"Endure a little, strive a little, and life will be easier once you get to university!"
This was a phrase often repeated by high school teachers.
It was fundamentally a lie—or rather, a selective lie.
It would have been better to believe it at the time, but after high school, one should never take it seriously.
If the college entrance exam was the watershed of life, then climbing over it led to university—a delta that appeared broad and gentle on the surface but was entirely built upon sediment. Some people walked steadily, accumulating fertile knowledge over four years; others drifted aimlessly, eventually merging into the vast ocean of society in a panic.
University made the free freer and the disciplined even more disciplined. It was only after university that the real chasm of contrast emerged.
It was clearly a Saturday with no classes, yet the dormitory was empty. Sheng Xia and her roommates were all at the library, scouring through the "reading lists" assigned by their professors that week.
Such was the life of a literature major—most of the work happened outside the classroom. People often said literature majors had fewer classes and an easier time, unaware that the endless lists of books couldn’t be finished even if they were scheduled as courses.
Sheng Xia and her roommates weren’t in the same program. Her major, Ancient Chinese Literature, had only three students—two boys and one girl. The ratio was practically a miracle, given that the entire literature department had a 1:9 male-to-female ratio.
Among the professors, however, the gender ratio was balanced.
The academic advisor joked, "See? Boys, don’t lose heart. The men who persist in the literature department are either sages or prodigies!"
And indeed, they were all prodigies.
Nearly every class reshaped Sheng Xia’s understanding. The authors of the books she had read, the editors of the textbooks, the descendants of great scholars—they stood on the podium, speaking eloquently. The friends in their anecdotes were figures straight out of biographies. The feeling was truly magical and wonderful.
Sheng Xia’s advisor, Professor Tan, taught Ancient Chinese and was affectionately called "Tan Gong." He was immensely popular in the department, known for his humorous lectures that felt like a comedy roast.
Freshmen didn’t have his class in the first semester, but Tan Gong had requested to meet the three "trailblazers" who had dared to major in Ancient Chinese Literature.
Because of this, Sheng Xia canceled her date with Zhang Shu.
Zhang Shu frowned as he read Sheng Xia’s reply on WeChat.
This was the second time she had turned down his invitation.
The semester had only been two weeks long, and her rejection rate was 100%.
Last week, she had refused him, saying she needed to visit the university history museum on Saturday and have a small gathering with her roommates on Sunday. This week, it was a meeting with her advisor.
The reasons were all valid, but Zhang Shu couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
After all, visiting the history museum or hanging out with roommates didn’t take an entire day. Surely she could squeeze in some time—an afternoon, or even an evening?
She didn’t seem particularly eager about their "dates." If anything, there was a faint sense of reluctance.
But there was nothing he could do.
It was his fault—their first date had left her with a bad impression.
Instead of going to the library, Zhang Shu used his free time to browse the department forum.
In an era dominated by apps and mini-programs, even their high school had a somewhat trendy "Tradewind" mini-program. Yet, the computer science department of one of the nation’s top universities still relied on the most traditional BBS for academic discussions. This genuinely surprised Zhang Shu.
The forum interface looked dated, but the content was cutting-edge enough not to disappoint him.
Solid content—nothing but solid content.
Zhang Shu skimmed through everything, whether he understood it or not, bookmarking the most valuable posts. He then made a rough plan based on his class schedule.
He needed to catch up on his own.The Computer Science department was different from other departments in the college, with over half of its students coming from competition backgrounds. In Zhang Shu's dorm, he was the only pure gaokao student—the others included an international informatics gold medalist, a silver medalist, and one admitted through the "Innovative Talent" program who had participated in an international robotics competition.
Apart from having a slight edge in physics and math courses, Zhang Shu would likely be overwhelmed in his major-specific classes, possibly struggling by the end of the semester.
Though the semester had just begun, the signs were already there.
After all, for informatics competition students, first-year major courses were practically child’s play.
This was their head start—something impossible to surpass in the short term.
One step at a time. Anxiety wouldn’t help anyway.
At five in the afternoon, Zhang Shu left the dorm and made his familiar way to Heqing University.
If the mountain won’t come to me, I’ll go to the mountain.
His roommates often teased him: "Zhang Shu probably knows the roads of Heqing better than Haiyan."
And it was true. He had barely explored Haiyan because he couldn’t understand what was so fun about a bunch of guys wandering around together.
When they saw lakes and scenery, they’d just say, "This looks nice." When they saw pavilions and towers, they’d only comment, "This pavilion’s decent." And when they spotted couples cuddling under the trees, they’d grumble, "Damn lovebirds."
Boring.
Zhang Shu would rather go to Heqing and be the one called a "damn lovebird."
...
Professor Tan lived on campus. Sheng Xia, along with two fellow students, bought some fruit and went to visit him.
At Heqing, departments like Literature—where students had advisors from freshman year—were rare. Compared to the competitive hustle of other schools, the Literature department was relatively utopian, often called the "Noble Hall."
But only relatively. After all, wherever there were people, there would be competition.
As they entered the house, the scent of books and ink greeted them.
Professor Tan’s home still had its decades-old decor. A white doily covered the leather sofa, and behind it stood a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. Books piled up on the floor and coffee table. Since Teacher’s Day had just passed, the room was filled with bouquets, their wrappers still on, the carnations already wilting.
Tan Gong looked up from his computer, his hair graying, age spots dotting his cheeks. His sharp eyes peered over his reading glasses. "Ah, you’re here. Sit and wait a moment—I need to reply to a student’s email."
The three of them sat down. Though the professor seemed amiable, they still felt a little uneasy.
Tan Gong muttered to himself, "Bullying an old man like me. This email chain has been going since Teacher’s Day and still isn’t resolved."
One of the male students said, "With students all over the world, your alumni still remember you even after graduation."
Tan Gong chuckled. "The Orchid Pavilion is gone, the Golden Valley now ruins..."
Then he turned to the only girl in the room. "You’re Sheng Xia." He recognized her easily as he walked over from his desk.
Sheng Xia stood up. "Hello, Professor."
"Sit, sit. I’ve read a bit of your book."
The other two students looked surprised. Sheng Xia, beyond surprise, felt nervous—how could her amateur work stand up to serious scrutiny? But she also secretly hoped for his feedback.
Tan Gong took off his glasses and suddenly sighed. "Ah, if you ask me, there was no need to write it at all!"
Sheng Xia felt a mix of disappointment and tension.
Then, with a playful shift in tone, Tan Gong added, "Did I scare you, young lady? Ah, I meant the admissions requirements! The Literature department isn’t here to train writers. Making applicants write all sorts of things—that’s just wrong, isn’t it?"
The three exchanged glances. The professor was criticizing the school’s admissions process—should they chime in?
Better not.Tan Gong's painting style was slightly different from what they had imagined, and his temperament was rather unpredictable.
So this first meeting was essentially a one-sided output from Tan Gong, with them mostly listening, many of his words still difficult to fully grasp.
Later, the old man, having vented to his heart's content, turned his attention to the three of them, inquiring about their personal circumstances.
The questions were nothing out of the ordinary—where they were from, why they had chosen this major, whether they liked ancient Chinese, and so on.
Sheng Xia listened as the two male students answered smoothly and began drafting her own responses in her head. Unexpectedly, when it came to her, the question changed: "Little girl, have you ever thought about continuing on to graduate studies in ancient Chinese?"
Asking this right after starting freshman year—wasn’t it a bit too early?
All the answers Sheng Xia had prepared in her mind were instantly scrapped, and she simply nodded along with her heart: "Yes, I have."
Compared to the lengthy discussions earlier, her response seemed a bit sparse, so she added, "During the most stressful time in senior year, when I decided to write a book to get into Heqing, I already thought about it."
Tan Gong merely pursed his lips, his attitude unreadable. "This major is different. Think clearly about where you come from, where you're going, and how you'll study. Figure it out from the very beginning—don’t idle, but don’t waste time either."
After leaving the faculty apartments, one of the boys was the first to bring it up: "Sheng Xia, seems like Tan Gong really thinks highly of you—he wants you as his grad student, huh?"
Sheng Xia was flustered. "That’s probably not the case."
A professor of such esteemed reputation—how could he possibly lack grad students? Sheng Xia still had some self-awareness.
Professor Tan hadn’t asked her the same questions as the others because she had already expressed her love for ancient Chinese in the afterword of her book, making further inquiry unnecessary.
The boy chuckled. "No need to be modest—there’s no one else here. I was just placed here through adjustment, probably just biding my time before switching majors. I heard you were admitted through the Strong Foundation Program—that’s really impressive."
The other boy asked, "Sheng Xia, is your masterpiece available in bookstores? What’s it called? I’d love to read it.The term "拜读" (read with reverence) had been overused to the point of losing its sincerity, carrying a hint of flattery, though he likely meant no harm.
Sheng Xia replied, "My grades weren’t good enough, so I had to take a different path. It’s hardly a masterpiece."
"What’s it called?"
"The print run was small, and it’s rarely stocked—not easy to find."
"Really? That publisher’s no good. A beauty and a genius—what great marketing material!"
"..."
The three of them waited by the roadside for the campus shuttle to take them back.
Sheng Xia was lost in thought.
Right now, she wanted to see Zhang Shu—very, very badly.
She wanted to relay the professor’s words to him exactly as they were, to hear his thoughts on them. At the very least, she knew his response wouldn’t be something like "worshipping a masterpiece."
She checked the time and decided to head straight out of campus, hailing a cab to Haiyan.
Just as she was about to speak up, one of the boys suggested, "Should we make a group chat?"
The other had no objections and had already pulled out his phone.
Sheng Xia didn’t fuss either. The boy scanned her QR code to add her as a friend, quickly set up the group, and adjusted the nicknames.
As Sheng Xia copied each group nickname into her contacts, she overheard their conversation.
"What’s that guy across the street staring at us for?"
"Probably looking at Sheng Xia?"
"Haha, predators everywhere?"Honestly, even the etiquette team at the opening ceremony didn’t measure up to our department’s standards." Makes me not want to transfer out."
"Why transfer? The literature department’s great. As long as you’re in a good mood, you’re the department heartthrob!"
The boys in the literature department often joked about the gender ratio. Sheng Xia paid it no mind and put her phone away, ready to say goodbye.
Just as she looked up, she caught sight of a tall, straight-backed figure across the street.Zhang Shu braked his bike by the roadside, hands still gripping the handlebars, long legs planted on the ground—pausing yet seemingly ready to ride off any second—as he turned his head to look this way.
His gaze was as sharp as an eagle's.
The crouched posture on his mountain bike resembled one too.
The willow branches swayed above his head, yet none of the tree's gentleness rubbed off on him. Even motionless, his presence was intimidating.
Sheng Xia felt an inexplicable flutter, nearly dropping her phone.
Beside her, a male classmate asked, "Hey, Sheng Xia, want to head straight to the cafeteria? Grab dinner together?"
Snapping out of it, she replied calmly, "Not now. My boyfriend's here."
The phrase "my boyfriend," coming from Sheng Xia's lips, carried an unusually tender and sweet tone. The two guys froze.
Having dropped the bombshell, Sheng Xia weaved through passing bicycles and jogged up to Zhang Shu, beaming. "What are you doing here?"
Him coming over often wasn’t surprising—she was just startled to run into him here.
Especially when she’d been missing him so much.
It felt like he’d descended from the sky.
Zhang Shu took in her delighted, eager expression, his temper cooling slightly, though his words remained anything but gentle. "Is Heqing under lockdown? Can’t I come? If I don’t, you’d be cozying up left and right? Adding every guy who asks for your WeChat?"
Cozying up left and right? Such slander!
Sheng Xia’s whimsical "descended from the sky" fantasy shattered instantly. She almost laughed but decided to humor the grumpy lion. "They’re my classmates. There are only three of us in the program—we just met with our advisor."
A flicker of awkwardness flashed in Zhang Shu’s eyes, gone in an instant. He let out an indifferent "Oh," glancing at the two guys. The campus shuttle arrived, and the boys boarded, still sneaking glances back. Zhang Shu turned away and asked, "Aren’t there only a dozen guys in your department?"
And two of them were in her program?
"Mm."
Zhang Shu: "They sure know how to pick."
Sheng Xia: "…?" Why did that sound so weird?
Zhang Shu scratched her chin. "Why’d you have to stand so close when adding WeChat?"
Close? Sheng Xia tried to recall.
Zhang Shu pulled out his phone, opened his QR code, and tilted his chin, signaling her to step back. "Try scanning me from two meters away."
Biting back a laugh, Sheng Xia obediently raised her phone, retreated two steps, and tapped the camera—recording.
On the screen, Zhang Shu’s handsome face remained dead serious as he muttered, "Can’t scan it? Fine, come closer—one meter. Still nothing? Is your internet out? Maximum 60 centimeters, no closer. If it still doesn’t work, you need a new phone—"
"Pfft—" Sheng Xia couldn’t hold back anymore, peeking out from behind her phone, eyes crinkled with amusement. "Yeah, can’t get too close, or the sourness would be overwhelmi—mmph?!"
O-ver-whelm-ing…
Zhang Shu yanked her into his arms and kissed her.
What overwhelmed her was his crisp, clean scent—like sun-drenched vanilla, something she’d only ever smelled on him.
Unlike usual, he didn’t pull her waist or cradle her head. One hand loosely held hers, the other casually steadied the bike as he remained straddled on it, lazily tilting his head up to peck at her lips.
After the initial rough press to silence her, his kisses turned light—one after another, from the corner of her mouth to her lips, even her chin, wherever they landed, aimless yet deliberate. Each kiss varied in depth and sensation, teasing yet skilled.
Sheng Xia could’ve pulled away anytime, but these fleeting kisses were harder to escape than a deep one.
And she didn’t want to.Another school bus chugged along, preparing to pass by. He paused his actions as if nothing had happened, the corners of his lips curved upward, his gaze glued to her face from a slightly upward angle.
Once the bus passed, he tilted his head and kissed her again, fervently and without warning.
She secretly opened her eyes and saw the smile on his lips.
The sound of their light kisses made her whole body burn with heat—why was this more embarrassing than a deep kiss?
The setting sun dipped lower, and the evening breeze rustled the willow branches.
Occasionally, a bicycle would ride past, making Sheng Xia's heart flutter.
Had they been kissing for too long?
Suddenly, she opened her mouth and bit him lightly before pulling away, scolding, "Enough!"
Zhang Shu raised an eyebrow slightly and nodded, wearing a satisfied expression. "What were you doing just now? Taking pictures of me? Getting bold, huh?"
He'd noticed?
Only then did Sheng Xia remember. She glanced at her phone.
Was it still recording?
Zhang Shu took her phone, tapped to stop the recording, and watched the playback with an ambiguous smile. "What's this? A love documentary?"
Sheng Xia flushed red. "No!"
As if ignoring her protest, he continued, "How about I give you more material tomorrow?"
Sheng Xia: "…?"
Zhang Shu looked her up and down.
She was also studying him.
The military crew cut he'd gotten during training had grown out a little. It wasn’t as prickly to the touch as before—just a few days had softened the boy’s hair, now perfectly pleasant to run her fingers through.
Who said a buzz cut was the ultimate test for handsome guys?
Without bangs, Zhang Shu’s forehead and brows were fully visible, so strikingly handsome it was hard to look away.
Oh no, she was staring at him again, lost in thought.
Zhang Shu caught her mischievous hand, kissed the back of it naturally, then held it in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. He looked up and asked, "Will you go on a date with me?"
She stayed silent.
Zhang Shu lowered his voice. "This time, Zhang Shu won’t make Sheng Xia wait. Never again, okay?"
OpenNovel