi shook his head.
Then they saw Zhang Shu's comment appear under Sheng Xia's post:
[You're going to study in secret and then blind everyone with your brilliance?]
Huh? That's what it meant?
Why did the comment feel so... sticky?
"Shu, what's really going on between you two?" Wu Pengcheng asked.
After all, the dazzling resume of Sheng Xia's father and the scene of him chatting amiably with Lu Youze were still fresh in their minds.
Zhang Shu's voice remained indifferent: "Nothing's going on. Study hard and improve every day."
Hou Junqi rolled his eyes. Stop pretending already—the recent gloomy atmosphere was suffocating.
"Sure, 'study hard and improve every day,'" Hou Junqi said sarcastically. "How many nights did you stay up compiling those test papers from our first and second years for Sheng Xia? Typing them word for word from the original papers! Not to mention the math and physics diagrams—you had to go to the print shop to draw them with a graphics tablet first. Then you solved them all yourself and even wrote a set of explanations, looking like the expert solutions at the back of the 'Five-Three' books. Damn, I'm impressed. If I were a girl, I'd offer myself to you right now!"
By the pool table, Liu Huian and Han Xiao clicked their tongues in amazement. "Damn, that's next level!"
Hou Junqi continued, "And the funniest part? You sold a copy to Chen Mengyao for a hundred bucks, then used that money to buy Sheng Xia a little reindeer figurine. What a legend."
"With all these convoluted moves, who was it that said 'life's too short to be a Casanova, might as well go on a pilgrimage'? Seems like your path isn't any easier than a pilgrimage, huh, Shu?"
Wu Pengcheng cut to the chase: "Don't get in too deep. Life's long—no need to hang yourself so early. If you let go now and stop tormenting yourself... Her parents' background, her family—they're not in the same league..."
Everyone understood. No one dared to bring it up. After learning Sheng Mingfeng's identity that day, Liu Huian had looked into his wife too. Turned out she was extraordinary. What ordinary people knew was that the earliest shopping mall in Nanli belonged to the Zou family. Those who knew more understood that the Zous were century-old scholar-merchants—they did business but were also involved in culture. Wealth wasn't the main point; they carried an air of nobility too.
In short, it all sounded very distant.At this age, what’s the rush? It’s just youthful infatuation. After the college entrance exams, everyone will go their separate ways. A relationship with no future—just let it be. Looking back later, you might even call yourself an idiot.
Wu Pengcheng stopped there, and the guys exchanged glances.
Zhang Shu just listened without a word or expression, scrolling through his phone.
Wu Pengcheng leaned over to take a peek—damn, the screen showed photos from the school sports meet.
Originally, it was clearly a group photo, but someone had cropped it until only he and Sheng Xia remained, with enough space between them to fit another person.
Gotta say, they really did look... well-matched.
Well, all that talk was wasted. This guy didn’t seem like he was planning to let go.
Only a few balls remained on the pool table, all tough shots. Liu Huian circled the table for a while, still unsure how to play his next move.
Suddenly, Zhang Shu tossed his phone aside, leaned back on the sofa, and cursed, "Fuck!"
A sharp, frustrated outburst.
Everyone turned to look at him. He just stared blankly at the ceiling and muttered to himself, "I still really want it."
A tone of resignation.
Want it. Want what? Want who?
The answer was obvious.
Zhang Shu suddenly stood up, walked to the table, and snatched the cue from Liu Huian’s hands. He eyed the stubborn red ball that just wouldn’t sink, raised the cue, and struck—the white ball bounced, leaped over the obstructing black eight, and knocked the red ball straight into the pocket.
A perfect jump shot.
"Nice one!"
"Beautiful!"
Zhang Shu’s gaze was distant, as if he had sighed—or maybe just exhaled in relief. He spoke, his voice flat, as though only he could hear it: "Class barriers are meant to be crossed."
He understood everything. But as long as those eyes were on him, all he wanted was to be good to her.
He hadn’t even started yet—what was there to let go of?
If that’s how it was, then he’d fight to the end.
...
Not long after New Year’s, Sheng Xia’s cast was finally ready to come off.
Xin Xiaohe was even more excited than her, clamoring to doodle on the cast.
"Such a meaningful moment—how could we miss it?!"
Sheng Xia, ever patient, propped up her leg and let her go wild.
"What should I write…" Xiaohe mused, already scribbling away with a black marker, leaving bold strokes behind: [Dongzhou University, here I come!]
Sheng Xia: "..."
Now the others were getting into it too.
"Sheng Xia, I want to write something too!"
"Me too!"
"Me! Me!"
Soon, a crowd had gathered around Sheng Xia, lining up to leave their mark. She felt a little embarrassed—after all, they were holding her leg…
But her classmates didn’t mind at all, chatting excitedly.
"Isn’t this way more creative than writing on school uniforms?"
"Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"
Sheng Xia: "..."
Still, she was happy. Watching everyone write down their college dreams, she thought, Once the cast is off, maybe I can find a way to preserve it.
Thankfully, Sheng Xia had plenty of markers in all colors. Before long, half the cast was covered with barely any space left.
Zhang Shu and Hou Junqi arrived late, only to find a crowd gathered. At first, they thought something had happened.
Pushing through, they saw a girl crouched beside Sheng Xia, trying to write on the side of the cast.
Hou Junqi grinned. "This is fun. Shu, wanna write something too?"Zhang Shu looked at the densely packed list of university names. Though he didn’t want to dampen his classmates’ enthusiasm, he glanced at Sheng Xia, who was clearly exhausted yet still happily engaged, and said lightly, “Hurry up, class is about to start.”
“Shu-ge doesn’t even need to write anything—he can get into any school he wants!” someone remarked.
“So, A-Shu, are you leaning more towards Heqing University or Haiyan University?”
Everyone looked at Zhang Shu curiously.
Sheng Xia didn’t look at him but pricked up her ears to listen.
Zhang Shu didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at the dark crown of hair in the center of the crowd and asked, “Why don’t you write something yourself?”
Sheng Xia didn’t realize he was talking to her until a large hand ruffled her hair, sending strands flying everywhere.
“Oooohhh!”
“Enough, enough!”
“Damn it, I won’t ask anymore—I brought this on myself…”
“Alright, everyone, scatter!”
Sheng Xia looked up and met a pair of unexpectedly gentle eyes.
The crowd dispersed like startled birds, leaving Sheng Xia stunned—what was he doing now?!
She lowered her leg and muttered, “I can’t reach.”
“Then what do you want to write? I’ll write it for you,” Zhang Shu said, picking up a pen and crouching down.
She abruptly pulled her leg back under the desk. “I don’t want to write anything.”
“Is that so? Then I’ll write something,” he said, tugging her leg out slightly and swiftly scribbling on the blank space behind her knee.
She sat while he crouched, his head entirely bent beside her—the posture was… far too strange.
When he finished, he stared at it for a couple of seconds, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Without another word, he tossed the pen onto her desk and returned to his seat.
Sheng Xia looked down and saw a single line:
[Life is mine to walk alone, free and unbound.]
...
On a bright, sunny weekend, Sheng Xia finally had her cast removed. The moment the doctor’s electric saw buzzed to life, she buried her face in Wang Lianhua’s arms, making her mother chuckle.
As the cast came off, it revealed pale, bruised skin that looked almost lifeless, startling Sheng Xia.
The doctor prescribed pain-relief patches and gave a long list of care instructions before discharging her.
Thanks to her earlier exercises, Sheng Xia felt no pain when she stood, only a strange lightness. She was careful not to put too much weight on her injured leg.
Back home, Wang Lianhua examined the cast they’d brought back. “This is really quite special. We should get it laminated someday—it’ll be a great keepsake for class reunions!”
Sheng Xia couldn’t agree more.
“Ride dreams as steeds, live up to youth’s prime… Not bad. Life is mine to walk alone, free and unbound…” Wang Lianhua read aloud. “Who wrote this? So profound for someone so young.”
Sheng Xia: “...”
“Fortunate to know your peach-blossom face, from now on, all paths bloom with warm spring…” Wang Lianhua paused, clearly recognizing the handwriting. “Did you write this?”
Sheng Xia’s heart skipped a beat.
She had twisted her leg to write it the night before. Though the characters weren’t as neat as usual, they were still unmistakably hers.
So she could only nod. “Yeah, for my classmates.”
Wang Lianhua’s gaze lingered briefly, but in the end, she said nothing.
Sheng Xia exhaled in relief.
Perhaps because the cast was covered in too many messy scribbles, her mother hadn’t noticed—this particular line had a name attached.
Sheng Xia had indeed borrowed the verse for a classmate, but not for all her classmates.
In the top right corner of those words was a name:
*[Song Jiang:
Fortunate to know your peach-blossom face, from now on, all paths bloom with warm spring.]*
No matter whether they’d end up in the same city or cross paths again in the future, she was simply glad—to have met someone so dazzling, even at the tail end of her youth.Nice to meet you, Song Jiang.
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