Chapter 21

That night with the wild autumn wind, Du Ruo hid out on the deserted bleachers and cried her heart out.
She wept for her crushed secret crush, for her stamped-to-pieces pride, and all the months of anxiety and confusion she'd bottled up since she arrived at university.
She cried until there were no tears left and her throat was raw.
She sat dazed in the darkness for a long time. The world was so wide, and she was utterly alone. No one would ever know just how badly her heart broke tonight, and she couldn't tell a soul.
Some wounds you just keep to yourself, always.
That night, after she collected herself and went back to the dorm, none of her roommates even noticed.
For a while after, she was quieter than usual, but nothing else seemed off.
Her very first crush ended right there, quick and merciless. No one even knew it had ever happened. Just like the empty stadium that night, nobody saw her crying alone in the dark.
Looking back, she couldn't fathom how she survived such pain.
But really, what was it? Just a torn t-shirt and a rejection. Back then, she was so young, her pride bigger than the sky. She didn't realize that one day, after your heart matures, that tear, that harsh word, they're nothing. They'll pass. They'll fade away.
But she hadn't learned that yet.
Every little thing felt like the end of the world, impossible to move past.
After that night, she never went back to the field for morning reading, and even walking around campus, she kept her head down, terrified she might run into Jing Ming, though the chance was slim.
For a long time, she spiraled into self-doubt, she was broke, useless, plain, dressed shabbily, awkward, no special talents.
All her life she'd never really tasted misery; now she knew every letter in "inferiority complex" by heart.
She hated it and wanted to fix it, so she forced herself to be tougher and shoved herself out of her comfort zone.
She made herself join the debate club, started practicing speeches and debate drills, shadowed the older members to learn. But with such a weak foundation, public speaking was still a nightmare, she was shy at first, barely able to get words out.
At a club dinner, everyone was in a good mood, buzzing from a little beer.
One of the seniors, Zhai Miao, a legend who'd won national debate awards, turned to her. "Du Ruo, why do you always seem so timid, so scared to try new things?"
Du Ruo felt a sting, answering softly, "I'm afraid of embarrassing myself. Afraid everyone will laugh."
"So? If you don't mess up and learn while you're still young, when will you?"
Unbidden, Du Ruo's eyes went wet. "But I…I just don't know what to do. I want to be good right away, like you guys. But I, "
"Hey, you're already great," her senior told her, ruffling her hair. "Don't overthink, don't panic. Take it one step at a time, just try things. Thinking about it a hundred times isn't half as useful as speaking out or actually doing it once. You can't strategize your way to confidence, you have to live it, yeah?"
"Okay."
"And seriously, why are you not confident? You're tougher than any of us. Getting into university was way harder for you than anyone else here; you came here all the way from your hometown, out of thousands. Were you like this back when you were in school? I bet you weren't. So tell me, now that you're somewhere better, why not live a little happier, instead of getting all lost?"
One simple sentence broke her out of her daze.
In that instant, Du Ruo snapped awake. Right. How could she have forgotten?
Back home, she was always the top of her class.
She’d never met anyone sharper. She could grasp new material with ease, memorize textbooks at lightning speed, and even after starting college, that hadn’t changed.
It had taken her this long to remember that she used to be happy, confident, and dazzling.
How could she forget?
How had she spent so much time envying others, but lost sight of herself?
Not long after, her senior recommended she join the Outdoor Adventure Club.
This time, Du Ruo didn’t hesitate, she signed up on the spot. She wanted to see the world outside. She should have done it sooner.
She started hanging out with students from all the different departments, biking around the Third and Fourth Ring Roads, hiking the wild sections of the Great Wall.
Soon she’d wandered through every street and alley in Beijing, saw people living their ordinary lives in the hutongs, caught glimpses of busy white-collar workers hustling in the business districts, watched laborers sweating on construction sites, brisk street vendors hustling by the curb…
She climbed tall mountains, overlooking the endless rolling peaks, sky stretching wide and blue.
The world was changing, every single day. And so was she.
She split every ounce of time into eight, packing in club activities, never falling behind in class, and spending every free minute in the library, cramming coursework, poring over advanced technical lectures from abroad.
Once, all that work left her harried and irritable. Now, she was still busy, but her time had order, purpose, and she felt more fulfilled than ever.
She even lucked out and found a tutoring job in a nearby apartment complex, close by and good pay.
Sometimes, in quiet moments alone, she’d wonder if she was doing all this just to prove something.
She didn’t know.
Now, if an answer didn’t come, she wouldn’t rush to find it. She let time work it out.
If anything could shatter a person’s confidence, it was liking someone, only to find out not only does he not like you, he looks down on you.
People say love is a good thing, but that's a song only the lucky sing.
Only the heartbroken know,
Love can be humbling. It can make you small, make you ashamed, make you lose yourself.
So that’s how it is.
As for her, bit by bit, as days passed, she learned to let go of that shame. After she stopped liking him, she found freedom, walked out from under the shadow of humiliation like a sprout breaking through stone.
She wasn’t trying to prove anything. This was just how her life was supposed to be. Maybe it always had been. After running in circles and feeling lost, she’d finally found her way back to herself.
She was thinking this as she locked up the lab, carrying the sensor she'd constructed herself, a quiet pride blooming inside her. She’d learned this alone, not from any teacher.
A while back, she’d asked Professor Yang Changqing if she could help out with his research project and maybe pick up more hands-on knowledge. He said first-years weren’t a good fit.
She wasn’t in a rush. She’d teach herself, and when her work was ready, she’d take it to him, she was sure he’d be surprised.
Her three roommates also had classes in the lab building. It was after class, so the four of them headed back to their dorm together.
Fall had given way to winter; the campus was bleak and bare.
Walking into the northern winds, everyone hunched their necks and breathed out shivering clouds.
He Huanhuan brightened: “It’s freezing, time for new clothes! Let’s go shopping this weekend. Online shopping just doesn’t hit the same.”
Du Ruo agreed, “I’m in.”
After saving up salary from several tutoring sessions, she had a nice sum stashed away. She’d already sworn off cheap junk, better to save for one quality piece than buy a bunch of duds.
Qiu Yuchen: “Just what I was thinking.”
As they stepped into their dorm building, they bumped into an exceptionally glamorous girl in heels, their neighbor across the hall, Jiang Xiaoyun.
They all knew each other. They exchanged smiles and greetings.
Jiang Xiaoyun was the “it girl” of the Media Department. Their students were always a notch more stylish than the STEM girls, but even for her, today’s look was next-level.
Once she’d left, He Huanhuan turned: “Wow, she looks gorgeous. Bet she’s meeting some guy?”
Xia Nan chimed in, “I heard she’s chasing after Jing Ming.”
Du Ruo’s heart stumbled, her brow knotting in discomfort.
It had been nearly two months since that night.
Seasons changed, the last golden leaves fluttering away.
Now, only withered twigs filled the campus.
She’d been consciously avoiding any contact with him, all possible news. If class was anywhere near his, she’d go the long way; on shared core courses, she came and went in a rush, determined never to cross his path.
But even that couldn’t stop the sting when she overheard things like this.
He Huanhuan grinned, “He’s got a line of girls after him, but she’s a real match. Right?”
Du Ruo forced a smile. “Yeah. They look good together.”
She stopped visiting Jing Ming’s lab after that. Once, Li Wei asked if she wanted to drop by again; she used “going to the library” as an excuse, and he never brought it up again.
One night, Du Ruo was alone in the lab, tinkering with her sensor. Before heading upstairs, she realized her destination was on the same floor as Jing Ming’s lab, so she purposely took the farther elevator just to avoid running into him.
Inside, she fiddled with sound-sensitive materials, coils, resistors, chips, screws, the casing… After more than an hour, the sensor was done.
Du Ruo grinned with satisfaction, ceremoniously placing it on the table and clapping her hands hard in front of it: “Clap!”
The tiny indicator light stayed dark.
Du Ruo: “…”
She tried clapping again, a couple times, still nothing.
Du Ruo: ???
Confused, she opened up the sensor, checked all the wiring, no mistakes. She assembled it once more and clapped, but the light didn’t flicker.
Was her clapping too soft?
Thinking maybe it needed more volume, Du Ruo leaned in close and shouted, “HEY!”
The little bulb: “…”
“YAAAH!”
“…”
“HO!”
“…”
“HA!”
“…”
The sensor stayed perfectly still, like it’d gone completely deaf.
Du Ruo, undeterred: “Ha! Ha! HA!”
A shadow crossed the doorway. She whirled around, instantly mortified, and then froze.
Jing Ming stood in the lab’s entrance, looking at her with a mix of impatience and exasperation. “It’s the middle of the night, what’s with all the yelling?”
Du Ruo: “…”
He looked almost unfamiliar after over a month apart. Maybe his hair was shorter? His coat looked heavier, even more expensive.
“What are you making?” Jing Ming frowned, tilting his head for a look.
“N-nothing special.” She edged between him and the sensor, trying to block it.
But Jing Ming’s sharp gaze caught everything. He strode over, nudging his chin the other way: “Step aside.”
Du Ruo didn’t want to listen. “That’s my, ”
But he’d already brushed her aside, picked up the sensor, and glanced at it. “Sound activated?”
“…Yeah.”
He held out a palm for her. She didn’t react, so he shot her a cold look.
Du Ruo handed him her tiny screwdriver.
Jing Ming took it, deftly cracked the sensor open, scanned it with a snort and a shake of his head, the very picture of disdain, then silently put it back together and dropped it in front of her.
He snapped his fingers sharply, crack!, and the sensor’s light switched on, perfectly clear.
Du Ruo: “…”
A moment ago, she’d been busy mocking his holier-than-thou attitude, but it was hard to argue with results.
She sneaked a glance at him and asked, “What did I do wrong?”
“You swapped the primary and secondary coils. Even mistakes like this? I think you’re beyond saving.” Sarcasm, pure and simple.
“Oh.” she murmured, nothing else to say.
The lab went quiet, lit by harsh fluorescent lights. The sensor’s tiny bulb glowed steady.
Outside, endless winter night pressed at the windows.
Jing Ming had criticized her offhand, but he knew the stuff she was working on was way above first-year level. After the quip, seeing she didn’t react, he couldn’t help taking a longer look.
She did seem a little different after all this time.
Though he couldn’t quite say how.
He didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he snagged her pen and paper, jotted down a list of web sites, and said, “You can find courses and resources here.”
He tossed down the pen, then added, from his superior height, “For sensors, breakthroughs are really about the materials. Also, learn more circuit theory.”
This guy, machines always had his full attention. People, never did.
Once upon a time, someone had read too much into his half-hearted "Not bad."
“Thanks.” She nodded, still quiet.
Right then, his phone rang, that same English song she could never quite catch.
He turned away, answering: “Hello?”
Whatever was said on the other end, he replied, “On my way.”
He lowered his phone, glanced her way, didn’t bother with a goodbye, and left straight out the door.
As if on cue, the tiny sensor light blinked off.
Du Ruo looked down at the messy handwriting he’d scrawled in her notebook, then at the little sensor, and sat there in silence. It wasn’t until she heard his footsteps fade down the corridor and the distant “bam” of a closing door that she finally opened her mouth and called out, “Hey!”
This time, the sensor’s light flickered on, bright and obedient.
She let out a sigh, her heart steady, just a little annoyed at her own carelessness.