“Yuyin, was TD’s concert any good? I am kicking myself—I never managed to grab a ticket,” the girl who walked out with her lamented.
“It was all right—nothing special,” Shen Yuyin replied, a remark guaranteed to sting. “I sat in the VIP section playing with my phone and eating fruit most of the night.”
Anyone who followed the idol scene knew how impossibly scarce—and expensive—TD tickets were, especially the highest‑priced VIP seats. Yet Yuyin spoke of them as if they were nothing at all.
“In a few days a celebrity’s child is throwing a party at a villa in South City,” another immaculately dressed girl said. “Want to come with us?”
“I’ll have to see whether I am free,” Yuyin answered—just as someone suddenly stepped in front of her.
The newcomer wore inexpensive clothes and unremarkable makeup, a no‑name handbag slung over her shoulder. The one redeeming feature was her pleasant face. Yuyin’s mind whirred: there was no way she knew someone like this.
“H‑hello,” Zhao Xiaoyun ventured.
Yuyin glanced around to confirm the greeting really was meant for her, drawing a chorus of snickers from her friends.
“Yuyin, is she a friend of yours?”
“Ha ha ha, where did you pick her up?”
“…”
“Do you need something?” Yuyin asked, keeping her composure.
Zhao Xiaoyun smiled politely, hoping to jog her memory. “We met once before—don’t you remember me?”
Yuyin honestly could not recall. The laughter around them grew louder and more irritating.
“You all go ahead,” she told her friends, then turned to Zhao Xiaoyun. “Come with me.”
Yuyin strode off. Zhao hesitated, then hurried after her, leaving the other girls muttering.
“How did a little country bumpkin get onto our campus?”
“Probably a scholarship kid from some mountain village. We shouldn’t tease her—life must be tough, ha ha…”
“Why would Yuyin know someone like that? Totally drags down her status.”
“Who knows.”
Yuyin walked so fast her face clouded over. Zhao Xiaoyun had to jog to keep up, speaking quickly: “I don’t mean any harm. I only wanted to return the few hundred yuan you gave me.”
Yuyin stopped dead and spun around. “A few hundred yuan—seriously? To me that is pocket change. A casual meal costs me several thousand. Take it as charity.”
The color drained from Zhao Xiaoyun’s face. She had never guessed the money she treasured—earned one hard coin at a time—was worthless to the other girl. She twisted the strap of her bag, eyes shimmering.
“Maybe it is nothing to you, but to someone poor like me every yuan is hard‑earned. My education is limited, but I know better than to live on handouts. Whether you want it or not, I am paying you back. I only wish to keep a clear conscience.”
She pushed the rolled bills into Yuyin’s hands, bowed hastily, and ran.
Yuyin stared, then picked up the warm roll of money. When she looked up, the girl had vanished. Had she gone too far?
Zhao ran until she had no idea where she was, gasping for breath. She had never understood the world of the rich, but she knew the poor must keep their pride. At least she had done what she came to do.
When her breathing steadied, she swung her bag to her side and started searching for an exit.
Yuyin eventually slipped the money into a pocket of her handbag and headed back toward her dorm.
There was a knock on the office door.
“Come in.”
Tang Yan eased the door open and poked her head inside.
The counselor behind the desk broke into a broad grin. “Ah, Tang Yan, come in, come in!”
She nodded shyly and closed the door behind her. The counselor stood. “Sit down—let me get you something to drink.”
“No, thank you,” she said automatically, but he had already gone to the drinks cabinet. Left alone, she perched on the small sofa, anxiety fluttering inside her.
He returned with a cup. “The finest Blue Mountain coffee—you have probably never tasted it. Try some.”
Tang Yan thanked him, took the tiniest sip, and set the cup on the low table.
The counselor sat opposite her, legs apart, arms resting over his knees—barely a meter away. “Tang Yan.”
“Yes?” She jumped a little at the sudden address.
“Relax. I did not call you here to criticize you—just to talk.”
She managed a stiff smile. She was certain it had to do with Aunt Ji.
He sipped his coffee and sighed contentedly. “How is your aunt’s health?”
“Much better, thank you.”
After a pause he continued, “You did not reply to my message the other day. I assumed you were busy looking after her. I will be frank. I like your aunt very much. I would like to get to know her—perhaps even pursue something more. But as a teacher I cannot be too public about it; it could sound inappropriate. That is why I need your help to make the introduction.”
Tang Yan forced a smile. “Sir, you overestimate me. I am not that capable.”
“Of course you are. You mean something to her—I know that.”
She shook her head. “Actually she is not my blood aunt. My mother asked her to watch over me here, that is all. We are not that close, and I cannot influence her personal life.”
For Aunt Ji’s sake—and her own—she had to draw that line.
“You misunderstand me,” the counselor said. “I would never ask you to influence her feelings. I only want you to create opportunities. Start by giving me her WeChat. Her mobile number is not her WeChat ID, or I would not have bothered you.”
“Sir, I really do not think that is appropriate,” Tang Yan answered miserably. She could not betray Aunt Ji’s privacy—especially when she herself liked Aunt Ji.
“There is nothing inappropriate. It is just a contact, and it will make things easier when you need her help on campus. Give me this small favor, all right?”
Tang Yan bit her lip and still shook her head.
The counselor’s face darkened; his tone lost its warmth. “You cannot manage even this? Out in society you will face far harder tasks.”
“I am very sorry.” Tang Yan stood, bowed, and said, “Thank you for the coffee.” She turned and left the office.
She heard him call her name, but she pretended not to. All she wanted was to get away, racing down the stairs as fast as she could.