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Chapter 5 – Number 03, Zhou Shubei

The first day of military training was inevitably chaotic. People used to freedom and comfort at home always wanted to stand out.

The boy standing behind Jian Li kept interrupting or moved around without permission in the line. He was scolded twice by the instructor and complained about by others before he finally calmed down. Because of this, their class was the last to be dismissed.

At a little past six, a sliver of sunset lingered on the horizon. As the others rushed to the cafeteria, Jian Li picked up her half-full water bottle and stepped up the stairs.

There was a message in the class group chat. The counselor had sent a form to apply for financial aid for underprivileged students. It had to be printed out, filled in, and submitted by Wednesday.

Beicheng University had a massive campus. There were thirteen cafeterias alone, and the living area was near the South Gate, about a ten-minute walk.

Jian Li drank a couple of sips of water to stave off her hunger and walked toward the South Gate. Along the way, bicycles and electric scooters zipped past. The small campus shuttles were packed, with a sign that read, “Fare: 2 yuan.”

Before she even reached the living area, the smell of chili and cumin filled the air. Fruit shops on both sides advertised five or six bananas for just five yuan. People were queuing up at barbecue stalls. Jian Li quickened her pace and found a relatively empty print shop. A girl with twin ponytails stood in front of a black printer, helplessly and irritably slapping the machine.

“It’s not printing. The printer’s broken,” the girl said.

The other places all had long lines. Jian Li glanced at the printer. “Paper jam?”

“Yeah, but I searched everywhere and couldn’t find the jammed paper,” the girl said, closing the lid. “It won’t be fixed until tomorrow. If you’re not in a hurry, come back then. Or try next door.”

Jian Li didn’t want to waste another trip. “Can I take a look?”

The girl was a bit surprised. “You know how to fix it?”

Jian Li set her water bottle down. “A little.”

Her father, Jian Zhiguo, owned a bookstore near school. Every year, Xiyuan No. 1 High printed a ton of tests and exercises. He had bought a second-hand printer for the store, and it often broke down under the heavy workload.

Over time, Jian Li had become familiar with these little problems.

The printer was a common all-in-one model. The screen kept showing a paper jam. Jian Li removed the A4 paper from the feed tray, grabbed a pen from the desk, and used its tip to force the external rollers to turn a couple of times.

A small piece of shredded paper rolled out.

“So that’s where it was jammed. I must’ve pulled too hard just now and tore it inside,” the girl said.

Jian Li restored the printer and reloaded the paper. “Can you help me print a form?”

The girl glanced at what she needed to print and did a quick operation at the computer. “Here you go.”

Jian Li confirmed it was correct. To avoid making mistakes, she printed two extra copies. “How much?”

The girl waved it off. “Forget it. You fixed the printer. That’s thanks enough.”

Jian Li didn’t refuse. She thanked her and left.

It was completely dark now. Saving even a few yuan made her happy. If she could get that financial aid, she’d be a big step closer to covering next year’s tuition.

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“Zhou-ge is playing tonight. He’ll crush those computer science guys.”

“I’ve been sick of that department. Every year they fight us finance kids for top department and lose every time. What’s the point?”

Jian Li subconsciously stopped walking.

A group of guys in black jerseys passed by, basketballs in hand. “School of Economics and Management” was printed on the back, along with names and jersey numbers.

“Did you tell Zhou-ge the location?” one of them with a buzzcut asked.

“Yeah, half an hour ago. He said he’d come after dealing with something.”

“Good. Let’s grab water—”

“You dumb? Zhou-ge is coming. Like he’ll need your water.”

“Exactly.” The others agreed. “The place will be packed three rows deep. He’ll get offered all the water he wants.”

They laughed as they walked off. Jian Li stood there for two seconds, then changed direction.

Just like the buzzcut guy said, the crowd had already taken over most of the gym by the time she arrived. Jian Li found a spot in a corner and looked around—no sign of Zhou Shubei.

Her phone buzzed twice.

Someone on a job app had messaged her:

[Interested in a campus part-time job? Flexible hours, great commission. Top performers may get company referrals!]

Jian Li had some knowledge of campus cards.

During the first few nights after move-in, seniors had gone door to door in the dorms asking if anyone needed a campus card. Her whole room—Dorm 327—had signed up. Except her.

99 yuan a month was too much for her.

She replied:
[My class schedule is full. Will it interfere with classes?]

She couldn’t afford to put too much time or energy into a side job.

The reply came quickly:
[Nope! Just work during free time. Commission based on performance. 50–100 yuan per card sold. Top performers get bonuses. You can add me on WeChat or visit our office near Cafeteria No. 5 tomorrow.]

Flexible hours, nearby, on-campus, and good pay.

The only job that met all her requirements so far.

She replied:
[Great, please leave your phone number. I’ll come by at noon tomorrow.]

They sent an 11-digit number:
[Just call me when you arrive. Name’s Feng Yutao.]

Jian Li saved it. Just as she was about to lock her phone, the girl in front of her stood up excitedly.

“Zhou Shubei’s here! I’ve seen so many clips of him playing ball online—finally seeing it live!” she said to her friend. “Hey, who’s that next to him? He’s cute too.”

“That’s Song Lang, same class as Zhou Shubei. They’re good buddies.”

“Song Lang’s handsome, but I’m into Zhou’s type more.”

“Keep dreaming,” a guy nearby laughed. “Zhou’s got girls chasing him left and right. Even the design department’s belle chased him for half a month and didn’t even get his WeChat.”

“Did anyone ask you?” the girl rolled her eyes.

Jian Li thought of what she saw that morning.

Amid cheers, Zhou Shubei came out in his jersey.

Number 03, Zhou Shubei.

He adjusted his wristband, a sports band tied around his forehead. Song Lang ran over and passed him a basketball. Zhou dribbled lazily, like he didn’t even take the opponents seriously.

The whistle blew. Only the sound of shoes squeaking echoed.

Zhou leapt into the air and intercepted the opponent’s pass. The players who were running right all turned back. Zhou dribbled, dodged two defenders with fake-outs, took a long stride into the arc, jumped, and shot.

Everyone held their breath. All eyes followed the ball.

Zhou didn’t even glance back—he turned, raised his hand, and confidently made an OK sign.

“Bang!”

The ball went straight in.

“Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap!!”

“Open with a three-pointer!”

“That confident turn was so hot. He knew it would go in!”

Finance’s morale soared. Zhou tapped fingers with teammates, rolled his neck, and raised his brows—cocky and carefree.

“No wonder people say he looks better in motion. Pics don’t capture that swagger.”

“He’s not just good at basketball. Plays guitar, grade 8 violinist, won first in a provincial competition in junior high. Has aced every competition he’s entered. Smart, athletic, good-looking, great family, clean love life—he’s literally a perfect drama male lead.”

“I can’t even imagine dating him… he seems like the type to go public and give full security right away.”

Jian Li listened to the chatter, eyes following that black figure.

After another basket, Zhou casually lifted his shirt to wipe his sweat—revealing toned abs. Even from a distance, his breathing made the muscles visibly ripple.

Vigorous, wild, full of life.

People whipped out phones to record. At halftime, the water bearers rushed forward like a school of fish, all holding the same white bottles like reporters with mics.

Everyone knew his drink preference.

Jian Li kept watching him, curious whose water he’d take—though deep down, she hoped he wouldn’t take anyone’s.

Zhou threw the ball to a teammate, turned around, and picked up his own half-full bottle from the corner to rejoin the group.

She watched him tilt his head back, throat bobbing with every gulp. His jersey clung to his back, damp with sweat. Water trickled down his jaw into his collar.

It was such an ordinary move—yet somehow feral.

A black cord dangled around his neck, half-hidden under his shirt. She didn’t remember him wearing that before.

Jian Li had watched Zhou Shubei play many times.

From behind a school wall, seated by the classroom window. She’d snuck glances during his games, as others openly admired him.

Even then, he was tall and striking—standing out on the court.

Whether running, jumping, or passing, the sunlight seemed to halo him. Dust in the air floated like stars, like he was a character straight out of some action-packed anime.

She didn’t understand basketball then. But later she learned—he was a small forward. The most crucial scorer on the team, the most well-rounded player.

At halftime, Zhou disappeared somewhere. The others around her shared photos with friends who hadn’t come.

It was getting late. Jian Li stood up to return to the dorm. She still had to fill out the form and finish the last ten pages of her book.

As she pushed open the heavy fire door and walked a few steps, she saw someone in the smoking area.

Zhou Shubei leaned casually against the wall, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. A black metal phone was wedged in his hand, and his wristband had a bloodstain.

He looked up when he heard the sound. The wind rustled the leaves outside.

Jian Li’s hand instinctively clutched the corner of her shirt—a habit of hers when nervous or unsure.

Unlike the lively gym, it was quiet here at the stairwell.

She could clearly feel Zhou Shubei’s gaze on her. The smoke carried a faint scent of sandalwood. The motion sensor light blinked on when the fire door shut, suddenly illuminating everything. His right hand was indeed bleeding.

Jian Li stopped, rummaged in her military uniform pocket, and offered a bandage and tissues. “Your hand is hurt. You should stop the bleeding.”

Zhou glanced at it, as if only now realizing he was bleeding. He casually wiped it with his thumb but didn’t take the bandage.

Jian Li’s lashes fluttered as she quickly withdrew her hand. “Sorry.”

She walked past him, hurrying downstairs like she was afraid of revealing something. Her shallow pocket let the A4 form slip out and flutter to the floor near Zhou Shubei’s feet.

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