“Excuse me, make way, make way!”
The mailroom was packed with Song Chan’s admirers, blocking the entrance. Li Mengjiao, petite and unable to squeeze through, had her voice drowned out by the crowd’s cheers.
Song Chan recognised her and hushed a few classmates, “It’s Junior Sister Li. Make way for her.”
At the provincial key school, some liked Li Mengjiao, others didn’t.
True academic stars were the most revered. Li Mengjiao, with average grades, owed her popularity to a talent show, which some students saw as frivolous. Those who admired Song Chan often looked down on Li Mengjiao.
Song Chan asked her classmates to clear a path, but several lingered reluctantly until she coughed, prompting them to shuffle aside grudgingly.
“Thanks, Senior Sister,” Li Mengjiao said.
She squeezed past Song Chan, stretching her neck at the mailroom window. The mailroom uncle chuckled, “Didn’t you pick up your letters this morning? Good timing—more came for you this afternoon!”
Someone snickered, muttering, “Is it that urgent?”
Daily fan letters and gifts were foreign to them, but they didn’t envy it—too shallow!
Li Mengjiao stuffed her fan mail into her bag, her head still at the window, “Not these. I’m looking for a registered letter from Shanghai, like Song Chan’s—New Concept Essay Contest final notification!”
Song Chan’s followers stirred.
Li Mengjiao entered the New Concept Essay Contest too?
Since when was the contest’s bar so low!
Song Chan’s brow twitched, “Junior Sister Li, you joined the contest?”
“Dream Jiao’s looking for my letter,” Wen Ying said, finally pushing forward.
Song Chan glanced at her, not recognising her until someone whispered a reminder. Song Chan then smiled at Wen Ying.
If Li Mengjiao’s popularity was seen as flashy and shallow, Wen Ying’s minor fame was entirely thanks to others.
Wen Ying didn’t even measure up to Li Mengjiao.
She wasn’t active in school events, her grades didn’t stand out among the academic elite, and she’d shown no remarkable talents.
Her round face was cute, sure, but cute girls were a dime a dozen at school—nothing special.
How such an ordinary girl infiltrated Li Mengjiao’s clique was baffling.
“Junior Sister, you entered the New Concept Essay Contest too? That’s great. I was worried about going to Shanghai for the finals alone. Let’s go together,” Song Chan said.
Her tone matched her vibe—soft, measured, bookish, with a convincing sincerity. Though she didn’t know Wen Ying before, people she extended kindness to usually became her friends quickly.
Wen Ying, focused on Li Mengjiao, had no time for Song Chan’s familiarity.
They’d never met, yet Song Chan publicly invited her to Shanghai… How awkward if Wen Ying didn’t make the finals.
Plus, Wen Ying had heard the crowd’s snickers.
These people weren’t kind to Li Mengjiao, looking down on her, thinking she wasn’t worthy of the contest?
No matter how refined or talented, Wen Ying wasn’t interested.
“No need, Senior Sister. I’m not sure I’ll make the finals,” Wen Ying declined.
Song Chan was stunned.
Her followers were equally incredulous.
Someone rejected Song Chan’s invitation?
Talk about overestimating herself!
“Song Chan, why’re you so nice? She’s not wrong—tens of thousands compete nationwide for just 200 final spots. Our school got you; how could it be her turn?”
“Yeah, I checked all the registered letters. Only one was a final notification—yours!”
Wen Ying ignored the petty girls, but Li Mengjiao was furious, snapping back, “Why can’t it be Wen Ying? Is Song Chan the only one who can write?”
Frustrated with the mailroom uncle’s slowness, Li Mengjiao squeezed into the mailroom to search herself.
“All today’s letters are here,” the uncle said, opening a drawer for her.
Li Mengjiao grabbed the letters, scanning names. The first pass showed no Wen Ying. Anxious, she checked again—still nothing!
—Did Wen Ying really not make the finals?
If Wen Ying’s writing was weak, why would a magazine editor commission her for a serialized novel?
Teacher Yuan also praised Wen Ying’s MV script.
Li Mengjiao never doubted Wen Ying’s ability; now she questioned the contest judges’ taste!
“Forget it, Dream Jiao,” Wen Ying said.
Seeing Li Mengjiao’s sweaty forehead, Wen Ying was touched but embarrassed.
Li Mengjiao cared less about her own talent show results than Wen Ying’s finals.
Wen Ying felt guilty—her own shortcomings had dragged Li Mengjiao into losing face before these students.
Song Chan, unbothered by Li Mengjiao’s temper or Wen Ying’s coldness, graciously comforted Wen Ying, “It’s fine. If you don’t make the finals this year, try again next year. Many submit multiple times before getting in. For better odds, you could send more entries.”
The New Concept Contest allowed multiple submissions per person, requiring extra entry forms—a magazine promotion tactic that also gave contestants more chances.
Few, like Wen Ying, submitted just one piece. More entries increased the odds of catching a judge’s eye!
Song Chan’s advice was sound, and Wen Ying couldn’t keep a cold face.
Song Chan’s classmate sneered, “Song Chan, don’t waste your kindness. She won’t appreciate it.”
Wen Ying glanced at the girl, making her uncomfortable.
“What’re you looking at? I’m just stating facts!”
Wen Ying turned to Song Chan, suggesting earnestly, “Senior Sister, you should screen your followers’ quality. Types like these really drag down your image and lower your overall class!”
“You’re talking nonsense—”
That mouth was too sharp.
Song Chan’s followers lunged forward, but she stopped them.
Song Chan’s expression stiffened.
Wen Ying’s words were harsh but held some truth.
Wen Ying squeezed next to Li Mengjiao, grabbing her hand, “Alright, I didn’t make the finals. Stop looking.”
Li Mengjiao’s hands were cold, her palms sweaty.
The mailroom uncle advised, “All the letters are here. Nothing today. Check again Monday?”
If it didn’t arrive today, the odds of it coming Monday were slim. Final notifications were mailed together; letters to the same destination wouldn’t arrive separately.
Since Song Chan got hers, Wen Ying likely didn’t make it.
Wen Ying was a bit disappointed but could accept it.
She wasn’t really sixteen—treating a contest loss as life-altering was silly. She’d try again next year.
Li Mengjiao’s face brimmed with grievance, “The judges have no taste!”
“You’re right, it’s their bad taste,” Wen Ying said, humouring her like a child.
Song Chan’s follower raised her voice, “What’s that supposed to mean? Not making the finals means the judges have bad taste? So Song Chan’s selection was a mistake? I think the judges have great taste—good writing gets in, that’s why Song Chan made it!”
If you didn’t make it, your writing’s bad—obvious, right?
“Keep looking,” came a male voice from beyond the crowd, cool and clear like water sliding over jade.
It was Xie Qian.
Li Mengjiao had invited Wen Ying for fried skewers, but Xie Qian refused, so the three didn’t leave school together.
He’d appeared at the school gate unnoticed, standing behind the crowd focused on Li Mengjiao’s letter search. His voice made the girls step back. The one who’d spoken wavered: was her tone too harsh?
It wasn’t that they all had a crush on Xie Qian, but at this age, girls cared about their image in front of a guy like him.
Everyone knew Xie Qian.
The provincial key school’s undisputed heartthrob, top of the first-year class, a perfect blend of looks and intellect.
Song Chan thought she wasn’t shallow, but as Xie Qian approached, passing her, she couldn’t help holding her breath.
Xie Qian ignored Song Chan’s group—they were invisible to him unless he knew them. Entering the mailroom, he saw Li Mengjiao’s red eyes.
Wen Ying showed no obvious distress.
The hamster might be upset but was inwardly stronger than Li Mengjiao, hiding her feelings.
“Checked them all?” Xie Qian asked Li Mengjiao.
She nodded vigorously, her grievance resurfacing, “I’m sure Wen Ying could’ve made it, but I can’t find her letter.”
Coming every day, still nothing!
Did the letter grow wings and fly?
Wen Ying opened her mouth, but before she spoke, Xie Qian picked up the stack of registered letters. His slender fingers flipped through them, and the room, inside and out, fell silent.
Good-looking people made everything look good.
Shamelessly, some wished to be a letter, touched by Xie Qian… just the thought made cheeks burn.
Xie Qian checked carefully—no Wen Ying.
The mailroom uncle shifted uncomfortably, “All the letters are in the drawer…”
Searched so many times, it must be important. The uncle felt compelled to clarify he was diligent and wouldn’t lose students’ mail.
Xie Qian closed and reopened the drawer twice, then reached in to feel around.
Li Mengjiao sniffled, hoping for a miracle.
Wen Ying watched Xie Qian crouch to search the drawer, her heart swelling with mixed emotions.
“Xie Qian…”
“…Found it.”
Xie Qian stood, pulling out a letter. He glanced at it before handing it to Wen Ying, “It’s yours.”
Sender: *Sprout* magazine. Recipient: Wen Ying, Class 16, First Year. Indeed, the final notification she’d been waiting for!
“Huh?” Wen Ying was speechless.
Li Mengjiao, tears turning to joy, exclaimed, “I knew Wen Ying would make it! Xie Qian, you’re amazing—how’d you find it?”
“It was stuck in the drawer’s crevice. Didn’t you notice the drawer was hard to open?”
As for why Wen Ying’s letter was lodged in the crevice, Xie Qian glanced outside.
The air seemed to freeze; a pin drop would’ve been audible. The girl who’d fetched Song Chan’s letter instinctively denied, “Why’re you all looking at me? I didn’t hide it!”
