Chapter 3

The afternoon before classes began, the college held a freshman orientation meeting.
In the big lecture hall, the first two rows were girls; everything behind that, just an ocean of guys.
The meeting hadn’t started yet. The room buzzed with fresh, uncertain voices.
Du Ruo listened idly to the conversations around her. Everyone was a stranger, so the talk was all pretty much the same:
“What’s your major?”
“Where are you from?”
“How many girls in your class?”
She paid special attention to how the other girls were dressed: not much different from high school, short hair, ponytails; button-downs, T-shirts; jeans, loose cotton pants.
No one had dolled up, nobody really bothering with appearances. The bookish vibes in here were off the charts.
Female science geniuses, it turned out, really didn’t care about presentation. At least not right after orientation.
Jing Ming, she guessed, would probably call it all hopelessly provincial.
She could picture his reaction without even trying, face blank, lips just barely curling in mocking amusement, like she was some sort of joke. His eyes bored through people with a faint contempt, dismissing you straight into the dirt.
Honestly, she was a little scared of him. Or maybe, she just really disliked him.
She hated how he seemed to loathe her, absolutely unprovoked and blatantly obvious about it.
Du Ruo glanced at the other girls, then inspected herself: a fresh white T-shirt and jeans, both clean as new. Blending perfectly in, nothing strange about it.
She exhaled, just a bit more at ease, then snuck another peek behind her. The boys looked just as green, dressed like high schoolers, messy and rumpled. Really, they were just ordinary kids, nothing fancy at all.
But a moment later, someone caught her eye, impossible to ignore, really. He stood out too much.
Jing Ming strolled in through the back door of the classroom.
He was tall, really tall, and his skin practically glowed. Same white shirt as everyone else, but on him, white seemed impossibly whiter, like he had his own private filter.
Only now did Du Ruo notice there were a million shades of “white shirt” here: off-white, cream, eggshell, faded, yellowed, old. But his, just pure, blinding white.
When she turned around to look, so did all the girls beside and behind her. The effect rippled out, like someone startled a flock of geese, heads wheeling in unison.
Jing Ming wasn’t just good-looking, his every move radiated a kind of effortless, careless cool. He owned the room without even trying. That confidence wasn’t something you could fake, and he definitely didn’t fit in with the other nervous freshmen.
He was fiddling with his phone, one hand shoved in his pocket, and paused at the top of the back steps, sending out a text. His expression was storm-cloud dark, brow pinched, lips mouthing a silent “What the hell?” to himself. When he looked up, the whole room had gone quiet, watching him.
He sized up the place from above, giving everyone the same look you’d give a pile of unwashed potatoes. His gaze swept over the crowd and quickly landed on his three roommates. They’d saved him a seat. With a sigh, he shoved his phone back in his pocket and stalked toward the steps, not even bothering to fake enthusiasm.
Du Ruo spun back in her seat instantly,
That empty seat was right behind her!
She disliked Jing Ming even more than she’d realized.
Coming to Beijing for school was supposed to be a fresh start, a source of pride. Instead, on her very first night, she’d been smacked in the face by Jing Ming, reduced to the pitiful poor relative from out of town. In those cold eyes, she wasn’t even family. More like a stray.
Her feeling of triumph at getting into a top university evaporated, knowing someone like Jing Ming, a spoiled rich kid, a “special admit”, was walking the same halls.
Special admit? What a joke.
Compared to him, all those years spent burning the midnight oil suddenly felt laughable. Maybe he thought the same, how else could he be so smug around her?
A shadow flickered over her from behind and fell in place.
A folding chair scraped; Jing Ming took the seat.
“Why’d you show up so late?”
“Wasn’t the meeting at five? I’m not late,” Jing Ming replied, voice drawling, not about to apologize.
“True enough.” His roommate laughed. “Four-fifty-nine and thirty seconds. Right on time.”
"Sitting in class is so boring. Once the semester starts, you won’t even have time to be bored."
He chatted idly behind her, making Du Ruo squirm in her seat, every breath uncomfortable.
Just then, the classroom suddenly hushed as several male teachers filed in, each donning stereotypical engineering-guy uniforms: polo shirts with dress pants.
Their looks matched their understated style, quiet, approachable, even a little shy, most of them avoiding direct eye contact with the students.
Some were a bit chubby, waddling in with a sweet, almost goofy energy that put everyone at ease.
The students watched them with shining eyes, like chicks waiting for their mother hen to come home, each one guessing which teacher would be “theirs.”
The teachers settled into the empty seats in the first row, exposing the backs of their heads to a roomful of curious scrutiny.
He Huanhuan nudged Du Ruo’s arm, whispering, "Guess which one is our homeroom advisor?"
Du Ruo shook her head. "How would I know?"
Huanhuan giggled. "I have no idea either."
Du Ruo spotted a particularly young man at the far end of the first row. He looked more like a student than a teacher. There was a gentleness to his features as he gazed thoughtfully at the podium.
Qiu Yuchen muttered, "That teacher is way too young. I don’t want to be in his group."
Du Ruo, surprised: "Why not?"
Qiu Yuchen: "Older teachers have more experience. With him, I bet I wouldn’t learn anything."
Du Ruo’s face said, “Fair point.” She nodded, "I wouldn’t pick him either."
As soon as she said it, she caught a glimpse of Jing Ming behind her, though he wasn’t looking her way, she flinched and immediately straightened up.
She made up her mind not to turn her head again, not even ten degrees.
The welcome assembly kicked off, hosted by the associate dean.
First, the dean gave a speech, introducing the basics of the college, its history, present, and future plans. He threw in some words of encouragement too: reminding students of their mission, urging them to study hard, be creative, keep healthy, plan out their four years, and make contributions to the country.
The freshmen, all still buzzing from the gaokao, brimmed with hope for their futures. The dean’s pep talk set their ambition ablaze. Young faces seemed to catch and glow with its light.
Jing Ming, on the other hand, wasn’t listening at all. He sat fiddling with his phone under the desk, increasingly irritable; finally, he blocked someone’s WeChat, but it wasn’t enough. He went into his contacts and blacklisted "Min Enzhu" for good measure.
His fingers tapped the phone as he lifted his gaze lazily.
The dean wrapped up, and now it was time for a student representative to speak: Li Qinghe, a sophomore, none other than the young man Du Ruo and friends had mistaken for a teacher.
"So he’s a senior, not a teacher."
He carried himself with unforced maturity, entirely different from the wide-eyed freshmen. From his speech to his smile, he brimmed with that easy, self-assured upperclassman vibe. He shared college stories with a relaxed, confident charm.
Laughter rippled through the crowd again and again.
But to Jing Ming, there was nothing funny about Li Qinghe’s act; what was with the big brother routine? Maybe he could fool kindergartners, but not him.
He tuned out, scrolling through his phone. No new messages. The person he’d blocked was gone.
Annoyed, he blinked his eyes open, idly glancing at the girls in front of him, and then paused. One of them looked...familiar? His gaze brushed past, then snapped back, moving one seat over.
Well, well, wasn’t that Du Ruo?
How did she manage to pop up under his nose again?
The day Jing Ming had dropped Du Ruo off at school, he’d never really looked at her straight on. His impression was stuck at that train station scene: greasy hair, sallow skin, bargain-bin clothes, a malnourished bean-sprout body, smelling of sweat and train car grime.
Now, her hair was freshly washed and cut short, fluffy and soft, an ear-length bob with a hint of natural brownish-yellow, probably from lack of nutrition.
"Blond brat" really did suit her, he thought, smirking to himself.
This side faced him. Her hair was tucked behind one small, curved ear, the sharp edge of her haircut revealing a slender neck. The glare from the fluorescent lights washed her skin pale, almost like a beauty filter.
She had on a crisp, fresh T-shirt. It was a world apart from the scruffy girl at the train station.
Jing Ming wasn’t that interested; he looked her up and down, then noticed her shirt had a loose thread, exposing a patch of skin the size of a fingernail. Amused, he curled up his lips in a silent laugh.
So, if the ugly duckling washes up, is she still an ugly duckling?
Whatever. He looked away, no longer interested.
Up on stage, Li Qinghe was still droning on, seriously, was there anything more pointless than this kind of assembly?
Jing Ming weighed his phone in his hand, wishing he could at least game.
Then, after a moment, something dawned on him; his brow furrowed, the look of someone suddenly annoyed. He tapped out a message and fired it off.
Up front, Du Ruo’s phone chimed, a quiet ding, but loud enough to draw stares.
The whole row turned; even a teacher glanced back.
On stage, Li Qinghe paused for a beat, then went on.
Du Ruo’s cheeks burned with shame. She scrambled to set her phone to silent. It was a text from Jing Ming:
"What happened to the money I gave you for clothes? Pocketed it for yourself?"
Du Ruo stared, confused, without replying. She was about to put her phone away when the screen lit up again: "Your shirt’s ripped."
Her scalp prickled. She whipped around, eyes wide, searching for him.
Jing Ming sat, eyes vacant on the stage, completely ignoring her, like he was just another face in the crowd.
Flustered, Du Ruo whipped her head back, cheeks flaming hot. Suddenly it felt like everyone’s eyes were burning holes through her.
Palm slick with sweat, she hurriedly texted back: "Where?"
No response. Clearly, he had no intention of helping.
Li Qinghe finished his speech, applause broke out, and now it was the freshmen’s turn.
Du Ruo covertly checked both shoulders, nothing. Then peeked at her sides.
The seam on her right was split, about a centimeter long. Nothing showed if she stayed still, but as soon as she moved, the little tear would pull open.
If anyone else saw, it’d be embarrassing, but she didn’t think it was the end of the world.
But, of course, the one person to catch her "tragic little poor-kid rip" just had to be Jing Ming. Suddenly, Du Ruo thought: maybe it’d be better if one of them just dropped dead right now.