As if unsatisfied with her somewhat perfunctory response, Zhang Mingzhu pushed further: “You’ve interacted with him for a fair amount of time now. Do you think he’s the way I described?”
Exhausting some mental energy to recall the various details of her interactions with Qi Yanlang, Zhou Xiaqing adhered to the principle of seeking truth from facts and gave her answer: “He’s a decent guy. Quite gentle, easy to communicate with, and willing to take the initiative to help others. He’s also exceptionally talented in languages and works particularly hard a very outstanding person.”
“Wow~” Zhang Mingzhu teased, her eyebrows arching with a playful, mocking tone. “You like this type too, don’t you?”
This type?
Which type?
Zhou Xiaqing really hadn’t paid attention to what “type” Qi Yanlang belonged to.
If she absolutely had to categorize him, he would probably belong under the “acquaintance” column.
Her interactions with him were strictly professional, rendering him a campus colleague. Passing by and exchanging a nod was more than enough; she had no desire for any extra involvement.
Lately, the Culture and Tourism Translation Competition had brought them into closer contact, but it remained confined to discussing the competition at most seasoned with a few of his thoughtful, friendly words of encouragement, and her appropriately polite responses.
To be frank, in her mind, he didn’t even qualify as a friend.
According to her hierarchy of intimacy, the people she knew were roughly divided into four categories: First Priority, Close Friends and Family, Ordinary Friends, and Acquaintances.
The final, unwritten category was “Bastards.”
In this exclusive column, there were only the three characters of “Chen Jinshan” looming large and stubbornly refusing to leave the box. From the moment she tried to clear up a misunderstanding with him back in their second year of junior high, only for him to leave her with nothing but a cold back, he had arrogantly and domineeringly occupied this slot all to himself for years.
Beside her, Zhang Mingzhu mumbled something else.
Zhou Xiaqing nodded along, pretending to agree, while actually visualizing Chen Jinshan’s oversized cartoon head bouncing around inside that column box, bumping here and there.
Bumping until he was completely dazed, with stars spinning around his head, before finally floating helplessly to the floor and closing his eyes in a tragic, pitiful demise.
The mental image was bizarre and hilarious.
She hadn’t heard a single word of what was said before.
When she snapped back to reality, she only caught Zhang Mingzhu emphasizing her words, asking, “Is he handsome?”
In her mind, Chen Jinshan’s eyes slowly snapped open.
Resurrecting instantly with full health, he floated to the top of the box like a balloon, wobbling left and right in a thoroughly punchable, cheeky manner.
“Hurry up and tell me, is he handsome?!” Zhang Mingzhu urged.
She didn’t even know who Zhang Mingzhu was talking about anymore, but a phantom image of Chen Jinshan’s large head materialized before her eyes anyway, specifically the way he had lowered his head to meticulously and considerately wipe her hand that night abroad.
Gazing earnestly at his pitch-black puppy eyes and those unique, endearing creases at their outer corners, she allowed her intuition to guide her nod: “Handsome. Very handsome.”
“I knew it!” Zhang Mingzhu cheered, dancing with excitement.
Knew what?
Zhou Xiaqing didn’t even have the energy to ask.
Instead, she smoothly shifted the topic: “What are we having for dinner?”
The three ultimate daily dilemmas of a contemporary university student: what to eat for breakfast, what to eat for lunch, and what on earth to eat for dinner.
A sudden silence fell over them.
The trio racked their brains for a long time without coming up with an idea.
Either they were sick of one option, or another tasted awful, or the portion size of a third was too meager to satisfy them.
Perhaps a certain someone truly haunted her in a supernatural sense.
A sudden stroke of inspiration flashed across Zhou Xiaqing’s mind, leaping directly to the picture of sauerkraut fish Chen Jinshan had posted on his WeChat Moments.
“Let’s go eat sauerkraut fish!” she proposed quite happily.
Thus, half an hour later, the three of them successfully sat down to a bowl of sauerkraut fish on the second floor of the cafeteria.
Lately, Zhou Xiaqing’s appetite had plummeted due to sleep deprivation, putting her on a direct trajectory toward malnutrition.
This time, however, she actually managed to eat quite a bit of fish, consuming a whole extra bowl of rice compared to usual.
Watching her eat, Xu Ling and Zhang Mingzhu treated her like a praised toddler, holding up their thumbs in unison: “Baby, you are the best little puppy.”
Zhou Xiaqing’s movements stiffened, nearly spitting out the rice she had just chewed.
The three girls chatted and laughed together for a while.
Zhou Xiaqing, still keeping those reference materials in mind, unlocked her phone and sent a message to Qi Yanlang: I heard from Liu Jia that the campus doctor prescribed you some ointment.
Pure small talk.
Qi Yanlang replied almost instantly: Yes, it’s nothing serious. The doctor said it’ll be fine after applying the ointment for a few days.
Zhou Xiaqing texts back out of guilt: I’m so sorry, you only got hurt because of me. Please remember to apply the ointment on time.
This sentence was entirely genuine.
Qi Yanlang: Will do.
He followed it up with an emoji of a fluffy little penguin saluting and saying “OK.”
Zhou Xiaqing finally broached the main topic: The materials you gave me got soaked. Do you happen to have the original digital file you could send me?
The status bar on his side displayed “Typing…” for a full minute before his reply came through: I’ll print out another copy for you and give it to you tomorrow.
Zhou Xiaqing carefully weighed her wording before typing back: Thank you, but please don’t trouble yourself. I happen to be passing by the print shop after dinner anyway.
After another brief wait, a document file landed in her chat, accompanied by a sentence: Feel free to message me anytime if you want to discuss any questions.
Having successfully received the file, Zhou Xiaqing replied with a polite, “Great, take care of your injury,” and shut off her phone.
The print shop was located on the first floor of the cafeteria near the main road.
Zhou Xiaqing told her friends to head back and rest first, as printing would take some time.
By the time she emerged from the print shop clutching the fresh documents, the weather outside had already taken a sharp turn.
The overcast sky hung low with dark clouds.
The distance looked hazy, making it hard to see clearly, and a faint, elusive moisture drifted through the air.
It was about to rain.
Shielding the newly printed materials against her chest, she jogged toward the dormitory building.
The rain brewed for a long time.
It wasn’t until she completed an entire set of practice questions on her computer that the raindrops finally began to fall sparingly.
It was a mock exam website set up by the academy, capable of intelligently scoring the translations they submitted.
The professors from the department would also log on during their free time to leave annotations, offering better translational approaches.
With a click of her index finger on the mouse, she successfully submitted her work.
The loading circle spun around and around until her score manifested clearly on the screen.
A wave of exhaustion washed over her.
She snapped her laptop shut and walked out onto the balcony to breathe in some fresh air.
The rain formed a thin curtain, its drops slanting with the wind, swaying and drifting like a silken veil.
In truth, she liked rainy days very much.
Even though her name was Zhou Xiaqing implying a bright, clear summer day.
Before she was born, her parents had flipped through the dictionary eight hundred times without finding a name that struck their fancy.
Her maternal grandfather didn’t care for profound or esoteric terms, believing only in ultimate simplicity: the father’s surname was Zhou, the mother’s surname was Xia, and combining the two, they added the word Qing [Clear/Sunny].
A sunny day, after all, signified a beautiful day.
They hoped her future would be filled with bright, clear skies every single day.