Chapter 92: Huh, Fishing?

Xu Qingzhou handed the water bottle to Song Yao, who shook her head and told him to drink first; he didn’t refuse, twisted open the cap, and gulped down two swallows, then passed the bottle back to Song Yao.

Song Yao used the straw on the lid, her two long white legs stretched out, gently swaying as she relaxed.

The evening breeze brushed by, carrying a faint chill; the playground remained lively, with couples strolling, people jogging, and others propping up phones to record singing videos.

Everything felt peaceful and beautiful.

Xu Qingzhou was drawn again by the movement beside him—those white socks were nice.

“What are you looking at?” Song Yao noticed his gaze and instantly felt uneasy, pulling her legs in.

“There’s dust on your socks.”

The playground, the evening breeze—his fatigue from the past two days vanished.

Read! {

The moment he finished speaking, silence fell. He realized his words sounded odd.

“Impossible,” Xu Qingzhou shook his head, tone firm: “I definitely didn’t say that.”

Song Yao glared at Xu Qingzhou: “If I tell you to take a photo, take it. Xu Qingzhou, don’t you know the rules of propriety between men and women?”

Xu Qingzhou sat upright, looking at Song Yao with a serious expression: “For those who matter to me, no matter what they’re like, I like them.”

Song Yao raised an eyebrow, thinking: Good, at least he knows how to make amends.

!.

Xu Qingzhou: “.”

To set up a study, the first thing you need is the design—that is, study design—which sets the overall direction.

Song Yao decided to let Xu Qingzhou finish speaking, giving him one chance to redeem himself—or else, what he said now would become his epitaph.

Xu Qingzhou leaned back comfortably on the steps, speaking slowly: “I usually don’t point out people’s flaws.”

After weighing the pros and cons, Xu Qingzhou no longer hesitated—his hand reached straight for the white sock.

Song Yao: “Hm?”

As expected, anger flared in Song Yao’s eyes.

This made Xu Qingzhou sigh again, marveling at how little people truly understand each other’s joys and sorrows.

Kong Xian was locked in a silent feud with him, secretly competing.

Song Yao clenched her fists, grinding her molars, desperate to beat the bastard senseless to relieve her fury. “Can I explain?” Xu Qingzhou said seriously.

Wait, one by one, the death scissors kick—he wouldn’t be losing much either.

At that moment, he stole a glance sideways.

“But last time you called me flat-chested,” Song Yao pouted, still upset about it—her chest wasn’t small, and it was even prominent.

Xu Qingzhou paused, thinking: Is this a real opportunity? But he didn’t move, suspecting she was fishing—waiting for his hand to reach out so she could deliver the death scissors kick.

The dorm was empty; Xu Zhengyang had apparently truly awakened these past two days, deciding to become a war wolf, energetic and constantly hopping between social events.

“Take a photo for me.”

“Speak!”

Xu Qingzhou found it strange: “You haven’t seen this movie?”

Damn, it was a trap—he’d instantly been placed on the moral high ground, looking down on himself.

Xu Qingzhou typed quickly; by midnight, he’d finished the design section—just the beginning, and every step after would be hellish. He preferred classrooms or the library over the study room, where the male odor always gave him a headache.

[Proposal: On the Pattern of Prime Number Gaps and Proof of the Cramér Conjecture.]

Tonight, Xu Qingzhou finally began writing in earnest.

“Of course,” Xu Qingzhou nodded, sighing: “At Jingda, no one else calls to ask if I’ve eaten, reminds me to sleep early, urges me to exercise—and doesn’t charge a cent. She’s basically a free nanny.”

Mostly because he genuinely thought Song Yao’s figure was perfect—just right; any larger would throw off the balance.

But it was too late now to go to the classroom.

Xu Qingzhou showered, changed into clean clothes, and headed to the study room with his laptop and manuscript.

Xu Qingzhou gave one regretful look at the pale, long legs, then continued to enjoy the breeze.

Kong Xian and Zhai Ziqiang were both busy with their own things.

Zhai Ziqiang, pressured by Xu Qingzhou and Kong Xian, had no choice but to hustle—forcing his bedtime from 11:50 to 12:30.

Song Yao was momentarily speechless, her voice stuttering, her emotions like a rollercoaster: “Do I matter to you?”

“Me?” Xu Qingzhou blinked, lazily replying: “I’m not that shallow—I don’t care about that.”

Correct—he did it on purpose. Look, his waist hurt, but at least he’d survived.

“What about you?” Song Yao pressed.

Plop~ His hand was slapped away.

The first part of the design is to clearly outline the background and define the problem, then construct a structured variable system and specify each variable. This is what Xu Qingzhou enjoys doing. Though it may seem useless—just writing down what’s in your head—it’s actually very useful.

Xu Qingzhou leaned back, lying on the steps: “Everyone’s aesthetic is different; there’s no fixed standard.”

Xu Qingzhou returned to the dorm leaning on his waist—his side was bruised from Song Yao’s pinch.

Girl, one day you’ll learn a truth: what goes around comes around.

8:00 PM.

He carried his laptop back to the dorm; it was still early, and everyone was still awake.

Xu Zhengyang was watching a movie commentary—a campus romance called “The Love of the Hawthorn Tree,” which had been shown in class before.

The study room had only three people; one of them Xu Qingzhou recognized—a fellow night owl he’d once spotted reading a postgraduate entrance exam book—clearly a Kaoyangou .

The temptation was right before him; even a saint couldn’t resist, let alone a young man full of blood and vigor.

It also served a certain degree of feasibility analysis.

“I haven’t seen it,” Xu Zhengyang said, watching intently, even pulling out a notebook to take notes.

Coincidentally, the girl who had once hurt Song Yao was there too—now panting as she ran past them from the opposite direction.

Song Yao noticed the girl too, her expression gloomy; she suddenly asked: “Xu Qingzhou, do all guys… like girls like her?”

Song Yao was furious—she’d thought Xu Qingzhou was going to say something nice to her. What did he mean by “flaw”? How was that her flaw! She was only eighteen, with limitless potential! “Xu Qingzhou, I’m going to kill you!”

“Why watch the commentary? Just watch the movie.”

“No, it’s too late,” Xu Zhengyang sighed.

“Hm?”

“I met two girls in the club—one likes artsy films, the other likes anime films. I need to catch up on both genres.”

(End of Chapter)