Chapter 17

In an instant, Du Ruo's face went scarlet, prickling so hard it almost hurt, as if tiny invisible thorns were pressing out from beneath her skin, all at once threatening to break the surface.
Zhang Ruhan didn’t seem to mind, she knew others were in the office, but thought nothing of it.
"And you’ve got the nerve to say it! What do you call that, a 9?"
Mr. Liang Wenbang, blissfully unaware of the scene unfolding nearby, kept scolding his hopeless student. Honestly though, it sounded more like chiding a wayward kid than a proper rebuke, he pretended to fume, but his tone was nothing if not indulgent.
Jing Ming was still slouched crookedly in his chair, cocky as ever. “I’m an engineering student, building robots. Why the hell would I care about Marxism or Deng Xiaoping Thought?”
“It’s a required course! You have to pass the exam!”
Jing Ming squinted, glancing through the blinds. “I’d love to pass, but the teacher won’t give me a 60 no matter what. What do you expect me to do?”
“So now this is all the teacher’s fault? If you’d just gotten a 50-something, maybe they’d let it slide and fudge it for you. But nine points? How do you explain that?”
Jing Ming lifted his chin a little, scratching his neck. “I can’t explain it. Want to talk to them for me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Liang Wenbang snapped. “Go home and study. I don’t care what it takes, you’re passing that retake!”
Jing Ming sighed dramatically and let his head fall sideways onto the chair back. “No promises.”
“It’s the exact same test for the retake, they’ve made it ridiculously easy! You’re telling me you still can’t pass?!”
Jing Ming frowned. “How is it easy? I don’t even remember any of the questions.”
“You didn’t even look at the test, did you?” Mr. Liang shot up, pen in hand, ready to rap Jing Ming on the head.
Jing Ming jerked away just in time.
Du Ruo, peering over the pile of files, caught the flash of his profile before it vanished again.
She sat on her side of the desk, mind numb, except for her cheeks, burning and raw, stinging so sharply she could hardly breathe.
On the other side, Zhang Ruhan pressed on with Du Ruo, “Is it inconvenient to say?” When silence stretched and Du Ruo’s face threatened to twist, Zhang smiled gently, “If you’d rather not say, that’s all right. Okay?”
Du Ruo stayed silent.
On that side, Liang Wenbang let the exam issue drop, sitting down again. “So, about those project topics I showed you, what did you think?”
“Boring. No thoughts.”
“Not even the robot joint gravity recovery project?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. If you don’t want to work with a senior, you can do your own.”
Jing Ming perked up just enough to lean against the desk, sliding a pen from the teacher’s holder and spinning it between his fingers. “So, who gets the credit, me, or the school?”
Mr. Liang chuckled, “The school gets a cut, of course.”
“How much?”
Mr. Liang raised a finger.
The spinning pen stopped abruptly. “Why?”
“Facilities, talent, resources, equipment, and all the later investments, they’re all the school’s, aren’t they?”
Jing Ming went back to spinning his pen. “My dad’s company can provide all that too. I don’t have to rely on the school.”
Mr. Liang was half amused, half exasperated. “Are you bargaining with me now?”
Jing Ming: “Better to sort this out now than regret it later.”
“Just tell me: you and your friends, what are you secretly working on these days?”
“Autonomous vehicles.”
Mr. Liang tsked. “That’s some tough tech.”
The boy let out a chilly laugh. “If tech has a threshold, it’s there for me to step over.”
That outrageous confidence made Mr. Liang pause, then honestly burst out laughing, genuine and hearty.
“So, how far along are you?”
“Trade secret.” He couldn’t be bothered to say more.
Mr. Liang saw through him and just chuckled again, helpless. “All right. We’ll talk specifics some other time. But listen, don’t slack off on the robotics side. You’d better enter every competition. It’s about bringing honor to the school.”
Jing Ming scratched his chin with the pen, annoyed. “Got it, got it.”
“Okay, okay, I’m done nagging. Just focus on the exams for now, we’ll talk after. I’m serious, though: treat the retake seriously. Failing a class is not a good look.”
Jing Ming tossed the pen back in the holder and collapsed into his chair again. “Guess I’ll leave it to fate.”
“You kid!”
Over there, everything was lively and light. On this side, the air was frozen stiff.
Zhang Ruhan finally called out, after Du Ruo’s long silence, “Du Ruo?”
Du Ruo lifted her eyes. “Yes?”
The sun was slanting; golden light touched her lashes. She turned her head, just slightly, to avoid its glare.
Zhang Ruhan took a sip from her cup and studied the form in her hand. “Your father passed away early. Your mother’s in poor health and can’t work. Is that right?”
“Isn’t it written on the form? Illiterate, living off welfare. Or did I write too sloppily?”
The resistance in her tone was so sharp, Zhang Ruhan smiled, gently explaining, “Just confirming, that’s all.”
Suddenly, Du Ruo couldn’t stand that polite smile. She was about to snap back.
A dry, faintly mocking voice came from behind: “Teacher, people like her can actually apply for aid? Is government money really that easy to get?”
Du Ruo spun around, shocked, staring at Jing Ming in disbelief.
Jing Ming shot her a cold glance, then slid his gaze to Zhang Ruhan, a polite smile on his lips, though there was a trace of clear contempt.
“If she qualifies, then I want aid too.”
Zhang Ruhan rushed to soothe him, “Now, now, don’t worry. We’re extremely strict with the scholarship process.”
“Of course you are,” Jing Ming said lightly. “She’s got an iPhone, how is that a poor student? She ought to be carrying one of those ancient Nokias, don’t you think?” He pinched the edge of Du Ruo’s shirt between his fingers, lifting it and giving it a shake. “And look, her clothes aren’t patched. Shouldn’t a poor student be wearing rags?”
Now Zhang Ruhan realized he was mocking her. Her face twisted, like she'd swallowed a bug.
Du Ruo was stunned, genuinely not expecting him to step in, even for a second.
“A ‘poor student’ should look the part, no nice clothes, no nice things, no snacks. Nothing from the canteen but pickles and steamed buns. And when you screen for poverty, you need an assembly: everyone sits in the audience, the ‘poor kids’ line up on stage, whoever cries the hardest gets the sympathy vote. That’s real fairness, right? Isn’t that how it works, Teacher?”
Zhang Ruhan’s expression ran through every shade of red and white.
“There aren’t even any truly poor students in our department. Most of the forms on your desk are fakes, and you’re so ‘strict’...” Jing Ming finished, swallowing his anger, glancing at the top of Du Ruo’s head. “I told you, you’re not what Ms. Zhang calls a ‘real poor student’. Why are you still sitting here?”
Du Ruo was still dazed, not fully able to respond.
Jing Ming kicked the leg of her chair. “I’m talking to you!”
She scrambled to her feet.
Jing Ming was already striding for the door.
Right before she left, Du Ruo turned to Zhang Ruhan. “Teacher, whether I’m applying for aid, or studying at all, it’s to wipe away the traces of poverty hanging over me and build a better life. So, I can’t compete to see who’s poorer, and I can’t bend myself just to look pitiful. I don’t know how. And I never will, because I’m never going back.”
She gave a small, polite nod, then turned away, not caring what reply Zhang Ruhan might have, at that moment, all she felt was relief flooding through her.
She darted out of the office, scanning the hall for Jing Ming.
His figure flickered around the corridor bend, then vanished into the elevator bay.
She tore after him like she was running the hundred-meter dash. “Wait!”
The elevator doors were almost closed, Jing Ming was inside, hands in his pockets, leaning against the back wall, chin tilted. He made no move to stop the doors.
Through the narrowing gap, he glanced at her, then looked away, icy and aloof.
But just as the doors shut, Du Ruo jammed her foot inside,
Bang!
Jing Ming’s face was ice cold.
She scrambled in, the doors sliding closed behind her.
The elevator hummed quietly downward. She licked her lips, gathering herself, just about to thank him, when,
He let out a cold, angry laugh: “What, did my parents mistreat you? Did they look down on you, make you feel small?”
Du Ruo startled, hastily explaining, “It’s not like that. I just... if I can get a scholarship, I don’t want to take more of Auntie’s money.”
“You think she cares about a little money like that?”
“I care,” she said simply.
He gave a mocking little snort, clearly done with the conversation. Slamming a button, he stepped out as soon as the elevator opened on the next floor.
She was left standing there, watching as the doors slid shut again, his figure getting smaller with every second.
There was so much she wanted to say. But none of it left her lips.
Only as the doors finally closed did she realize, she’d forgotten to say thank you.
By four in the afternoon, the sunlight had thinned. The blue of the sky was waning, fading at the edges.
Du Ruo walked slowly back along a path scattered with crisp leaves, lips pressed in a faint line, her heart veiled in a light, gentle mist. Even so, some scenes cut through it all: his words in the office, the image of his back as he left.
The air was chilly, but inside, she was impossibly warm.
Now and then, she looked up at the treetops, the leaves seemed even more golden than before.
Autumn in Beijing was beautiful. The sky so blue, the air so clean.
She breathed in deeply, then kept walking.
Without realizing it, she found herself beneath the dorm building. Only then did it hit her, she was supposed to be in the library, studying calculus.
She sighed and grabbed her backpack, setting off toward the library, only to pause, glancing back at the girls’ dorm.
At this hour, no one would be in the room.
The dorm curtains were drawn, the lighting dim, except for the soft glow at Du Ruo’s desk lamp.
That gentle light cast a cocoon-like warmth in her small corner of the room.
Her tiny figure hunched at the desk, over a copy of Introduction to Mao Zedong Thought, surrounded by white notepaper densely packed with her tiny dark handwriting.
She chewed on her pen, mulling over the questions on the politics exam. Each time she recalled an answer, she'd scribble furiously, flipping through her books, and neatly copy her solutions onto a blank sheet of paper.
Stray bangs kept falling across her forehead, but she ignored them, focused on crafting every character, every line perfectly.
Outside, daylight faded bit by bit. At last, she finished, set her pen down with relief, and took a long, deep breath, shaking out her aching wrist.
From the dorm door came the telltale beeping of a keycard near the sensor.
She instantly shoved her politics book aside and threw her advanced math textbook on top to hide her notes.
He Huanhuan walked in, arms stacked high with books. "Huh? You didn't go to the library?"
"Nah. I got there late, no seats left," Du Ruo replied.
"Math exam tomorrow, right?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, oh, I just remembered a hilarious joke. Once upon a time, there was a tree on campus called the 'Advanced Tree.' So many people failed there, they practically hung themselves on it. Ha!"
He Huanhuan was easy to amuse; her laughter was open and infectious. Du Ruo couldn’t help but laugh along with her.
The next morning, Du Ruo got up before sunrise. Skipping breakfast, she snuck over to the classroom where Jing Ming’s class was held, pretending she was there to study, and found his roommate's bag saving his seat.
Careful not to make a sound, she unzipped the bag, slipped her folded notes inside, zipped it back up, and bolted out of the room.
Even after leaving, she stole one last glance back, only then walking away thoroughly satisfied.
But in that fleeting, satisfied look over her shoulder, something suddenly hit her,
Oh no.
A chill of dread crept up from her toes straight into her heart.
This is bad.
She realized, she actually liked him.
Denying it was pointless now, jealous, curious, grateful, annoyed, cautious, suspicious; all excuses. She was just plain into him.