[Chapter One: Facing Punishment for Love]During his four years at university, Lu Xingyan was much more well-behaved than he was during his time in primary and secondary school.
However, even in his well-behaved state, he received a rather substantial punishment during his junior year abroad.
The incident became a topic of gossip after it surfaced, and he almost got sent back to Star City University.
To be fair, Lu Xingyan felt a bit unjust. Everything had been going smoothly for over half a year until the second semester of his junior year when the school decided to hold a vote to select a female student for the recruitment poster.
In recent years, many universities have taken to various gimmicks during the college entrance exam season to attract prospective students’ attention, such as composing catchy rhymes about the school’s superior environment or posting pictures of pretty girls holding signs online, often accompanied by the caption: “Waiting for you at XX University.”
When Lu Xingyan first heard about the school’s plan for this vote, he didn’t pay much attention to it and even found the idea of having someone pose for such sign-holding photos a bit tacky. He didn’t want Shen Xingru to participate.
But within a few days, this vote for the poster had somehow become synonymous with voting for the campus belle.
That evening, in the male dormitory.
Lu Xingyan’s roommate, Zou Yijia, was lying on his bed, legs crossed, scrolling through the campus app and chattering away.
“Lu Xingyan, how come your girl Shen Xingru is only eighth? This is just not right.”
“I’m curious about who’s voting for these. Look at number six, damn, they’ve darkened themselves up like coal and are ranked higher than Shen Xingru? If our school’s students lack aesthetic sense, that’s one thing, but when did they lose their ability to judge ugliness as well?”
“Watch your language, man. Do you have to talk about girls like that?”
Li Jiangchao, who was on the opposite bed, had always been straightforward. Recently, he’d been passionately studying issues of gender equality in his spare time and couldn’t stand it when people judged others based on their appearance.
Lu Xingyan also logged into the campus app of P University and checked. The pinned voting post in the discussion section was trending with thousands of replies. He had previously voted for Shen Xingru, so his client also displayed real-time vote counts.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight… He counted the votes from highest to lowest, and indeed, Shen Xingru was ranked eighth.
Lu Xingyan carefully scrolled through the list of over twenty candidates and for some reason, he suddenly felt a little angry.
What was this situation? Others had either artistic photos or beautiful selfies, but when it came to Shen Xingru, the voting image suddenly turned into a candid shot someone took of her during class.
Zou Yijia kept on chattering in his bed, going from gossip about certain people not getting along to someone’s ex being someone else’s current, and then to how someone got double eyelid surgery after being mocked by someone else. Lu Xingyan couldn’t quite make sense of it all, but he just felt that if he were to ask Shen Xingru about this gossip, she’d probably be clueless.
Zou Yijia continued, “Oh, by the way, that current number one, Li Ruyue, I remember she had some unpleasantness with your girl Shen Xingru because of the Model UN thing before. No wonder she’s been campaigning so actively for this lately.”
“What unpleasantness?” Lu Xingyan asked, tilting his head.
“Li Ruyue is from the Foreign Languages Institute, right? During the competition for Model UN positions, your girlfriend from the School of Humanities outshone her. It’s only natural she’d feel a bit sour about it,” Zou Yijia explained.
“…What do you mean by ‘unpleasantness’? Could you be more precise with your words? At most, it’s one-sided resentment. My girlfriend doesn’t have the time to bother with her,” Lu Xingyan retorted.
Still not feeling particularly pleased, he guessed that Shen Xingru probably hadn’t even remembered the other girl’s name.
Scrolling further down the replies, Lu Xingyan noticed someone questioning why Shen Xingru’s photo was different from the others in style.
The administrator replied, stating that Shen Xingru hadn’t registered herself, so she hadn’t provided them with a photo.
Lu Xingyan thought there were still some discerning people in the comments. Many mentioned having seen Shen Xingru before and praised her looks and temperament, suggesting she should be chosen directly.
However, there were more replies seemingly from supporters of other high-ranking candidates who refuted these claims, arguing that the vote count was the most fair and objective measure of popularity and beauty. They even labeled those praising Shen Xingru’s appearance as her friends.
“…It’s hard to believe that among the students of the top universities in the country, there’s still such a small group who aren’t dedicated to academic research but are keen on discussing childish and unproductive topics on forums like preschoolers,” Lu Xingyan thought.
Initially, he hadn’t noticed these rebuttals, but the more he read, the angrier he got. Donning a virtual cloak of anonymity, he joined the fray and rallied his dormmates.
Unfortunately, P University’s campus app had strict restrictions on registration and login; only enrolled students could use it, and each person could only register one account.
The guys in the dorm were loyal, so when Lu Xingyan spoke, they all joined in, even though they were at a disadvantage compared to the articulate girls posting comments.
Especially since some of these girls revealed they were from other institutes and even replied in foreign languages, taking advantage of their linguistic skills. These few made incomprehensible remarks, prompting Lu Xingyan’s group to seek translation help online to counter them.
As they all lay on their beds, furiously typing on their phones, Kang Ming, a first-year student from the Computer Science department who usually kept to himself, suddenly spoke up from his corner near the wall, “Are you guys childish or what? It’s just a vote. Just hack into the backend and tweak the data.”
They all fell silent simultaneously.
“Little bro, can you do that?” Zou Yijia asked.
“It’s no big deal. Look down on who?” Kang Ming replied casually.
Lu Xingyan had long lost his sense of rationality. He sat up on his bed and solemnly said, “Bro, thanks in advance.”
Immediately, the four of them silently got off their beds and gathered around Kang Ming’s desk to watch him work on the computer.
Within seconds, Lu Xingyan received a WeChat message from Shen Xingru, “Are you asleep?”
He didn’t reply, intending to create the impression that he was already asleep.
But soon, Shen Xingru sent over a screenshot of his step count, saying, “Your step count just increased by thirty-two.”
The underlying message was clear—ignore my message while pretending to sleep again, and you’ll regret it dearly.
Lu Xingyan quickly replied, “Darling, I was already asleep, just got up to use the bathroom, and now I’m back in bed.”
Shen Xingru didn’t know whether to believe it or not but didn’t ask further.
Lu Xingyan didn’t reply again; his mind was filled with thoughts like, “These days, any random chicken dares to overshadow my girlfriend? I need to teach you all a lesson in manners,” and “My girlfriend has never lost in competitions, voting, or exams. Do you think you can step on her to get ahead? You don’t even have a window!”
Kang Ming, usually a quiet guy, surprised them all with his computer skills. He operated with confidence, spinning the computer to indicate Lu Xingyan to input the vote count. “You’ve only got ten seconds, hurry up.”
Lu Xingyan entered one thousand.
Zou Yijia reminded him, “Isn’t that too little? Doesn’t one thousand practically equal zero?”
Considering the number of students across different departments and years, Lu Xingyan added a zero, thinking ten thousand would surely secure their win.
But in the dead of night, his hands shook, and his vision blurred. Without paying attention, he added two extra zeros. By the time he wanted to delete them, it was too late—