There are four versions of Windows on the market, from basic to advanced: Home, Professional, Education, and Enterprise. When Xia Fu initially bought her “Little Monster No. 1,” it came with the most basic Home version. Upgrading to Professional required an extra fee, as it offered a range of built-in tools that fulfilled most technical needs.

The Education and Enterprise versions, meanwhile, expanded on the Professional version to cater to the specific needs of educational institutions and companies. This new laptop likely came through some company channel, given the presence of Blue Star Group files on the desktop. With Fang Jingcheng sharing a surname with the founder, Xia Fu couldn’t help but speculate.

Maybe they’re relatives or something. Not that Fang Jingcheng’s background really mattered to her.

Since she chose such a popular company, she was bound to face competition from other students, perhaps even some upperclassmen vying for post-graduation positions. To make up for the gap, she’d better go all out.

Xia Fu only hesitated for a moment before quickly redirecting her attention to Fang Jingcheng beside her. “The performance is top-notch, but I’m not super familiar with finance modeling. Can you walk me through these materials?”

Such a calm response—had she fallen too deeply in love with learning? The company held a near-legendary status in S City; he’d expected her to speculate about his identity, maybe even be secretly surprised, but her expression stayed the same. She didn’t even toss him an extra glance.

She didn’t even compliment him on his choice of the cool, flashy keyboard…

Fang Jingcheng felt a bit conflicted inside, his excitement fading visibly as he watched her eagerly dismantle the laptop. Still, he leaned in, helpfully scanning over the files with Xia Fu.

“Oh, here’s the group’s financial reports from the last five years. Let me use the touchpad for a sec.”

His well-proportioned hand glided across the sleek black surface, selecting the files he wanted with a small swipe of his fingertip. Though he had little personal interest in formulas, data analysis, or programming algorithms, Fang Jingcheng’s familiarity with these things, thanks to growing up around experts, allowed him to explain it to Xia Fu in simple terms.

“What we need to do is analyze the company’s growth and losses, pinpoint any anomalies, and—based on the policies from those years—figure out the next investment target, where the money should go.”

“You’ve heard of the phrase ‘playing to someone’s strengths,’ right?”

“We’re just ordinary students; we’re not chief advisors or wizards with crystal balls, so we can’t actually predict the future. Plus, the investment department’s yearly actions are already decided—they’re our ‘answer key,’ in a way. So our analysis is more like writing an essay: using known information to reach known conclusions.”

“Our scores come from people grading us. As long as your analysis process lines up with their thinking, you’ll catch the attention of senior managers.”

His short, silvery hair spiked messily, a dark snake-bone tattoo coiling over his muscular forearm as he rested it on the table. His fingers, decorated with a metal ring that scraped lightly against the laptop as he used the touchpad, looked nothing like the stereotypical business elite. And he wasn’t trying to defeat competitors with technical precision either, but rather using a method more about swaying opinions. As his movements made the rainbow-lit keyboard ripple like a field of wheat in the wind, his eyes reflected an enchanting glow.

“Well? Did that make sense?”

Xia Fu was a bit surprised as she looked at the young man before her. She couldn’t deny that Fang Jingcheng had an undeniable charm when persuading others. With a good analysis report, his persuasive abilities could really shine.

What’s more, Fang Jingcheng’s professional knowledge was actually better than she’d imagined. If he could make up for her limited finance background, his contribution might far exceed that of Bao Zhiwei back then.

Finally, Xia Fu felt a bit more at ease. “Thank you. I think I get what to do now.” She gently tapped the screen to put it in sleep mode. “Class is starting soon. Let’s chat more over lunch or tonight.”

Fang Jingcheng glanced down at their hands, nearly touching, still not realizing what Xia Fu’s “chat” really meant.

The mood was nice.

Sure, she might discover later that he was just a showy “novice,” but for now, she seemed to think he was reliable.

In their last class, Xia Fu was in an excellent mood. Thinking others would be too busy with dinner to notice, she passed two small notes to Fang Jingcheng. He’d known since he ghostwrote for her that she did well in this subject, so her performance wasn’t surprising. But when they were alone, it was his turn to be shocked.

“Chatting” turned into a flood of questions; in half an hour, Xia Fu managed to pull an entire year’s worth of knowledge from him, creating a long study list for herself. Her questions were simple but focused on connections between topics.

For her, analysis seemed like building with blocks, piecing everything together once she understood each tool and common approaches. No wonder Bao Zhiwei had been so keen to collect top cases for their team back then—given a good template, Xia Fu could happily grind the details to perfection, inching ever closer to the optimal answer.

Her focus was downright scary.

To Fang Jingcheng, it was like watching a child with a new toy; she was quickly piecing together the old data to see if the resulting curve differed from textbooks, testing if math could indeed predict the future. She’d just read online that data analysts skilled in algorithms could earn up to 12,000 a month—double her expected salary. Of course, she was doubly interested in profitable skills.

But practical tasks weren’t Fang Jingcheng’s domain, so he couldn’t share in her enthusiasm.

He leaned lazily against the laptop, watching Xia Fu’s fingers type, the “click-click” like raindrops against glass.

“Did you finish everything by yourself back then?”

As she adjusted parameters, she explained, “Pretty much, but PPT formatting and background info was done by someone else. Remember? That guy you replaced in the basketball game.”

The original team had three members, but the last guy barely stood out.

“Oh…”

Fang Jingcheng replied absently, looking at Xia Fu’s focused profile, deep in thought. What was that guy’s name? Little Gu?

He was terrible at remembering men’s faces; he only recalled that the guy was decent at basketball. Oh well. If he couldn’t remember him, that meant no threat.

Yawning slowly, Fang Jingcheng didn’t mind staying up all night for games or basketball. But focusing on classes? That was torture. They’d been at it since 3:30 in the afternoon.

Settled comfortably into the coffee shop’s cushy sofa, surrounded by a rich aroma, the faint clacks of the keyboard were like perfect white noise, and now, Fang Jingcheng felt like drifting off. Enough was enough—he didn’t want any more coffee.

Just like a puppy finding the perfect napping spot, he burrowed half his face into his arm, one pretty eye peeking out at Xia Fu. “Can’t do it, I need a little nap. Wake me up for dinner,” he said, his voice still lingering with the softness of a recent yawn, impossible to refuse.

“Mm, go ahead. I’ll just study a bit more on my own.”

The best way to manage progress was to end on a small win, keeping up the motivation for next time.

Xia Fu didn’t plan to bite off too much at once. After finishing her task, she stopped to watch the sleeping youth, easing the strain on her own eyes. Let him sleep a bit longer. Fang Jingcheng had been up early to buy breakfast, riding over and filling her in on finance concepts, so he was bound to be tired.

She watched him quietly as the light faded, turning from molten gold to a deep evening blue, casting his silver hair in shifting colors. Only then did she softly call his name.

“Fang Jingcheng? Fang Jingcheng? Wake up, it’s six-thirty.”

Supporting her chin with one hand, Xia Fu patiently waited for him to stir.

“…Hmm?”

Half-asleep, Fang Jingcheng experienced that strange feeling of being stuck between dreams and waking. He could clearly hear Xia Fu’s voice, even imagine replying, “Just a few more minutes.” But in reality, he barely managed a sleepy grumble, soft and a bit hoarse.

The sound reminded Xia Fu of when he’d kissed her hand, bringing back that odd urge to reach out.

There was no rush to wake him.

“You’ve worked so hard… go ahead and rest a bit longer.”

Softening her voice, she gently hummed a tune, like a lullaby, and, with the tip of her finger, lightly brushed his silver hair.