At the beginning of July, temperatures began to rise, and the meteorological bureau issued a red alert.

  For a week, the scorching 35-degree heat wave had persisted. After repeated calcutions and verifications, Shao Wenbai’s experiment had finally made progress.

  Taking advantage of a rare break, he dragged his exhausted body up to the seventh floor, ready to catch up on some much-needed sleep. Just as he reached his door, a sudden noise came from the apartment across the hall.

  His hand paused on the doorknob. Turning around, he gnced at the tightly shut door and knocked.

  "Su Yumian, are you home?"

  No response. He knocked again.

  Still, silence.

  He hesitated for two seconds, debating whether to call the police, when suddenly—click—the door opened.

  Su Yumian peeked out from behind it, leaving only a small gap. "What's up?"

  Her expression was calm, and her tone was just as usual—steady, unaffected. It was as if she had only opened the door because of his sudden knocking, nothing more.

  Yet, inexplicably, Shao Wenbai had a gut feeling—her mood wasn’t good. Like a rose deprived of water, on the verge of wilting. He stood there in silence for a moment.

  Su Yumian tilted her head, puzzled.

  Then, unexpectedly, he spoke. "You mentioned before that you were writing a thesis? How’s that going?"

  Su Yumian replied, "I submitted it half a month ago. Now, I’m just waiting for the results while reviewing my materials."

  Shao Wenbai adjusted his gsses. "I have a half-finished paper. Want to take a look?"

  Su Yumian: "?"

  — Twenty minutes ter, inside Shao Wenbai’s apartment —

  Su Yumian sat on the couch, scanning the printed thesis in her hands, a glimmer of interest fshing in her eyes.

  The topic revolved around biological sequences and discussed initial biological mutation values.

  While the subject wasn’t groundbreaking, the approach was unique, and the validation methods were completely original—full of new conclusions and techniques.

  But innovation required solid, extensive data to back it up.

  "This is yours?" she asked.

  Shao Wenbai nodded. "I started it back in my sophomore year."

  Su Yumian felt conflicted. No wonder, even after so many years, the professors at the Bioinformatics Institute still mented that Shao Wenbai had abandoned biology for physics.

  It was as if fate had id a feast before him, and he had chosen to walk away.

  "Why didn’t you submit it?"

  "I thought it could be better," he admitted. "Look—these two sections ck complete experimental data to support the conclusions. After I switched majors, physics consumed all my time. I never got around to finishing it."

  Regret flickered in his eyes.

  After a brief pause, Su Yumian asked, "Then why show it to me now?"

  "A while ago, Professor Ouyang sent me one of your undergraduate papers, asking if I could suggest a new research topic for you."

  "Then I realized—you've worked on something simir before." He gestured toward the paper in her hands.

  "So, my question is: are you still interested?"

  A dormant part of her stirred. She hadn’t stepped into a b since graduation. "Can I?" she asked, hesitantly.

  The procedures were still fresh in her mind, but she wasn’t sure if she could still keep up with the rhythm of b work.

  "As long as you want to, there’s no problem," Shao Wenbai reassured her. "Next October, the Chinese Academy of Sciences will be forming a research team. Graduate students can apply, and the topic happens to involve gene sequences. If you pass this year’s entrance exam, you’ll have the chance to join the team next year."

  This team, led by several top academicians in the field of biological sciences, had already been approved the previous year. Though the news hadn’t reached the public, it was well-known within B University.

  It was a rare opportunity for Su Yumian.

  "If you're interested, take this and look through it carefully." He pced a USB drive in front of her. "It contains all the experimental data."

  Su Yumian’s clear eyes wavered with emotion. "Thank you. I’ll think about it."

  At ten o’clock, it was time for Su Yumian to head home.

  Shao Wenbai walked her to the door.

  "You don’t have to walk me. I live right across from you," she chuckled.

  But his eyes caught the bandage on her finger, and he casually reminded her, "Don’t leave the band-aid on too long. Disinfect it with iodine and let it breathe."

  Su Yumian instinctively curled her finger inward. "Thanks. Got it."

  Shao Wenbai didn’t say much more. Instead, he handed her a small pot with a pink succulent pnt.

  She blinked in surprise at the tiny, plump pnt. Its leaves transitioned from green to pink—adorably aesthetic. "It’s so cute. Are you really giving it to me?"

  "Yeah. I passed by a flower shop the other day, and this was the st one left. Thought I’d get it—consider it a thank you for treating me to hotpot st time."

  Su Yumian smiled. "I’ll accept it, then. But friends don’t need to be so formal about meals. No need for a gift next time."

  Her eyes sparkled, clear and bright, like stars twinkling in the night sky.

  "Alright," Shao Wenbai replied, feeling as though a feather had brushed against his heart.

  —

  Early in the morning, Gu Yizhou and Cheng Zhou dropped by the hospital to visit their friend.

  Gu Yizhou even brought a thermos. "Huai-zi, don’t say I never take care of you. Guess what I brought? Millet porridge! Heh!"

  "Your stomach’s weak, so you can’t eat anything too heavy. Had my chef cook this up just for you. Don't underestimate it—it’s packed with nutrients. One bowl, and you'll be up and running!"

  Cheng Zhou stared at the steaming golden porridge, then at Gu Yizhou’s smug face. His mouth twitched.

  Anyone else might think this was a caring gesture.

  But they knew Jiang Yihuai all too well—he hated porridge. Except for the stomach-soothing one made by Su Yumian, he couldn’t even stand the sight of it.

  Sure enough, Jiang Yihuai took one sip, grimaced, and tossed the spoon aside. "I’m not eating this. It tastes weird."

  Gu Yizhou raised an eyebrow. "Tsk, you’re so picky. I think it’s fine."

  Jiang Yihuai remained expressionless. "Then you eat it."

  Gu Yizhou scoffed. "I see the problem. It’s not the porridge—it’s the cook. My chef’s just some old dude, huh? Can’t compete with a certain someone’s delicate, loving touch. Oh wait—ex-girlfriend, my bad…"

  "Cough cough cough!" Cheng Zhou frantically coughed, trying to stop him.

  Too te.

  Jiang Yihuai’s face darkened. "Get lost!"

  Gu Yizhou grabbed the thermos and bolted. "Fine! No need to yell! No wonder Su Yumian doesn’t wanna come back. If I were her, I wouldn’t either!"

  With that, he ran out the door.

  Cheng Zhou chased after him. "You knew he was in a bad mood, and you still had to poke at his sore spot? Unbelievable!"

  Gu Yizhou smirked. "Even you know Su Yumian is his weakness. Yet he still won’t admit it. If he wants her to visit, he should just say it instead of acting all tough."

  Cheng Zhou: "…"

  "Hey, Zhou, wanna help him out a little?"