Two weeks later.
The official opening day of Xinjiāng University.
The early autumn sky was a flawless blue, sunlight soft but not harsh. Banners lined the sports field, snapping in the breeze like long strips of silk.
Freshmen crowded in, dragging suitcases, wheels rattling, chatter rising like a festival. The air was buzzing with energy—youth, noise, and excitement.
Lin Hao stood amidst the flow, one hand holding his class assignment sheet, his eyes scanning the building signs. Beside him were Pan Tong, his boisterous best friend, and Zhu Cheng, the bespectacled bookworm who always seemed born in the wrong century.
"Our dorm's in Building A, Room 306.
Hey, Hao, where'd you crash that night? I knocked and knocked—no answer."
"At a friend's place." Lin Hao's voice was flat, his eyes still on the campus map.
"Where? Who? A guy or a girl?"
"A bedmate."
"… "
Zhu Cheng coughed into his fist, pushing his glasses up.
"Don't let the dorm manager hear that. You'll lose your conduct points."
Pan Tong burst out laughing.
"Forget points—you'd lose your citizenship medal of honor!"
Music started up from the stage, the student band striking a cheerful tune. One by one, school leaders stepped forward to deliver speeches.
Lin Hao stood there, hands in his pockets, his face indifferent as though the noise around him had nothing to do with him.
"… And now, please welcome Professor Zhao Qing An from the Economics Department to speak on behalf of the faculty."
The name hit Lin Hao's ears like a mouse click sealing his fate.
He looked up.
On stage, a woman stepped forward. A neat blazer, black heels, her hair twisted into a high bun that revealed the line of her neck. Sunlight skimmed her cheekbones, highlighting her sharp nose and sharper gaze.
Zhao Qing An.
The very woman who had once thrown money in his face and said, cold as ice:
"Forget it ever happened."
Down below, students whispered.
"She's gorgeous. Looks like a movie star."
"But so cold… definitely unapproachable."
"Her side profile's even prettier than the front…"
Zhao Qing An took the podium, her expression unreadable. Her voice was low, steady, clear.
"Welcome, students. I am Zhao Qing An, lecturer in Economics. Congratulations on stepping into university life.
University is a place to train your mind, your discipline, and your character.
I hope each of you will live with responsibility—toward yourself, toward others, and toward… your actions."
Her eyes swept across the crowd.
And paused—exactly where Lin Hao was standing.
He smiled.
Half a smile, full of challenge. As if saying:
You're going to lecture me about character?
She blinked, faltered for just one beat—then turned her gaze away.
The ceremony ended. Students dispersed.
Pan Tong was still gaping.
"Holy crap. That professor—gorgeous and scary. But wait… did she look at you a bit too long?"
"You imagined it." Lin Hao tugged his suitcase, though a flicker of amusement lit his eyes.
As the three boys walked down the faculty corridor, a clear voice called out behind them:
"Lin Hao. Wait."
They stopped.
Zhao Qing An stood there, her face like carved stone. Her eyes locked onto him—not angry, not flustered, but too cold for someone supposedly "indifferent."
Pan Tong forgot to breathe. Zhu Cheng adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers.
"… How does she know your name?" Pan Tong whispered.
Lin Hao shrugged, slipped his hand off his suitcase handle, and walked toward her—his stride unhurried, casual. Like this wasn't a confrontation, but a rendezvous disguised as one.
"Professor Zhao. What a coincidence."
"You…" Her voice dropped lower, tighter. "You really study here?"
"No. I just applied, got accepted, enrolled, and moved in. Whether I study… depends if my professor guides me."
"You shouldn't be at Xinjiāng University."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to see you again."
"Oh. That simple?"
"You should transfer classes. Or transfer faculties."
"Or maybe you should transfer careers. More convenient."
Zhao Qing An choked on her words.
"I'm maintaining professionalism. There should be no… personal involvement between teacher and student."
"Good. Then from now on, stop paying your students."
"…"
Her glare was lethal. Words failed her.
Lin Hao tilted his head, all innocence.
"I still have that envelope, you know. Next time, I'll frame it in my dorm room."
"You—"
"Yes, me?"
Her breath hitched. She turned sharply and walked away.
Each strike of her heels on the stone floor was an unspoken declaration of war.
Lin Hao remained where he stood, watching her back retreat, a slow smile curving his lips.
The more you avoid me… the more I'll stay.
That evening, Dorm 306.
Lin Hao plugged in his laptop while Pan Tong interrogated him like a detective.
"Spit it out! What's going on with that professor?"
"She's my professor."
"You're not serious."
"Correct. And she wasn't serious that night either."
"What night?!"
"Oh, nothing. Just… the night she slept in the wrong room."
"WHAT?!"
Zhu Cheng nearly fainted.
"Stop saying things like that! The school has recorders everywhere!"
"Recorders can't catch thoughts. Relax."
"I can't relax with you."
Lin Hao smirked, tugging the curtains closed.
Outside, the campus lights glowed across the grass. Leaves scattered in the crisp autumn wind.
Her cold words still echoed in his head:
"I don't want to see you again."
He whispered to the night, lips curling:
"You'll see me every day.
And when you do… you'll admit—I'm no longer the boy you threw money at."