Chapter 16

Call Him “Husband”

Chu Zhixia looked up to see a round-faced young woman. Aside from the slightly round cheeks, she was quite pretty — the kind of dignified, proper beauty well-suited for period dramas or anti-Japanese war series.

“Hm? Are we going in now?” Chu Zhixia asked.

The girl stared blankly at her face for a couple of seconds, then whispered, “No. Even the master’s candidates haven’t gone in yet. It’ll probably be a while.”

Chu Zhixia glanced around. Sure enough, the lecture hall was still packed, with only the area near the door a little emptier.

“I just wanted to ask… we’re exchanging portfolios up front. Do you want to join?” the girl asked cautiously.

There were nine of them in total, split into three rows of three, clustered by the windows.

Since Chu Zhixia had arrived late, she was stuck in the back corner. A quick glance at the wall clock showed she’d been waiting for over an hour. Maybe because it was so stuffy, whispers had begun to fill the room. Some in the front rows had turned around to chat and flip through portfolios.

“Sure.” At this point, there was no changing anything, and it wouldn’t hurt to take a look. She handed the girl a small booklet containing her résumé.

“Pretty girl, what’s your name?” she called out just as the girl, blushing, was about to return to her seat, leaning lightly on the desk with a smile.

Hearing herself called “pretty girl,” the girl’s face turned even redder — like a round, shiny little apple. Her hairstyle suited her well today: two braids, a plaid shirt, cute yet full of upright energy.

“Ruan Pingping.”

Ah — she really did have a “Ping” in her name.

Chu Zhixia had seen her name on the published retest list and knew which “Ping” it was.

Just as she was about to introduce herself, Ruan Pingping said, “You’re Chu Zhixia, right? I’ve seen your show.”

“Huh? You’re from Nancheng?” Chu Zhixia was a little surprised. Maybe her voice carried, because a few other classmates also glanced over.

“I’m not. I saw your videos on Bilibili — Ranking the Most Gorgeous Sports Hosts. I thought you were super pretty! And your figure was amazing! I remembered your name right away, but I didn’t expect it was actually you. Why did you switch fields?” Ruan Pingping lowered her voice to a whisper.

Chu Zhixia leaned closer to her reddened ear and whispered back, “My brain suddenly got itchy. I felt like studying again.”

Ruan Pingping couldn’t help but laugh, two dimples appearing, making her look even cuter.

“Just kidding. I suddenly got interested in stage plays.”

Although Ruan Pingping wasn’t in her row, she sat next to her for a while. Even if the invigilator wouldn’t care, it felt a bit awkward, so after a short chat, she took her portfolios back to her seat.

Soon after, more portfolios were passed over from other classmates.

Flipping through them, Chu Zhixia realized that most of these materials were things Zhou Haoying had already shown her. She figured that with the name list published, everyone had already searched each other online — rehearsal clips, performance info, school “star” features, or even past art exam records.

Her own résumé, however, still made people pause. The two boys in front who kept sneaking glances at her immediately turned around.

“You really worked at Nancheng TV? That’s amazing — all your shows were on satellite channels. A proper host, and in the public system, too.”

“It’s… okay,” Chu Zhixia didn’t quite know how to respond.

“That’s awesome. Why’d you quit? Why switch to acting?”

“Why didn’t you apply to your alma mater, the Communication University?”

“I think she could’ve gone for Peking University.”

“We actually have someone from Peking University here — that girl in the front row applying for the MFA in directing. She was the top liberal arts scorer in our province that year,” another said.

The conversation grew louder, attracting the attention of other candidates. Ruan Pingping, feeling a bit guilty, steered the topic away.

And so it shifted smoothly—

“Seriously? Someone from Peking University is here? Switching to directing?”

“How are we supposed to compete with people like this?”

“That’s a directing-track problem. Haven’t you noticed they all look miserable? I heard the directing acceptance rate this year is brutal — real meat grinder.”

“So tragic.”

Listening quietly, Chu Zhixia noticed even the shy boy beside her had started chatting a lot, occasionally stealing glances at her, which she answered with a bright smile.

The girls were warmer and more talkative — easier to connect with.

It really was… unbearably boring.

The clock hand moved from 1 to 3, to 4, then 5. Outside, the sky was dimming, yet the lecture hall was still half full. The acting and broadcasting candidates remained in place.

Hands on her hips, Chu Zhixia couldn’t help wondering if they were doing this on purpose — making them wait until their makeup smudged and their energy drained before being evaluated.

She unwrapped some foil, ate a piece of chocolate, and shared snacks with those around her. But as six o’clock came and still no progress, one worry started creeping in.

She and Shen Qingshi had agreed to talk every evening at seven.

Yesterday, she’d returned to the hotel early, called him, but he’d been busy with work.

Even if the exams started at six, with her number being 8, she wouldn’t be out by seven.

All electronics were locked at the school gate; leaving the building would count as cheating.

She worried he might be concerned.

Then she thought of Zhou Haoying — at least he could go ask the gatekeepers and know she was still inside.

Finally, after much anxious waiting, the invigilators began calling names.

By the time it was her turn, the sky outside was fully dark — already seven o’clock.

The heavy creak of the door sounded as she entered. The previous candidate’s expression was unreadable. She nodded to him, smoothed her hair, took a deep breath, knocked, and pushed the door open.

The timer on the desk began ticking, the camera started rolling.

There were more people inside than she’d expected — at least twelve professors. Luckily, her portfolio was well-prepared, and she handed them out one by one after signing.

Then she sat, first looking to the English professor — who turned out to be a foreigner — waiting for him to draw her questions.

She understood both complex, subject-specific questions and, recalling the English materials Shen Qingshi had helped her prepare on the latest drama research trends, she answered the first in well-structured points.

Her responses were thoughtful and fairly fluent; the foreign teacher smiled warmly, clearly pleased.

Then came the usual self-introduction and Chinese Q&A.

Finally, she brought out her erhu for her talent performance.

She played Horse Racing with spirited highs and lows, making the young foreign teacher’s lips curl upward in excitement.

When she finished, she was considering how to bow and thank the panel, perhaps say a few more words, when the lead examiner adjusted his glasses, his gaze suddenly sharp and pressing as he asked slowly:

“We understand your cross-field application and why you chose drama. What we’re curious about now is — what specific event made you decide to give up being a host and choose drama instead?”

…

Chu Zhixia left the room still in a daze, hardly believing it was over — truly over. She gave a nod and a quiet “Good luck” to the nervous boy going in after her.

She had brought all her things from the waiting area, hurriedly stuffing twelve portfolios back into her bag, then slinging her instrument over her shoulder.

The invigilator told her she could leave.

She thanked him and walked down the corridor.

They were the last subject being tested today; all other classrooms were dark. The hallways were silent, almost empty.

Some lights were off, and without the senior sister who had led her earlier, she briefly lost her way before finally finding the first-floor exit.

The campus was equally still, lit only by a few slender lotus-shaped lamps and the warm glow of a vending coffee machine.

Her shadow stretched alone on the ground.

From behind, the light of the teaching building spilled over her feet. Looking back, she saw the third-floor classroom still lit in white, and the first-floor lobby bright in the spring night.

She remembered that question—

When the lead examiner had asked, the room had gone quiet again.

The other teachers had stopped murmuring and looked at her.

The foreign teacher seemed to understand too, widening his eyes in curiosity.

—The campus was so still, as if she were the only one left in the world. Yet it felt as though she had suddenly gained the whole world. Adjusting the instrument on her back, she felt an unfamiliar lightness and turned to leave.

Inside the exam room, seeing she didn’t answer right away—

A younger female professor had smiled gently: “It’s alright, we’re just asking casually, to get to know you. No pressure. Your previous job was already excellent. Some of our graduates go into positions like yours, so we’d like to understand why you gave it up — was it dissatisfaction, too much pressure, or—”

“That’s right, interviews are a two-way process. Say whatever you like. It’s fine,” another male professor added, trying to ease the tension.

---

She could easily make up an excuse—just like the female professor had said earlier: the work pressure was too great, she loved drama too much, or whatever else came to mind.

She bit her lip and looked up. Among the twelve professors, only three were women. Pressing her lips together, she still spoke up:

“I haven’t given up.”

“It’s just… I don’t want to be stared at.”

“I’m not saying a host will always be stared at, but my previous job was like that.”

“I want to have agency, not be the ‘other’ who is gazed upon. But I haven’t found the answer yet, so I want to read more books and find it in the drama of life and the life in drama.”

“Thank you, professors.”

…

Carrying her backpack and instrument, Chu Zhixia walked faster and faster, no longer thinking about the result just now. She finally found a main road leading to the front gate. Her steps grew lighter and more determined. Reaching to the side of her backpack, she pulled out a key, slid it into the electronic storage locker at the entrance, and quickly tried to get her phone.

She had no idea what time it was now.

Would he be worried?

Just as she was about to turn the key, she caught sight of a figure outside the school gate in her peripheral vision, and her hand slowed.

Everything around was dark, except for the orange light of the guard booth and the dim street lamps outside.

Someone was actually waiting there.

He wore a dark gray shirt and black trousers, tall and straight. The light fell on his quiet profile. Beside him stood a cherry blossom tree, making his handsome features seem even more refined and striking.

Chu Zhixia rarely saw him like this—it was as if he could blend seamlessly into the cool, quiet night.

Her heart skipped several beats. For a moment, she felt that the scene was completely reversed—it should have been him applying to the drama academy, not her.

Then her mind exploded like fireworks, her heartbeat growing louder and faster—

Wait… why was Shen Qingshi here?

Did he see that WeChat message… or had it even been sent?

Chu Zhixia’s face flushed red. She was moving far too slowly. The senior sister watching over the lockers asked, “Hurry up, are you done? Anyone else?”

Hearing the voice, Shen Qingshi’s gaze shifted slightly, glancing her way.

Perhaps because he had finally seen the person he was waiting for, his cool expression warmed, and his eyes grew clear and bright.

—“Like an honored gentleman; as if carved and polished, as if ground and refined.”*

Chu Zhixia felt she could barely breathe—shocked, delighted, and burning all over. She tried to twist the key but fumbled clumsily. She even sensed that the senior sister seemed a bit frozen too; her words came out stammered, “No… no one else, right?”

Chu Zhixia shook her head lightly. “There’s one more student, but they’re almost done.”

“Oh.”

The senior sister nodded in thanks, smoothed her hair, then seemed to feel awkward and whispered, “He’s been waiting all afternoon. I don’t know which year’s acting student he is, but he’s ridiculously handsome. You have no idea how many people wanted photos with him.”

“But I think maybe he’s waiting for a professor.”

Chu Zhixia followed her gaze and felt relieved—it really was Shen Qingshi. The real Shen Qingshi. Not an illusion born from missing him too much.

“Thank you, senior sister.” Chu Zhixia handed her the key, shoved her phone quickly into her bag, and, grateful for the compliment, whispered, “Actually, that’s my husband—”

She said it to tease him—after all, he was already here; he couldn’t just run away. Her voice was low, but the wind should have carried it to his ears.

The senior sister’s almond eyes widened. “Huh?!”

“Handsome, right? I worked hard to ‘snatch’ him.”

Chu Zhixia teased the cute senior sister, waved goodbye, and walked away with her bag.

“Dr. Shen!!!”

Out of the school gate, Chu Zhixia ran toward him, carrying her erhu and bulging backpack.

He really had heard her.

Because she noticed that when their eyes met, his normally cool gaze slightly averted, and the tips of his pale ears turned bright red.

Even redder than usual.

Ah—

Was he embarrassed to hear her call him “husband”?

That wouldn’t do—

Knowing the senior sister was still watching and could hear, she deliberately said again, “Husband—”