Li Lan’s illness had worsened from the cold.
She didn’t have Zhu Yun’s robust constitution. She had been running a low fever for several days straight, unable to keep anything down. Li Xun had taken her to the hospital, but Li Lan slipped out on her own afterward, insisting it was a ridiculous overreaction — where she came from, nobody went to the hospital for something this minor.
Worried about passing it to Li Xun, she had secluded herself in a hotel room to recover on her own.
When Li Xun came to check on her a few days later, he found she had lost a noticeable amount of weight.
“What happened?” He frowned. “You told me on the phone the fever had broken.”
Li Lan was already half-delirious. She shook her head with great effort, her voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s nothing…”
“No — you’re going to the hospital.” Li Xun pulled her up. Li Lan still tried to resist, but the dizziness had taken her strength; she barely had enough left to speak.
Li Xun brought her downstairs. They had just stepped out of the hotel when his phone rang — Professor Lin, telling him to get back to campus right away.
“What for?”
Professor Lin said hurriedly: “Just come, come — we’re shorthanded!” And hung up.
Li Xun frowned. He glanced at the dazed Li Lan beside him, then steered her into a nearby restaurant.
“Wait here. I’ll be back shortly.”
He returned to campus at a quick pace, and Professor Lin immediately dragged him to the administrative auditorium.
Tomorrow’s finals were to be held there. The venue was mostly set up already, and several competing teams were running their final equipment checks. Despite the bitter cold, Professor Lin had worked himself into a sweat. He explained to Li Xun that several volunteers had gone into the city and were stuck in traffic on the way back, leaving a string of urgent tasks with no one to handle them.
As the school’s chief coordinator, Professor Lin shoved a stack of materials into Li Xun’s hands and said, frantic: “Get these competition entries logged in for me — I genuinely cannot spare myself right now.”
Li Xun scanned through the materials and found there was quite a lot to enter. Thinking of Li Lan waiting at the restaurant, he set the papers aside. “Find someone else to do it.”
Professor Lin glared at him. “If I had someone else, do you think I’d be asking you? You are my last resort!”
Li Xun smiled without any shame and was about to push back again when someone stepped over from the side. Fang Zhijing took the materials from Li Xun’s hands and addressed Professor Lin directly: “Sir, let me take care of it.”
Professor Lin recognized Fang Zhijing quickly enough — the events of two years ago at that competition had been too extraordinary to forget, and Fang Zhijing, as the one Li Xun had singled out, had left a particularly vivid impression.
Now the two of them were face to face again. Professor Lin felt a flicker of tension, though looking at the two parties themselves, neither seemed to be reacting in any particular way.
While Professor Lin was busy managing his own awkwardness, Fang Zhijing had already settled himself at the computer. He turned and asked: “Sir, do I just enter everything directly? Is there anything specific I should know?”
Professor Lin collected himself and immediately said: “No, no — you’re a guest here, we can’t have you doing this. We have people—” He reached out to grab Li Xun. Li Xun stepped back out of reach and said pleasantly: “Let him do it if he wants to. Saves me from seeing something I shouldn’t, and then my hands getting restless — that would be trouble.”
A cold chill ran down Professor Lin’s back; the sweat on his forehead nearly dripped. He stole a glance at Fang Zhijing, who was busy with the data entry and appeared not to have heard Li Xun’s remark.
Professor Lin pulled Li Xun aside and jabbed a finger at him.
“He came over out of goodwill to help. How can you say something like that to provoke him.”
Li Xun said: “None of the teams ahead of his have even finished testing their software yet. Why is he the one coming to help you, the judge?”
Professor Lin’s brow creased. “Stop being so cynical.”
Li Xun shrugged. “I’m heading out.”
“Don’t you dare!” Professor Lin snapped. “Go help me test all the machines. You don’t leave until you’ve confirmed every team’s software is running. Every single one.”
“…”
Li Xun checked the time, decided there was still enough of it, and stopped arguing with the old man. He turned and went to check the machines.
Professor Lin went back to Fang Zhijing’s side and, after a moment’s thought, offered a conciliatory word: “He’s always been like this — rough around the edges. Don’t take it to heart.”
Fang Zhijing looked up. “Please, sir, it’s ancient history. I stopped caring about it long ago.”
Professor Lin relaxed and sighed approvingly. “That’s the right attitude. Character and talent together — that’s what takes a person far. No matter how many times I say it to him, it doesn’t get through.”
Fang Zhijing said generously: “What happened before wasn’t entirely his fault. I came to recognize my own weaknesses because of it. He’s genuinely impressive, actually.”
Hearing this, Professor Lin felt a surge of warmth toward Fang Zhijing — what a broad-minded young man, holding no grudges whatsoever. He leaned in and said quietly: “I’ve looked at your team’s submission this year. It’s quite strong.”
Fang Zhijing looked a little modest. “Could you give us a bit more guidance?”
Professor Lin went through several points about the specifics of their entry. At the end, Fang Zhijing said: “Those are all genuine weak spots — thank you so much for pointing them out. I’d always heard this department produces exceptional talent. With someone like you guiding Li Xun, it’s no wonder his abilities are what they are.”
Professor Lin smiled. “Ah, his situation is its own thing.”
Fang Zhijing looked at him and said nothing.
Professor Lin couldn’t help himself — he launched into talking about Li Xun unprompted.
In daily life, Professor Lin yelled at Li Xun whenever he saw him, but everyone at the school who knew him well understood: by every measure, this one student outweighed the entire rest of the department put together in the old man’s heart. His fondness for Li Xun was so extravagant it might as well have been written on his forehead — he treated him like a son, and seized every opportunity to boast about him to anyone who would listen.
And so, once the mood struck him, Professor Lin talked without stopping — about what Li Xun was trying to build, about the company he planned to start, about the technical problems he had already solved, about the major manufacturers who had come seeking partnerships.
“The world truly belongs to your generation now,” Professor Lin said at last, his enthusiasm fully alight. “Your ideas, your capabilities, your nerve for throwing yourselves at things without hesitation — it’s nothing like what we were like back then.”
He was in the middle of his spirited monologue when Fang Zhijing, looking faintly apologetic, interrupted: “Sir… I’m sorry, I need to use the restroom for a moment. I drank too much water at lunch.”
“Of course, of course. Go ahead.”
Fang Zhijing rose, and in passing cast a glance — unconsciously or not — toward Li Xun, who was some distance away helping someone run a diagnostic on a machine. The look that crossed his face was dark and sharp-edged.
He walked to the restroom in silence. It was empty. He locked the door behind him, went to the sink, and ran cold water over his face, his whole body shaking with something that had nowhere to go.
His mind felt like it was crawling with ants — thousands of them, relentless. He tried to bring himself back to equilibrium and could not.