During the vacation, neither Sheng Xia nor Zhang Shu returned to Nanli, as they both had graduate recommendation summer camps to attend. Getting into their own university was almost a certainty.
The summer camp at Heqing University started two days earlier than the one at Haiyan University and was held at a resort in the suburbs. It had been raining for several days, and Zhang Shu didn’t feel comfortable letting her take a taxi alone, so he accompanied her there.
On the way, a torrential downpour poured. Just as they arrived at the resort, they received a notice that the upstream reservoir had released floodwaters, submerging a section of the road.
Zhang Shu couldn’t return to the city and had to find a nearby hotel to stay in while waiting for the road to be cleared.
Since Sheng Xia’s camp hadn’t started yet, she stayed with Zhang Shu outside the resort.
Outside, the wind howled fiercely, while inside, Zhang Shu held her close as they watched a movie together.
Suddenly, Sheng Xia asked, “What if you can’t make it back in time for your summer camp?”
“That probably won’t happen,” Zhang Shu replied casually.
Sheng Xia stared at him. “But what if it does?”
Zhang Shu looked up and, mimicking her tone, recited a line of poetry: “Do not listen to the rain beating against the trees; why not stroll along, chanting leisurely?”
Even now, he remained unhurried and in good spirits.
“The road’s flooded—where exactly can you stroll?” she retorted.
“It’ll definitely be cleared by tomorrow. There are plenty of people busier and more anxious than us.”
“Hmm…”
Of course, Sheng Xia knew the road wouldn’t stay flooded forever. But the “road” she was thinking of wasn’t this one.
If he ended up stranded here—stranded in the country—because of her, wasn’t his path, in a way, also flooded by her?
“I heard from Liao Jing that Cheng Zhuoyang is preparing to apply to MIT?”
Zhang Shu, absorbed in the movie, responded absentmindedly, “Hmm.”
Sheng Xia pressed on, “Is the U.S. really that much stronger in this field?”
Still casual, Zhang Shu replied, “More than just ‘somewhat.’”
“What about you?”
“Huh?” Zhang Shu didn’t immediately follow the shift in topic.
“Why didn’t you go?”
Zhang Shu lowered his gaze from the screen. Sheng Xia, nestled in his arms, looked up at him and clarified her question: “A-Shu, with credentials as strong as yours, why didn’t you go abroad for grad school?”
Sheng Xia had heard from Liao Jing that, for Ivy League schools, Zhang Shu’s qualifications might even give him an edge over Cheng Zhuoyang.
Zhang Shu studied her silently for a few seconds, easily piecing together her emotions and the convoluted logic in her mind. He paused the movie, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her onto his lap so they were face to face.
“Maybe I’ll go for an exchange or study abroad program for a year or so later,” Zhang Shu said. “What have you heard? That I didn’t choose to study abroad because of you?”
Sheng Xia lowered her head slightly. “No one said anything… I just guessed…”
“Pretty accurate guess.” He chuckled as he said it, but Sheng Xia’s expression suddenly clouded with worry, looking at him with surprise and dismay.
Though she had already known deep down, she had expected him to phrase it more delicately.
Zhang Shu kissed her forehead. “Of course, you’re part of the reason. If you didn’t carry that kind of weight, when would I ever qualify for something legal?”
His words didn’t make her feel any better.
Zhang Shu continued, “But you haven’t held me back. Don’t get that twisted.”
“In the field of AI, there’s no denying the U.S. still holds absolute dominance…” His tone turned serious as he held her hand, gently stroking it now and then. “But that’s only in academic research. In practice, China, with its larger population, has the advantage—more real-world applications. Didn’t I talk to you about this after coming back from my summer research at Stanford last year?”
Sheng Xia nodded.She didn't fully understand most of it, but she loved listening to him talk about those peculiar terms, just as he seemed genuinely curious about her world of poetry and literature.
Last year when he returned from his summer research program, she went to pick him up at the airport. Throughout the journey, his excitement was palpable, like an idealist freshly fueled by conviction. The moment they got into the taxi, he started talking about autonomous driving; passing through the financial district, he told her how in twenty years personal credit would rely entirely on big data—even an unpaid phone bill might affect insurance rates; back at school picking up a package, he discussed the conditions and timeline for widespread smart warehousing...
These were all things she had considered part of science fiction, yet he claimed they would soon become reality.
When talking about these topics, Zhang Shu was passionate, pure, and radiant.
"Cheng Zhuoyang and I have different strengths. He wants to be a technological pioneer, so he needs to be at the academic forefront, pushing boundaries himself. I don't have that kind of obsession."
Without her, Zhang Shu would undoubtedly have chosen to study abroad—after all, being closer to the cutting edge isn't a bad thing. But with her here, he had more important matters to attend to.
"So what does A-Shu want to do then?"
"Me?" Zhang Shu chuckled lightly. "Gain enough understanding to bring things together and make use of them."
"How cunning."
"A great writer should choose words carefully—this is called specialization in one's field."
"Are you planning to start a business?"
"Mhm."
"Stinking-rich merchant."
"Mhm, gotta succeed first to have that stink..."
"Of course you will."
Sheng Xia wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder as she quietly listened to the rain outside the window. Softly, she murmured, "'With bamboo staff and straw sandals, lighter than a horse—who's afraid?' You'll definitely become an incredibly remarkable person."
Back in their senior year when she helped revise his speech draft, she had told him that while she might not be able to contribute much to the country or the world, he certainly could. At that time, he seemed almost superhuman to her—scoring first place without much effort, destined for an extraordinary future.
They hadn't been this close back then. He stood atop the pedestal as the city's top student, seemingly out of reach. Now he held her in his arms, and she resided in both his embrace and his heart. Before her, he was sometimes domineering, sometimes childish, sometimes long-winded—no longer mysterious or untouchable. He wasn't even the top student anymore, not second or third either. It was as if he had fallen from grace.
Keeping someone at the peak was never realistic; no one can remain on a pedestal forever. It was a truth Zhang Shu had known since high school, and now Sheng Xia was beginning to understand it too.
On new platforms come new rankings. People shouldn't be defined by rankings but by their own choices and futures. Finding one's own path is what truly matters.
Even now, Sheng Xia remained convinced that the name "Zhang Shu" would never fade into obscurity. In his specialized field, he would become an exceptionally remarkable person.
She nuzzled against his shoulder, noticing it had grown even broader and firmer.
"'With bamboo staff and straw sandals, lighter than a horse—who's afraid?'" What did it matter if one walked with bamboo staff and straw sandals? It was far lighter than riding a horse.
Zhang Shu repeated the line softly, then suddenly laughed and flipped her onto her back, trapping her beneath him. "What kind of celestial being have I managed to snatch?"
Sheng Xia blinked. Lately, everyone had been giving her this label—what was going on?
"A-Shu, what you're doing is genuinely meaningful. The major changes in our future lives might very well bear your contributions. As for me? 'A scholar of a hundred useless arts,' as they say."Zhang Shu's gaze was profound, but his words weren't particularly affectionate: "Su Shi's bold and unconstrained style indeed carries a hint of affectation."
Sheng Xia: "Hmm?"
Zhang Shu: "This old fellow's poetry is quite good—highly adaptable, suitable for anyone's use. There's a bit of you in me."
Sheng Xia suddenly realized he was implying he embodied the boldness while she represented the affectation!
"Zhang! Shu!" The warm, romantic atmosphere vanished instantly. Furious, she raised her foot to kick him, but as soon as her leg bent, it collided sharply with his abdomen.
"Oof!" Zhang Shu grimaced in pain, clutching his stomach as he rolled to the side.
Sheng Xia leaned closer to check on him. "Does it hurt badly?"
"Hurts..." he managed a brief, strained reply, sounding utterly restrained.
Panicked, Sheng Xia frowned and reached to rub his stomach. "I didn't even use much force, how could—"
Before she could finish, his arm hooked around her neck and yanked her down. Tilting his head, Zhang Shu captured her lips in a kiss, guiding her hand from his stomach to explore further.
When the long kiss ended, Zhang Shu lay on his back gazing up at her, a smirk playing on his lips.
How could a scholar be utterly useless?
Wealth is easily gained, but pure land is hard to find.
Immortals are immortals precisely because they need do nothing—they exist as mortals' delusions and faith.
Zhang Shu: "Silly fairy, who's afraid now?"
Sheng Xia: "..."
...
During graduation season, Sheng Xia's vlog went viral.
She had filmed snippets of graduation life and posted them on a short-video platform, which were then reposted by Heqing University's official account.
She filmed the campus fruit stand: Sweet potatoes linger after winter, but where to find watermelon in summer?
She filmed the cramped, bustling print shop squeezed into a few square meters: Not a stack more, not a sheet less—two cents per copy as the machine whirs.
She also captured the sunset outside the library, the ivy running wild along the teaching buildings, academic couples strolling by the artificial lake, and graduates taking photos on the lawn.
Even the mountains of packed luggage ready for mailing at the dormitory entrances...
The scenes were ordinary, the editing simple, yet it suddenly exploded in popularity.
Countless viewers flooded her page, binge-watching all her previous videos.
One clip featured behind-the-scenes footage of Dorm 219's graduation photos, with commenters gushing over the room's collective beauty.
Another showed Zhang Shu helping her move dorms.
She didn’t need to mail her belongings—just relocate from the undergraduate dorm to the graduate housing.
Zhang Shu, busy with studies and preparing to start a business, had already rented an off-campus apartment.
In the video, he asked with every box he carried: "Why won’t you live with me?"
Sheng Xia found his expressions each time utterly endearing, deliberately zooming in for close-ups. His face was a mix of exasperation and resignation as he stood still, letting her film him head-on, her giggles echoing throughout the clip.
The comments were unanimous:
[ Just say yes! ]
[ Live with him! Please! ]
[ If you won’t, I will! ]
The reason was simple: "It’s not legal."
Never mind that they were still students—if Wang Lianhua found out, she’d probably break both their legs. Too risky. No, thanks.
Dorm 219 shared one last meal together before parting ways. Fan Jingshu landed a job at a TV station as an editorial intern. Zhong Lujie, unable to sway her parents, took the civil service exam in her hometown and secured a position, heading straight home after graduation. Liao Jing was admitted to Heqing’s law school for graduate studies, staying on campus like Sheng Xia.There were no dramatic stories or intense conflicts in their dorm, nor overly passionate emotions, yet when it came time to part, they all ended up in tears.
Sheng Xia was the last to leave the dormitory. After bidding farewell to the dorm supervisor, she stepped out of Building 23 feeling as though she had reached the end of one journey while standing at the starting point of another.
Waiting outside, as always, was Zhang Shu.
...
Even in graduate school, Sheng Xia remained buried under piles of reading notes. The booklists from her advisor seemed endless, and her first-year courses were even more demanding than during her undergraduate years. On the rare evenings she had free, she was assigned to draft speeches for Tan Gong.
Tan Gong had served as a consultant for a language-themed TV show the previous year. His rigorous explanations and humorous personality made him an internet sensation—his quotes were widely shared, and parody edits of his clips flooded video platforms. As a result, TV programs frequently invited him as a guest. He jokingly referred to himself as an "old internet celebrity." Sheng Xia, as his "final disciple," found her past vlogs about Tan Gong unearthed and remixed by netizens.
Over the years, thanks to accumulated content and a few viral moments, Sheng Xia's video channel had amassed hundreds of thousands of followers.
She maintained her upload schedule, but Zhang Shu appeared less and less frequently. Sheng Xia only filmed him from the neck down, prompting fans to comment that she had become increasingly stingy.
Eventually, Zhang Shu stopped appearing altogether.
This wasn’t due to Sheng Xia’s reluctance—during her second year of grad school, Zhang Shu left for Stanford for a year-long exchange program.
Sheng Xia’s first semester of her second year had the lightest course load, but with Zhang Shu gone, the entire city felt empty to her.
He hadn’t terminated his rented apartment, so Sheng Xia occasionally stayed there for a couple of days, tidying up. Stacks of business proposals and research reports in his study left her awestruck.
Entrepreneurship was never easy. The gap between an idea and its realization involved far more than just capital.
Rejected proposals were densely annotated in Zhang Shu’s handwriting. Reading those notes, Sheng Xia could almost picture him hunched over his desk, scribbling away.
She missed him terribly.
Before he left, Sheng Xia had confidently declared, "We’re both so busy—the year will fly by."
But now, every day felt agonizingly long.
"Go on this show in my place. Look at some other young people for a change—give your eyes a treat. Staring at my old face every day, no wonder you miss your boyfriend, who looks like a rising star," Tan Gong wrote in an invitation email.
A mainstream TV network’s Chinese character promotion variety show, featuring celebrities alongside luminaries from the arts and academia, exploring the origins of Chinese characters.
An academic luminary?
"Professor, I’m not qualified—they invited you..."
"Audiences are tired of my face—there’s nothing fresh to film. You go—they’ll be thrilled."
A young, pretty scholar—what a perfect hook.
"Participate. Your generation has such excellent resources and technology. If you can contribute to cultural promotion, wouldn’t that be an immensely meaningful endeavor?"
When Sheng Xia mentioned this to Zhang Shu, he encouraged her too. "You’ve been making videos for so long—you shouldn’t be afraid of the camera. Tan Gong feels his influence, no matter how vast, won’t last much longer. You’re his hope."Sheng Xia no longer hesitated and agreed to participate. The production team even revised their plans and changed the guest lineup, pairing Sheng Xia with a rising young idol. The fresh-faced celebrity was indeed easy on the eyes, and as soon as their traditional Chinese-style promotional photos were taken, Sheng Xia sent them to Zhang Shu.
He immediately video-called her. "This show is sketchy. If they want to promote Chinese culture, then promote it. Why create a fake couple?"
Sheng Xia: "What fake couple? He's only 19!"
"And how old do you think you are? You look like you're 16 at most."
Sheng Xia burst out laughing. "So sour! Someone's so jealous they're getting confused. When I was 16, you didn't even know me yet."
Zhang Shu was momentarily speechless before weakly insisting, "Well, don’t go being the older cow eating tender grass."
Sheng Xia: "……"
"Then, have you met any blonde, blue-eyed beauties in your classes?"
"No."
"What about any gorgeous Chinese classmates?"
"No."
"Oh. Boring."
"Not as exciting as you filming with a fresh-faced idol, huh?"
"……"
After the show’s official Weibo posted the promotional photos, netizens initially thought Sheng Xia was some newly debuted starlet and criticized the show for pairing her with the idol to boost his popularity. The idol’s fans quickly swarmed the show’s Weibo, then flooded Sheng Xia’s account, accusing her of riding on his fame—until they realized she actually had a boyfriend. By the time they figured out she was actually one of the show’s mentors, labeled as a scholar of classical Chinese, it was too late to take back their words.
Most viewers of cultural programs held biases against pop idols, and soon, people began mocking the young star for "overreaching" by being paired with Sheng Xia. Some even dug up her vlogs and discovered her boyfriend was a national college entrance exam top scorer.
This led to Zhang Shu being dragged into the fray as a benchmark to roast the idol—"Don’t let this ninth-grade dropout embarrass himself by comparing himself to a high-IQ, high-looks power couple!"
In short, before the show even aired, it had already sparked a heated online feud.
Sheng Xia never expected that participating in a mainstream TV show would land her on the trending list.
"Actually, this kid is really nice and polite. It’s just that with so many fans, there are bound to be some irrational ones," Sheng Xia reassured Zhang Shu, worried he might pull another stunt like he did in high school—directly calling out netizens under his own name.
Even though he never lost an argument, he was building a business now and needed to maintain a positive public image.
Zhang Shu: "Already defending him, huh?"
Long-distance relationships were tough. Sheng Xia sighed. Some people were like vinegar jars—left unattended, they’d start fermenting on their own.
"Then should I get a verified Weibo tag: 'Zhang Shu’s Girlfriend'? How about that?"
"No way. At the very least, it should be 'Zhang Shu’s Wife.'"
Sheng Xia rolled her eyes. "Pushing your luck!"
Zhang Shu chuckled and leaned closer to the camera. "Oh? How am I pushing my luck now? I’ve got the will but not the means."
Sheng Xia: "……"
They chatted idly about other things, but just before hanging up, Zhang Shu suddenly called out, "Baby."
"Hmm?"
"If you ever get verified, it should be for your own identity—whether as a scholar, a writer, or whatever else you love. You’ll be Zhang Shu’s wife, but your name isn’t 'Zhang Shu’s Wife.' Your name is Sheng Xia."
……
As the show aired, Sheng Xia’s short-video platform followers surpassed a million, her popularity soaring. She even earned the nickname "Senior Sister" after the young idol mentioned how much he admired Heqing University but couldn’t get in. He said it was an honor to film with a Heqing alumna, so he played up the "junior brother" act throughout the show.Whenever he encountered a problem, he would immediately turn to Sheng Xia, showing no intention of maintaining any independent problem-solving genius persona. In every episode of the show, no matter which team's footage it was, there was always an off-screen voice echoing incessantly: "Senior! Senior!"
"Senior! Senior! Does this character have three pronunciations? What’s the other one?"
"Senior! Senior! The 'jiang' in 'Jiang Jin Jiu'—the pronunciations in The Great Chinese Dictionary and Cihai are different! Which one should I write?"
"Senior! Senior! Help! This character here..."
"Senior! Senior! We're running out of time! Stop being so calm!"
"Senior, save me!"
The show aired simultaneously on TV and online, and the barrage of comments on the web version was also filled with "Senior! Senior!"
Whether it was orchestrated by the young actor’s agency or genuine fan enthusiasm, every episode featuring Senior Sheng Xia trended on social media. The young actor, with his humble, polite, and well-behaved image on the show, completely overturned the negative impression he had given netizens before the broadcast, skyrocketing in popularity. He even followed Sheng Xia on Weibo.
Sheng Xia’s inbox was constantly flooded with messages from talent agencies, live-streaming companies, and e-commerce platforms—some wanting to sign her as an artist, others seeking collaborations for promotions. From initial panic, she gradually grew indifferent, ignoring them all, and slowly resumed updating her videos.
Unfazed by praise or blame, she remained detached from worldly concerns.
...
Stanford’s holiday schedule differed from China’s, so Zhang Shu didn’t return home during the break. He used the time for research and fieldwork and also planned to visit Cheng Zhuoyang at MIT.
Thus, Sheng Xia returned to Nanli alone for winter break.
This time, she couldn’t hide it anymore—Wang Lianhua had discovered all her social media accounts.
Before, her fame had been limited to small circles, fleeting and unnoticed by middle-aged folks like Wang Lianhua. But TV shows were different. Even if Wang Lianhua didn’t watch them, someone around her surely would.
After dinner, Wang Lianhua sat on the sofa scrolling through Sheng Xia’s videos. When she reached a certain one, she suddenly turned the volume up to the max—
"You’re staying with me."
"Why won’t you stay with me?"
"Are you staying with me or not?"
"No, you have to stay with me."
"Why won’t you stay with me?!"
Sheng Xia, washing dishes, felt a chill run down her spine. She dragged out the chore for over ten minutes before finally turning around—only to meet Wang Lianhua’s stern gaze.
"Did you stay?"
"Huh?" Sheng Xia’s heart raced. What was her mom asking? Did they... DO it?
Wang Lianhua repeated, word by word: "Did. You. Live. Together?!"
Sheng Xia’s emotions at that moment mirrored the day she’d mistakenly thought Zhang Shu had seen the criminal law book—only to realize he’d just written the wrong name. Tense, suffocating, then finally relieved.
"No..."
Wang Lianhua’s voice rose sharply: "Really not?"
"Really not!"
Wang Lianhua: "How far did it go?"
Sheng Xia trembled: "Huh?"
"If nothing happened, why was he so clingy and insistent about you staying with him? Do you think I’m stupid? Huh?"
"..."
"Speak!"
Ugh, what could she even say? Didn’t her mom already know everything? Why keep asking? Wang Lianhua always forgot she was already in her second year of grad school—an age where other families might be pressuring her to get married. How was she supposed to answer this? Help.
Wang Lianhua’s voice rose another octave: "Tell Zhang Shu to get his ass back here and see me!"
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