Meng Zhuxi had grown up. She was no longer the little kid she used to be, who could be casually used as a tool by her brother.

Although she was a little tempted by the riverside luxury apartment, the girl was sharp. She was about to graduate—red envelopes during the New Year, a property deed upon graduation—would she really end up without a house?

Meng Zhuxi refused her brother with great backbone.

“You can take the IELTS yourself.” She added, with a bit of schadenfreude, “But Teacher Jin Zhao probably doesn’t have time to tutor you.”

Meng Yanxi lifted his eyelids and looked at her, his expression unreadable.

Based on Meng Zhuxi’s understanding of her own brother, usually at moments like this, the big capitalist was holding back something nasty, probably thinking of a way to make her submit.

Meng Zhuxi thought to herself—one hundred million.

Give her one hundred million, and she’d agree to take the IELTS. Anyway, how many points she got didn’t really matter.

She’d heard that when you make a lot of money, you should do good deeds. Then when she earned one hundred million from Meng Yanxi, she’d immediately split half of it and give it to Teacher Jin Zhao, and remind her not to be fooled by Meng Yanxi, this scumbag of a man.

In less than a minute, Meng Zhuxi had already planned out how to divide that one hundred million.

But her brother had been right about one thing—he was just rich; he wasn’t stupid. Not only was he not stupid, he was a bit vicious.

Meng Yanxi suddenly let out a laugh and said, arrogantly and viciously, “My IELTS is 8.5.”

Meng Zhuxi: “……”

What level was an IELTS 8.5? Surpassing 99.99% of people, extremely close to native-level high proficiency. Or, to put it more plainly, a level that someone like Meng Zhuxi—a hopeless academic underachiever—would never reach in her lifetime.

But Meng Zhuxi was only bad at studying; she wasn’t without self-respect. Meng Yanxi’s IELTS 8.5 ultimately dealt her ten thousand points of damage.

The siblings’ negotiation collapsed.

Jin Zhao still didn’t know that Meng Yanxi had already come to the school. After the fourth class in the morning ended, she was just about to go eat when a student retaking Public English came over to find her.

Now that AI-assisted teaching was prevalent—especially for language subjects—one course required several apps, all of which needed the course instructor to activate permissions. After all that, it was already 12:30. Jin Zhao had no way to go eat lunch anymore, so she hurried toward the School of Foreign Languages to attend a meeting.

There was a student cafeteria right across from the Foreign Languages building. Jin Zhao went in and hastily bought a cup of fermented rice dumplings, drinking it as she left, not even noticing the boyfriend sitting by the window.

Meng Zhuxi left as soon as she finished eating. Before she went, she even took the chance to annoy him, saying, “I’m going back to the dorm. The dorm may not be as nice as a luxury apartment, but it doesn’t look down on me for not having an IELTS 8.5. Goodbye, IELTS 8.5.”

Meng Yanxi didn’t hold back either, saying, “As your brother, I don’t look down on you for not having an IELTS 8.5. But IELTS 8.5 is indeed an honor—you can introduce your IELTS-8.5 brother to your teachers and classmates in class. They’ll naturally look at you with new respect.”

Meng Zhuxi: “……”

This round of sibling combat ended with Meng Zhuxi defeated by Meng Yanxi’s shamelessness and thick skin.

As a result, Meng Yanxi earned the privilege of sitting alone by the window, waiting for his girlfriend.

Across from him was the School of Foreign Languages, a building constructed during the Republican era, with red bricks and green tiles. The administrative building didn’t host classes; Meng Yanxi watched it for a while—no students were going in or out, only the occasional teacher.

He was sitting there feeling a bit bored and was just about to send his girlfriend a message when he turned his head and saw a slender, graceful figure hurrying in from the cafeteria entrance.

She was wearing a smog-blue trench coat, with a beige dress underneath. Her waist was slender and soft; strands of hair at her temples half-concealed her fair, tender side profile.

Meng Yanxi’s hand resting on the table tightened in an instant, his shoulders and back straightening.

How could it be such a coincidence?

For a split second, he thought it was an illusion—after all, his girlfriend had been appearing in his dreams far too frequently lately. Especially last night, during his not-so-long stretch of sleep, she had clung to him the entire night.

His gaze followed her as he watched her hurry over to the counter selling fermented rice dumplings, buy a cup, and then leave just as quickly.

Even though his stare was so frank and intense that even passing students glanced his way a few times, his girlfriend never looked at him from beginning to end, walking out with a look of pure ascetic detachment.

During this process, one strap of her commuter bag slipped off her shoulder, revealing several textbooks lying open inside. She didn’t even glance aside as she reached up to pull it back into place.

Although he knew she was rushing to a meeting, Meng Yanxi was still so irritated by her complete obliviousness that he let out a laugh.

In fact, it wasn’t any important meeting—just the department’s routine meeting held once every half month, where the department head conveyed the higher leadership’s ideas, talked about recent teaching and research developments, and, if there were tasks, assigned them to the teachers.

The department head was a middle-aged woman in her fifties, gentle in speech and fond of smiling. She first tallied the papers the teachers had published recently and the research projects they had secured.

Feeling a bit ashamed, as the only new teacher in the past two years, Jin Zhao had yet to apply for a project, though her paper had already made progress. The department head offered some words of encouragement and, considering that Jin Zhao’s current title was not yet sufficient to lead a project, suggested that she team up with other teachers.

Jin Zhao smiled and said yes.

After discussing research, they moved on to teaching incidents. They weren’t from their own school, but they involved professional ethics and conduct and had already caused a great deal of public outcry online.

One case involved a teacher having a romantic relationship with a student, which was exposed online in the form of a PowerPoint. That could be said to be self-inflicted—there was nothing much to say about it.

The other was more tragic: a teacher had been maliciously recorded and edited by a student during class, then posted online and publicly reported.

The leadership’s stance was to ask teachers to take these as warnings—not only to hold the red line of professional ethics and conduct, but also to be mindful of their words and actions, so as not to cause public opinion incidents.

After that came several tasks unrelated to teaching. The school would generally assign these periodically to the colleges, with teachers cooperating to complete them.

One was school–enterprise cooperation; another was lecture invitations.

Tasks unrelated to teaching were usually hot potatoes. No one volunteered to take them, and in the end they could only be distributed in turn. As the newly hired teacher with the least workload, Jin Zhao successfully drew the lecture invitation task.

Jin Zhao was truly at a loss. The department head probably noticed, and after the meeting ended, as several teachers left together, she even took the initiative to comfort her: “Actually, it’s fine. The school just regularly holds lectures for students. As for the lecture itself, it can be big or small. If you really don’t have the resources to invite colleagues from outside the school, you can also do it internally—give an academic report to the English majors within our college. As for the fees, you can rest assured. As long as you can invite someone, our school is very generous in this regard.”

Jin Zhao smiled with difficulty and said, “…Isn’t the problem that I can’t invite anyone? I went abroad for my master’s degree, and the mentors and colleagues I know are all overseas. I’ve only just returned to the country and don’t know anyone here—I really have no connections at all.”

Other teachers offered suggestions: “Then do you know any overseas Chinese? If they happen to be in the country, you could invite them to talk about their life stories.”

Jin Zhao didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Where would there be such a coincidence? If it were even more coincidental, she’d hope her advisor just happened to be in China, so they could conveniently come help her hold a lecture.

Another teacher suddenly said, “I remember last time it was Teacher Sun’s turn—she also didn’t have many connections, so in the end she directly invited her husband. Her husband is an entrepreneur. Although it has nothing much to do with academia, he has money and fame, and students like him a lot. It even went into the Celebrity Lecture Hall that time, and the lecture was packed.”

Teacher Sun was the one on maternity leave this semester. Like Jin Zhao, she was also a young teacher—no wonder she’d had to rope her husband in due to a lack of connections.

But Jin Zhao had it even worse. At least Teacher Sun still had a husband to step in.

“I’d like to have a husband too,” Jin Zhao joked softly.

The department head had sharp ears and immediately laughed as she said, “Then you have to go out and meet more people. If you never socialize, how are you going to find a husband? The school organized an autumn outing last week—I noticed you didn’t participate either, did you? You really need to take part in these kinds of activities more.”

Girls of marriageable age were like this—wherever they went, they were being urged to get married.

Jin Zhao subconsciously wanted to say that she already had a boyfriend, but perhaps it was because of her reserved nature and her unfamiliarity with sharing such things, or perhaps because the teachers quickly changed the topic. In the end, somehow, she didn’t say it.

Everyone chatted and laughed as they walked out of the department office, and soon they went their separate ways.

Only then did Jin Zhao finally have time to check her phone.

After that voice message in the morning, Meng Yanxi hadn’t replied to her again. Looking at the quiet phone screen, she felt an inexplicable emptiness, a sense of anxious loss.

She unlocked her phone.

Pinned at the top of WeChat was Meng Yanxi. She lowered her head and typed for quite a while, deleting and retyping, and in the end still didn’t manage to type out a single sentence.

A white chat bubble popped up first.

Meng Yanxi: 【?】

Just a question mark, but because it was his message, Jin Zhao’s heart gave a quick thump.

Immediately after, another white bubble popped up.

Meng Yanxi: 【What prohibited words did you send me? WeChat even blocked you.】

Jin Zhao stared at the screen in confusion and typed two puzzled words: 【What?】

Meng Yanxi: 【Turn around.】

Action came before thought—Jin Zhao suddenly turned her head.

At the entrance of the School of Foreign Languages stood a golden rain tree. At this time of year, it was the season for its fruit, the red-orange capsules hanging all over the branches. When the wind rose, the fruits swayed gently, rustling softly.

Meng Yanxi stood beneath the tree, phone in hand. When she turned around, he was just lifting his eyes from the screen.

Their eyes met.

The wind knocked loose the golden rain tree’s fruits. Like little lanterns, they drifted down lightly within the space of their shared gaze.

In that instant, Jin Zhao seemed to see another version of herself—a more passionate self—happily running toward him, throwing herself into his arms.

But the real her was restrained and calm. She merely stood where she was, watching in delighted surprise as Meng Yanxi strode toward her on long legs.

His gaze rested on her—somewhat aloof, and a bit arrogant.

“Don’t send prohibited messages next time. You can’t see them, and it’s easy to get your account banned. If you want to say something, just say it to me directly.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

It was obvious—he knew everything. He was deliberately calling a deer a horse.

This person—sometimes he was really terrible, with a streak of mischief buried deep in his bones.

But she still liked him so much.

She smiled faintly and didn’t defend herself, reaching out to lightly take his hand.

“When did you get here?” She lifted her face, gazing at him with longing.

With a girlfriend this easy to bully, even Meng Yanxi couldn’t bring himself to really bite down and bully her. He laughed softly and directly pulled her into his arms, one arm wrapping around her waist as he walked forward with her.

“I’ve been here for a while,” he said.

Perhaps because of this intimate embrace, his tone unconsciously softened.

“A while?” Jin Zhao looked up at him from his arms.

“Mmm. Not long—since the moment your department head was planning to introduce you to a boyfriend, and you happily accepted.”

“……”

Once again, he was calling a deer a horse.

Jin Zhao explained patiently, “She didn’t introduce me to a boyfriend, and I didn’t happily accept anything. She just said I should’ve gone to the autumn outing last week.”

Meng Yanxi: “Is that so? Probably something like that.”

“It is.” Jin Zhao paused for a moment, then said softly, “And I already have a boyfriend. I like him very much.”

After she said that, the air went quiet. Meng Yanxi, who was usually sharp-tongued, didn’t say anything more. He stopped walking.

She turned her head and met his gaze.

He lowered his eyes. His peach-blossom eyes were dark, his gaze very low—first on her eyes, then slowly drifting down, settling on the tip of her nose, then on her lips.

He clearly wasn’t doing anything, just looking at her like this, yet the tip of her heart suddenly grew hot, her heartbeat quickening.

Her gaze, too, seemed to have a will of its own, uncontrollably fixing on his lips.

The wind at the turn from late autumn to early winter was faintly cool. A student rode past not far from her.

It was a perfectly safe distance—there was no chance of bumping into her. He extended his arm and pressed her into his chest.

The man’s chest muscles were firm, hard, tightly knit. Warmth seeped through, and with every breath came the scent of cold mountain pine and mist. Her mind flared hot all at once; she lifted her hand and hugged his waist in return.

The student quickly rode away. Meng Yanxi didn’t let go of her.

This embrace, stolen on campus, lasted a little too long. With people coming and going, Teacher Jin Zhao, mindful of her role as an instructor, began to feel a bit guilty.

“Let me hold you a bit longer—I’m a little tired.”

Sensing her distraction, someone found an excuse. What he’d meant to say was that waiting for her had made him a little tired—after all, he’d arrived at ten in the morning, and now it was already three-thirty in the afternoon.

But Jin Zhao didn’t know he’d been waiting that long. In his arms, she asked softly, “Did you not sleep well last night?”

He thought for a moment and said, “Depends.”

Jin Zhao: “Hm?”

“I slept very well in my dream,” Meng Yanxi said, enunciating each word.

Jin Zhao: “You slept well in your dream?”

Meng Yanxi: “Mm. The one with you in it.”

Jin Zhao looked up and met his blunt gaze. Thinking of something, her face flushed red all at once.

Later, Meng Yanxi went to the parking lot to get the car. The two of them walked hand in hand across campus.

Seemingly chatting casually, Meng Yanxi said, “You’re looking for someone to give a lecture?”

Talking about this made her feel so troubled. Jin Zhao bit her lip in frustration. “Mm. I have absolutely no connections.”

Meng Yanxi turned his head to look at her and didn’t say anything.

They met each other’s gaze for a few seconds. Jin Zhao’s eyes were full of pure, unclouded sincerity.

Meng Yanxi was so exasperated by her that he laughed and asked bluntly, “Am I not worthy of being one of your connections?”

Jin Zhao reacted a beat late. In an instant, delight flooded her heart.

“Can you?” she looked at him expectantly.

If Meng Yanxi could come, then not only would the main lecture hall be packed—probably the entire Sui University would be overflowing.

But based on her understanding of Meng Yanxi, there was a detached coolness in his bones, and he didn’t like noisy, bustling scenes. Even at the last donation ceremony at Sui University, he had only said a few simple words.

And a lecture would last at least two hours—it would require him to talk nonstop on his own.

That was too long. He really didn’t seem like someone with much patience.

“Would you not like giving a lecture?” she asked cautiously.

Looking at his girlfriend, torn and hesitant, Meng Yanxi suddenly felt pretty good.

“I kind of like it,” he said conservatively, with a hint of smugness.

But the words “kind of like” already didn’t sound conservative to Jin Zhao at all. She looked at him with some distrust. “Really? I’ve never once found any lecture of yours.”

Meng Yanxi raised an eyebrow. “You’ve searched for me?”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Meng Yanxi gave a soft snort of laughter. “Then maybe that’s because I’ve only recently come to like giving lectures.”

Jin Zhao: “Recently?”

Meng Yanxi: “To be precise—now.”