This time, when Su Qingqing pushed open the dorm room door, no wave of cool air from the AC greeted her—only the gentle, natural breeze drifting in from the open glass door.
Su Qingqing loved this kind of wind. When the night breeze, carrying a hint of chill, brushed across her cheeks, it felt like the world was kissing her.
Yu Zhongmeng sat at the desk, now changed into a jade-green pajama set that covered her body from neck to ankle. At some point, she had also bought a desk lamp identical to Su Qingqing's.
"Not working tonight?" Yu Zhongmeng took off her low-prescription glasses. The thin black frames pressed against her face, giving her a touch of intellectual beauty.
"Went to the field for a while," Su Qingqing said as she habitually turned on her computer—then paused. After a moment’s thought, she turned it off again. "By the way," she asked suddenly, "did you go today?"
"I…"
Yu Zhongmeng didn’t usually share personal matters. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve brushed it off with a simple “no.” But ever since she heard the song Su Qingqing sang earlier, some thoughts had stuck in her mind and wouldn’t go away. After a brief pause, she replied, “I did. Just happened to hear your song. It was beautiful.”
"Thanks."
Su Qingqing smiled faintly, then picked out clean clothes and went off to shower.
When she came out, Yu Zhongmeng was leaning over her desk, long fingers adjusting her glasses. She was reading—back to her usual self.
Su Qingqing glanced over and couldn’t resist speaking. “You should add another desk lamp. Your eyesight’s only a little over a hundred, right? Good lighting can help improve it.”
Yu Zhongmeng twisted her hair into an elegant bun using a pencil. Hearing Su Qingqing’s words, she paused and turned, a cold spark in her gaze behind the lenses. “How do you know I only have a hundred?”
Su Qingqing realized she had slipped up. But her expression didn’t waver at all as she replied matter-of-factly, “I’ve never seen you wear glasses normally. Not even contacts. That usually means you're just above 100, right?”
She raised a brow. “What, are you actually over 200?”
Yu Zhongmeng stared at her for several seconds, then looked away. “No, you observed well. A hundred twenty-five.”
“As long as it’s not astigmatism.”
“It’s not.”
A strange irritation stirred in Su Qingqing’s chest. She leaned back against her chair, eyes staring blankly at the wall.
“Have you read Strategies of the Warring States?” Yu Zhongmeng suddenly asked.
“I have. We studied parts of it in school, and I read a bit more on my own.”
“I remember an article called Su Qin Persuades Qin.” Yu Zhongmeng removed her glasses, gently pulled the pencil from her hair, and a soft wave of shampoo-scented hair spilled down her shoulders, revealing the snowy white of her collarbones beneath the midnight-black strands.
Su Qingqing thought for a moment. “Yeah.”
“‘I have heard that those who delight in raising arms bring worry to the world, and those who seek alliances stir resentment from their lords.’ Know what that means?” Yu Zhongmeng asked.
“How would I know?” Su Qingqing chuckled. “I’m just an ordinary peasant. What the hell do I know?”
Yu Zhongmeng’s eyes glinted. “It means: those who initiate war are bound to invite endless troubles.”
“I disagree.” Su Qingqing turned around and straddled her chair, arms hugging the backrest, chin resting lightly atop her forearms, still pink from the bath. “Like, in games, whoever goes first has the advantage. Rush comps never lose value. Starting the fight often leads to winning it.”
“Games have nothing to do with reality!” Yu Zhongmeng pouted slightly.
“And you’re talking about history. Why get all worked up?” Su Qingqing waved dismissively. Then she suddenly remembered her mountain of debt, sighed, and opened her computer again. “Tell me when you’re going to sleep, so I can log off.”
“Even if you’re mid-match, you’ll quit right away?”
Su Qingqing looked at her like she was an idiot and scoffed. “Of course not. I’d at least finish the round.”
“Then why even ask me!”
“I was just saying it. You just need to hear it, that’s all.”
Some women believed they were more important than a game. But AAA games took hundreds of millions of dollars, thousands of people, years of effort—carefully tuning mechanics, character skins, player experience, esports standards—all to make it fun.
So of course she wouldn’t quit. More importantly, if she did, that match would be wasted. And for Su Qingqing, this wasn’t just a game—it was her livelihood.
Yu Zhongmeng’s attempts to kill her with a glare were futile. The moment Su Qingqing put on her headset, the world went silent.
Someone used to log off instantly for her. But not anymore.
Well, "unfortunately"—Su Qingqing added mentally. Or at least, that’s what she guessed. For accuracy's sake, she quietly deleted the word “unfortunately” from her thoughts. Maybe Yu Zhongmeng didn’t regret it at all. That’s what she told herself.
———
On the third day of registration, there were hardly any new students left. Ming Xue didn’t show up early that morning, probably relishing a rare chance to sleep in after her usually busy schedule.
And then—it rained.
Summer weather is never played by the rules. In winter, Su Qingqing would check the forecast, but in summer? Never.
Unless it said “heavy rain in the next two hours,” she’d bet on a sunny sky during storm alerts, and cold winds during heatwave warnings.
Unlike most people, Su Qingqing loved rainstorms. Absolutely loved them.
The roar of the rain drowned out all other noise, leaving only one sound in the ears of each person walking through it. The dark skies and gray veil of rain cut off one’s vision from the world. Holding up an umbrella during a storm felt like cradling the entire universe under a canopy—where you, and you alone, were the center of it all.
So as soon as Su Qingqing woke up, she dressed up like she was going to a ball. With a spring in her step, she opened her black umbrella, took a deep breath, and walked into the storm with excitement.
As expected, the moment she stepped out, a thunderous roar flooded her ears. Her view was severed by sheets of water. Every breath brought in a strange mix of mist and dust. And passing by bushes released earthy, natural scents.
The rain was so heavy that, ten minutes later, her umbrella gave out. She sighed and tossed it into a trash can, then crossed her arms and dove headlong into the rain.
The campus looked utterly deserted. But it wasn’t enough. Like a zombie, she wandered to the track field. There—finally—there was not a single soul.
She began slowly circling the outer lane. At moments like this, she could give up all thought. Just decide how many laps she wanted.
One, two, three? Didn’t matter. She’d stop when she was tired.
Until the rain ahead of her was parted by someone else.
A figure in jade-green emerged through the rain—jarring and sudden in the gloomy storm, halting Su Qingqing’s aimless walk.
The figure had noticed her too. That silhouette drew nearer.
When they finally met face to face, both girls were visibly startled.
“What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
And then both burst into laughter.
The girl reached out and grabbed Su Qingqing by the neck, yanking her roughly into her umbrella. She narrowed her eyes at her. “Why aren’t you using an umbrella?”
“I don't like using.”
“You look like a soaked little puppy. So pathetic.”
“I like being pathetic.”
Su Qingqing tilted her head up to look at the taller girl. Her eyes crinkled into smiling crescents.
The girl gritted her teeth and gave a light snort. “Then I order you—no more liking getting soaked or being pathetic.”
Su Qingqing really wanted to sass back, “Are you telling me how to live?” But she saw the deep concern hidden beneath the girl's tough act. With a sigh, like a stray pup finally rescued, she nodded. “Okay.”
The girl finally smiled, warm and wide. Under the umbrella bloomed bright laughter. She asked, “Wanna head back now? Or walk some more?”
“Let’s walk a bit more, Sister Ming,” Su Qingqing said.
(End of Chapter)