Chapter 9: Function Expired

Lu Canran had given up on liking Liang Yuanzheng twice.

The first time she “gave up” was much easier.

When she first came across the name “Liang Yuanzheng,” Lu Canran was still in middle school. Talking about love or anything of the sort was too heavy and profound—it was just a faint feeling called “liking” that had begun to sprout quietly.

At that time, her classmates had started breaking the “ban” and secretly bringing all kinds of romance novels to school. The most popular ones were always campus youth stories. They would hide the books under their prep materials and sneak a peek during self-study sessions, reading those tender tales with naïve hearts.

When sharing little secrets with her friends, Lu Canran had to pick a boy to secretly crush on too, just to fit in.

Without a secret crush, it was hard to seamlessly blend into conversations among her friends. She would miss out on many shared topics. Lu Canran was a top student, and she couldn’t afford to fall behind even in this aspect.

She spent an entire evening self-study session observing the boys in her class, only to be disappointed by the realization that no matter who she picked to secretly like, it would be embarrassing.

Because none of them had better grades than she did. The only one who had ever beaten her once in academics was already someone else’s “secret crush” in their friend group discussions.

It was right around then that the name “Liang Yuanzheng” appeared at just the right moment.

His name had managed to cross from the high school division into the middle school division for one simple reason: in his year, no one had better grades than him, and no one was poorer than him.

Lu Canran, who had never known what it meant to lack money since birth, saw Liang Yuanzheng for the first time at a commendation assembly at No. 1 High School. With outstanding grades, he received both a scholarship and an inspirational award, along with a donation from a certain entrepreneur.

The company had established a donation fund specifically for impoverished students and sponsored the entire commendation assembly. As the model example of an “excellent yet underprivileged student,” Liang Yuanzheng took the stage in his school uniform to deliver a speech. The autumn sun blazed overhead, and he stood there for nearly two hours, calmly recounting his hardships according to the moving speech prepared by the teachers: divorced parents, a mother who had passed away, an elderly grandmother, and a younger sister still in school.

The host of the assembly read in an emotionally charged voice, stating that Liang Yuanzheng hadn’t bought a single new piece of clothing or shoes since entering high school. To save money for his grandmother’s medicine and ensure his sister could continue her education, he only ordered steamed buns and half a dish in the school cafeteria, drank the free porridge, and his monthly expenses at school were less than 300 yuan. During winter and summer breaks, he would take part-time jobs. When transitioning from middle school to high school, he had even worked as a laborer on a construction site.

Now, the entrepreneur was donating ten thousand yuan to him personally, enough to cover his living expenses until the college entrance exam.

After his speech, he still had to listen to addresses and advice from the school leaders and company representatives, and participate in various photo sessions. Liang Yuanzheng bowed slightly, using both hands to receive the plaque from the entrepreneur. The bright red characters on it read “Charity Grant.” For a full two hours—two entire hours—he stood there like an exhibit, covered in labels of poverty and perseverance, receiving the gaze of every student and teacher in No. 1 High School, from the high school division to the middle school division.

Throughout this process, Liang Yuanzheng showed no signs of embarrassment or discomfort. He faced the sympathy of nearly the entire school with remarkable composure. He was a role model of a poor student—qualified, yet not entirely. He didn’t tremble when accepting the donation, nor did he cry with gratitude in front of the kind-hearted donor. He simply gave a courteous thank you, neither servile nor arrogant.

Lu Canran cried for two hours.

She started crying the moment Liang Yuanzheng stepped on stage to give his speech, and didn’t stop until the host announced the end of the assembly.

Her tears mixed with sweat, and at that age, being moved to tears was considered extremely uncool. She had tried to hold it in, then ended up trying not to sob out loud.

Chen Wanli was sitting close to her. When he saw Lu Canran lowering her head, droplets falling pat-pat onto the concrete floor, he asked in shock,

“Is Liang Yuanzheng really that handsome? Handsome enough to make you drool?”

That was the first time Lu Canran truly understood the meaning of the phrase “spoiled rich brat.”

And so, Liang Yuanzheng—who was poor yet resilient, neat and clean, handsome, tall, academically outstanding, steady in temperament, and carried the aura of an “older brother”—was formally added to Lu Canran’s list of potential secret crushes.

Two weeks later, Lu Canran told all her friends that she, too, had a secret crush.

“That’s awesome!” her friends were thrilled. “Who is it? Chen Wanli?”

Their tone was as casual as asking if she liked apples.

“Liang Yuanzheng,” Lu Canran said. “His grades are just too good.”

That alone was enough.

For students during their school years, “having excellent grades” was a remarkable bonus. For girls their age, things like cars and houses were too far off to think about. What they cared about more was whether someone was handsome, tall, cool, and academically strong.

Her friends were very supportive. They all clumsily learned the art of having a secret crush together. Since the middle school division finished classes earlier, her friends would stay behind with her for an extra twenty minutes to do homework in the classroom, then deliberately dawdle as they walked hand-in-hand past the high school gate. On the surface, they tried to appear calm, but in truth they were scanning around. Once they spotted Liang Yuanzheng, they would nudge Lu Canran with their elbows and whisper, “Look, look, there he is!”

Sometimes, a girl would even walk a few steps ahead with Lu Canran, nonchalantly passing by Liang Yuanzheng, then pretend to call her friend to catch up while sneaking a long look at him, running off afterward with a satisfied smile.

They also studied the class schedules together. Lu Canran was delighted to discover that some PE classes for the middle school and high school divisions overlapped. Conveniently, they shared the same sports field.

Before every PE class, Lu Canran would carefully put on her cleanest pair of sneakers. She even learned ten stylish ways to tie shoelaces, and her headband and socks were always thoughtfully chosen.

She was always ready for the chance that Liang Yuanzheng might notice her. And even if he didn’t, it didn’t matter—her friends would enthusiastically supply all the emotional value she needed, blushing as they told her, “I think Liang Yuanzheng was looking at you.” They were even better at stirring up sugar than fans shipping CPs nowadays, digging into every tiny detail to find “proof” that Liang Yuanzheng might have noticed her too.

Lu Canran would then stand a little straighter and put more effort into hitting the shuttlecock.

At that time, Lu Canran was earnestly performing the grand act of a secret crush.

She might not have been deeply moved, but she was entirely sincere.

Looking back later, she realized that more than liking Liang Yuanzheng, what she truly loved was that youthful time spent “crushing” with her friends.

He felt more like the starting point of a youth she had nowhere else to place.

Until June, during the college entrance exam season, Liang Yuanzheng took the exam and left No. 1 High School, successfully gaining admission to A University.

After that, if Lu Canran wanted to see Liang Yuanzheng again, the only place she could go was the school’s Honorary Alumni Wall, where his photo was displayed—taken during the standardized photo session for the exam. There was no sense of composition; even an immortal would look a few points worse in such a picture.

Lu Canran stared at that photo for a long time. It felt like the first time she was openly and rightfully looking at the face of her “secret crush,” and it was quite different from what she had imagined.

Chen Wanli had once mockingly called Liang Yuanzheng a pretty boy, but he wasn’t especially pale—just fairer than most high school boys. There were faintly visible pores on his cheeks, not the smooth, wax-like skin she had imagined. His double eyelids were asymmetrical—the right one slightly wider than the left. His eyes weren’t pitch black, but had a faint brown hue. His expression in the photo was indifferent, not the ever-smiling one she remembered from her mind.

People tend to romanticize the things they can’t grasp. From a distance, even the craters and ridges on the moon become osmanthus trees, jade rabbits, and celestial beings.

It was then, while still young, that Lu Canran gave up her secret crush for the first time, deciding to bring this performance to an end.

Because she realized that what she had always liked was actually a blurred, idealized version of Liang Yuanzheng. All the halos surrounding him were bestowed by her imagination. In reality, he didn’t always smile—his demeanor was one of calm, steady indifference.

Giving up on him felt more like giving up a childhood game of playing house.

She began to secretly like Liang Yuanzheng again in the summer near the end of her second year of high school, when he accepted an invitation from the homeroom teacher and returned to No. 1 High School to encourage the younger students and answer their questions.

By then, Lu Canran had grown three centimeters taller, cut her hair into an ear-length bob, and spent her days buried in endless problem sets. Her brain worked overtime, and she got hungry quickly, needing four meals a day.

Liang Yuanzheng, even more handsome than she remembered, appeared in the classroom. It was during evening self-study. Lu Canran was lying on her desk, half-asleep, half-awake, working on a physics problem—using given data to calculate the value of q on a fixed, thin insulating circular ring with radius R, and determining whether it was a positive or negative charge.

The area where her arm touched the test paper was damp with sweat. The heat was so stifling that her body leaned forward instinctively, trying to pull away from the T-shirt stuck to her back. Just then, a paper ball flew over and hit her forehead. Lu Canran’s eyes snapped open. She looked around and saw a friend, one row over, pursing her lips toward her. The girl was smiling shyly, her eyes playful, motioning for Lu Canran to look up.

She straightened in her seat and slowly unfolded the paper ball, revealing a single line of text:

“Look who’s here.”

Her cheeks and arms were printed with the outlines of physics problems. Lu Canran looked up and, caught off guard, saw Liang Yuanzheng—wearing a white shirt and blue jeans.

So fair, so handsome, so tall, so cool.

The male lead in her secret crush story.

He was no longer just a photo hanging on the cold wall of the school, but a living, breathing person standing right there at the front of the classroom, in front of her.

Lu Canran couldn’t think of a single reason not to fall in love.

—Unless Liang Yuanzheng already had a girlfriend.

—Fortunately, he didn’t.

The feelings that blossomed again were cautious and delicate. Lu Canran didn’t tell anyone. Her once-outward performance had become a hidden emotion—an emotion she couldn’t even fully describe herself. Was it a secret crush? She wasn’t sure. The distance between them was too great, so great that she would first have to overcome the massive hurdle of the college entrance exam.

She became a quiet observer, casually inquiring about Liang Yuanzheng’s news from teachers under the pretense of “wanting to apply to A University” as well. She had thought about secretly finding his contact information, about how to add this senior in a way that seemed reasonable. She wrote countless words about him in a diary that lied to her about many things—except when it came to her feelings and confusion about him. Those were all real.

She also became a daydreamer, a writer of imaginary history. She never expected a response from Liang Yuanzheng, because in his unawareness, he could very well let her expectations fall flat.

This kind of fervent yet secret emotion pushed Lu Canran to set A University as her goal, her ideal. She poured her heart and soul into preparing for the college entrance exam, because only by getting into A University would there be a chance of seeing him again. That year, Lu Canran longed to hear any news about Liang Yuanzheng and frequently visited the office of her math teacher, who was also the homeroom teacher. Her math grades improved dramatically, and by the second half of the year, she firmly held the position of first in the entire grade for math.

In truth, there was no connection between them.

The summer cicadas buzzed like falling rain. After finishing the final exam paper, Lu Canran put down her pen at the sound of the bell signaling the end of the test—and silently let go of her secret crush as well.

She couldn’t say whether it was the relief that came after giving her all, or the sense of adulthood that followed officially leaving behind her identity as a high school student. For a moment, Lu Canran felt lost. She realized she didn’t know whether she had been secretly in love with him, or secretly in love with A University.

By that time, Lu Canran could no longer clearly remember Liang Yuanzheng’s face.

She only occasionally dreamed of him—but the joy she felt in those dreams, she remembered vividly.

She did quite well on the exam, performing beyond her usual level. Some universities even began calling her in advance. To help students make better choices, the homeroom teacher organized a discussion session at school, inviting students from prestigious universities to speak face-to-face with the top-performing students in her cohort.

That day went terribly for her. From the morning onward, things kept going wrong. The cafeteria auntie got her order wrong—she had asked for eight-treasure porridge but only got red beans. While eating soup dumplings, a few drops of oil fell on her pants, and she didn’t notice until she got to school. On the stairs, Chen Wanli accidentally stepped on her foot, leaving a big dark footprint on her white sneakers. She arrived five minutes late, and when she pushed open the classroom door, she saw that it was already filled with senior students and classmates.

A classmate teased her for arriving so late, asking what took her so long, saying Liang Yuanzheng had already been waiting for nearly an hour. Among the class, the only one interested in A University’s medical program was Lu Canran, so the homeroom teacher had specially invited him to come and give her a one-on-one consultation.

Lu Canran’s face flushed red with embarrassment.

Liang Yuanzheng gave a small smile and said one line to smooth things over.

“Early bird catches the worm,” Liang Yuanzheng said. “I’m the early bird, so I had to come first.”

That light-hearted self-deprecating joke, filled with kindness, gently brought springtime into Lu Canran’s unlucky day.

She turned and looked at Liang Yuanzheng’s face with full attention.

From that day until now, Lu Canran had never given up her feelings for him—not even during all those shared coding classes, when despite so many sessions, they hadn’t spoken a single word to each other.

Until tonight.

Liang Yuanzheng had someone he liked.

He had liked her for two years.

It sounded a lot like a secret crush.

So good, so good, so good. If only Lu Canran didn’t like him, it would be even better.

She instantly wilted, head drooping in defeat, wanting nothing more than to return to the hospital room and huddle with her friends for comfort, to soothe her pitiful heartbreak. Just then, she was caught off guard by someone calling her name.

“Lu Canran?”

She snapped out of her crushed secret crush, picked up the scattered pieces of herself, and remembered—Jiang Si had something to talk to her about.

With the bullet screen above his head reading [Zhu Huaxin,] Jiang Si’s reason for finding her was simple and direct.

Next weekend, Jiang Si wanted to confess to Zhu Huaxin.

In the dorm, Zhu Huaxin had spent the most time with Lu Canran, so he hoped she could give him some advice.

Lu Canran suggested that he go confess to Zhu Huaxin right now.

“Xinxin doesn’t care about grand gestures,” Lu Canran said sincerely. “Just prepare a nice gift, practice your gaming skills, don’t die so easily in the game, and if you can team up with her and win a few matches, she’ll like you even more.”

—What’s the point of secretly liking someone? Just go for it. Just confess.

—Don’t be like me and waste two whole years. Liang Yuanzheng already has someone he likes, wuwu.

Jiang Si smiled. “I want her to feel that she’s being taken seriously.”

Lu Canran paused for a moment, then said, “That’s really nice.”

Really nice.

Suddenly, she felt envious. She had secretly imagined before that Liang Yuanzheng might confess to her out of the blue—a proper, earnest confession, friends cheering, a beautiful bouquet of flowers—wait, that was starting to sound more like a proposal.

She really was hopelessly romantic.

Before leaving, Jiang Si asked Lu Canran to keep it a secret—she couldn’t tell anyone. He also asked her, “Don’t you find it strange? That I like Zhu Huaxin?”

“It’s fine,” Lu Canran said. “I can feel that your whole head is filled with her.”

“My head?”

“Sorry,” Lu Canran quickly corrected herself, realizing her mistake, “I mean your heart.”

And just like that, Jiang Si left. Lu Canran didn’t care where he was going. The mushroom with the droopy cap quietly retracted its mycelium skirt. She headed back toward the hospital room, when she heard Jiang Si behind her greeting someone, calling out, “Hello, Teacher.”

She kept walking, but then someone called her name from behind. “Lu Canran?”

Lu Canran turned around and saw a tall, handsome guy dressed in black.

Ah, it was that very handsome PE teacher everyone kept talking about—the one who taught badminton, though Lu Canran hadn’t taken his class.

“Hello, Teacher,” Lu Canran greeted him politely, feeling a little awkward, unsure why he remembered her. “Hi.”

“The one who won first place in badminton at the last school sports meet? Lu Canran, right?” The PE teacher smiled warmly. “Why didn’t you sign up for badminton this semester?”

Floating above his head were the words “Target Locked”, along with a dangerous-looking skull symbol.

Lu Canran didn’t quite understand what he meant by that question, so she answered honestly, “Because I wanted to learn a sport I’m not good at.”

“That’s great,” the PE teacher’s smile widened as he spoke warmly. “The May Day holiday is coming up—are you interested in signing up for the school’s badminton competition?”

No. Absolutely not.

Her original May Day plan was to work hard on maintaining and improving her relationship with Liang Yuanzheng, to get closer to him.

Her current May Day plan was still to work hard on maintaining and improving her relationship with Liang Yuanzheng, to get closer to him, and also to find out who it was that he secretly liked—ideally, to somehow become the person he liked.

Before Lu Canran could even get the word “no” out of her mouth, the PE teacher had already decided on her behalf and said he would sign her up. The glowing “Target Locked” above his head was impossible to ignore.

Emotionally thrown off, Lu Canran didn’t have the energy to firmly reject him. She silently walked back to the hospital room, realizing she had been too timid.

If she had gotten closer and confessed two years earlier, maybe by now she and Liang Yuanzheng would already be in a relationship—or, no, there was also a fifty percent chance they’d no longer be speaking.

But people always tend to romanticize the path they didn’t choose.

Lu Canran thought, today I’ll be sad—just for today. Tomorrow, I’ll be braver.

She was going to make good use of her “mind-reading” ability.

Lu Canran quietly cheered herself on, reigniting her determination.

With a resolute stride, she walked toward the nurse’s station, deciding to once again ask the all-knowing young nurse for information. With so many people to test one by one, she didn’t believe that, with her intelligence, she couldn’t figure out who Liang Yuanzheng’s “crush” was.

She stopped by the vending machine again and bought a bag of dried tangerine peel–flavored sunflower seeds.

The young nurse at the station was chatting with a colleague when Lu Canran approached and greeted her proactively. As she did, she caught a flurry of bullet-screen thoughts flying above the nurse’s head—

[…ah, it’s the little girl who likes Dr. Liang, why is she here at this time… could it be… Xue Ningyuan… Director Xue… Liang Yuanzheng…]

Then suddenly, the bullet screens began missing words, characters dropping out here and there, making Lu Canran hesitate. “Hello?”

“Canran,” the young nurse greeted her warmly, “what brings you here?”

The nurse beside her also had broken bullet screens above her head: […why… this is the one who…]

The fluorescent light above flickered rapidly for a moment.

At the same time, Lu Canran was shocked to discover that the bullet screens above the two nurses’ heads had completely disappeared—nothing but a blank space.

The only thing the two nurses asked her was, “Are you feeling unwell?”

Lu Canran didn’t move an inch.

Her roommates, unable to wait any longer for her return, opened the door to look for her. Zhu Huaxin spotted her first and waved cheerfully.

Lu Canran noticed that their heads, too, were completely blank—no bullet screens.

So this special ability was time-limited? Lu Canran felt a wave of disappointment.

Just like expiring chat bubbles on □□ (WeChat), they disappeared when time was up. But… now she wanted to keep using it. Was there a way to renew it?

—Should she go back to Zheng Ji for another bowl of mushroom soup?