Boys might be oblivious, but Ji Ranyou wasn’t. Her gaze slowly moved down from Pei Menghan’s clenched fist at her side to her crossed long legs. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the “aspects” she was referring to…

Probably weren’t about economics.

Pei Menghan was flawless in every way, yet for some reason, as Ji Ranyou observed this nine-out-of-ten girl, she kept feeling that Gu Chen was somehow… watching her?

Why would he be looking at her?

Okay… he really was looking at her.

Panicking, she quickly withdrew her gaze from the unexpected eye contact. While her mind raced to decipher what Gu Chen meant by that look, his familiar voice had already cut through the noisy bustle of the restaurant, reaching her ears with unmistakable calmness.

Gu Chen asked, “Aspects? What aspects?”

“Of course, whether you have a lik—”

The words “someone you like” were just at the tip of Pei Menghan’s tongue when she caught sight of Gu Chen’s completely neutral, distant expression—the same one he gave to total strangers. She forcefully swallowed the rest of her sentence.

“Western macro and microeconomics textbooks and exams, of course.”

She quickly added, “I wanted to add you on WeChat. If I have any questions, I could ask you for help. You must know so much—you could give me a lot of the answers I need…”

Xu Wei and Yi Tingfeng were long used to this. One kept sneaking glances at Qin Dai, while the other calmly scrolled through this week’s updates from Er Ye.

Meanwhile, Qin Dai was busy introducing Cheng Sisi to a lipstick giveaway post, enthusiastically debating the best shade.

That left Ji Ranyou alone, resting her chin on her hand, pretending to listen quietly.

With every sentence Pei Menghan spoke, Ji Ranyou pressed her lips together a little tighter. And when that last, sweetly drawn-out “answers” drifted into the air—

A light bulb went off in the mind of Miss Ji, who had long struggled to write the perfect white lotus character!

Just look at these ambiguous expressions in the sentence, the lingering, meaningful glances…

#MaterialGET#

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The waiter placed the steaming clay pot onto the table with a metallic clang, the rich aroma of soy sauce wafting through the air. The sizzling sound mixed with the restaurant’s lively chatter, momentarily pulling Ji Ranyou out of her thoughts.

Even with the haze of steam blurring her vision, she clearly saw Gu Chen pick up his phone, his slender index finger swiping across the screen a few times. Then, he tapped on what appeared to be a QR code and held it out to Pei Menghan.

“Scan it.”

Just two simple words.

Xu Wei and Yi Tingfeng looked up. Qin Dai and Cheng Sisi turned their heads. Even Ji Ranyou, who had been intently watching, had an unmistakable flicker of shock cross her face.

Was this really Gu Chen?

How could he give it away so easily…?

“Huh?” Pei Menghan clearly hadn’t expected Gu Chen to agree so readily. She froze for a second before excitedly raising her phone to scan the code. A cheerful beep confirmed the add request. A flush of red bloomed on her pale cheeks as she softly said, “Thank you.”

“Mm.”

Gu Chen responded blandly, retracting his phone and refocusing on the menu beneath the glass tabletop, not sparing her another glance.

One second, two seconds, three seconds… an entire minute passed.

Still standing awkwardly beside him, Pei Menghan hesitantly tugged at the ends of her curled hair. “I sent my friend request, but… why haven’t you accepted it yet?”

“Oh, because that’s not my WeChat.”

Without even looking up, Gu Chen calmly scanned the second column of dishes. “That’s the macroeconomics TA’s WeChat. He’s a Ph.D. in theoretical research—he can answer any academic questions you have about grad school.”

Silence.

Complete silence.

A WeChat contact was a WeChat contact. A hint was a hint and he, Gu Chen, is still the unattainable Male God Gu Chen.

If Pei Menghan’s previous “thank you” had been filled with triumph, then her current embarrassment had to be twice as deep.

As muffled snickers erupted from nearby tables, the reality of the situation finally set in. Pei Menghan’s face turned a deeper shade of red. “But… wouldn’t the Ph.D. find my questions too stupid?”

Gu Chen slowly lifted his gaze, and Pei Menghan instantly wilted under it, looking even more pitiful. She bit her lip. “Really, I won’t take up too much of your time. You wouldn’t refuse to help with something so small… right? Gu Chen, I want your WeChat.”

Gu Chen’s voice remained indifferent.

“First, he’s a TA. His job is to help students with their questions.”

As if anticipating what was coming next, Pei Menghan’s entire body tensed.

“Second, it’s not about how much time it takes. It’s about my time.” His gaze darkened. “I refuse to waste even a second on people who are irrelevant, let alone on pointless favors.”

His words weren’t harsh, yet the weight of them pressed down on Pei Menghan, forcing her to bite down on her lip until it turned pale.

Her embarrassment was plain for all to see, but Gu Chen’s expression remained unreadable.

“Third,” he continued smoothly, “WeChat is personal. Sorry, but I can’t share it.”

Four simple words—”Sorry, but I can’t.”

And just like that, he withdrew his gaze and resumed scanning the menu. Meanwhile, Pei Menghan stood frozen, unable to process what had just happened.

Now the real question was…

What exactly was she supposed to do with the empty WeChat contact she just added?

She didn’t know exactly how the department beauty from Business English sulked her way out of the restaurant. She didn’t know how many slices of premium beef her roommates had snatched while she was distracted.

Ji Ranyou only knew that she couldn’t stop looking at Gu Chen.

Across the waves of chatter and noise, Ji Ranyou just… kept looking at Gu Chen.

For a long time.

Long enough that, when she finally picked up her chopsticks again, she didn’t know whether she should grab beef or instant noodles. She hesitated, then put her chopsticks down and propped her chin on her hand.

“Dai Bi…”

Qin Dai, busy chewing on duck feet, gestured to another piece. “There’s one more here. Feels chewier than boneless chicken feet.”

“Mm.” Ji Ranyou nodded but didn’t move. Instead, she sighed dramatically. “I think… I lost my heart.”

“It’s just a phone case. Do you really need to be this dramatic? Just pick a new color after we eat. Grandpa will buy it for you—”

Qin Dai’s casual reassurance was cut off mid-sentence. She had followed Ji Ranyou’s gaze, and when she realized where her friend was looking, her breath hitched.

“Yuzu… Don’t tell me…?”

Ji Ranyou nodded.

Qin Dai immediately put down her chopsticks and wiped her mouth, her expression shifting into something much more serious. “You’re serious?”

Ji Ranyou curled her lips into a small, knowing smile. She nodded again.

Her face didn’t show much emotion, but her dark, lively eyes gleamed like polished onyx—calm, confident, and absolutely certain.

Seeing this side of Ji Ranyou, Qin Dai couldn’t help but connect it to a certain memory in her mind…

Disbelief. Doubt. Sudden realization—all these emotions flashed across Qin Dai’s face before she took a sip of tea and set down her cup.

“Then I have a very important question for you.”

Ji Ranyou’s expression also grew serious. “Go ahead.”

“If you fall in love…”

Qin Dai hesitated. It was hard to associate the soft, fluorescent-green-clad Ji Ranyou in front of her with such a concept.

Ji Ranyou, misinterpreting the pause, braced herself for some deep emotional advice.

But then Qin Dai asked, completely deadpan—

“What’s going to happen to our story updates?”

“…”

Ji Ranyou smiled. “Between me and the novel, which one is more important to you?”

Qin Dai shot back immediately. “Do you even need to ask?”

Ji Ranyou’s expression softened slightly. “Me, of course—”

“The novel, obviously!” Qin Dai interrupted without hesitation. “What are you even thinking?”

Ji Ranyou: “…”

#Sheep’s wool comes from the sheep itself, but unfortunately, my dumb roommate doesn’t understand this. Heh.#

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

With good at observing people’s words and expression, and hearing their conversation, Cheng Sisi half-guessed and half-joked, “Don’t make it sound like just because Yuzu wants to date, someone will magically appear to date her. A male god like that, someone to be admired from afar but never to be touched—forget Pei Menghan, how many goddesses with even higher standards have tried and failed to win him over? Compared to them, do you have an advantage, Yuzu?”

“Of course.”

Skipping class with plenty of excuses, mastering every sleeping position, knowing which Shandong-style crepe stand near campus adds the most pork floss, or which Huangmen chicken rice place serves the most meat… obviously, none of this count.

Since she didn’t deny it and even acknowledged the question, Miss Ji naturally lowered her head, examining herself, deep in thought: “Although my grades aren’t as good as theirs, my legs aren’t as long as theirs , my skin isn’t as fair as theirs, my chest isn’t as big as theirs, my waist isn’t as slim as theirs… but I can rely on… rely on… rely on…”

Qin Dai patted her affectionately. “Good child, don’t swear.”

“…”

Just as someone’s ears started heating up, and she was about to casually say “inner beauty” to shift the conversation, a faint voice from behind called out her name:

“Ji Ranyou.”

She instinctively turned around, following the source of the voice—

“Mm, she’s the classmate I teamed up with…”
“How’s Meatball been doing… wait a sec…”

Holding his phone in one hand, Gu Chen pushed the door open with the other and stepped outside.

His tall, upright figure stood out against the backdrop of fruit stalls scattered along the street. He was on a call, his rarely softened features still carrying the distant aloofness with which he had just rejected Pei Menghan. He exuded an air of elegance, like a scholar from the Wei and Jin dynasties—distant mountains, clouds above, a bright breeze, and a clear moon.

An indescribable scene, a dazzling brilliance—instantly awakening every feeling in Ji Ranyou’s heart.

It was unspeakable and indescribable.

For the second time, she pulled her gaze away from him and lowered her head to type on her phone.

September 24, 2016, Saturday, 12:29 PM.

A well-known online writer posted two consecutive Weibo updates, instantly blowing up among a six-figure audience and hitting the trending charts within ten minutes.

First post—
ErfuV: ❤️

Second post—
ErfuV: @Chu Binghe, I’m sure.