Chapter 26: Casual Conversation

Regarding the interview, Yin Mengxi had indeed prepared last night.

She was a diligent person—otherwise, she wouldn’t have been the only student from her small town to be admitted to A University. After returning to her dormitory from Xiaohongding yesterday, she had read through his script multiple times, annotating it like taking notes. She drafted over ten questions, finishing around two in the morning.

However, she hadn’t yet shown her preparation to Jiayi for review, so she didn’t dare use it now. When Xiao Zhi asked about it, she honestly replied, “The outline hasn’t been reviewed by our department yet... I can’t conduct the interview today.”

He raised an eyebrow, perhaps smiling again, seemingly amused by her formality. Shaking his head, he said, “We can just chat casually; no need to be so formal.”

Then, he offered her the freshly opened pack of cookies, gesturing for her to take one.

How could she accept? She had bought them for him.

“Senior, please eat,” she said respectfully, bowing even while seated. “You didn’t have lunch.”

This wasn’t new; last semester at the university hospital, when he bought her medicine, he received a similar bow. Xiao Zhi sighed, took one cookie himself, and after a pause, suddenly asked, “Do I seem very stern?”

She was startled. “Huh?”

“You always seem very reserved,” he looked at her, his tone comforting. “There’s no need to be.”

Ah.

Her ears felt warm; perhaps she blushed, but the dim light in the audience seats concealed it well. She said, “No...”

He didn’t argue with her, just offered the cookies again. This time, it was hard to refuse. She took one and thanked him, “Thank you, Senior.”

“What are you thanking me for?” His smile was evident this time. “You bought them.”

It really felt like chatting with a friend. His relaxed demeanor infected her, making her stiff back gradually loosen.

She took a bite of the strawberry-flavored sandwich cookie.

...It was quite delicious.

“Have you read the script?” he asked again.

She nodded obediently.

“What do you think?” He saw that she had finished the cookie and offered her another. “Any suggestions for revisions?”

As they talked, her guard relaxed. Whatever he offered, she accepted, replying, “I think it’s very well-written. There’s nothing to revise.”

“Don’t flatter me,” he seemed exasperated again. “If you have any opinions, feel free to say them.”

“It’s not flattery!” Seeing his disbelief made her a bit anxious, raising her voice slightly. “I genuinely think it’s very well-written—the plot itself is good, and it’s well-integrated with history. The dialogues and scenes are all excellent—there’s nothing to change!”

It was as if she wanted to swear on the spot.

Her overly serious expression amused him, his smile fleeting yet beautiful, looking at her as if she were a child: “I know.”

His voice remained low and gentle, yet somehow closer than before.

Her heartbeat quickened.

“Which scene left the deepest impression on you?”

He casually asked again, but this time withdrew his gaze from her, taking a cookie while glancing at the stage, his beautiful eyes reflecting the bright light ahead.

She actually had impressions of every scene, but worried saying so would make him suspect flattery. As she pondered, she glanced at the stage. The actor auditioning for the male lead was performing a monologue of Mr. He discussing the true meaning of new culture with students. Ideally, there should be supporting actors, but the script’s artistic treatment removed other characters, leaving only Mr. He’s monologue.

“I was deeply impressed by this scene,” she said, gesturing to the stage. “When reading the script, I thought the handling of the monologue was stunning.”

He raised an eyebrow, asking, “Why?”

“If there were counterparts, these lines might sound preachy,” she thoughtfully replied. “But as a monologue, it feels more like Mr. He is talking to himself... Perhaps at that time, he didn’t fully understand what new culture was. He needed repeated expressions to convince himself.”

As she spoke, she watched the actor’s performance intently, slightly furrowing her brows.

He noticed and asked, “What’s wrong?”

She blinked, continuing to watch until the segment ended, then cautiously said, “Nothing... Just feel this interpretation differs a bit from my understanding...”

He seemed interested, gesturing for her to continue. She hesitated, fearing her words might be incorrect, but knowing his tolerance—he hadn’t been upset by those rough pre-presentations last semester. Under his encouraging gaze, her courage grew, and she said, “I think the senior playing the role handled it too... too firmly. In my understanding, Mr. He should be somewhat confused here.”

“Confused?”

“Mm...”

“He didn’t study abroad; his classical education was much stronger than his modern education. Moreover, he came from a feudal family... Such a person would likely have some reservations about new culture, right?”

“Of course, I’m not saying he wasn’t progressive—he certainly was. But I think he must have some nostalgia for the old culture since he was nurtured by it.”

“Mr. He taught classical literature till the end. After liberation, he founded the College of Literature and became an ancient literature teacher—how can cultural heritage be severed so easily? Although he advocated breaking the old and establishing the new after the May Fourth Movement, I believe he must have suffered internally... Like reflecting, and then reflecting on his reflections...”

She hadn’t intended to say so much, but once started, she couldn’t stop. What was there to hide? He had already seen her paper, knowing her capabilities. Even if she was wrong, he wouldn’t mind. Truly cultured people were always humble and inclusive.

“I’m just rambling,” she quickly added. “...Senior, just listen casually.”

And him?

Initially watching the stage with a calm expression, he later turned to look at her continuously, his deep eyes shimmering like beautiful gems in the blurred light.

“How is this rambling?” His voice softened further. “You spoke very correctly.”

His way of praising wasn’t as skillful as his criticism, always brief and restrained. Last semester, when he praised her report, he simply said, “Very good.” Now he said she “spoke very correctly,” equally simple, yet she felt it was a valuable compliment. Being praised by such a person was a remarkable thing.

“But there’s no need to tell the actors these things; let them perform as they are now.”

She didn’t understand and asked why. He smiled, answering, “Since it’s a tribute for the school anniversary, it’s always inappropriate to dwell too much on hesitation.”

That made sense.

But...

“But I think the original intent of the script is deeper,” she hesitated. “If it’s misinterpreted, won’t you feel regretful, Senior?”

This question seemed to intrigue him. Without answering, he instead asked, “Have you read Roland Barthes?”

She was startled again. “Huh?”

“A French literary figure and critic from the last century,” he patiently explained. “He has a famous theory called ‘The Death of the Author,’ which means that upon completing the work, the author relinquishes the rights to interpret it. The interaction between readers and text becomes unrelated to him.”

“Ah...” She understood partially.

“There’s a course called ‘Introduction to Literature’ in the department. If you’re interested, you can attend as an auditor,” he probably noticed she didn’t fully grasp it, thus smiling and suggesting, “They’ll read his essays and papers, and the teacher’s explanations will be much more detailed than mine.”

She nodded, still not entirely clear why he brought this up, but since they had discussed it, she decided to ask, “Will Senior be the TA for this course this semester?”

“This is a literary theory course, different from my focus,” he shook his head, glancing at her. “I’m not doing TA work this semester.”

So that’s how it was.

She responded with an “Oh,” plain and simple. Meanwhile, a strange feeling emerged, thinking his latter statement was specifically for her...

Before she could process it, Guo Yue on stage suddenly called out, “Teacher Xiao,” apparently needing to discuss something. He stood up, heading towards the stage, but before leaving, he turned back to ask, “Can we roughly determine the interview time now?”

She stood up, thought for a moment, and replied, “Probably in two or three days. Our department needs to review the outline.”

He said, “Alright,” and added, “I won’t come these few days. I’ll come when it’s time for the interview.”

After a pause, he supplemented, “You can directly inform me of the time.”

Was this... asking her to send him a QQ message?

She pursed her lips, nodded again, and replied, “Okay.”

By the end of the day’s rehearsal, all roles had been successfully cast, and the progress was satisfactory. Everyone felt relaxed.

“Tomorrow’s Monday. Rehearsal is from nine to ten-thirty PM. Don’t be late,” Guo Yue reminded everyone before dismissing them. “Also, actors should familiarize themselves with the script. By Friday at the latest, you must perform without scripts.”

There were scattered responses, then people gradually dispersed. Some girls wanted to leave with Tang Fei, but she waved them off, saying she’d wait for someone. Sure enough, she waited until the end for Xiao Zhi.

“Let’s grab some late-night snacks together?” She smiled, trying to link arms with Xiao Zhi. “What about the barbecue place behind Building Five? We haven’t eaten there in ages.”

But Xiao Zhi evaded slightly, though not noticeably, avoiding contact with her. “I won’t go. You all go ahead.”

Guo Yue and Han Yunqiao were nearby.

“Why not go? You didn’t even have lunch,” Tang Fei pouted, noticing his evasion. Despite feeling embarrassed, she maintained her composure outwardly. “Come along, at least have a little snack.”

“Really can’t. I have a paper to finish,” he politely declined again. “I’ll head out first.”

After saying this, he nodded to everyone and walked out of the small theater.

Though Guo Yue and Han Yunqiao often bickered incessantly, their stance on gossip was consistent. Guo Yue teased, “Wow, he’s rejecting even you now? Teacher Xiao truly lives a life of simplicity—is he practicing celibacy or something?”

“That’s impossible,” Han Yunqiao chimed in, clearly stoking the fire. “Didn’t you hear? Last semester, someone caught Teacher Xiao escorting a girl back to her dorm—maybe secretly dating?”

Han Yunqiao and Tang Fei had never gotten along. They clashed during their freshman year over some matters. While Guo Yue’s teasing was purely jesting, Han Yunqiao had ulterior motives. Fearing conflict between the two ladies would drag him into trouble, Guo Yue actively smoothed things over.

“How could that be! Our Teacher Xiao definitely isn’t like that!” He emphatically declared. “I’m his roommate—I would know if anything happened. Those are just rumors!”

Han Yunqiao smirked indifferently, glancing at Tang Fei’s increasingly sour face, inwardly pleased. She continued provocatively, “You’re just his roommate—not a worm in his stomach. How could you possibly know everything? Besides, what’s wrong with Teacher Xiao dating? Does he have to be forced into relationships?”

With that, she exaggeratedly flipped her hair, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked out of the theater, leaving Guo Yue, whose face was as bitter as a melon, to deal with Tang Fei, whose expression was growing darker.

—What? Does she really think she’s a princess?

Spoiled.

Author’s Note:

Eighty percent of this story takes place on campus, focusing on how they get closer, fall in love, and eventually part ways (primarily the first two aspects, with minimal focus on parting). The real-time narrative occupies a very limited portion.

Additionally, as I mentioned earlier on Weibo, Spring Stage and Drinking Ice will have some interconnected elements (both can be read independently, without affecting each other). Therefore, the protagonists’ personalities and interaction styles are fixed and won’t undergo any changes.

Please consider these factors and decide freely whether to continue reading or not. If you don’t like it, don’t force yourself. ❤️