Monday, October 20th.
A new week began.
For most university students, days of the week had lost most of their meaning — but for Chen Qingqing, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday were the hardest three to get through. Thursday was better — she’d tell herself there was only one day left before the weekend, and the day would pass quickly. And on Fridays, knowing she was about to see that dopey, thickheaded dumb pig again, she’d find herself looking forward to it in spite of herself.
After a quick bite at the cafeteria, she headed to the classroom with her three roommates.
First period today was sight-singing and ear training. [TL: a core conservatory course developing the ability to read and transcribe music by ear — essentially musical literacy training] Second period was instrumental performance. Her chosen major had a lighter workload overall — no dance classes, and most instructors didn’t keep too tight a rein on the students.
Noticing that Zhang Ruowei and Jiang Yu were both already zoning out, Chen Qingqing quietly slipped out her phone and opened WeChat.
She tapped into her conversation with Xu Ye. The last two messages from each of them were both goodnights. She tapped the input box, sat there for a while without being able to think of anything to say, and backed out again.
Noticing a red dot on the Moments tab, she opened it out of mild curiosity.
Zhang Ruowei had posted a selfie this morning — a photo of herself in the dorm, makeup done, with a single caption: Ugh, rainy days.
Jiang Yu had posted a photo last night — a half-face selfie — with a short question: Thinking about growing my hair long. Thoughts?
Zhang Ruowei and Shen Xinyi had already liked it, so Qingqing tapped like while she was there.
She scrolled further down.
The next post was from Xu Ye, posted around six the previous evening.
Text: Shoes my girlfriend got me, hahahahahahahaha…
Below it: a photo of the pair of all-white Air Force 1s Chen Qingqing had bought him.
Her whole body tensed.
Because there were already comments underneath.
Zhang Ruowei: “No wonder Qingqing went out first thing Saturday morning — she was out buying you shoes.”
Shen Xinyi: “I can already picture the smug look on your face.”
Jiang Yu: “Showing off again. Absolute show-off.”
None of those were the real problem. The real problem was who had appeared in the likes section.
Her mother.
Jerk.
Face burning red, Chen Qingqing jumped back to WeChat and fired off a message to Xu Ye: “Delete that Moments post you made yesterday. Right now.”
It was Monday morning, Xu Ye had no first period, and he’d just arrived at the cafeteria for breakfast. When the message came in, he asked with deliberate innocence: “Delete it? Why?”
Chen Qingqing: “Just delete it.”
Xu Ye: “Relax, I blocked your mom.”
Chen Qingqing: “Bullshit.”
Chen Qingqing: “I literally just saw my mom like it.”
Xu Ye had forgotten that if two people shared mutual contacts, either of them could see who had liked a given post.
Xu Ye: “If Auntie already liked it, deleting it now won’t change anything.”
Chen Qingqing: “Shameless disgusting bastard.”
Chen Qingqing: “I’m done talking to you.”
Chen Qingqing: “Hmph!”
That “mother-in-law” line on Friday had served a dual purpose for Xu Ye — staking his claim and quietly testing where Jiang Meilin stood on the matter. She hadn’t said a word about it since, which was as good as tacit approval. If his future mother-in-law was on board, there’d been no real reason to block her from that post in the first place.
Xu Ye: “I was wrong.”
Xu Ye: “Forgive me?”
Chen Qingqing: “No.”
Xu Ye: “I’ll bow to you.”
Chen Qingqing: “Go ahead.”
Xu Ye: “I already did.”
Chen Qingqing: “Didn’t see it. Send a video.”
Xu Ye: “Qingqing.”
Xu Ye: “You’ve gone evil.”
Xu Ye: “But I love it.”
…
She stopped replying after that. Xu Ye finished eating and headed to class.
By the time the lecture ended, it was already eleven thirty. The moment the professor left, Zhang Yiyang stepped right up to the front of the room, rapped the desk a few times, and said, “Everyone settle down — I have an announcement.”
The chatter gradually died down.
Zhang Yiyang cleared his throat and took on a practiced official tone. “The school is holding a sports meet next week. Each major class in the first year is required to field entries in at least three events. I’ll post the full list of events in the group chat shortly. If you’re interested in competing, find me to sign up — I need the roster submitted by Friday, so I’d appreciate everyone’s cooperation.”
Murmurs broke out across the room once he finished.
Elementary and middle school kids might have gone wild at the mention of a sports meet — but university was different. With so few classes to begin with, nobody seemed particularly motivated to sign up for anything.
Xu Ye, remembering that the vending machine operation needed two part-time stockers, stepped up to the front as well.
Zhang Yiyang, watching Xu Ye approach, felt a flicker of irritation he was careful not to show. Didn’t you just hand this over to me to handle? What are you up here for now?
“Hey — just a quick separate note, nothing to do with the sports meet,” Xu Ye said. “Most of you have probably noticed the vending machines that showed up in our building last week — those are mine. I’m looking to bring on two part-timers to help restock them. The job’s simple: when a machine runs low, you go top it up. We provide the electric scooter. Pay is 800 yuan a month per person. Message me directly if you’re interested.”
Before he’d even finished, someone in the room called out, “Captain, the school machines are yours too?”
“Yep.”
“That’s insane, Captain!”
“So impressive~”
“Captain, take us with you on your next venture!”
The flattery came flooding in. Xu Ye laughed it off easily. “Sure, sure, we’ll talk. Alright, nothing else — everyone go eat.”
Leaving the building, Xu Ye and his three roommates made their way to the cafeteria. They’d barely sat down before Jiang Wei appeared, scanning the hall until she spotted him, then heading over with her tray.
Zhang Xinzhou, seated across from Xu Ye, was quick to read the room and obligingly shifted to the side. Jiang Wei didn’t stand on ceremony, sitting straight down across from Xu Ye.
“How are sales today?”
Xu Ye gave her a look. “Class just ended. The backend data’s on the computer.”
“Xu Ye — can our machines sell tissues?”
“Technically, but tissues barely make any money.”
Jiang Wei knew that perfectly well, but pressed on. “But the demand is much broader. Almost everyone needs them at some point. Small money is still money.”
Xu Ye set down his chopsticks and thought for a moment. “When I went to the factory last time, they had these small mechanical tissue dispensers — about the size of two stacked shoeboxes, no power needed. You put in a coin, a packet of tissues drops out. We could install them right outside bathroom entrances. But you’d need to run it by your uncle first.”
Jiang Wei agreed immediately. “Leave that to me. When can you get the machines over?”
“Whenever. If you’re going to see your uncle anyway, ask him about the Songjiang campus rollout at the same time — when we can move in.”
“That soon?”
“Yes. The earlier, the better. Getting to the market first matters — we want to extract the value before anyone else even notices there’s a market here.”
Jiang Wei nodded. “I’ll go see him tonight then.”
She’d lost all appetite for the rest of her meal after that — scooped down a couple bites and hurried off.
Zhang Xinzhou, watching her go, laughed. “She might be more motivated about making money than we are.”
Xu Ye, who knew the full picture, said, “She’s had a harder time of it than you’d think. Her mom died when she was young, and after her dad remarried, he basically disappeared from her life. She probably doesn’t feel secure — which is why money matters this much to her.”
“Her dad sounds like an animal.”
…
Achoo.
Jiang Chao rubbed his nose absently, his gaze drifting and vacant as he held a wedding photo in his hands.
The woman standing beside him in the photo wasn’t his current wife Lin Shu — it was Jiang Wei’s late mother, Du Xiaohui.
To anyone on the outside, he probably looked like a callous man. But very few people knew the full story: the person who had asked Jiang Chao to marry her closest friend had been Du Xiaohui herself, barely alive in a hospital bed.
One was the husband she had loved most. The other was the closest friend she’d ever had.
She’d believed that if she brought them together, Jiang Wei would never go without love — would never be left with no one to look after her.
Only she died before she ever had the chance to explain any of this to Jiang Wei.
And once she was gone, nothing Jiang Chao said carried any weight. In Jiang Wei’s ears, every word out of his mouth was a lie, an excuse, a cover story she’d long since stopped listening to.
(End of Chapter 108)