The most grueling chapter of high school ended with the final bell.

Leng Shuang stood in the hallway, watching the surging crowd outside while quietly replaying his performance over the past three days.

“Maybe… there’s a chance?”

He felt hopeful. The Gaokao questions hadn’t been too hard—actually, noticeably easier than regular final exams. Several problems were ones he felt confident about. He’d never been this certain of his answers before. Of course, some remained ambiguous, but overall? Definitely better than usual. Maybe even a slight overperformance.

Reassured, Leng Shuang joined the flow of students heading back to the dorm.

That evening, long-suppressed emotions erupted. Leng Shuang saw classmates hurling textbooks out classroom windows. The school, clearly expecting this, had cordoned off the area below the teaching buildings after every Gaokao—letting students vent.

He didn’t return to join the chaos. Post-exam, his heart felt light, as if an immense weight had finally lifted. No turmoil. Just calm.

The homeroom teacher had planned a class reunion, but some girls—antisocial or glued to their screens—bolted straight for the gate the moment exams ended. Tracking them down? Nearly impossible. No wonder graduation photos weren’t taken right after exams.

“Hey hey, Leng Shuang!” Yu Mo doubled over laughing in the dorm hallway. “Those girls from next class cried nonstop after exams! Pfft—I thought only guys cried! Hilarious!”

“Probably compared answers,” Leng Shuang murmured, grabbing his small suitcase.

He’d seen it before: students crumbling after comparing scores, especially post-math.

“Wanna compare answers?” Yu Mo grinned, suitcase in tow, tiny canines flashing mischievously.

“With *you*? Nah.” Leng Shuang shook his head and walked ahead.

“Hey! You’re totally looking down on me!” Yu Mo huffed, trailing behind with a pout.

“Let’s just go home. In a month, diplomas in hand—we fend for ourselves.”

Yu Mo quieted.

After graduation, their mothers’ duty ended. As young men, they’d be thrust into society—mercilessly. Lenient moms might keep supporting them; strict ones? Straight to the matchmaking agency. “Sell the son,” pocket the fee.

Leng Shuang wouldn’t gamble on his club-hopping, chain-smoking mom’s goodwill. Better to leave first—keep things civil.

Yu Mo? Heh. With his dramatic tantrums—crying, screaming, threatening to vanish—his mom had probably been *eager* to dump him at the agency for years.

“Ahem… Leng Shuang,” Yu Mo’s voice dropped, cheeks flushing uncharacteristically. “If… y’know… no girlfriend’s with you later… go together? Don’t sneak off alone.”

“What?”

“The… mandatory subsidy! When we turn eighteen!”

*Mandatory subsidy…*

Leng Shuang froze—then blushed crimson. “Y-you! Why bring *that* up now?! We just finished exams! Can’t we relax first?!” He stammered, flustered.

Nearby guys noticed their flushed faces, caught the implication, and turned red too.

In this world, men were scarce. Male standards for partners ran high—especially city-bred guys who’d seen metropolitan glamour. Many women remained unmarried by choice. To stabilize birth rates, the Jingku emerged: a facility where men donated to assist conception. Biological research confirmed peak “seed” quality at eighteen. Hence, the mandatory subsidy.

At eighteen, males *had* to visit the Jingku. In return: cash. Usually 10,000 yuan—region-dependent.

Leng Shuang qualified for 30,000.

Top-tier. Rare as phoenix feathers and qilin horns. Requirements? Brutal. Certified looks *and* strict height minimum. Handsome guys often ran short; tall ones rarely turned heads. A flawless “seed”? One in ten thousand.

Silent and flushed, the two melted into the winding river of students flowing out of school.

“Leng Shuang!”

Lost in the roar of the crowd, he never heard the cherry-pink figure calling his name. By the time Hinokawa Yuriko rushed forward, love letter clutched tight, Leng Shuang had vanished like a wisp of smoke.

She’d waited early in the classroom, certain he’d return to toss books with everyone. The letter—painstakingly written over sleepless nights—now felt heavy against her chest.

She spotted him pulling his suitcase toward the gate. Reached out. Grasped only air.

*Thud!*

She stumbled, bumping someone. The letter fluttered down—then a passerby’s foot stamped it. A gust snatched the crumpled paper, carrying it far away.

Yuriko stood frozen, watching the words she’d rewritten and reread countless times disappear with the boy and his suitcase.

She remembered how Leng Shuang looked at Lin Mo—eyes holding a tenderness she recognized. *Her* tenderness. For him.

“…Was I just fooling myself all along?”

No proof. Yet the thought settled deep. Her fox-like eyes, once warm and bright, now dimmed with murky shadow.

She checked her phone.

Leng Shuang’s profile glowed: *Busy*.