Just because I wrote "Zhu Xian," the school beauty sent me razor blades.

After the New Year, Lin Yuan disappeared from the internet.

He's still here. Every morning at 7:30, at the third window in the cafeteria, he'd order a bowl of beef noodles, find a corner to sit down, and eat quickly. You could still hear him turning the pages of his book in the dorm, page after page, his rhythm as steady as a machine.

But I can't find him online anymore.

Weibo remained frozen on the New Year's Eve "Happy New Year" post; the Red Eggplant backend showed "Author Unreachable"; Tianxing's messages were read but not replied to. Fei Zhao made three phone calls, and he only replied with one WeChat message: three words.

"Preparing for the exam."

Then all that was left was to prepare for the exam.

Final exam.

A second-year student who barely attended classes for a semester has to cram an entire semester's worth of material into their brain within two weeks.

"Aren't you a genius?" Zhou Zixuan lay on the table, watching Lin Yuan flip through the book at lightning speed. "Does a genius need to review?"

"Geniuses don't need to review, but geniuses who skip a third of their classes do," Lin Yuan said, turning a page of "A History of Chinese and Foreign Cinema." "Especially since that third is concentrated in the last two months."

Zhou Zixuan glanced down at his "Fundamentals of Acting" textbook and suddenly became anxious: "Brother Yuan, could you help me go through the Stanislavski system again? I didn't understand it last semester, and I've completely given up this semester."

"You're studying acting, why are you asking me about directing?"

"Aren't you supposed to be able to do everything?"

"Just because I know a lot of things doesn't mean I can teach you acting. You'll have to make up for all the sleep you missed in Professor Chen's class."

Zhou Zixuan painfully turned a page of the book, only to find that he hadn't highlighted a single word on that page.

"I'm doomed. This page is blank."

"Everything you've seen is white, don't panic."

Qian Zhuangzhuang peeked out from the top bunk, holding a paintbrush in his hand, with paint smeared on the corner of his mouth, exuding an aura of "I'm already drowning in the ocean of knowledge."

"Brother Yuan, can you pass the audiovisual language test?"

"able."

"What makes you so confident? You don't even take notes normally."

"I memorized it during class."

What about when you skip class?

"I filled in the gaps in my memory while skipping class."

"...Is your brain a solid-state drive?"

"Pretty much. But it doesn't have the 'how to comfort someone on the verge of failing' feature."

Qian Zhuangzhuang shrank back, hugging his drawing board tightly, and muttered under his breath, "I didn't read a single word of color theory; all I drew in class were my anime waifus."

"Then when you take the exam, draw a two-dimensional waifu and say it's a practical application of color theory."

Qian Zhuangzhuang's eyes lit up: "Really?!"

"No, you can't. But you can try, and then let me know the result when you retake the course next semester."

"..."

Chen Mo sat opposite him, with a book called "Photographic Aesthetics" open in front of him, and a pencil in his hand sketching storyboard drafts in the blank spaces of the pages.

"Brother Mo," Zhou Zixuan peeked in, "are you reviewing or drawing?"

"Yes, we have both."

"What exactly are you taking the exam for?"

"Photographic aesthetics and photojournalism."

Are you nervous?

"I'm not nervous. The exam content largely overlaps with what I usually film."

"...Why is it that someone like you isn't nervous?"

Chen Mo didn't answer, continuing to draw his storyboard, then suddenly said, "Don't talk while you're reviewing."

"Aren't you nervous either?"

"I'm not nervous, but your talking is affecting my painting."

"..."

Two weeks later. The last exam was over.

Zhou Zixuan rushed out of the performance department exam room and grabbed Lin Yuan's arm.

"Brother Yuan! In my impromptu skit, I played a middle-aged man who got fired from his job and then his wife left him. I cried for two minutes on stage, and the tears were real!"

"Where did you get your 'real experience' from?"

"Last weekend, when Qian Zhuangzhuang was watching an anime, the female lead got killed, and he cried all night in his dorm—I remember all that despair of having your beloved taken away by fate."

"So you played a character whose wife ran away after being fired from her job, and the inspiration came from Qian Zhuangzhuang being stabbed by a paper doll."

"Yes. Art imitates life."

"That's not art inspired by life, that's art inspired by Qian Zhuangzhuang."

At the other end of the corridor, Qian Zhuangzhuang walked out carrying a drawing board, his lips still covered in pencil dust.

"It's over." He looked utterly dejected. "The last big question on the color exam was a still life drawing in warm colors, and halfway through, I suddenly felt like I was drawing a hot pot."

"Hot pot isn't off-topic," Chen Mo said, walking past without turning around, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. "Warm colors, right? Hot pot is the warmest."

"Brother Mo, are you comforting me or mocking me?"

"State the facts."

Qian Zhuangzhuang looked down at his drawing board, then looked up at Chen Mo's back: "What he said doesn't seem to be wrong."

So, does it actually resemble hot pot?

"It does. It especially tastes like the kind with chili added."

"..."

The corridor was quiet for a second.

"That's a good thing," Lin Yuan said. "It means your paintings can solve practical problems."

"What's the problem?"

"The teacher's lunch problem."

"...I'm not painting food! I'm painting still life!"

"You drew a hot pot, which is food."

Qian Zhuangzhuang lowered his head and thought about his painting. He opened his mouth to refute it, but then closed it again.

"So, would you consider this going off-topic?"

"See if the teacher is hungry," Chen Mo said.

The four of them walked out of the teaching building. The winter sun was thin, but it felt warm on their skin.

The festive atmosphere of the New Year is already strong.

Red lanterns were hung on campus, Spring Festival couplets were pasted at the entrance of the cafeteria, and the dormitory supervisor placed a potted kumquat tree in the lobby.

When Lin Yuan returned home, Lin Liguo and Jiang Wanqing had already prepared all the New Year's goods.

The coffee table in the living room was piled with nuts, candies, and fruits, two strings of red lanterns hung on the balcony, and an upside-down "福" (good fortune) character was pasted on the window.

"You've lost weight." That was Jiang Wanqing's first sentence.

"Mom, every time you see me you say I've lost weight."

"Because you always lose weight." Lin Liguo, reading the newspaper on the sofa, didn't even look up. "When have you ever been fat?"

I was fat before. When I was a child.

"That was called baby fat when I was little, it doesn't count."

"..."

The second day of the new year.

Lin Yuan was woken up just as dawn was breaking.

"Come on, let's go pay our New Year's respects to your second uncle." Lin Liguo stood at the door with a scarf tied around his neck.

"So early?"

"Good morning? People in the countryside get up at six to cook. Your second uncle called last night to ask what time we'd arrive. If we leave now, we'll get there just in time for breakfast."

The car drove for nearly two hours, from the city all the way to the country roads.

On both sides of the road were fields of winter wheat, their leaves a pale yellowish-green hue. In the distance, rows of low-lying houses stood, their chimneys belching white smoke. The gates of every household were wide open, and brand-new Spring Festival couplets, red paper with gold lettering, were pasted on the doorframes, the paste still wet.

Occasionally, a neighbor would peek out and call out to Lin Liguo, "You're back for the New Year!" Lin Liguo would roll down his car window and reply, "Yes, I'm back! Happy New Year!"

Lin Yuan sat in the back seat, watching the rural scenery flash by outside the window.

It's a completely different world from the capital.

There are no skyscrapers, no subways, no shopping malls. Only fields, bungalows, cooking smoke, and elderly people basking in the sun by the walls.