The NYU Academic Committee hearing was scheduled for Wednesday at two in the afternoon.
When Song Qingci received the notice, she didn't panic. She spent three days doing three things.
First, she organized all her assignments, exams, and lecture notes from the past three months. Every piece had a timestamp; every reasoning process was documented. She spent one night constructing a timeline of all her academic achievements since enrollment, accurate to the hour.
Second, she went to Rachel He.
Rachel was the first friend Song Qingci made at NYU. A second-generation Chinese American, a programmer, sharp-tongued but kind-hearted. Song Qingci showed her the anonymous note. Rachel exploded after reading it.
"Who did this? Who the hell did this?"
"I don't know. But I need your help with something."
"What?"
"The witness list for the hearing. I want to know who's coming to testify against me."
It took Rachel two hours to hack into the Academic Committee's internal system. She stared at the list on the screen, her expression darkening.
"There are two witnesses. One is a classmate of yours, David Chen. The other…" She hesitated. "The other is Professor Donovan's teaching assistant, Sarah Miller."
Song Qingci didn't know David Chen. But she knew Sarah Miller—Lin Weiyue's cousin.
Everything was clear.
Third, she went to see Donovan Black.
Donovan's office was on the top floor of the Stern School of Business, with a window facing the Manhattan skyline. When Song Qingci knocked and entered, Donovan was reading a report.
"Professor, I need your help."
Donovan looked up at her.
"I've heard about the hearing."
"Will you attend?"
"Yes." Donovan set down the report. "As your advisor, I'm obliged to be there."
"No, I'm not asking you to attend as my advisor." Song Qingci looked at him, her eyes bright. "I'm asking you to attend as a witness. Not to testify for me—but for academic integrity."
Donovan was silent for a long time.
Then he smiled.
"Miss Song, do you know something? You remind me of myself when I was young."
"Is that good or bad?"
"Good." He stood and walked to the window. "I'll be there. And I'll bring something with me."
"What?"
"My teaching evaluations from the past twenty years. Every single one says—Donovan Black encourages students to question authority. How could a professor who encourages questioning tolerate academic misconduct?"
Song Qingci bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Professor."
"Don't thank me." Donovan turned to look at her. "Thank yourself. Your talent deserves to be protected."
Wednesday at two in the afternoon, the hearing was held in the Stern School conference room.
The Academic Committee consisted of five people: the Dean of the Business School, two tenured professors, a representative from the Board of Trustees, and a student representative. Recording equipment was set up on the long table. The atmosphere was as serious as a courtroom.
Song Qingci sat in the respondent's seat. She wore a black suit from a thrift store—two sizes too large, but freshly washed. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore no makeup, but her eyes were bright.
Donovan sat in the front row of the audience. Rachel sat beside him, a laptop clutched in her hands.
The first witness was David Chen.
He walked to the stand, his gaze darting away, unable to look at Song Qingci. His voice trembled slightly. "I… I saw Song Qingci looking at the paper of the student next to her during an exam."
Song Qingci stood.
"David, you said I looked at someone else's paper. Which exam was it?"
"The… the midterm."
"The midterm was held in the auditorium, with randomly assigned seats. My seat number was forty-seven. Who was the 'student next to me'?"
David hesitated. "I… I don't remember."
"You don't remember?" Song Qingci pulled a paper from her folder. "This is the seating chart for the midterm. Next to seat forty-seven was seat forty-eight. Seat forty-eight belonged to a student named Michael Brown. Michael Brown got a C-minus on that exam. I got an A-plus. What, exactly, did I have to gain from looking at a C-minus paper?"
Someone in the room laughed.
David's face flushed red. "I… maybe I remembered wrong. Maybe it was another exam…"
"Another exam? Seats for the final were also randomly assigned. The student next to me was Jessica Wong. She got a B. There is no similarity between my answers and hers. Would you like to see the comparison report?"
She pushed a document toward the committee.
It was a similarity analysis Rachel had helped her generate, exported from the official university system—impossible to falsify.
David lowered his head, unable to speak.
The Dean looked at David. "Do you have anything else to add?"
David shook his head.
"Then why did you agree to testify?" the Dean pressed.
David was silent for a long time, then said quietly, "Someone paid me five thousand dollars. To testify. I didn't think it would be like this… I was wrong."
The room erupted.
The second witness was Sarah Miller.
She walked to the stand with her chin held high, disdain in her eyes.
"Song Qingci often sought private meetings with Professor Donovan after class," she said. "Each meeting was lengthy, and the door was closed. I found this inappropriate."
The Dean looked at Donovan. "Professor, do you have anything to say?"
Donovan stood.
He walked to the witness stand and looked at Sarah.
"Sarah, you've been my teaching assistant for three years. You said Song Qingci often sought private meetings with me. How many times is 'often'?"
Sarah hesitated. "Maybe… ten times? More than ten?"
"Ten times?" Donovan pulled a paper from his pocket. "This is my appointment log for the semester. Song Qingci came to see me four times. Four times, not more than ten. And every time, the door was open—because the lock on my office door has been broken all semester. As my teaching assistant, weren't you aware of this?"
Sarah's expression changed.
"I… must have remembered wrong."
"You remembered wrong?" Donovan's voice grew cold. "Then do you remember coming to me last week, saying someone offered you twenty thousand dollars to testify against Song Qingci at this hearing?"
Dead silence.
Sarah's face went white.
"I didn't—"
"I have the recording."
Donovan pulled a recording pen from his pocket and pressed play.
Sarah's voice came through clearly: "…twenty thousand dollars. I just need to say she had an improper relationship with the professor… She was just a stand-in. No one will believe her…"
The conference room was so quiet the hum of the air conditioning was audible.
The Dean removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Sarah Miller, you are expelled. Not only from your teaching assistant position—your student status will also be reviewed."
The Dean looked at Song Qingci.
"Ms. Song Qingci, the Academic Committee has unanimously determined that the allegations of academic misconduct against you are unfounded. You are cleared."
Song Qingci stood.
She bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Professors."
She turned to look at the audience. Rachel gave her a thumbs-up. Donovan nodded slightly.
When she walked out of the conference room, the hallway was quiet. Sunlight streamed through the windows, falling on her shoulders.
She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
Her fingers trembled—not from fear, but from anger.
She knew Lin Weiyue was behind all of this. Paying off David, paying off Sarah—it was all Lin Weiyue's doing. She wanted to drive her out of NYU, send her back to that basement, bury her for good.
Song Qingci opened her eyes. They were cold as a New York December.
"Lin Weiyue," she murmured, "you think pushing me down means you've won?"
She took the NYU student ID card from her pocket, running her thumb over the photo.
"You're wrong."
She tucked the card away and turned toward the library.
Two months until finals. She would finish first.
Not to prove anything to anyone.
To prove to herself—that Song Qingci needed no one's charity to stand in the brightest light.
That night, back in her basement, she noticed a pair of shoes outside the ventilation grate.
Men's leather shoes, stopped by the grate, unmoving for a long time.
She didn't look up.
She knew who it was.
She switched on her lamp and opened her book.
On the wall, her shadow stood a little straighter than yesterday.