Chapter 89

*Campus IF Line — “Jealousy”*
Hold it down. Chamber it.
Every gun looked more or less the same at a glance; only by touching could you feel the differences. Different models meant a different grip—length, width, the way it sat in your palm.
He taught her almost hand over hand: how to steady it, how to chamber it. But maybe she was simply too clumsy—completely inexperienced—so now and then she slipped. In those moments, the shot rang out in a useless blank.
Qin Sang was dizzy and dazed. Biting her lip, she asked what to do next. His throat bobbed once, and he patiently guided her—cleaning up, resetting, then having her try again, aiming once more.
The gun’s silhouette in the dark looked arrogant and fierce. Maybe because it had just been fired, the barrel was still hot—so hot it stung.
The first time she touched it, the abnormal heat startled her. “It’s so hot.”
Like it had been licked by flame—frighteningly hot. She withdrew her hand on instinct, then, driven by curiosity and under his control, placed her pale fingers back on the gun’s body. This time she had experience; even the force of her grip turned careful, afraid she’d mess up.
In the darkness, she could only rely on her hands to trace the gun’s lines and edges. The thin callus on her palm brushed over the muzzle, sending a tremor through her. This time her strength was measured; it didn’t “misfire” so easily. Instead, she adjusted urgently, wanting to align with the bullseye—yet she never quite found the right position.
He told her how to shift, how to sense the angle, letting her learn to lock in the alignment herself.
She lowered her head. In the faint light, she could barely make out a wavering shadow. Biting her lip, she tried—lifting the muzzle little by little. But sadly, her aim was truly terrible; she kept grazing past.
Suddenly, a low, hoarse laugh sounded above her, teasing. “Sang-sang—you missed.”
Sweat beaded on her forehead. She didn’t know if it was the heat, or anxiety.
Like a child on her first day of school, she was completely lost. Even with him teaching her hand in hand, it was hard to grasp the essentials. In the end, she could only hold the gun and look at him helplessly, her eyes misty, shining with water—as if begging, as if giving in. “I can’t.”
“Sang-sang, no rush.”
He brushed a kiss to her damp, reddened lashes, his voice rough in a way that startled her. “Slowly.”
“I’ll teach you.”
He taught her to relax properly, to let her shoulders and neck drop. His voice sank. “Sang-sang, don’t be so tense. Relax a little. Mm—loosen your grip. Try it. Relax, then hold again.”
“Like this?”
Qin Sang asked shamelessly, eager to learn.
She clenched her jaw lightly and tried, tentative, feeling her way.
“Mm.” His breath was hot; his voice carried a smile. “Little Sang-sang is smart. You learn fast.”
She turned over and over in that night, not knowing how long had passed. Her nerves were stretched taut—until at last they could release.
By then her hands trembled, completely numb, her grip utterly exhausted.
Her whole body went limp, without strength. She couldn’t even lift her hands. Her pale fingers curled into a loose circle. Her mind kept remembering the scorching heat at the moment of release, and even the air seemed to carry a faint, drifting scent of gunpowder.
Her hands were too small to control it one-handed. When it kicked back, she had to use both hands just to steady it.
Seeing her tired lashes droop, he kissed her fingers, wiping them clean. Her thin fingers were damp with sweat.
After he dried away the moisture, he chuckled indistinctly. “Little Sang-sang… what reward do you want?”
She didn’t want anything. She was just sleepy. After holding herself together for so long, the moment she relaxed, heavy drowsiness rolled in.
She leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered, “I want to sleep.”
“Be good. Wash up first, then sleep.”
In the next moment, he rose. With a burst of strength, he lifted her up and guided her to sit on the vanity, half holding, half carrying her.
Under the warm, dim light, she steadied herself weakly. She saw in the mirror that she looked flustered—like a shell pried open, exposing what it had tried to hide.
Qin Sang made a muffled sound, her hands weak on his shoulder and neck. With no strength, even her resistance sounded like something else. “Don’t…”
Shame surged. She couldn’t adapt to the intensity of being watched and handled like this—yet he seemed completely unbothered, intent on taking his time.
Water ran in the bathroom.
He laughed softly, kissed her burning-red ear, and teased, “Sang-sang, you’re clean now.”
Qin Sang’s cheeks were hot, her thoughts scattered, unable to find a clear exit.
She only knew the unfamiliar pleasure was overwhelming—different from anything before. Her nerves seemed to spark and tingle, making her shiver.
“Liar,” she accused in a tiny voice.
He had said that once she learned, he’d let her go. But he broke his word.
…
Qin Sang spent almost two absurd days in the hotel. Even if they held to a final line, there were still many firsts—things seen, things felt—that left her flustered and bewildered.
From an ignorant girl with only a few scraps of knowledge, she was taught patiently, step by step, until she understood much more than she had before.
She might not have been the smartest student, but Xie Yuncheng was the most patient teacher. He guided her to be honest about what she wanted and what she feared—drawing her closer and closer, until there was no turning back.
On the day Jingbei officially started, Qin Sang went to campus early to register. She had only one suitcase. Standing at the gate, she messaged Xie Yuncheng:
“I’m here.”
“Little freshman, which department are you in?”
Qin Sang put her phone down and looked up. A boy wearing a red armband stepped into her path and sized her up, testing: “Literature? Art?”
Qin Sang was pretty, with a distinctive presence. Even dressed simply, her bare face was eye-catching enough. From the moment she entered, more than a few boys had already shifted their attention her way.
The boy guessed she was probably in foreign languages or journalism.
Qin Sang shook her head. “No. Archaeology.”
He didn’t seem to hear clearly at first and nodded as if he’d guessed right. Then he looked again, surprised. “Archaeology?”
His exaggerated reaction confused Qin Sang. Her hand tightened on the suitcase handle. She asked suspiciously, “Is there a problem?”
He scratched the back of his head. “No, just surprised… Classmate, I’ll walk you over. I can help carry your luggage to the girls’ dorm too.”
Before Qin Sang could refuse, he had already taken her suitcase and strode off. She could only follow.
New student day was busy. Upperclassmen were helping everywhere. Carrying luggage also earned practical credits, which was why everyone was so enthusiastic.
He brought Qin Sang to the archaeology registration desk. Compared to other departments’ bustle, archaeology was almost deserted—quiet, even bleak.
The senior girl at the desk was so bored she’d nearly fallen asleep. Hearing someone arrive, she woke, found her glasses, and looked Qin Sang over from bottom to top. “Fill out the materials.”
The boy who’d brought her still hadn’t left. As Qin Sang filled out the forms, he leaned in to peek. “So your surname is Qin… Qin Sang? ‘Yan grass is green as silk; Qin mulberry lowers its green branches’—what a beautiful name. Hey, little freshman, want to add QQ? If you need anything later, just come find me.”
The senior girl snorted. “Seriously? Is your department out of people? Why are you coming here to poach? Our own little freshman—do we need an outsider to ‘take care’ of her?”
The boy’s face flushed at being called out. “Why are you so rude? I’m just helping. We’re in the same school—future schoolmates. Is it wrong to help? Besides, she just got here—she’ll definitely need time to adjust. Can’t I care about a little freshman?”
“Heh.” The senior girl rolled her eyes. Then she looked at Qin Sang and warned, “Little freshman, you might not know yet: some guys here are so desperate to get a girlfriend they’ve lost their minds. Be careful. Don’t fall for seniors who are just fishing.”
Qin Sang finished filling the forms and handed them in. “Senior, I’m done.”
The senior girl glanced and nodded lazily. “Girls’ dorm is behind the ideology building.”
“Okay, thank you, senior.” Qin Sang smiled shyly.
“Then I’ll take you over,” the boy said quickly.
Qin Sang shook her head. “It’s fine. I don’t have much luggage. I can go myself.”
“Let him carry it,” the senior girl said calmly. “It’s not unpaid. And better you get helped than he go be someone else’s pack mule.”
Her words were blunt. But on a chaotic day like this—with everyone carrying huge bags and suitcases—she had a point. Qin Sang had even seen an upperclassman topple over trying to lift someone’s suitcase.
Qin Sang traveled light. Aside from a few simple clothes, her suitcase was almost empty.
With that, she felt too embarrassed to refuse again. Softly, she thanked him. “Then I’ll trouble you, senior.”
“No big deal.”
On the way to the dorm, he talked nonstop—asking questions, telling stories. Qin Sang learned he was in the history department. History was a large discipline within the humanities college. Archaeology stood as its own unit, but in the end, they were close cousins.
“I thought you were journalism. History has plenty of girls, but archaeology is rare.”
“By the way, where are you from? Your accent doesn’t sound local. You’re southern, aren’t you?”
Qin Sang blinked. “Is my accent that obvious?”
She thought her Mandarin was pretty good.
“Not exactly.” He laughed broadly. “It’s just… southern girls speak softly. It doesn’t sound like northern girls. I don’t mean that as a bad thing—it’s just… a different feeling.”
“I’m from the south,” Qin Sang said. “Ningjiang County, Jingcheng City.”
“Jingcheng! I’ve been there. The old Jiangnan region, right? Too bad—the big fire destroyed a lot of ancient buildings. There aren’t many preserved sites left.”
As a history student, he spoke with reverence for the past—and regret for those Ming and Qing structures that were lost to the flames.
He was talkative. Qin Sang barely said anything, yet he’d already spilled his whole life story. When they finally reached the dorm, Qin Sang didn’t let him carry her suitcase upstairs. She took it herself and went in alone.
When she entered, someone was already there making the bed and greeted her warmly.
To her surprise, the other girls weren’t all locals either—one from southern Fujian, one from Yungui, and one local senior who was two years older than them.
What surprised Qin Sang even more was that aside from her, the rest of her dormmates were all history majors.
Hearing that a girl had chosen archaeology, they were all shocked.
The local senior explained tactfully, “Our school doesn’t admit many archaeology students each year, and very few people actively apply.”
Archaeology was niche. Qin Sang had prepared herself, so she wasn’t surprised.
The only shock was that there wasn’t a private shower stall like in the south. The two other southern girls were stunned too.
“Then how do we shower?”
The senior said generously, “Bathhouse. Want to go? I’ll treat. Northern scrubbing is top-tier—might scrub ‘dust’ off you.”
“What? We can’t go to a bathhouse every day, can we?”
“Normally you just rinse in the public shower,” the senior said. “The school’s been renovating the last two years—each floor has shower stalls now. Before, you had to run to the big bathhouse to wash.”
As a southerner, Qin Sang had never seen this. She looked at the floor’s shower area—each stall was only separated by a curtain. No doors.
When Xie Yuncheng called, Qin Sang was on the way to the bathhouse with her roommates—dragged along by enthusiasm and forced to experience the northern bathhouse culture early.
Xie Yuncheng asked, “Settled in?”
Qin Sang thought. “I still need to buy some daily necessities, but otherwise, pretty much.”
“Want to go eat? I’ll pick you up.” His voice was low; on the other end, there were faint shouts and teasing.
“Yo, God Xie is clinging to his girlfriend again?”
“Dinner? We want to eat too! God Xie, bring us along!”
Someone even yelled, “Little freshman, come eat with us!”
But two seconds later, after the sound of a door locking, it went quiet.
Qin Sang exhaled in relief. “Were those… your roommates?”
“Mm. Ignore them,” he said.
Wind noise mixed into his voice, a faint electric hiss that seemed to brush over her palm.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said.
“What?” Qin Sang played dumb.
He chuckled. “Did you miss me?”
Qin Sang’s cheeks warmed. Her voice turned small. “…Yes.”
They’d only been apart one day, and she already missed him.
That morning, Xie Yuncheng had wanted to come help, but she refused. She knew he had classes; skipping wasn’t good.
Xie Yuncheng hadn’t cared—he’d pulled her in and kissed her, voice dark with amusement. “Classes aren’t more important than my girlfriend.”
She had coaxed him for a long time before she finally extinguished his plan to cut class and came to register alone.
Hearing her helpless tone, he laughed low. “Which bathhouse did you say you were going to?”
“I don’t know. It’s close to school, I think.”
Qin Sang wasn’t familiar with the area. She’d only heard northern scrubbing could leave you feeling refreshed—perfect after a whole day of running around, making beds, carrying things, filling forms, and getting cards.
She still needed to buy small daily items and planned to pick them up on the way back.
“Sang-sang, what are you doing? Hurry—the bus is here.”
A roommate called from far away.
Qin Sang hurriedly lowered her voice. “I’ll talk later. My roommate’s calling me.”
…
The northern bathhouse was even more open than she’d imagined. People undressed naturally, as if it were nothing. The three southern girls, by contrast, were stiff and shy.
The senior laughed when she saw them bowing their heads. “Everyone’s got the same parts. What are you shy about? I’m telling you—act natural and you’ll attract less attention. If you act weird…”
She gave a mischievous grin. The girls looked at each other, and in the end decided: when in Rome.
Afterward, sitting in the public lounge eating, the senior asked Qin Sang, “Little freshman, who were you calling earlier? Reporting to your boyfriend?”
“No way—Sang-sang looks so well-behaved. Doesn’t seem like someone who’d have a boyfriend so early.”
Qin Sang drank some water guiltily. “I have a boyfriend.”
“What? That fast?”
The girls erupted into chatter about their own schools and how strict they’d been.
The senior poured cold water on them, casual and blunt. “Don’t dream too big. I’m already a junior—look at me. Did I get a boyfriend? The quality of college boys is… so-so.”
“Wow, Senior Jian Tong,” an exaggerated male voice called from behind, “that hurts.”
They looked up. A few guys stood not far away, coming over to greet them. The one speaking clutched his chest dramatically.
“Didn’t we just say the mixer was fun last time? And now you turn around and deny us.”
Jian Tong rolled her eyes. “You’ve got the nerve to say that.”
She tilted her chin. “Didn’t you say you’d bring Junior Xie over to hold down the scene? I bragged to all the girls that there’d be handsome guys—then what did you bring? I almost got scolded to death.”
Zhou Yihong spread his hands. “What can I do? Junior Xie is taken. We can’t steal someone’s girlfriend.”
Jian Tong looked surprised. “Huh? He has someone? Since when?”
Zhou Yihong shrugged. “That kid isn’t as honest as he looks. He got the girl in high school—fast hands.”
Hearing Jian Tong and Zhou Yihong talk, the other girls asked curiously, “Senior, you know them?”
Jian Tong said, “Oh—right, let me introduce. They’re from the aerospace institute next door. This one is Zhou Yihong, a first-year grad student. Over there are his roommates.”
The girls secretly looked over. The most eye-catching one stood out immediately—great proportions, clean brows and eyes. Just standing there, he drew the gaze.
Qin Sang was surprised to see Xie Yuncheng too. As if sensing her, the tall boy lazily lifted his eyes, met her gaze, and curled his lip into a smile.
Qin Sang had just come out of the steam. Her cheeks were pink, hair damp against her face, pale skin tinted with a soft blush. Her peach-blossom eyes looked misty—both pure and gentle, so pretty it was unreal.
He lifted his phone slightly. Qin Sang understood and looked down. A new message arrived:
“Miss you.”
Qin Sang couldn’t help curving her lips. A roommate noticed and leaned in suspiciously, but before she could see the screen, it went dark.
“What? Whispering with your boyfriend?”
Qin Sang hummed and admitted it openly.
Zhou Yihong’s heart shattered on the spot. He called his roommates over to join the table. The moment he’d shown up, he’d noticed Qin Sang—pretty, fresh, and bright.
Only to die before he even started. He couldn’t believe it. “Little freshman, you already have a boyfriend?”
Jian Tong gloated. “Give it up. Our Sang-sang is already taken. She’s all lovey-dovey with her boyfriend—she even has to ‘report in’ before coming to bathe.”
Zhou Yihong was hit hard, but quickly rallied. “So what? A flower may have an owner, but I can still loosen the soil. Campus love is the least reliable—especially long distance. Who knows if it’ll last? I’ve got time.”
As his words fell, he tried to sit down—only for the chair to be hooked away. He fell straight to the floor with a solid thump.
Zhou Yihong glared at the calm, unbothered Xie Yuncheng. “Damn it, Junior Xie—what the hell?”
Xie Yuncheng’s long leg pinned the chair’s leg. He looked down lazily. “Sorry. Didn’t see.”
He sounded like he was apologizing, but there was no sincerity—only a punchable expression.
Zhou Yihong climbed up, rubbing his tailbone. “That’s too much! Just because you’re jealous I’m more handsome doesn’t mean you get to sabotage me!”
Everyone else: “…”
Zhou Yihong dragged over another chair and sat, hissing in pain. But soon he forgot the fall and went right back to trying to impress Qin Sang.
Yet every time he tried, he ended up eating losses. He peeled an egg, but before he could hand it to Qin Sang, it got knocked and rolled onto the table.
Zhou Yihong was about to curse. Then he caught sight of something faintly red at the back of Xie Yuncheng’s neck—an ambiguous mark against pale skin.
Without thinking, he blurted, “Junior Xie, are you allergic? Your neck is red.”
Zhou Yihong was loud. That shout drew everyone’s attention. Qin Sang realized what that mark was and instantly went guilty, lifting her paper cup to drink as if she could cool her face.
That morning, he’d pinned her at the bathroom door. She’d… scratched him without thinking.
And not only his neck.
Those were the traces left by two reckless days—more obvious than she’d expected, and now someone had noticed.
Zhou Yihong was too dense to understand. Others only looked out of curiosity.
Only Qin Sang kept her head down, not daring to look up.
Then Xie Yuncheng’s lazy voice sounded above them, the half-smiling gaze flicking over Qin Sang for a brief moment before he chuckled. “Nothing. A cat scratched me.”
Zhou Yihong said, “Oh? That cat’s claws are fierce. Scratched the back of your neck? You should go get a rabies shot. Stray cats can be vicious—might carry germs.”
“Cough—cough.”
Qin Sang choked on her water, coughing until her eyes watered.
“Drink slower,” her roommate patted her back.
Qin Sang shook her head. “I… I need to use the restroom.”
She stood and left.
She stayed inside for a while. Just as she was about to leave, she was pulled aside—into a neighboring stall that was under repair.
The space was narrow. Bodies pressed close. She looked up in confusion—her mouth covered so she couldn’t make a sound.
The boy’s voice was dark and hoarse. “If you don’t want anyone to notice, be quiet.”
Qin Sang nodded quickly, obedient, not daring to move.
So good.
Xie Yuncheng’s throat bobbed; the look in his eyes was hard to read. His voice stayed low. “Why didn’t you reject him?”
Qin Sang was confused. “Reject what?”
“What he said. How he tried to flatter you.”
Qin Sang finally understood. “…I didn’t accept.”
She hadn’t responded to Zhou Yihong at all. He was the one who kept pushing things at her.
Xie Yuncheng’s voice turned rough. “Sang-sang. Don’t let other men have a chance to get close to you.”
Qin Sang hesitated, then asked softly, “A-are you… jealous?”
“Yes.”
He admitted it cleanly. “Sang-sang, I get jealous. I get possessive. You’re free, independent—you have the right to make friends, to have your own space. You can’t be controlled, and I can’t control you. But I… only want you to look at me. Only me.”
His cool, minty scent closed in, taking over her senses. The hand at her waist tightened, then loosened, then tightened again, as if wrestling with restraint.
His kiss was not as gentle as before—it carried a trace of losing control, of needing reassurance.
Qin Sang’s legs went weak, her waist hot, her breath swallowed whole.
In the blurred play of light and shadow, breath and low, hoarse words tangled together.
His voice was rough in her ear. “I want… you to choose me.”