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C University, Department of Computer Science — Office of the Department Head.
“It’s rare that someone like Beishen, a Tsinghua graduate, would even consider our humble C University.”
The man with graying temples smiled warmly, his scholarly air unmistakable. He was the department head.
Across from him sat a young man. Through the curling steam of tea, his sharp brows and dark eyes stood out clear and striking, his features tall and commanding.
He let out a quiet laugh.
“Other people made up that ridiculous nickname. Why are you following along?”
“Hahaha…” The department head chuckled heartily. “ZeJing has grown into a trillion-level company in just ten years. Calling you a ‘god’ isn’t exaggeration—it’s only fitting.”
The man’s face remained calm, his lips curving in the faintest, most measured of smiles.
“Just luck.”
“So modest! But the name is auspicious, good for our collaboration too. Why don’t we simply call this new program the Beishen Class?”
The man lowered his gaze, took a sip of tea, and gave a slight smile.
“I just changed my surname today. I’d rather not have that brought up. Call me Bei Ze.”
The department head froze, his smile stiffening. Indeed, the nation’s most famous young tycoon had taken his late mother’s surname today. The reasons behind it—he dared not pry.
Once, everyone called him President Qi. But that name was gone now.
The man added, “As for what to name this program—call it anything you like, just not Beishen Class.”
The department head gave an awkward laugh. “Bei Ze, then… shall we set a time to sign the contract?”
C University was launching a new specialty class, aimed at boosting enrollment and elevating the standing of its computer science program.
The AI specialty class would be supported by ZeJing. Students admitted would directly sign employment agreements with the tech giant. Enrollment quality was bound to soar.
All terms had already been settled—curriculum design, faculty, admissions exams. Only the signing ceremony remained.
“Alright,” the man agreed.
The department head’s eyes lit up. “How about next Monday?”
“Fine. I’ll arrange my schedule.” The man lowered his head to send a WeChat message.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Come in,” the department head said.
A staff member entered, glanced at the man seated inside, hesitated, then pulled the department head into the hallway.
“Director, the university doesn’t agree. They insist on a hard rule: students must rank in the top 5% of their major. If we let her transfer otherwise, it’ll be unfair to the others.”
The office door had swung nearly shut, but not completely. A draft pushed it open just enough. The man inside heard everything, clear as day.
The department head’s voice turned sharp.
“Ranking? What did freshmen even learn last semester? Those courses have nothing to do with whether someone can excel in computer science! Tell them my position: this student, I must have.”
The man paused mid-message. His long, defined fingers hovered above the screen.
A transfer student?
With connections?
His brows furrowed slightly. He retracted his WeChat message about the signing ceremony and replaced it with:
【Hold off for now.】
“But Director, I told them. The school insists—the rule must be followed.”
The department head fumed.
“Last year the cutoff was top 10%. This year, suddenly they raise it to 5%. What kind of ‘rule’ is that? We deliberately set the exam brutally hard. The second-place student barely scored 70. She got a perfect score! And now they cry unfair? I don’t expect anyone else to ace it, but even passing would’ve shown real talent!”
The man’s brows twitched. His foot shifted slightly, as though ready to rise.
So—the connections were that strong?
Leaked exam questions, perhaps?
He typed another message into the group chat:
【Cancel the deal. No cooperation.】
A person without integrity, without bottom line—unworthy.
The department head pressed on.
“I’ve worked in research for decades, met countless talents. This girl’s mathematical ability is the highest I’ve ever seen. We need her.”
The man gave a faint, mocking smile, sipping his tea.
Really? The highest talent?
And she’d end up at C University, not Top 2?
Was that credible?
The department head declared firmly, “I don’t care what they say. I want this student.”
The man drained the last of his tea.
Ah. These connections ran deep.
“Very well. I’ll speak with them again,” the staff member said, retreating down the hall.
The man stood, telling the department head, “Suddenly there’s something urgent at the company. I’ll excuse myself.”
The director blinked in confusion. “Ah?”
The tall figure adjusted his suit, one hand in his pocket, nodded politely, and strode toward the door.
“Wait, Bei Ze!” The director caught his arm. “The contract signing?”
The man inclined slightly. “We’ll talk another time. Goodbye.”
The abrupt change of tone told the director something had shifted. His brilliant professor’s mind clicked—he thinks I’m playing favoritism!
“You don’t really believe I’m pulling strings for someone, do you?”
The man smiled faintly.
“I understand your difficulties. We all have times we can’t help ourselves.”
But he firmly withdrew his arm.
“This is a misunderstanding!” The director protested, half exasperated, half amused. “This girl placed first in the entire city—both in math and physics! Surely that can’t be faked.”
The man’s steps halted.
“Come, sit. Let me show you.”
The director handed him the transfer application. “Chinese: 89. Math: 149. Physics: 100. Look at that Chinese score—tragic, isn’t it? Barely passing! Her whole life she’ll be pinned to the shame board. But in math and physics? Stunning.”
He poured the man more tea, grinning. “Honestly, if not for her awful Chinese, she wouldn’t have ended up here at C University.”
The man studied the form, eyes drawn to her address.
The same villa community as his.
No one lived there without wealth or status.
Her science scores were good. But in his world, good scores didn’t necessarily equal true genius. And if the director noticed her just for that, suspicion of favoritism still lingered.
The director leaned forward.
“What caught my attention wasn’t the score—it was her solution to the final problem. Our grader, Professor Shen, deliberately set a research-level problem to stump the students. This girl cried through it, but still solved it—more elegantly than Shen himself! She even said his method was too cumbersome. Her solution was quick, precise, flawless. Shen was dumbfounded.”
The man’s eyes darkened, unreadable.
The director added, “She’s just a girl. But surely you don’t think women lack talent in the sciences? She won a bronze in the CMO back in her first year of high school. Oddly, she didn’t compete after that.”
“That’s not it.” The man’s voice was cool, dismissive. “Plenty of brilliant women out there. It’s society’s biases that hold them back.”
At that moment, the director noticed the contrast on him: a luxury watch on one wrist, and on the other, a faded red hair tie. It was stretched loose, no longer elastic, with a chipped red plastic bead dangling. Clearly old, sentimental. A relic from his mother, perhaps?
The director wisely didn’t pry. Instead, he said, “Why don’t we call her in? You can test her yourself.”
Su Yundai’s side.
Her phone rang—it was a call from the university’s landline. Her heart skipped.
“Su Yundai? This is Professor Yao. Are you free now? Please come to campus, bring your ID.”
“Is this about the transfer? Did you validate my solution to the final problem?”
“Not yet. Just come to Building 1, Room 101. Let me explain…”
The moment she hung up, she rushed out.
But luck wasn’t on her side. The drizzle suddenly turned into a downpour. Thunder cracked overhead. A fierce gust flipped her umbrella inside out like a giant funnel.
The rain drenched her instantly. Thank goodness she wore a jacket—though soaked, at least she wasn’t exposed.
Her bangs clung to her forehead. She stopped by the restroom to smooth her hair, peeled off the dripping jacket, and hurried on in just her white T-shirt.
The lecture hall was vast, but only three men sat inside: Professor Shen, Professor Yao, and one other—seated dead center. Clearly the one Professor Yao wanted her to meet.
He had his head bent, pen gliding across paper. Both professors watched him intently. Their bodies blocked her view of his face.
Suddenly, his pen dropped.
“Yes, yes, yes! Exactly! That’s it—she’s correct! She deserves full marks!” the director cried out.
Yundai’s heart leapt.
Her solution was finally acknowledged?
Professor Shen’s eyes widened in realization.
“That’s right! It was a research-level problem I struggled with for a month. I thought I’d stump the kids—but she outdid me! Amazing! Genius! And Beishen, of course… you saw it instantly. Even after years out of academia, you outpace me. Truly, the gap between genius and ordinary folk is as wide as man and dog!”
The man gave a faint smile, gaze fixed on the solution.
“Just luck. Don’t be modest—you’re a professor now.”
Then his eyes caught her at the doorway.
She stood, small-framed, soaked from the storm, her large phoenix eyes tilted upward at the corners. Dark irises gleamed like rain-washed glazed tiles, luminous and deep. Her skin was pale, lips red, her whole bearing delicate yet elegant, like misty Jiangnan rainwater made flesh.
Despite her bedraggled state, her bone structure was striking.
In a flash, his mind replayed an old memory—
A little girl with those same phoenix eyes, those same watery pupils, leaning close to a young man’s face. He had been sitting on a hospital bed, sharp features softened by her bright smile.
His chest tightened. The little girl’s face overlapped perfectly with the young woman standing before him. His fingers trembled, scratching a line across the paper.
“Ah, Su Yundai—you’re here!” Professor Shen exclaimed. “Your solution is valid—Beishen himself confirmed it! That means you scored full marks in both math and the major test!”
Her hand clenched at her damp trousers.
Full marks. But the school’s rigid rule still demanded top 5%. Which meant… even full marks might mean nothing.
Joy refused to rise in her chest. Silence blanketed the lecture hall.
The professors’ smiles faltered. They couldn’t promise her anything.
Outside, oppressive clouds pressed against the windows. The ceiling fan creaked and rattled, sawing the silence like dull teeth.
Professor Shen finally offered, “Don’t worry. The director is fighting for you. If not now, we’ll guarantee you for graduate school.”
Graduate school? Cross-major recommendations were even harder. And her dream was Tsinghua. With her background, the odds were bleak.
Even exams were stacked against her. With her dismal Chinese score, could she even pass politics later? Without crossing every threshold, her dreams would collapse.
Three years from now, would anyone remember her brilliant solution today?
If she failed to produce dazzling results—competitions, research—would they still call her talented?
And if her GPA sank, could she even qualify for recommendation?
It was all uncertain.
Still, she forced a smile. “Thank you, Professors. Do you need me to do a test now? I’m ready.”
They had been kind to her. She would not make them regret it.
Professor Yao lifted a sealed envelope. “Yes. Problems personally written by Beishen. Do your best—prove yourself.”
Her gaze slid naturally toward the man.
He sat by the window, suit immaculate, the storm raging in a blurred curtain behind him. Raindrops battered the lattice, filling the silence with a low hum.
The overhead light fell against his sharp features. Slicked-back hair framed a broad forehead, casting shadows across his high brows. The strong lines of his face carried a restrained severity, hiding a wild, untamed edge beneath. His nose was tall, his jaw structured, his presence exuding tension, dominance, and raw force.
For the first time, Su Yundai laid eyes on the trillionaire himself.
Beishen of ZeJing.
Rumor had it he graduated Tsinghua’s math department at eighteen. With ten million left from his late mother, he turned it into hundreds of billions. In just ten years, nearly every major tech company’s rise bore ZeJing Capital’s mark.
At twenty-three, he earned dual PhDs from MIT in computer science and life sciences. Since then, he had led his AI team into medical technology, reshaping the field, his reputation towering in the business world.
Now, seeing him in person, she could only marvel. The difference between people wasn’t just like man and dog—it was like man and dust.
At eighteen, he had graduated Tsinghua Math and built wealth beyond imagination. At eighteen, she had failed Tsinghua, failed her transfer, dragged down her GPA. Her future seemed destined to sink into obscurity.
“Caught in the rain?” the man finally spoke, rising to his feet.