Are people going to the lecture this afternoon?
On Sunday afternoon, the residents of Dorm 606 slowly woke up from their slumber. Naturally, Xu Yuanzhe was not among them.
Huang Bin rolled over and glanced at the messages on his phone.
Their counselor had posted about an Academic Planning Lecture in the group chat, scheduled for three o’clock that afternoon at the lecture hall, worth five credits.
Aside from the first-class credits earned through regular classes and exams, Zijing University also had annual requirements for second-class credits. The so-called second class referred to teaching activities related to academics conducted outside of regular class time, including student organizations, various competitions, and school-organized lectures.
Typically, lectures were worth one credit per hour. With this afternoon’s lecture expected to run around two hours yet awarding a massive five credits, the school was unusually generous, likely trying to incentivize everyone to attend.
However, after asking, Huang Bin already realized that not a single person in 606 was going to reply to him. After all, Xu Yuanzhe was definitely not in the dorm at this time, Pan Lejia always scrambled to make up his required second-class credits at the very end of the semester, and as for Ji Wenyu—
That guy had been paralyzed in bed for three days. If a kid’s slump lasted this long, he was practically a lost cause.
Lying in bed and scrolling through his phone for another dozen minutes of procrastination, Huang Bin finally climbed down and was surprised to see Ji Wenyu already sitting in the chair below his bed.
Holy shit! The boy let out a gasp of surprise, retreating half a step as if he had seen a ghost. How are you up?
My foot is healed, seclusion is over. Ji Wenyu wore a matter-of-fact expression as he tossed his shower gear into a washbasin. I’m going with you, wait a sec while I take a speed shower.
Fifteen minutes later, Ji Wenyu stepped out of the dorm door with his head held high, looking thoroughly refreshed and wearing a bright new outfit.
An orange T-shirt paired with white shorts—this outfit severely tested one’s skin tone. Only someone as fair and delicately handsome as him could pull off an ensemble that would easily turn into a disaster and give it that effortless celebrity-out-on-the-street vibe.
Your mental state looks alright. Huang Bin looked him up and down, completely unable to connect the high-spirited Ji Wenyu in front of him with the boy from the past few days who had been sealed to his bed and lacked the energy to even speak. Did you get body-swapped?
Piss off. Ji Wenyu rolled his eyes unceremoniously. I was just fully charging my batteries in bed, radiating new life.
So what about Xu Yuanzhe? Since the guy didn’t like him, why should he grieve over him? It wasn’t worth it, not worth it at all.
Casting aside stray thoughts, Ji Wenyu was a fine hero once again.
Stopping by the cafeteria to grab a burger and cola, Ji Wenyu and Huang Bin arrived at the lecture hall just in time.
Seats in the very back row were definitely out of the question; the only spots left for the two of them were right in the middle of the front rows.
Still, since it was just a second-class lecture, no one really cared even if it was the front row.
The two quickly found seats in the crowd and sat down, bowing their heads to shove burgers into their mouths just as the host stepped onto the stage to announce the official start of the event.
Even though Huang Bin and the others had brought food back from the cafeteria over the past three days, everything had tasted like cardboard. The moment the burger touched his mouth, Ji Wenyu finally felt that long-absent dopamine surge in his brain.
He was happily munching away with his head lowered when he suddenly heard the teacher on stage pose a question.
Students, how many of you here are seniors?
As soon as the seniors were asked, the juniors followed immediately after. Sitting right in the middle of the fourth row, Ji Wenyu and Huang Bin occupied a position quite far forward in the massive, thousand-seat lecture hall. Not wanting to look like they were completely consumed by their food when the teacher’s gaze swept over the podium, the two of them felt too embarrassed to just keep their heads down eating, so they reluctantly raised their hands halfway when asked about being juniors.
After asking through all four year levels, the keynote speaker formally dove into the core topic.
I’ve been observing, and among the students attending today, sophomores and juniors make up the majority. That’s quite good. This Academic Planning Lecture is actually tailored for sophomores and juniors. Freshmen have just entered campus, so it’s good to listen in advance, but don’t stress too much. Seniors, I believe you all already have your own directions, whether it’s further education or employment. Listen in, see if it matches your own judgment, and consider whether you need to adjust your path.
Having finished his burger, Ji Wenyu pulled a cola from his backpack and carefully unscrewed the cap, terrified of making a disruptive noise in the quiet lecture hall.
For today’s session, I hope our sophomores and juniors can pay special, close attention. Sophomore and junior years are truly crucial turning points in college. What kind of person you want to become and what path you want to take in the future are decided during these two years. For students wanting to enter the workforce, which industries to choose, what kind of internship experience is needed, how to apply for jobs, how to interview, and when to start preparing. For students wanting to pursue advanced studies, whether to go for a master’s or a direct PhD, whether to secure a graduate exemption, take the entrance exams, or go abroad—similarly, when to start preparing and what kind of preparation is required, we will cover all of that today. I hope that through today’s lecture, everyone can form a preliminary plan for the path they want to take and how to strategize for it.
It was all standard administrative talk, and Ji Wenyu hadn’t planned on listening. But after finishing his cola and messing around on his phone for a bit, he glanced over and was surprised to find Huang Bin taking notes on the presentation slide up front.
A string of buzzwords was jotted down in his notebook, things like fast-moving consumer goods, big tech giants, and state-owned enterprises.
How come you’re suddenly so motivated today? the boy whispered in surprise.
We’re juniors already, time to start thinking about this stuff. Huang Bin stared intently at the PowerPoint on stage without looking at him, answering in a low voice. Old Ji, what are your plans? Continuing your studies or getting a job?
Huang Bin’s question genuinely trapped him.
Ji Wenyu blinked in confusion, subconsciously looking up at the lecturing teacher on the podium as well.
Grad school or work? He truly hadn’t considered that question yet. Since entering college, whether participating in activities or competitions, he had always gone with the flow and hadn’t intentionally made any preparations for future planning. With an ENFP personality type, Ji Wenyu was a thorough procrastinator who deeply believed that the boat will naturally straighten itself when it reaches the bridge.
He was probably supposed to get a master’s degree, right? His family wasn’t strapped for cash, so there was no rush for him to go out and work, and his parents constantly chattered about friends’ children going abroad for master’s or doctoral degrees. However, because the major he studied had certain sensitive restrictions, students usually stayed in China to continue their advanced studies, which meant his parents hadn’t nagged him about submitting overseas applications just yet.
If he were to pursue a master’s degree without going abroad, his only options were securing a graduate recommendation or taking the national entrance exams. Zijing University’s Artificial Intelligence program was top-tier in the country, and the school’s annual recommendation rate seemed quite high. Securing a direct recommendation was, of course, the best route.
As Ji Wenyu was pondering this, the teacher on stage happened to touch upon the topic of graduate recommendations.
As everyone knows, our school has a very high recommendation rate, around fifty percent or so, which sounds extremely easy. But—it’s not like whatever college or major you’re currently in allows you to be recommended to the corresponding college and major. The school’s highly competitive programs, like Artificial Intelligence and Statistics, have relatively strict quotas for internal recommendations. After all, those outstanding top students coming from external schools are mostly aiming for our university’s flagship programs. The teacher pushed up his glasses and continued, If students in these majors fail to successfully secure an internal recommendation for their own specialty, they might end up being reassigned to slightly weaker programs at the school, which sometimes turns out worse than just applying for an external school directly. Therefore, even with our school’s exceptionally high recommendation rate, everyone still needs to take the matter of recommendations seriously and plan ahead early.
GPA, winter camps, summer camps, academic publications, comprehensive evaluation scores—during the two-hour lecture, Ji Wenyu scribbled a messy pile of keywords into his phone’s notes app.
Walking out of the lecture hall amidst the crowd alongside Huang Bin, he felt an unusual wave of anxiety.
Cafeteria or library? Huang Bin tilted his head and asked.
Glancing at the notifications on his phone, Ji Wenyu shook his head. I’ve got a gathering tonight.
The newcomer dinner for the Student Union’s Organization Department had been scheduled precisely for tonight, located at Old Sichuan Hotpot near the school gate, a usual haunt for the department.
The newly appointed head, Shi Zhiyao, was his old subordinate—a lively and cheerful girl majoring in broadcasting.
Tomorrow is the Computer Vision quiz, you know. Huang Bin reminded him.
Ji Wenyu nodded. I know. No big deal, worst case I’ll pull an all-nighter at Old Ma’s.
The quiz needed preparation, but the gathering had to be attended too.
Having spent two years in the Student Union’s Organization Department and now retiring as a junior, he was honestly quite reluctant to leave. Besides, he had promised the other day that he would treat everyone to tonight’s dinner, and there was no way he’d skip it.
The restaurant’s signature dish was the nine-compartment spicy hotpot, and the entire hotpot joint was thick with a rich, pungent aroma of chili and spice.
When Ji Wenyu stepped into the private room, Shi Zhiyao and a few newly recruited junior staff members had already arrived.
The old director is here. Seeing him, Shi Zhiyao smiled and teased, Everyone, come say hi to our Organization Department’s old director.
The few youngsters looked nervous and actually wanted to address him as the old director.
Ji Wenyu clicked his tongue. Cut it out. Just call me senior.
Got it, senior! Shi Zhiyao was the first to shout.
Ji Wenyu looked at her: You, whatever you called me before, keep calling me that.
Receiving her instructions, Shi Zhiyao replied: Alrighty, Brother Yu. Then let’s all call him that, I won’t make them call you Uncle Yu.
Ji Wenyu: …
After a few exchanges, the distance between the group narrowed significantly, and the expressions of the junior staff relaxed visibly. Once the nine-compartment beef tallow spicy hotpot was served alongside a small clear-soup section in the middle tier, the deputy head and the remaining junior staff members arrived as well.
Among the new batch of junior staff, female members slightly outnumbered the males, and Shi Zhiyao ordered two pitchers of pineapple mango juice. Everyone lightly clinked glasses to celebrate the official establishment of the new Organization Department team.
The new batch of junior staff were all quite good with spice, and the clear-soup pot was practically untouched. Once the meal was winding down, Shi Zhiyao called everyone over to play a mini-game: Multiplying Sevens, where anyone who failed was punished with a performance.
Accustomed to dining table games, Ji Wenyu had played Multiplying Sevens countless times, allowing him to win until the end even while spacing out. The newly joined juniors appeared much greener; just in the very first round, a female student stumbled and lost.
Though it was called a performance, punishment wasn’t the actual goal, so Shi Zhiyao said reciting a simple tongue-twister would suffice. Blushing, the girl finished her recitation and rejoined the battle. The next person to accidentally count a multiple of seven in the second round was another male junior staff member. Hesitating for a few seconds, the boy chose to sing a song in front of everyone.
After a few rounds, as everyone grew familiar with one another, the deputy head took over to lead the kids in other games. Shi Zhiyao sat off to the side, chatting idly with Ji Wenyu.
Brother Yu, did you not see my WeChat Moments? The girl’s naturally wavy, pinkish-brown hair hung naturally against her collarbones—a trendy shade for the year.
What moments? Ji Wenyu asked as he pulled out his phone.
He had been living in a daze these past few days and certainly hadn’t been in the mood to browse WeChat Moments. Hearing Shi Zhiyao mention it, he had likely missed it entirely.
I got taken. Shi Zhiyao raised her eyebrows proudly. Look, is he handsome?
Ji Wenyu tapped on the girl’s profile picture.
Shi Zhiyao’s post had been made three days ago—right around the time he was drowning in the daze of learning that Xu Yuanzhe was taken.
Not bad, the boy clicked his tongue, nodding in approval.
A senior, secured a graduate school recommendation, staying right here at our school, Shi Zhiyao introduced.
Ji Wenyu asked casually, What major?
Shi Zhiyao: Same as you, Artificial Intelligence.
Ji Wenyu: Oh? My direct senior then. What’s his name, do I know him?
The girl glanced at him: You didn’t recognize him from the photo, do you think you’d know him by name?
That made sense, but Ji Wenyu still asked, Tell me anyway, maybe I’ve heard of him.
Zhang Yuan. Heard of him?
Ji Wenyu shook his head. Indeed don’t know him. He’s got his recommendation locked down, what about you? Planning to go to grad school here too?
Hearing him ask, Shi Zhiyao let out a sudden snort of laughter. Senior, shouldn’t I be asking you that? I’m only a sophomore, it’s way too early for that. My boyfriend is in a professional master’s program, so he should graduate around the same time as my undergrad.
Ji Wenyu: Fair point.
Shi Zhiyao: So, is Brother Yu planning on getting a recommendation? Have you started preparing?
He really had been cornered by the question.
If I can get a recommendation, I’ll take it, Ji Wenyu answered only the first half. When did your boyfriend start preparing? Did he join any winter or summer camps?
I honestly haven’t asked about the specifics. The girl tilted her head to think. Though he mentioned that a new app launched this year seems pretty good, what’s it called… Qinghe? You’ve probably downloaded that app too, right? They say it was developed by students from our school ourselves—a recommendation info-sharing platform. Before the semester started, they were blocking people downstairs in the dorm buildings asking them to scan a QR code to download it in exchange for a pack of tissues. My boyfriend even shared his graduate recommendation process on it.
Qinghe? Ji Wenyu had zero impression of that name. But sliding across his phone screen to search, he actually found that exact inconspicuous app tucked away in a corner.
Using a combination of instant messaging and a forum format, it genuinely was a platform dedicated to helping students from top domestic universities exchange experiences regarding graduate recommendations. The boy tapped the bottom right corner and was surprised to discover that he had somehow registered an account at some point.
He skimmed through it briefly; the forum posts seemed to contain plenty of solid, practical content and looked rather interesting.
Alright, I’ll go back and check it out, Ji Wenyu said, moving the software up to one of his frequently used front-page screen layouts.