Wen Ying didn’t make it into the top 120 in her grade. She got the news right after arriving in Modu: she ranked 127th, seven spots short of Xie Qian’s goal. Hearing this over the phone, she could barely meet Xie Qian’s gaze—missing by seven was embarrassing! Where had she slipped? Seven ranks could be just two wrong multiple-choice questions. She’d need to review her papers carefully.
Feeling she’d squandered points and let down Xie Qian, who’d tutored her tirelessly, Wen Ying was consumed by guilt. Xie Qian, despite his own packed schedule, crafted tailored study plans, created practice questions, and pinpointed weaknesses for her, Wang Shuang, and Li Mengjiao. His effort was immense, and she’d fallen short.
Avoiding his eyes, fearing disappointment, she looked pitiful, her neck’s fine hairs catching Xie Qian’s attention, stirring an odd feeling he quickly suppressed. Wang Shuang, thick-skinned, needed scolding to stay motivated, but Wen Ying was different. She’d worked hard, juggling her bestselling author and screenwriter roles, plus recent online backlash that must’ve affected her focus. The criticism—calling her undeserving of judging a competition—was unfair. And that old writer, lacking grace, would’ve faced Xie Qian’s wrath if not for his hospitalization. Twenty million extra copies of *Teen Idol* hardly made up for her ordeal.
If Wen Ying looked up, she’d see Xie Qian’s gentle gaze. Caring for someone meant leniency, making excuses for them, even adjusting expectations. “I never thought you’d hit 120,” Xie Qian said softly. “Your grades fluctuate, so 130 is solid. I set 120 to push you.”
Her eyes lit up, dismay turning to joy. “Really?”
Xie Qian, always truthful with friends, nodded. “I don’t lie.” He’d set a higher goal to drive her harder, a thoughtful gesture that warmed her heart. Inspired, she wanted to tweak *The Galaxy and You*’s script, adding a scene reflecting this dynamic—an idol star mentoring a rookie, mirroring her admiration for Xie Qian. It could resonate with audiences.
Muttering about the idea, she amused Xie Qian. “Go write it down before you lose the inspiration,” he said.
Wen Ying bounced off, her back radiating joy. Wang Shuang and Li Mengjiao, watching, thought Xie Qian was in a lenient mood. Li Mengjiao nudged Wang Shuang to test the waters. Confident in his bond with Xie Qian, Wang Shuang said, “Xie Shen, I missed my goal by a bit too. Did you set mine high on purpose? No need for that with our friendship—just be real!”
Xie Qian cut him off, expressionless. “You’re overthinking. You failed your goal. Wen Ying missed by seven, which isn’t much with our school’s competition—a big question or a few choices could close it. You missed by nine.”
Wang Shuang’s confidence crumbled. Seven versus nine wasn’t much different, yet Xie Qian’s double standard left him stunned, like a lost dog. He looked to Li Mengjiao, who forced a smile. “I just remembered I need to rehearse with Yun Chen. You guys chat!” She bolted.
Wang Shuang was floored. Why was he the only one of the three underachievers facing Xie Qian’s “care”?
—
While Xie Qian “disciplined” the underachievers in the hotel, Zhao Dong learned of his arrival in Modu with the crew. Perplexed, he wondered, “Is he really switching to film?” Was Xie Qian foolish? He seemed smart only in academics, naive otherwise. How else could an ordinary girl like Wen Ying get close to him? Though Wen Ying was no longer ordinary, Zhao Dong still saw her through an outdated lens, resenting Xie Qian’s choice.
He relayed this to Sara Zhuo, who said lightly, “Young people with dreams are great. You should support him.” Clearly, she hoped Xie Qian would chase this distraction.
