Chapter 75

Because Zhenzhen’s cohort of students was a bit unusual, their ages varied quite a bit—some were already in their thirties, while many others, like Zhenzhen, had come straight from high school. In this era, it was common to marry young; most people tied the knot at around 23 or 24, though some educated youths who wanted to return to the city later delayed it until 25 or 26.

Imperial Capital University was one of the top schools in China. Anyone who made it in was anything but ordinary—especially in Zhenzhen’s year. Nearly six million people across the country sat the entrance exam, but fewer than 280,000 were admitted. It was truly like a thousand troops crossing a single-log bridge. These were the elites of the future. Many of them were still unmarried, and as such, a lot of students were keen on finding a partner during university—someone to get along with and possibly marry right after graduation and job assignment. How convenient would that be?

This mindset wasn’t limited to the male students either. Plenty of female students thought the same. Even though they were exposed to new ideas and more open-minded culture after entering university, deep down, many still clung to traditional beliefs—like how a woman was considered a spinster if she wasn’t married by her twenties.

Although most claimed to care about a good personality and hardworking nature when looking for a partner, in truth, initial attraction often came down to looks. Among the girls, Zhenzhen was considered top-tier. Despite spending most of her youth either hiking mountains or swimming in rivers, she was born fair-skinned. She never even used face cream year-round, yet her skin was always smooth and supple.

Aside from her clear complexion, Zhenzhen’s most captivating feature was her pair of lively, expressive eyes. Just standing there quietly, she exuded a sense of cleverness and alertness.

With such a young, hardworking, and pretty girl around, she wasn’t just the object of attention for the journalism majors—even students from the French and economics departments had their eyes on her. But people in this era were relatively simple and honest; they didn’t do things like pestering or stalking. Their approach was to find a chance to work or study with her outside class and show off their good character. Maybe sparks would fly.

Zhenzhen, however, was completely unaware of the boys’ subtle affections. In class, she was focused on the teacher and busy taking notes; as soon as it ended, she’d rush to her next classroom. She didn’t even spare them a glance, let alone interact. Just look at Liu Chengmin—he had painstakingly secured a seat behind her for three months, hoping to gain an advantage. But in the end, Zhenzhen didn’t even know who he was. All that effort was for nothing.

Liu Chengmin’s failure seemed to have discouraged the other guys, and one by one, they retracted their heads like turtles, waiting for a better opportunity.

That said, while the journalism students were timid when it came to romance, they were full of passion when it came to their major. Especially when it came to launching the school newspaper—they moved quickly and with great enthusiasm. Within a week, they had secured an empty room for an office and began collecting submissions for the first issue of The Imperial Capital Campus Times. As the female student representative, Wei Yujin was appointed the paper’s vice president.

All the journalism students received a request-for-submission letter. For once, instead of reading in her private space after class, Zhenzhen went back to the dorm to brainstorm article ideas with her roommates.

Wei Yujin wanted to write a current affairs commentary based on the year’s obvious policy changes. Xu Jiajia was aiming for an interview-style piece, showing how student life had improved under the new policies. Each of them shared their ideas, and Zhenzhen, drawing on her knowledge of how news interviews worked in future newspapers, offered lots of useful suggestions.

Wei Yujin took notes as Zhenzhen spoke, then asked, “Zhenzhen, what kind of article are you planning to write?”

Zhenzhen smiled and shared her thoughts. “Our university has a lot of literary giants—like Mr. Wangwo and Mr. Baiye. I’d like to do a series of exclusive interviews, inviting them to talk about the creative process and the stories behind their works through one of their novels.”

“That’s a great idea!” Xu Jiajia’s eyes lit up. “I love Mr. Wangwo’s A Life in Despair. I’ve read it at least five times. You have to get him to talk more about that one!”

The girl from Tianjin, Meng Ranxiao, spoke like a string of firecrackers—loud and fast. She kept chiming in with agreement and patted her chest proudly. “I got the editor position. Once your article’s done, I’ll recommend it for the front page.”

“Of course!” Xu Jiajia laughed. “Back when he won the award, forget an exclusive interview—we only got a tiny blurb in the corner of the paper. This might be the first time Mr. Wangwo agrees to an interview since winning that prize. Just that alone will draw attention to our paper.”

Gentle-looking but secretly ambitious, Guo Xiaoqiao from the capital added, “The Unnamed Poetry Journal from the literature department already published their first issue before us. We can’t let them get too far ahead—we’ve got to make a big splash with our debut issue and overshadow their poetry mag.”

“Oh right, I have their magazine—the first issue just came out.” Xu Jiajia jumped up and pulled a roughly printed magazine from her desk, placing it on the table. Everyone gathered around with interest as she opened to the first page, cleared her throat, and read in her crisp Harbin accent: “…He held a sharp axe and slashed through the gloom weighing on his chest…”

Though Zhenzhen didn’t quite understand poetry, she could feel the authors’ passion and fervor through the text. After reading two poems, Xu Jiajia closed the magazine and said seriously, “This one cost sixty cents at the cafeteria entrance. How much do you think we can sell our paper for?”

“Did you guys talk about printing costs during your meetings?” Zhenzhen asked, sipping from her enamel mug. “Like, how many copies for the first issue, and about how much that would cost?”

Wei Yujin, Meng Ranxiao, Xu Jiajia, and Guo Xiaoqiao—all members of the newspaper team—looked at each other sheepishly and grinned. “No one brought that up…”

Zhenzhen frowned slightly. “Then what about the initial printing funds?”

“Oh, that I know!” Xu Jiajia quickly said. “The printing press agreed to let us run a tab. We’ll pay them after we sell the paper.”

Zhenzhen nodded, set the cup aside, propped her hands on the table, and looked at her classmates. “Running a newspaper isn’t something you can do with just passion—there are a lot of details to consider. For example, at the beginning we might only need to cover costs, but once the paper is up and running, we’ll have to think about paying contributors.”

“Pay contributors?” Guo Xiaoqiao blinked in confusion. “Isn’t this all volunteer work? Why do we need to pay anyone?”

Looking at Guo Xiaoqiao’s cute and innocent expression, Zhenzhen couldn’t help but pinch her cheek. “That’s because newspapers are a special case.”

Zhenzhen turned and pulled out her subscriptions of Imperial Capital Daily and Weekly News from the cupboard, placing them on the table. “Newspapers aren’t like poetry journals or magazines—they can’t be casual. They need a fixed publication schedule and up-to-date news. Poetry journals and magazines can stockpile submissions and publish them in batches, but newspapers don’t work that way. Only the most current news will keep readers engaged.”

Wei Yujin nodded in agreement, but still didn’t quite understand what this had to do with paying contributors. Zhenzhen sat down, took a sip of water, and continued, “Normally it’s fine—we can write articles in our free time and apply what we’ve learned in class. It’s great practice for improving our reporting skills. But what about during finals?”

Seeing the blank looks on everyone’s faces, Zhenzhen sighed. In the past ten years, from elementary to high school, exams had basically disappeared. Based on her past-life experience, even top students had to go over everything from the semester during finals. When things get busy, who has time to go chasing stories? Contributor pay would be a necessary incentive system.

But since the campus paper was just starting out, the passion of their classmates would probably be enough to sustain it for a year. After that, once everyone had been through the grind and the paper had stabilized, they could revisit the topic. Thinking this, Zhenzhen smiled. “Finals are coming up soon. You’ll understand then—it’s a bit early to discuss this now.”

Though Zhenzhen was young, she naturally gave off a trustworthy vibe. Wei Yujin and the others really respected her and quickly wrote down her suggestion, planning to revisit it once the paper was more stable.

Closing her notebook, Wei Yujin saw that Zhenzhen was grabbing her lunchbox to head to the cafeteria and quickly called out, “Wait for me—let’s go together.” Guo Xiaoqiao and the others also hurriedly grabbed their lunch tins, linking arms as they went downstairs.

The Imperial Capital University cafeteria had government subsidies, so the food was varied and affordable. Zhenzhen got two dishes and four taels of rice and sat at an eight-person table with her roommates.

She’d just taken a few bites when a group of law students sat down behind her. Wang Xinwen spotted Zhenzhen’s back and immediately leaned over to pat her shoulder, laughing loudly and exaggeratedly, “Aiya, Zhenzhen, I haven’t seen you in days! Let your sister-in-law have a look—did you lose weight?”

Zhenzhen knew that although Wang Xinwen had a bold personality, she rarely acted this loud in public. She quickly turned around, playing along with a smile while her eyes scanned the room—and sure enough, she spotted a boy at the next table eyeing Wang Xinwen with a look of reluctant disappointment.

Zhenzhen blinked and instantly understood. She wrapped her arm around Wang Xinwen’s affectionately. “I haven’t lost weight that fast. I eat well every day. Oh, by the way, sis-in-law, I’ve got something to tell you. I need to practice French this weekend, so tell Grandma I won’t be coming home. You and my brother should go home early after school. You were late last week—Noodle was crying his eyes out.”

“No kidding.” The mention of her son softened Wang Xinwen’s exaggerated smile into a tender one. Her beautiful face once again made the boy across from her stare dazedly.

Zhenzhen quickly gave her a meaningful look. Wang Xinwen caught on right away and added, “Ever since Noodle was born, I’ve never been apart from him. If it weren’t for school, I wouldn’t have weaned him either. Don’t be fooled—he can’t talk yet, but he understands everything. As soon as your brother and I get home, he clings to us and won’t let go. He insists on sleeping in our room for two nights.”

The brightness in the boy’s eyes instantly dimmed. He shoveled a few more bites of rice into his mouth, picked up his lunch tin, and left. Wang Xinwen caught his departure in her peripheral vision and quietly let out a breath of relief.

After eating, the sisters-in-law didn’t head back immediately. Instead, they walked to the lakeside for a stroll. Though it wasn’t full summer yet, the daytime was already stifling. But the evening breeze swept away the day’s heat—and some of Wang Xinwen’s frustrations, too.

“Sis-in-law, what’s up with that guy today? Was he following you?” Zhenzhen asked, noticing how unsettled Wang Xinwen looked.

“Don’t even mention it,” she grumbled. “He’s not even from our department—I don’t know how he knows me. On the way to the cafeteria today, he shoved a note into my hand. It even had a poem on it! Scared the heck out of me. I don’t even know his name—how could he do something like that?” Wang Xinwen exhaled in frustration. “I’m a married woman! Doesn’t that show?”

Under the moonlight, Zhenzhen glanced at Wang Xinwen. Her petite figure made her look a few years younger than she really was, and the good life at the Li household had left her looking rosy and fresh. She spoke in a soft, gentle voice—no wonder people mistook her for an unmarried girl.

“Well, who told my sister-in-law to be so beautiful?” Zhenzhen said with a teasing grin, looping her arm through hers. “Let’s have my brother come have lunch with you twice a week. Once people see how handsome he is, no one will dare slip you notes again.”

Thinking of the tall, strapping Mingbei, Wang Xinwen still blushed even after two years of marriage. Her eyes sparkled with affection. “I think Mingbei is better than any guy on campus. He’s just my type.”

Zhenzhen shivered and made a dramatic face. “Ugh, always flaunting your love in front of me. Have you considered the feelings of a lonely single dog like me?”

Though she didn’t know what that phrase meant exactly, Wang Xinwen could guess from context. She laughed mischievously, wrapping her arm tighter around Zhenzhen’s. “My pretty Zhenzhen—has anyone ever slipped you a note?”

Zhenzhen shook her head and looked at Wang Xinwen with a sincere face. “No.”

Wang Xinwen had originally wanted to tease her a little, but upon hearing that, she got a bit anxious. “How come? Is it that you didn’t like any of them? My grandma even told me last week to help you screen people. You can’t just casually start dating someone.”

“I think so too, so isn’t it good that I didn’t pick anyone?” Zhenzhen saw Wang Xinwen’s conflicted expression and suddenly burst out laughing. “Anyway, I wouldn’t like just some average person.”

“Then what kind of person would you like?” Wang Xinwen asked, a little troubled. “Tell me your standards so I can keep an eye out for you.”

Zhenzhen tilted her head and thought for a moment. “He has to be tall, well-educated, capable, and most importantly—he has to be beautiful. And being with him should make my heart feel like it’s about to jump out of my chest.”

When Zhenzhen listed the first three traits, Wang Xinwen was still trying to match candidates in her head. But when Zhenzhen said he had to be beautiful, Wang Xinwen couldn’t help but frown. “What? Beautiful? Wait, what does that even mean for a guy?” Growing up in the northeast, Wang Xinwen always thought someone like Mingbei—tall, imposing—was the epitome of good looks. Just looking at him gave a sense of safety and confidence. So when Zhenzhen said “beautiful,” Wang Xinwen really couldn’t understand. A beautiful guy? Would that still count as a man?

Zhenzhen nodded with a sneaky smile. “Like Xi Junjie from the French major in the Western Languages Department. He’s beautiful but doesn’t look feminine. Just looking at him is comforting.”

Since the law department was quite far from the Western Languages Department, Wang Xinwen had never seen Xi Junjie. She made up her mind to swing by there the next day to see for herself—how good-looking did someone have to be to make Zhenzhen grin like that just from saying his name?

In truth, Zhenzhen didn’t actually like Xi Junjie. They hadn’t had any contact, so there was no spark. She was simply face-appreciating—just like in her past life when she enjoyed watching pretty boys on screen. Pure admiration, nothing romantic.

Wang Xinwen was racking her brain trying to figure out what kind of looks Zhenzhen meant. She was so troubled she probably wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. Seeing her tangled expression, Zhenzhen couldn’t help but laugh out loud again. Wang Xinwen gave her a playful smack. “You’re such a carefree girl! Gosh, you’re really stressing me out.”

The two of them laughed as they ran toward the woods. Not far away, a young man sitting on a bench by the lake, admiring the moon, turned his head and glanced at their retreating figures. The young man looked about twenty. Under the moonlight, his eyes were deep-set, his nose high and straight, his lips full. Because of his refined features, his handsome appearance even had a touch of beauty. But the aura of confidence and strength he exuded made it impossible to underestimate him. He watched Zhenzhen’s silhouette disappear into the darkness, the corner of his mouth twitching as an amused expression appeared on his face. “Li Mingzhen, you’re really shameless.”

—

Students majoring in journalism were especially focused on the first issue of their newspaper. Although Zhenzhen wasn’t involved from beginning to end, she took her own article seriously. She spent two lunch breaks talking with Wang Wo about his book A Desperate Life, discussing some behind-the-scenes stories from the awards ceremony, and learning about the process of how the prize was awarded.

With firsthand material in hand, Zhenzhen spent a few late nights working in her space and finally finished the feature article. She handed the thick stack of manuscript pages to Wei Yujin, who flipped through them quickly, her face lighting up with delight. “Zhenzhen, this interview is amazing. I’m taking it straight to layout.” She took a few steps, then suddenly turned back. “Mr. Wang’s interview should go on the front page—but this much content won’t all fit.”

Zhenzhen smiled. “Just put an excerpt on the front page and move the rest to another section. This is our first issue, the front page has to highlight a few key points. One long article alone won’t cut it.”

Wei Yujin clapped the manuscript into her left palm with her right hand, full of approval. She patted Zhenzhen’s shoulder and said sincerely, “Zhenzhen, you should be the president of the journalism club.”

Zhenzhen laughed and nudged her toward the door. “Go do your thing, Madam President. I’m already grateful I had time to write an article. As for anything else, I can only offer a suggestion or two.” Seeing that Wei Yujin was about to say something else, Zhenzhen glanced at her watch. “Ah, I’ve got to rush to the French classroom. We have an exam today.” Wei Yujin was preoccupied with the upcoming print deadline and quickly ran back to the journalism office.

As the semester neared its end, the French professor felt that having students just memorize vocabulary and texts was too rigid. They were memorizing mechanically and didn’t know how to actually use the language. Since learning a language isn’t just about grammar, but about communication, Professor Meng Huaishu decided that the final exam would involve random oral interviews. Students would be selected by draw to have a conversation on the spot, and their performance would count as their final exam grade.

He had already announced this a week ago, so Zhenzhen had spent two days practicing with Xie Shurang. They rehearsed all possible real-life scenarios related to the lessons. Because Xie Shurang’s teaching style wasn’t limited to textbook vocabulary and grammar, Zhenzhen had developed strong conversational skills. Among her classmates, her level of French was considered one of the better ones.

The students sat in the classroom flipping through their textbooks and muttering vocabulary nervously, glancing toward the window to see if Professor Meng had arrived. As the bell rang, Meng Huaishu entered carrying two large boxes. He placed them on the podium and smiled at the nervous students below. “Actually, this exam is very simple. Just speak your mind freely and confidently.”

The students stared at the two boxes, feeling uneasy, not knowing what was inside. Sensing their thoughts, Meng Huaishu patted the box on the right. “This one has the names of all the students. I’ll draw randomly, and whoever is chosen will come up for a five-minute conversation.”

When the students heard this, they couldn’t help letting out a cry. They had done plenty of one-on-one practice in private, each already having fixed their sentences—just needed to go up and recite them. But Meng Huaishu’s move disrupted a lot of their plans.

Meng Huaishu smiled and patted the other box. “This one contains different scenarios. Whichever scene you draw, you’ll act out a dialogue based on it. For example, if you draw ‘supply and marketing cooperative,’ one person will play the shop assistant and the other the customer. Do you all understand what I mean?”

Everyone nodded. Meng Huaishu smiled again. “Alright then, I’ll start drawing now.”

As soon as he said that, everyone’s hearts jumped, even Zhenzhen felt a little nervous. Meng Huaishu glanced at the students, then pulled slips from each of the two boxes: “First group: Xi Junjie, Li Mingzhen. Scene: Park.”