Chapter Eleven: The Admirers of Wu Yuanheng

... There were fifteen minutes left until class ended. Dong Yanyan glanced at her watch, then cast a furtive look around the classroom. Nearly half of the students were already in a state of semi-consciousness.

"Spring makes you drowsy, autumn brings fatigue, and in summer everyone dozes off. Let's have a self-study session now. Those who were just nodding off, wake up—class is almost over!" The middle-aged male teacher, somewhat lean in stature, closed his lesson plan and strolled down from the podium. Dong Yanyan's seat was right at the front; seeing the teacher approach, she felt obliged to at least save face. She stealthily nudged Liu Qiang beside her, who jerked his head up, wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, and assumed a thoughtful pose.

Mr. Guo paused in front of her, rapping lightly on the desk and smiling, "You look quite lively."

Dong Yanyan grinned sheepishly, "Mr. Guo, I've already mastered the art of staying awake while everyone else sleeps."

"Did you understand today's lesson?" Mr. Guo continued to ask with a friendly smile. Dong Yanyan knew he was one of those rare, upright teachers who especially appreciated diligent students—dedicated, patient, and expecting nothing in return. Thinking of this, she suddenly felt a rush of unexpected emotion.

"I understood," she replied with certainty, playing the part of the model student.

"A student who never asks questions is not a good student. If you have any questions, feel free to come to my office at any time," Mr. Guo said kindly.

*

The morning was a whirlwind of classes; at noon, the cafeteria was a battleground for lunch. Somehow, in the midst of all this hustle and bustle, time seemed to fly by. There were only two classes in the afternoon, and by a little after three, the day’s lessons were over.

To keep herself from thinking about her daughter to the point of madness, Dong Yanyan decided to find something to occupy her mind. There was a small library on the first floor, just a few steps from her dorm. Carrying a seat cushion and several books, she made her way there. The library was quiet, with only a bespectacled teacher on duty. Dong Yanyan, well-versed in the routine, signed her name and class in the logbook, gathered a stack of magazines from the shelves, and settled into a seat by the window. From there, she could see the flowers blooming in the small garden outside, and the boys playing basketball on the little court.

Sunlight streamed through the windows on that afternoon, bathing the scene in warmth and youth—a beautiful tableau of spirited boys running freely.

Dong Yanyan absentmindedly flipped through the gossip magazines and illustrated periodicals, propping her head in her hand as she gazed outside, letting her imagination roam unrestrained.

She spent the whole afternoon in the library, letting her thoughts wander. Reassessing her current situation, she felt her heart swell with hope and anticipation for this second chance at life. With over a decade of extra experience behind her, and youth restored, she was already ahead of the game at the starting line. The more she thought about it, the more exhilarated she became.

By the time she floated out of the library, still elated and reluctant to let go of her mood, evening had arrived and it was time for dinner. She cradled a tall stack of magazines in her arms, waddling contentedly back to her dorm like a clumsy penguin. Suddenly, someone darted out from the side and bumped into her without a word, sending her stumbling and scattering her books across the ground like autumn leaves.

What a clichéd encounter! Dong Yanyan stomped her foot and, without hesitation, shot out that classic line, "Do you walk without looking where you're going?"

But instead of the expected apology, silence hung in the air for two seconds—just enough time for Dong Yanyan to get a clear look at the person in front of her. She froze, swallowing hard: this was a tall, slender young man, with striking brows and sharp eyes. His lips curled in a slight twitch, and he frowned at her in clear displeasure.

Ren Jiaxuan: a senior from the class of '97, majoring in broadcasting, from a good family and known for his arrogant ways. Though he, too, was a new student, he had gotten in straight from high school, unlike the technical school students. On top of that, his class had the most notorious homeroom teacher in the school, which in this dog-eat-dog campus basically gave him the innate right to lord it over others. As was tradition, the new boys from the two technical classes had already been put in their place by the seniors from previous years, and then endured another round of hazing before their "welcome feast" was considered complete. While the seniors and upperclasswomen were generally kinder to the girls and didn't make a habit of bullying the new junior sisters, that didn't mean they wouldn't make an example of you if you stepped out of line.

Dong Yanyan glanced at her own frail frame, thought of her gentle, sheep-like homeroom teacher, and decided it was better to swallow her pride than suffer the consequences. When it's time to bow your head, you bow your head.

So, in the third second, her expression changed instantly. Putting on a look of heartfelt remorse, she said sincerely, "Don't look at me like that, I'm already blaming myself!" She squatted down, hurrying to pick up the scattered books—after all, they were borrowed from the library and had to be returned.

Fortunately, the senior didn't make a fuss. He even deigned to help her pick up the books.

"These are what you're reading? I thought they'd be professional texts," his mellow, magnetic voice drifted by her ear. Dong Yanyan, no longer a naive seventeen-year-old girl, instantly caught the mockery and disdain in his tone. She looked down at her selection—movie magazines, youth literature, gossip tabloids. Worse yet, in the middle were two volumes of short story collections. Thank goodness she hadn't impulsively brought back that unabridged copy of The Plum in the Golden Vase.

"I'm more interested in history and the humanities," she quipped self-deprecatingly, unable to suppress a laugh.

The senior smiled warmly as well. "Oh? Then which historical figure do you like best?"

At the mention of historical figures, Dong Yanyan immediately thought of the famously handsome prime minister she'd always admired. The words tumbled out before she could stop herself, "Of course, Wu Yuanheng! He was stunningly handsome, exceptionally talented—a real romantic hero of his age. Just thinking about him makes me drool! I always felt there was something ambiguous and unspoken between him and Pei Du. Both serving as prime ministers, always together, exchanging glances—what a loving pair! Alas, fate is cruel to geniuses. Poor Wu died young, before Pei, leaving nothing but sorrow for the ages..."

She rambled on, intoxicated by her own enthusiasm, until the senior placed her magazines into her arms and looked at her with a bemused, almost incredulous smile. Only then did Dong Yanyan realize she'd gone too far. She slapped her hand over her mouth, her enraptured expression freezing on her face, and in an instant, her cheeks flushed crimson. Clutching her books, she fled in embarrassment.

She could only hope the senior wasn't the type to gossip behind her back. Who knew how this nineteen-year-old would take her fangirl ramblings? Even her current seventeen-year-old self couldn't accept them—it was so out of character for an innocent young girl! She blamed her years spent posting shameless fangirl threads online, getting addicted to speaking her mind with no filter. Looks like she really needed to clear her head and throw out all those thoughts that might undermine her moral fiber!

*

Evening study was a time for homework and gossip. The homeroom teacher would drop by once or twice, but otherwise, students were left to their own devices. Whether anyone actually studied seriously depended entirely on their self-discipline. So, everyone made the most of the time, forging connections under the guise of academic discussion, exchanging flirtatious glances, and those who couldn't catch anyone's eye flaunted themselves like peacocks, boasting and showing off their beautiful feathers.

Dong Yanyan understood this well. Adolescents, full of hormones and budding desires, were in the prime of their youth—and suddenly blessed with freedom, naturally they brimmed with passion. But she herself couldn't muster that excitement. She was interested only in Lin Feng, but he wasn't in her class, which left her feeling rather indifferent.

Her calculus homework was neatly copied into her notebook, but she couldn't solve a single problem. She pressed her forehead in frustration—she’d learned this once, but it had all been returned to the teacher long ago.