Chen Qingqing: Don’t you dare send me messages during class again!
Xu Ye: Why not?
Chen Qingqing: Just don’t!
Xu Ye: All right, all right. But I really did dream about you last night.
Chen Qingqing: Ignoring you now~
Chen Qingqing: Hmph!
Walking to the cafeteria, Xu Ye looked at those last two messages and laughed out loud.
Yang Fei glanced over. “That laugh, Xu Ye. Absolutely revolting.”
“You look revolting without even laughing.”
“You absolute—”
After lunch at the cafeteria with Zhang Xinzhou, Li Tongwen, and Yang Fei, the first three headed back to the dorm while Li Tongwen went to the shop. Midday wasn’t busy enough to need more hands — Li Tongwen and Xu Wanying had it covered.
Xu Ye didn’t own a laptop, so he commandeered Zhang Xinzhou’s seat and started filling out the National Holiday travel survey.
Once that was done, he moved on to tallying the class dues.
Apart from Li Tongwen, most of the class came from reasonably comfortable backgrounds — quite a few of them had parents working in finance, which was usually why kids ended up studying it. Li Tongwen was the exception rather than the rule.
He did the math, confirmed everything was accounted for, then climbed up to his bunk for a midday nap.
Before afternoon classes started, Xu Ye stopped by Su Tong’s office and handed in both the dues and the completed travel survey.
She hadn’t expected him to move this fast. She pushed fifty yuan across the desk at him. “The brooms and bins in the classroom are falling apart. Get a few new ones with this.”
Then she counted out five hundred more and added it. “Keep this on hand too. If the class needs anything, use your judgment — but every yuan has to be accounted for. Full transparency.”
“Understood.”
Back in the classroom, after the first period, Xu Ye went and found Zhang Yiyang.
Zhang Yiyang raised an eyebrow. “Something up?”
Xu Ye held out fifty yuan. “Classroom supplies money.”
“You’re giving it to me?”
“The brooms and bins are done for. Use this to get some new ones. You know how busy I am — you’re the League secretary, consider it your contribution to the class.”
Zhang Yiyang looked faintly dismissive. “We’re dipping into class funds for something that small?”
“It’s cleaner this way. Take it.”
“I really don’t need—”
“Hear me out.” Xu Ye stepped in and put a hand on his shoulder, lowering his voice. “If I don’t take this money, how does the counselor take it? And if she doesn’t take it, how do either of us get anywhere?”
He pressed the fifty yuan into Zhang Yiyang’s hand. “I’m counting on you.”
Zhang Yiyang stood there clutching the bill, feeling vaguely as though he’d just followed an argument he hadn’t quite caught.
The second period moved even slower than the first. The second the bell rang, everyone bolted.
But the teacher had barely left before a group of people in blazers appeared at the classroom door. A familiar face stepped in. “Who’s the class president here?”
Xu Ye recognized him — Tang Peng, Arts Division head of the Student Union, the same senior who’d been losing his mind backstage at the welcome party.
Xu Ye walked up. “Something I can help you with?”
“You’re the president? Right, so — we’d like to give a quick pitch to your class about the Student Union. Ten minutes at most. Any chance you could get everyone to hold off leaving?”
No real grounds to refuse. Xu Ye nodded, went to the podium, and got everyone settled back into their seats while the Student Union group filed up front to make their case.
The more prestigious the school, the more the Student Union matters.
The Tsinghua and Peking University student union presidents took turns serving as chair of the National Student Federation — technically no official rank, but in practice treated with the protocol of a senior bureaucrat. [TL: 正厅级 — a level in China’s administrative hierarchy, roughly equivalent to a provincial department head — used informally to describe the level of formal deference these positions receive at elite university events]
But that was Tsinghua and Peking University. A Student Union at a mid-tier school like theirs was, frankly, an organization that ceased to matter the moment you walked off campus.
Xu Ye had zero interest in any of it.
Becoming class president had already been an accident. He had no plans to wade further in.
Once the Student Union’s publicity chair finished his pitch and the class drifted off, Xu Ye was barely two steps toward the fruit shop when Tang Peng caught up.
“Xu Ye, hold on.”
“More to cover?”
“Have you ever thought about joining the Student Union?”
Xu Ye reached for a ready excuse. “Tang-xuejie, [TL: 学长/学姐 — senior fellow student; here Tang Peng, as an upperclassman, is addressed with this title] you know I’m already juggling class president duties and running a shop on the food street. I’m stretched pretty thin as it is, so—”
Tang Peng wasn’t quite ready to let go. “Someone like you — if you stick it out until sophomore year, vice-section head is very much within reach.”
“I’m genuinely sorry. I just don’t have the bandwidth.”
“Understood, I won’t push. Take care.”
“You too.”
Xu Ye watched him go and thought, with some exasperation: I’m out here running my own business, and he’s offering me the chance to grind two years for a deputy title in a student club. Who exactly does he think he’s impressing?
…
The week moved quickly.
The thirtieth came without much ceremony.
After morning classes wrapped up, Xu Ye called Qin Zhiwei first — they’d arranged to take the high-speed rail home together that evening. Once that was confirmed, he and Zhang Xinzhou each took a scooter, Yang Fei and Li Tongwen riding pillion, and made it to the shop in time to help unload the load Chen Jianjun had just brought in.
Before heading back to pack, Xu Ye pulled Li Tongwen aside. “I’m transferring your first half-month’s wages to your WeChat in a bit. I saw on the travel survey that you’re not going home for the holiday — so starting tomorrow, I’ll pay you double for the seven days.”
Li Tongwen immediately shook his head. “That’s not necessary, I’m not going home anyway—”
“Just take it. Regular jobs pay triple for public holidays.”
Seeing Xu Ye wasn’t going to move on this, Li Tongwen dropped it.
After wrapping up a few more loose ends, Xu Ye hurried back to pack — not that there was much to it. Two or three changes of clothes, his wallet, his charger. Once done, he headed to Xuhui District.
He met up with Qingqing without incident, and the two of them went to the station together to find Qin Zhiwei.
Zhiwei spotted them from a distance — laughing, talking, completely at ease with each other — and then looked at himself, still very much alone, and concluded that his university experience had been, on balance, something of a failure.
“Wei-bro~”
“About time.”
“I had to go pick up Qingqing.”
“Come on, they’ll be calling for boarding soon.”
The three of them collected their tickets, went through the gate, and boarded without much of a wait.
On the train, remembering what Su Tong had told him, Xu Ye opened the class group chat and sent an @ to everyone.
Xu Ye: @Everyone — Once you’re home, drop a message in the group so we know you got back safe. Have a good National Holiday, everyone. Stay sharp — don’t get scammed.
“Now everyone, repeat the group rules after me.”
“Gambling — destroys families!”
“Drugs — wipes out households!”
“Adult content — feel free to share.” [TL: the first two lines parody a common Chinese public safety slogan in the style of a chanted warning — 赌/毒 (“gambling”/”drugs”) followed by catastrophic consequences. The third line breaks the pattern by treating 黄 (pornographic or risqué content) not as a cautionary warning but as an invitation, subverting the format for comedic effect]
Guo Caixia: ???
Qin Yu: ???
Gao Bohai: ???
Zhao Xiaohui: ???
Jia Bing: ???
Su Tong: ???
“…”
(End of Chapter 85)