Chapter 31: Forgot to Weight It

“God of the Journey, please do your magic and shut Crystal up—I’m literally about to snap.”

Before takeoff, Crystal sent a微信: “Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

Imagine the look on Yu Tu’s face when he saw her latest addition—a massive, thick pink “Zheng” drawn right next to his carefully painted blue one.

Miss Qiao grinned triumphantly, fist-pumped the air, then powered off her phone.

Thank goodness it was first class—she could lie down. Crystal drifted off almost instantly, barely stirring for dinner.

Maybe it was lack of sleep, or maybe just the weight of endless days and nights, but Yu Tu felt unusually slow today.

In the afternoon, when the professor came to review the problem breakdown, two questions landed with awkward silence.

Usually, Yu Tu would jump in—quick thinking, broad technical grasp, and most importantly, he knew the academician’s mind like the back of his hand.

But today? Something was off. Was it because I’ve been pushing him too hard lately? Is he hitting a plateau?

Hu Suo rubbed his hands together, deep in thought.

Yu Tu noticed too. He grabbed the water bottle on the desk and drained half of it in one go. The fog in his brain lifted slightly.

The rest of the discussion flowed smoothly. At the end, the professor summarized the key challenges ahead—specifically, engine specific impulse, and materials science.

“Spaceflight is a super-comprehensive discipline,” he said. “At the end of the day, it’s a battle of national strength.”

“And each of you—you must be like a pushpin. Drive maximum pressure into your niche, and create a strong, connected surface across related fields so you can really push forward.”

As the professor delivered this familiar metaphor, Yu Tu felt it more deeply than anyone else. He understood better than anyone what the old academician truly expected—and with that understanding came clarity, purpose, and a mountain of things still to do.

That evening, the professor stayed behind to eat with them in the canteen.

Yu Tu poured him a bowl of soup: “Professor, isn’t Madame Teacher at home tonight?”

“She’s in Beijing for a conference. She’s even got another appearance on CCTV tomorrow—on a panel about college students’ mental health.”

“What about Xiao Qiao? Still filming?”

“Yeah. She came back for two days, then left again.”

“Oh—has Guan Zai returned yet?”

“The data there isn’t good. He’ll probably stay another month or two.”

Hu Suo chimed in: “I’ve already ordered him to come back before Spring Festival. If he doesn’t, someone else will take over.”

“He’s been away five or six years now—every time something comes up, he misses home. He’s a son too, you know.”

Crystal’s production base was in the outskirts of Yulin—basic conditions, to say the least, but still rough around the edges.

The production manager felt terrible. Repeatedly apologized: “It’s tough here, Miss Qiao. We’re sorry you’re suffering. Whatever you need, we’ll make it happen.”

He promised to consolidate all call sheets as much as possible, to minimize your time on set.

Lingjie, who’d arrived earlier, spoke up cheerfully: “When she took the role, Crystal already knew the conditions. We’ve worked well together so far—just keep going, and she’ll be fine.”

Still, the truth was, they couldn’t be too polite. Crystal needed extra humidifiers—she was a southern girl, and the dry, dusty wind of Northwest China wasn’t doing her skin or throat any favors.

She’d been to the Northwest before—but never in deep winter, never amid the shifting desert and wasteland.

The wind bit through bone-deep cold; sand flew in swirling clouds. Just hearing the howl outside her window, Crystal gave up immediately. She didn’t step out once that night.

Inside, though, it was warm—so warm the heat nearly made her sweat. Humidifiers puffed steam from every corner, keeping her skin from cracking and her throat from drying out.

Yu Tu had replied to her arrival photo with “Good. Drink lots. Rest well.” Then nothing. Probably back to working through the night.

Morning came. Yu Tu woke up on time. But his arm was empty—no familiar strands of hair, no soft scent. A tiny pang of unease.

They hadn’t spent much time together, really.

Crystal used to tease him: “Your logic’s off. You call ten days routine, fifty days ‘not normal.’”

He’d run his fingers through her long hair, pulled her closer. “Crystal… you forgot the weighting factor.”

On the bedside table, the calendar sat half-laid flat, fluorescent pen tossed aside—just as she’d left it.

Yu Tu picked it up. Again, he rubbed his temples. When would this debt ever be paid off?

“Crystal, I saw the weather forecast for Yulin—huge temperature swings, fierce winds. Please dress warmly if you go out.”

“Northern indoor-outdoor differences are extreme. Have Xiao Zhu sew graphene into your down jacket. Listen to me.”

“Oh—Crystal, if you have time today, ask Madame Teacher if she needs help. She’s recording that education forum on CCTV tomorrow.”

“No rush if not. She probably has everything ready.”

“And one more thing—Miss Qiao, I saw you scribbling numbers again. Five entries? Come on. Even artists shouldn’t exaggerate like that!”

At lunch, Yu Tu checked his messages. Her replies were shorter than ever:

“Mm-hmm. I’ll try.”

“Will ask when I get a chance.”

“Dr. Yu, you seem to have forgotten the weighting factor.”

Madame Teacher was genuinely thrilled by Crystal’s initiative: “Crystal, I’d be so grateful. With your help, I don’t have a single worry.”

“My thoughts?”

“No, no—whatever you think is best.”

Far away, out of reach—Chen Xue’s crew was in Beijing. Crystal urgently reached out to borrow her senior assistant, Yuan.

To her surprise, Chen Xue wasn’t busy at all. Instead, she showed up—disguised, accompanied by Yuan—slipping into the expert building at Shida University.

Madame Teacher smiled warmly, pouring water for the two young women helping Crystal with her image. Then she took off her mask—and froze.

“You—you’re… Xiao Mo Sheng?”

“Oh wow! I didn’t expect a professor like you watches my show! So honored!”

“Can I call you that?”

“I’m Chen Xue. Crystal’s far away, so I came in her place.”

Four girls—two bustling in person, two gesturing animatedly on screen.

For most of the afternoon, Madame Teacher went from head to toe, finally meeting the standard set by the two superstars: “More elegant than Fu Ying.”

She stared at herself in the mirror. Couldn’t believe it—her peak beauty at over sixty.

“Truly dignified, graceful, and effortlessly charming!”

Chen Xue clutched her chest. “I feel so proud.”

Crystal didn’t stick around to see the final result. She had to shoot several scenes inside carriages—each take spinning her head until black spots danced before her eyes.

Chen Xue directed Yuan to snap dozens of photos of Madame Teacher, arranged delivery plans for the next morning, then bolted without eating.

Later, the professor kept telling the teacher: “Crystal’s such a good girl. And her friends? Even better.”

On air, Professor Wang dazzled—poised, brilliant, radiant. The production team was already high-fiving themselves.

Then came the two A-listers. Their presence turned an educational program into a nationwide sensation.