Qingchuan was truly a beautiful city—but just a little too far from home. Staying here alone made her feel utterly lonely.

An Zhi felt both lucky and unlucky to attend Qingchuan University. Lucky because she’d somehow pulled off a near-perfect score on the college entrance exam. Her grades had barely scraped by for Qingchuan admission, and even then, she wouldn’t have landed a decent major.

She knew she wasn’t sharp. No matter how hard she studied, she never cracked the class top ten. But Mom was right—sometimes fools get lucky. Maybe the heavens took pity on her dullness and let her ace the exam, ranking first in class. Filling out her applications, she grinned until her cheeks ached. Finally, a stroke of luck! Almost worth all those years of being the "silly" one.

Unlucky? She partied too hard that summer—maybe ate too much junk—and got appendicitis days before departure. On the operating table, terror gripped her: *I can’t die yet. My acceptance letter isn’t even warm.*

Wheeled out of surgery still sniffling (from fear? grief for her appendix?), she missed orientation after recovery. She skipped most military training—but got stuck in a dorm with students from other majors.

Her roommates were kind, but without a shared major, An Zhi struggled to fit in. All three were dance majors: long legs, graceful arms. And her? Standing beside them felt like being a pitiful ugly duckling.

Slow-witted… and timid. Too shy to reach out, she skipped today’s haunted house trip. So here she sat—alone in the dorm on a weekend, staring blankly into space.

This wasn’t the vibrant college life she’d imagined. No TV-drama campus meet-cutes, no lively clubs, none of those thrilling firsts… Nothing. Utter solitude was her reality now.

*Be strong,* she told herself. *You’re a grown, independent woman.* But alone in the dark dorm, sadness washed over her. Her stomach gurgled loudly—a signal. Tears welled; her eyes turned red-rimmed.

She missed home: her bed, Mom’s braised pork, her cat Dian Dian—a sweet blue British Shorthair.

*An Zhi, An Zhi… so useless. Crying again?*

Pouting with wounded eyes, she scolded her weakness—then snatched her keys and dashed out.

*Feed myself first. All that crying… made me hungrier.*

*An Zhi, believe in yourself. You can have a fulfilling weekend alone.*

She slammed the dorm door, slung her favorite cat-head bag over her shoulder, wiped her tears, and stepped out with fresh resolve. She’d turn tearful shame into fuel. And so—after long contemplation—she made her decision.

*An Zhi… today, you’re shopping alone!*

…

Weeks since enrollment. Campus excitement had faded. Early nights, late mornings—the new normal. On paths to 8 a.m. classes, students rushed against the clock, air thick with breakfast scents, faces etched with sleepy sluggishness.

Late autumn shortened the days. New curtains blocked balcony light, plunging the dorm into darkness. Faint breathing rose and fell. College weekends had no mornings—only waking to noon sun.

Su Yu had woken early. Since reincarnation, his sleep stayed light; unless he stayed up late, he rose punctually. Still, noon drowsiness lingered—his energy no longer what it was.

Awake but unmoving. His clearing mind warred fiercely with his lazy body. Sadly… his willpower was too weak against inertia.

Chu Feng always rose first. No-class mornings meant track runs; weekends, off-campus part-time work. In today’s restless rhythm, his steadfast early-to-bed, early-to-rise habit earned quiet respect.

A chill brushed Su Yu. He instinctively tugged the blanket tighter. Not knowing the draft’s source, he burrowed fully under the covers, sealing every gap.

Qingchuan truly had four distinct seasons. After the "autumn tiger" heat passed, temperatures dropped daily. No one wore summer tees anymore—jackets were mandatory. Colder days were coming.

He freed one hand to power on his pillow-side phone. He knew sleeping near it was unwise (radiation rumors), but waking without it felt like losing touch with the world… Unlike before, when he’d first gaze at the girl’s sleeping face.

The screen’s faint glow lit his slightly pale cheeks. Morning condensation blurred the display into a hazy rainbow.

He frowned, wiped the moisture with a dry sheet corner, fingerprint-unlocked—and found the inbox empty.

Semester-long, few new friends. Occasionally dragged to bars by Gu Chuan, perfume-and-alcohol-scented girls asked for his number. He’d politely agree, exchange a few words, then fade away. He lacked interest in them—and couldn’t charm like Gu Chuan. His social circle tightened, then locked shut.

Gu Chuan called him a weirdo: skilled at games but never played, decent-looking but style-clueless, stiffly proper like a man decades older. Su Yu just grinned wryly. Gu Chuan had accidentally guessed right. Counting his past life… he *was* nearly middle-aged.

Honestly? He preferred this. Workplace loneliness would be a hundred times sharper—just shuttling between office and home. Before, he had a goal. Now? Hard to muster drive.

He gave his current self a passing grade: not reckless like Gu Chuan, not rigid like Chu Feng. Why zero luck with girls since university? He had no idea.

Maybe if he rose earlier on no-8 a.m. days, spruced up, strolled campus like Chu Feng… these idle thoughts wouldn’t haunt him.

Scrolling mindlessly, a message popped up. Profile pic: a cute cat face—An Zhi’s avatar. She hadn’t messaged in ages; only brief classroom greetings lately.

"Su Yu!!! Are you free right now?" Multiple exclamation marks screamed urgency. He could almost see her baby-faced worry, tiny brows furrowed.

"Hmm, what’s up?"

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Su Yu, be my boyfriend."

"???"