Chapter 46: The Academic Genius (New Book Seeking Monthly Votes)

The end of June.

Lu Province Academy of Arts had begun to bustle with activity.

In the past, finding a seat in the library was a matter of luck—if fortune smiled, you’d snatch one. But now, even queuing up didn’t guarantee a spot.

Because it was revision week.

Next week would bring the final exams.

For university students, this was akin to a condensed version of the legendary journey to the West, fraught with eighty-one tribulations.

Back in middle and high school, although weekends overflowed with assignments and heavy coursework, and quizzes and exams came every few days, the consequences of failing were limited: a scolding at home, perhaps a reduction in pocket money, but nothing truly dire. If you failed once, you’d likely fail again next time.

But university was different. You could skip lectures, date openly, and exams only occurred twice a year.

Freedom and indulgence, however, were predicated on passing the exams.

If you failed, nightmares would ensue.

Determined to avoid such nightmares, students across Lu Province Academy of Arts grew restless.

Even those who normally stayed up until the moon slept and wouldn’t rise until the sun was well in the sky awoke early, skipping breakfast just to claim a seat in the library.

Li He was woken early by the racket of his three dorm mates, rubbing sleep from his eyes and sitting up reluctantly.

In his hazy state, he noticed the dorm’s only academic prodigy—one who practically collected scholarships for fun—was also gathering study materials, clearly heading for the library.

Li He was puzzled. Wasn’t revision week supposed to be the scholar’s time to relax?

He asked, “Xu and the others are cramming last minute; Zhou, why are you joining them? Shouldn’t a scholar have the composure of a scholar?”

Not a hint of self-awareness.

Old Zhou scratched his head, embarrassed. “I’m going to help Xiaoxiao revise.”

Xiaoxiao was Zhou’s first love, carried over from high school.

The clown, it turned out, was himself… Struck by this realization, Li He lay back down, ready to resume his interrupted dream.

Xu Teng, backpack slung over his shoulder, asked, “Li, why are you still sleeping? Not worried about the exams?”

Li He rolled over, mumbling, “A scholar should have the composure of a scholar. I won’t compete with you common folk for seats.”

Damn!

Xu Teng protested, “Li, how much did you drink last night? Still not sober? You know your own abilities, right?”

Scholar indeed.

In this dormitory, only Zhou could peacefully accompany his girlfriend, untroubled by revision.

The remaining three—none could claim to be certain of passing.

Want to pass without revising? Nonsense.

Li He waved dismissively, eyes still closed. “A life with cheats needs no explanation.”

Xu Teng fell silent.

You can never wake someone who’s pretending to sleep.

As Zhou left, he called out again, “Li, you’re really not going to revise?”

Li He responded with a confident wave.

He understood his friends’ concern; everyone knew his academic standing. Yet, he couldn’t offer an explanation.

Should he say that he had a cheat?

Ridiculous.

Winning a prize through luck—how could that be called cheating?

He recalled his ten consecutive draws two days ago, opening a bronze treasure chest and receiving a thirty-day trial of the “Super Memory Capsule.” Li He felt it really wasn’t his intention.

He wanted to study, to improve, to rise early and claim a library seat.

But…

With his temporary super memory, Li He had already engraved every key point within the exam’s scope in his mind.

He slept in until he woke naturally, sought out his shameless friend for breakfast, only to find him too busy in the library to check his phone.

Left with no choice, Li He ate alone in the cafeteria. The morning of a scholar was plain, unadorned, and dull.

Upon arriving at the cafeteria, Li He ran into He Xi’er.

She wore a uniform reminiscent of Japanese high school attire, her hair in a bun, giving her a playful and charming look from afar.

Why was he running into her again… Li He considered finding another spot, but He Xi’er was already rising.

“Li He, you’re here for breakfast too,” He Xi’er said, her eyes squinting with a smile as warm as ten miles of spring breeze.

He wondered whether the teacher Jia Bei had finished writing “Bridge of Fate.” He was eager to ask.

Restless inside, but outwardly smiling like spring, creating a sense of ease.

Spotted, Li He naturally carried his tray over and sat opposite He Xi’er.

“Don't you need to revise?” Li He glanced at his phone—it was eight in the morning.

At this hour, diligent students would already be immersed in revision, though his “scholar status” was a special case.

He Xi’er’s pride flared momentarily, but upon remembering she was facing teacher Jia Bei, she quickly subdued it.

She smiled, “My grades are fairly decent.”

So, like him, she was also a scholar… Li He shamelessly placed himself in the scholar category.

Those who talked about revising before the exam and lamented their performance afterward were usually scholars.

Those who felt confident after the exam were generally doomed.

Li He sipped his soy milk and praised, “You look lovely today.”

Uniforms rarely look good on just anyone, and Japanese uniforms are no exception.

He Xi’er, delighted, replied, “Sister Jiang Qi is coming to Spring City today. I have to dress up to meet a celebrity.”

This was a battle between sycophants.

He Xi’er emphasized the words “celebrity,” hinting that Jiang Qi’s “Foam” was about to drop off the charts, giving “Bridge of Fate” a chance to compete.

Jiang Qi’s visit to Spring City probably meant she had some engagements… Li He paid little mind.

Celebrities flew all over the country; it was nothing unusual.

Breakfast finished, the two parted ways.

Li He returned to his dormitory to continue editing the subsequent plot of “Martial Movement.”

In truth, revising the later story was simple—just follow the modified version of “Battle Through the Heavens,” with few significant changes.

He Xi’er never did ask whether “Bridge of Fate” was finished; asking repeatedly would make her seem overly eager, risking Jia Bei’s displeasure.

She felt a bit desolate, uncertain how she’d handle seeing Sister Jiang Qi soon.

Ever since Jiang Qi released the truncated version of “Foam,” she’d strutted around social media for quite some time.

Posting on her feed was one thing, but she even sent it privately to close friends.

Who could stand such relentless bragging?

Chen Xueling and He Xi’er both wished they could lock Jiang Qi in a room and only let her out once the hype around “Foam” had faded.

Just then.

He Xi’er’s phone vibrated. She glanced at the caller ID—it was Jiang Qi.

She was back in Spring City.