The next day at nine in the morning, the four roommates got up one after another, headed to the cafeteria for breakfast, and from there went together to Classroom 402 in Teaching Building Five.

There were forty-five students total in Financial Economics, Class 1 — twenty-five girls and twenty boys, a fairly balanced ratio. Compare that to the Accounting School, the Law School, or Foreign Languages, where the split could skew as wild as 1:9.

Xu Ye, Zhang Xinzhou, and the other two weren’t exactly early, but they weren’t late either. Since Xu Ye and Zhang Xinzhou were both pushing six feet even before their shoes, they naturally drifted toward the back rows and sat down. Seeing this, Yang Fei figured roommates ought to stick together and planted himself right next to Xu Ye. Li Tongwen, on the other hand, picked a seat up front.

Yang Fei frowned. “Why isn’t Li Tongwen sitting with us?”

“He’s not that tall,” Zhang Xinzhou said. “Can’t see the board or the projector screen from back here. Also, he’s not like us. The three of us are here to coast through college — he’s actually here to study.”

Yang Fei immediately objected. “Who’s coasting? I’ll have you know I was a Three-Good Student.” [TL: a state-recognized honor given to students who excel in academics, conduct, and physical fitness — a fairly common, if not especially prestigious, accolade]

“Sure you were.”

Xu Ye glanced over at Li Tongwen and sighed quietly. “He shouldn’t have come to this school.”

Zhang Xinzhou didn’t follow. “Why not?”

“Financial Economics. If you don’t already have connections, it’s nearly impossible to make it big in this field. You’ve both seen it — Li Tongwen’s family isn’t well off. The whole point of him going to college is probably to land a solid job afterward. This major isn’t going to do that for him.”

Zhang Xinzhou went quiet at that.

By Xu Ye’s logic, Li Tongwen really shouldn’t have applied to this major — and honestly, neither should most of the people in this classroom. But it was 2014, and the information gap was still wide open; there was no Zhang Xuefeng [TL: a real-life Chinese education consultant who later became a viral internet personality for his blunt, practical advice to students on which majors actually lead to jobs — at this point in the timeline, still years away from fame] around yet to set confused high school seniors straight. So most people had wandered into this room without really knowing what they were getting into.

As ten o’clock crept closer, the classroom filled up.

The last person to walk in was none other than Zhang Yiyang — the same guy who’d been glued to the class advisor’s side on registration day. He carried himself like he was already class president, striding straight up onto the platform and announcing loudly, “Everyone settle down — our faculty advisor and counselor will be here any minute. We’re all probably going to have to introduce ourselves up front, so get ready.”

Zhang Xinzhou turned to Xu Ye, smirking. “Xu Ye, ever thought about running for class president?”

“No.”

“Why do you ask?” Xu Ye said, puzzled.

“You’ve got the social skills for it — being class president would be nothing for you. Also,” Zhang Xinzhou added, “I’m a little annoyed by this Zhang Yiyang guy.”

Yang Fei chimed right in. “Same here. We’re all classmates, we’re all sitting here behaving ourselves, and he’s up there putting on a whole show — for what?”

If Xu Ye had gotten into Tsinghua or Peking University [TL: collectively known as “Qing-Bei,” the two most prestigious universities in China — roughly the equivalent of Harvard and Yale] or some other top-tier school, he might actually have considered running. But Shanghai University of Finance was a “shuangfei” school [TL: a college that holds neither the elite “985” nor “211” designation — solidly mid-tier rather than top-tier]. At this level, being class president wasn’t going to do anything for his future. Most of the time the role just meant running errands and relaying messages for the counselor anyway. So Xu Ye had never once considered it.

“Not really my thing,” Xu Ye said. “If it bothers you two, go run against him yourselves. I’ll back you all the way.”

Zhang Xinzhou laughed. “I’m too lazy for that.”

Yang Fei, with admirable self-awareness, added, “I never even made group leader back in elementary school. No way I’m running for class president.”

Xu Ye and Zhang Xinzhou weren’t the only ones annoyed by Zhang Yiyang, as it turned out. Everyone in that room was young and full of fire. Wanting to be class president? Fine. Sucking up to the counselor? Also fine. But why act so friendly and agreeable signing up, only to show up today acting like he owned the place?

Xu Ye found himself thinking of Li Nan, his class president back in high school. The guy had been exactly this type.

At ten o’clock sharp, the faculty advisor walked in — a man in his fifties. He went straight up and introduced himself: surname Gong, given name Ming.

The faculty advisor and the counselor had different jobs. The faculty advisor mostly handled academic direction and some actual teaching duties, while the counselor was more like a den mother — handling everything from daily life to whatever came up, the one you’d actually run into on a regular basis, while the faculty advisor might only show up a handful of times a semester. After a few brief remarks, Gong Ming handed the floor over to the counselor, Su Tong.

“Everyone, my name is Su Tong. You probably already know me by now. Time’s a little tight, so let me run through a few things — listen carefully.”

“First: military training starts this afternoon. Everyone needs to be at the school’s sports field by two o’clock, in your training uniforms. If you experience low stamina, anemia, heatstroke, or anything like that during training, report it immediately.”

“Second: each dorm needs to elect a room leader on your own and note it in the group chat. If we ever do a dorm check, I’ll notify the room leaders ahead of time.”

“Third, scam prevention. Every back-to-school season is peak season for scams. If you get a text with a suspicious link, do not click it. If you get a call from a stranger, do not trust it blindly…”

Counselor Su Tong rattled through it all in an orderly fashion, like she’d rehearsed it ahead of time.

By around ten-thirty, she finally wrapped up and said with a smile, “The rest of the time is yours. Starting from the first row, left to right, then right to left, and so on — everyone come up and introduce yourselves.”

“All right, let’s begin.”

Su Tong stepped down from the platform and took up position by the classroom door. The girl seated at the far left of the first row worked up her nerve, left her seat, and stepped up onto the platform.

“Hi everyone, my name’s Guo Caixia. I’m from…”

Since most of the class didn’t know each other yet, most introductions were shy affairs — name, hometown, a hobby or two, then a quick retreat from the platform.

Until—

Zhang Yiyang strode up to the platform and delivered his with real fervor.

“Hi everyone, my name is Zhang Yiyang. I’m a Shanghai local…”

“I’m outgoing, level-headed, and good at seeing the bigger picture. I was class president all three years of high school. During military training, if anyone needs anything, come find me…”

“As for hobbies — I love reading, I love socializing, I love movies…”

“That’s my introduction. Thank you all.”

A thin, scattered round of applause followed.

Yang Fei clicked his tongue. “Man, what a poser.”

Zhang Xinzhou couldn’t even find the words.

After Zhang Yiyang sat back down, the rest of the class kept going with roughly the same template. By the time Zhang Xinzhou stepped down from the platform, it was Xu Ye’s turn.

His introduction was short and to the point.

“I’m Xu Ye. The ‘ye’ as in running wild.”

“From Jiangzhou.”

“My hobby is making money. I might end up China’s richest man someday. Thanks, everyone.”

(End of Chapter)