Chapter 21: Trending Now

The three people at the table nodded in unison. *Hmm, got it...*

By the end of the meal, the usual distance between tech nerds and a big celebrity had completely dissolved—normalized, even.

It wasn’t because of Yu Tu, though the guy had been wearing his signature ice-cube expression for years. Tonight, he’d laughed more than he had in the past two months combined.

No—it was all about Qiao Jingjing. The superstar? Friendly. Lively. Sweet. Adorably cute. And sometimes, just a little dazed—so endearing it was almost criminal.

What?

Pretty?

Well, that’s just the system default, obviously.

Jingjing hadn’t finished her homework yet. Mid-dinner, she leaned over to Yu Tu, muttering: “Two essays—one big, one small…”

Yu Tu immediately slapped his hand on Guan Zai’s arm. “Hey, help me out here.”

So while the other three chatted and ate, the two poor souls were shunted off to the corner sofa to write. Guan Zai, Princeton-educated and blessed with unmatched skill, was honored to take on the task of crafting...

Qiao Jingjing’s big essay.

After dinner, everyone said their goodbyes. Chen Wei headed back to his dorm. Yu Tu gave Jingjing a quick hug—goodnight. Then he caught up with Guan Zai to head back to the guesthouse. Zhai Liang hesitated, then waved shyly at Jingjing before following.

The path toward Ximen still looked just like it had when they were students. Spring night air hung soft and warm, and across the river, lights glowed from the residential buildings on the south bank.

Zhai Liang opened his mouth, then closed it again. He walked in silence. But Guan Zai, curious as ever, kept asking about the names and stories behind each landmark. Yu Tu’s low voice drifted through the air, barely audible.

Zhai Liang realized something strange about his oldest friend—something new. Not just confidence or success. It was *warmth*. A kind of everyday life glow he’d never seen before.

Qiao Jingjing was unanimously chosen by teachers and classmates alike to deliver the closing speech at graduation. She was swamped.

She had to draft her speech, coordinate with Xiao Zhu to have clothes and accessories shipped in via human courier, and politely reject her parents’ offer to come—though she’d originally suggested it herself. “Nah, don’t come,” she said, pouting. “I’ll look like a kid who needs praise after getting a decent grade.”

Parental approval? Fine. But her boyfriend? Absolutely not.

Photos. Chats. Laughter. Until late into the night, the graduate class gathered at He Garden for a lively dinner.

People kept coming up to Jingjing for selfies and autographs—mostly students. Why did this disrupt evening study hall? Probably because… well, they might never see her again. In Tsinghua’s endless cycle of legends, “Wo Jing” would become myth.

“Qiao Jingjing delivers keynote speech” stayed near the top of the trending list for nearly ten hours. Videos. Photos. Praise from fans and strangers alike. Even the haters could only manage one jab: “Someone wrote her lines. She’s just reading.”

Lingjie, back in Jingjing’s room, was grinning ear to ear calculating how much PR budget they’d saved. Then she glanced around, puzzled. “Where’s Professor Yu?”

Before she even finished speaking, Yu Tu burst through the door, dusty and wind-blown. One arm smoothly deflected the girl lunging at him. “Jingjing, stop it—you’re gonna ruin my shirt. I’m filthy.”

“Where’ve you been?”

“Out.”

Jingjing stuck out her tongue, sheepish. Forgot not to ask.

“Professor Yu, you didn’t see how amazing Jingjing was tonight—how radiant, how brilliant…”

Xiao Zhu couldn’t hold back. “Boss, you *have* to say ‘Wan sui!’”

“I saw it,” Yu Tu said quietly.

His eyes met Jingjing’s.

Yes—he’d seen it. His girl had made her dream real.

And he was proud beyond words.

Five days later, Jingjing stayed in the suburbs at Ke Academy, working closely with Professor Yang.

She watched her rise at dawn. Watched her prepare lectures. Watched her write perfect, orderly notes on the blackboard. Watched her sit quietly, listening—serene, focused.

Jingjing suddenly realized she’d always called Professor Yang “beautiful” too simply. Now she felt something deeper—like she’d touched life itself.

When Yu Tu returned to Shanghai after his Beijing trip, Jingjing was already filming in a small Central Plain city—the hometown of Professor Yang.

The first shot: Yang Tongtong at 15—backpack slung over her shoulder, stepping away from home to college, young, proud, brilliant.

At 22: a shy, hopeful bride.

At 24: a vibrant university professor.

At 25: a woman shattered by the world, blind.

At 27: abandoned by love.

Meanwhile, Yu Tu defended his thesis—while Jingjing filmed scenes across the ocean.

On screen, she wandered streets with hands outstretched, listened desperately through long nights, her thick braille books worn smooth, fingers calloused, handwriting crooked, breakfasts burned.

At 35: she became Harvard’s first blind doctorate.

When Yu Tu graduated, Jingjing was in Beijing.

The campus by Yanshi Lake was modest—no roaring energy like Tsinghua. But precisely because of its quiet, it was where Yang Tongtong could finally return to peace.

Her classes were full of fire. After class, she could walk home safely, undisturbed.

After wrapping *Black Eyes*, Jingjing felt like she’d lived an entire lifetime. Heavy. Exhausted.

Finally, Lingjie relented under relentless begging—gave her a full break. In Crystal Buns’ lingo: *shen yin*—a spiritual retreat.

Even if she couldn’t go shopping or travel like ordinary girls, when Yu Tu wasn’t around, Jingjing poured every ounce of passion into…

Aimee.

When Aimee arrived with bags piled high, she was utterly drained. “Ma’am, I can’t tell the difference between these two shades…”

“You call yourself a rising designer? This one’s deeper—perfect with the starlight lamp!”

“And besides, it’s from the brand I’m代言—don’t you remember?”

Aimee swore she’d never decorate another house for Jingjing again. They’d said “simple, elegant, eco-friendly.” But why were there eight ways to be simple? Eighteen types of eco-materials?

The additions weren’t many—but slowly, the little apartment began to feel like *her*.

The sunniest spot in the living room? A U-shaped desk. At night, it became the place with the most stars.

The big sofa was the original one—just repositioned.

In the corner between the entry cabinet and bookshelf: a tiny sofa and footstool. A standard floor lamp—perfect for studying scripts with academic seriousness.

Kitchen got a fridge.

Balcony added a washing machine.

Master bathroom got a new showerhead.

As for bedding? Already a two-year endorsement deal with China’s top-tier brand.

Too bad no one asked her about the mattress…