CTJM - 9

Chapter 9: Course Selection

The lights were ready, and the camera began rolling.

On screen appeared a handsome man, quietly seated on a chair made of natural wood, bathed in warm lighting. Behind him stood rows upon rows of towering bookshelves, creating a serene and profound atmosphere.

“Could you first tell us about your connection with the School of Liberal Arts at University A?” a woman’s voice came from off-screen. “How many years have you studied and worked here?”

“My undergraduate education was completed at the School of Liberal Arts, and later I applied for a direct Ph.D. program here. After graduation, I stayed to teach,” he replied methodically, his tone calm and organized. “So far... it’s been about fourteen years.”

“So you’ve been teaching for... six years?”

“Seven,” the man on screen patiently corrected. “I graduated a year early from my bachelor’s, and after completing my Ph.D., I started teaching directly without pursuing a postdoc.”

“Ah... that’s truly impressive.”

“Just fortunate,” he humbly smiled.

“You’re too modest. You’re the youngest associate professor at the university—an incredible achievement.”

“Thank you.” He accepted the compliment with a hint of resignation.

“Why did you choose an academic path? And why did you decide to stay at the School of Liberal Arts as a teacher?”

“Because I’m interested, and I believe I can do it well,” he answered frankly. “Academia is a pure pursuit. As long as you work earnestly, there will always be new discoveries. Even someone clumsy can receive honest feedback—I prefer simple things.”

“As for staying to teach...” He paused here, not as if pondering his answer but rather recalling the past. “It’s probably a matter of habit—a natural outcome.”

“So do you enjoy teaching? It’s quite different from research, isn’t it?”

“There are some differences,” he nodded. “Research is a solitary endeavor, while teaching requires interaction with students.”

“You must be very good at it. That’s why so many students choose your courses.”

“Not really,” he chuckled faintly. “Just doing my best.”

—That was a lie.

Yin Mengxi silently thought during the interview.

Because she had always known... he was an exceptionally good teacher.

She had taken his class, back in her freshman year.

Actually, that year, he should have been a senior. But because he applied for early graduation, he moved directly into his master’s program. Graduate students were required to earn practical credits by serving as teaching assistants for undergraduate courses. At that time, he was assisting his mentor, Professor Jia Xin Ying.

She still remembered it clearly. The course was called “The Origins and Development of Song Dynasty Literature,” a general education class offered by the School of Liberal Arts. It wasn’t particularly popular in previous years. But that year, when he served as a teaching assistant, it became extraordinarily difficult to enroll in. The original limit of 60 students was expanded to 150, and even after the administration switched classrooms multiple times to accommodate the demand, there were still many who couldn’t get in.

“Wow, why is this course so hard to get into?”

Her roommates were all discussing it in the dormitory, with Ren Weiwei complaining the most. She had already decided to transfer from the School of Journalism to the School of Liberal Arts and wanted to take this course as a future major requirement.

“Is it because the grading is generous or something?”

“No, no—it’s because of Senior Xiao,” Wang Xueru said, furiously refreshing the course selection page from her lower bunk bed. “You know, that handsome guy we saw last time when we went out to eat. He’s the teaching assistant for this course.”

“That guy from last time?” Min Rui tilted her head, recalling him. “Yeah, he’s pretty good-looking—heck, let me try to grab a spot too.”

Ren Weiwei and Wang Xueru burst into laughter, teasing Min Rui for being greedy, saying she already had a boyfriend yet was still chasing after a senior.

“First, Jin Yang isn’t my boyfriend—we’re just casually dating,” Min Rui declared solemnly, already opening her laptop. “Second, someone like Xiao Zhi is a shared treasure of humanity. I want to look, I have to look, I must look.”

Her profound statement earned a chorus of admiration.

“Hehe, aren’t you going to try, Yin Mengxi?” Min Rui turned around mischievously, looking at Yin Mengxi quietly sitting at her desk. “Why not give it a shot? No harm in checking him out.”

Yin Mengxi pursed her lips, responding with an indifferent “Oh,” as if she didn’t care much. After some persuasion from her roommates, she reluctantly logged into the course selection system, pretending to be coerced into trying.

—But how could the others have known?

That course... had already quietly been on her schedule for days.

Professor Jia Xinying of the School of Liberal Arts was already 68 years old that year. A renowned scholar of Song Dynasty literature and a first-tier national professor, he had been rehired by University A after retirement and continued mentoring students. The venerable elder possessed an ethereal demeanor, and it was said that there was nothing related to the Song Dynasty he didn’t know. However, his energy had waned with age, and he now led a secluded life, rarely giving lectures anymore.

Xiao Zhi was his last student. Even as a graduate student, Xiao Zhi had published a paper in a top-tier journal, which was fully reprinted by academic resources. Professor Jia was overjoyed, boasting to anyone who would listen that this student was exceptional material for academia and would surely achieve great things in the future.

But obviously, undergraduates enrolling in the course weren’t concerned with academic circles. Especially the girls—they came to class purely to admire Senior Xiao’s beauty. There’s a 90% chance that a female college student will fall for a senior, and even if she happens to fall into the remaining 10%, she’ll inevitably fall for Xiao Zhi.

...He truly stood out.

Every class, he arrived ten minutes early to help Professor Jia set up the PowerPoint presentation. When he lowered his head to organize the attendance sheet, his profile looked strikingly handsome. The students seated below secretly admired him—half gazing at his deep, elegant eyes reminiscent of mountain ranges, and the other half marveling at his beautiful widow’s peak.

He seemed indifferent to their gazes—or perhaps he was simply used to being watched. He focused on his tasks without engaging much with the undergraduates. After preparing the podium, he sat down at the far-left seat in the front row, opened his laptop, and attended to his own work.

The course was already difficult to enroll in, and seating in the classroom was scarce. The area near his usual seat became especially coveted. Rumor had it that several girls from the School of Management were particularly bold, arriving early in the morning to secure seats and monopolizing the spaces around him.

“Wow, they’re really going all out...” Ren Weiwei, who was auditing the class, shook her head in disbelief. “Isn’t this too desperate? Will such aggressive pursuit even work?”

“Not a chance,” Min Rui scoffed, casually flipping her charming long curls. Her tone was confident. “Men are all the same—they think you’re worthless if you chase them too hard. You’ve got to play hard to get, make them chase you.”

Wang Xueru enthusiastically praised Min Rui’s wisdom and asked, “So how do you attract him? Can Sister Min win him over?”

“Just wait and see,” Min Rui replied with a confident smile, both stunning and sharp. “No man can escape my grasp.”

After making such bold claims, she didn’t rush to approach Senior Xiao with the other eager girls after class. Instead, she sent him an email that evening using the TA address he had provided, earnestly asking about topics related to Tang and Song literature and mentioning her intention to transfer to the School of Liberal Arts. She asked if he could offer any advice.

After anxiously waiting for two days, Senior Xiao finally replied. His response was professional, briefly introducing the academic landscape of Tang and Song literature research, recommending a few introductory books, and suggesting she consult the academic office or other seniors who had successfully transferred for better guidance.

Min Rui continued exchanging emails with him. By mid-October, she finally decided to meet him face-to-face. As a radiant freshman, she was one of the most eye-catching figures on campus—just raising an eyebrow or waving could leave boys from science and engineering departments mesmerized. Yet Xiao Zhi remained unimpressed. Though he remembered her emails, his attitude toward her in person was no different from how he treated others—polite, courteous, but distant. When Min Rui later invited him to dinner, he politely declined.

The beautiful girl was utterly baffled and felt somewhat embarrassed by her failure. To save face, she returned to the dormitory and began brainwashing her roommates.

“There’s something wrong with this senior—he’s definitely gay!”

Min Rui spoke with absolute certainty.

“Or he’s just pretending to be proper—you watch, maybe in a few days we’ll see him on some hookup app. I’ve seen plenty of guys like him!”

Her roommates naturally humored her, agreeing that Senior Xiao was difficult to deal with, eventually soothing Min Rui’s frustration. True to her carefree nature, she quickly moved on after realizing she couldn’t win him over. A few days later, she dropped the course, found a new boyfriend, and resumed her vibrant social butterfly lifestyle.

Yin Mengxi was the complete opposite of Min Rui—she wasn’t nearly as bold or decisive, but she was far more stubborn and persistent.

She didn’t ask Xiao Zhi for his WeChat, nor did she send him any emails. She never arrived early to snatch a seat near him either. Instead, she simply attended class and left in an orderly fashion, having no interaction with him whatsoever.

She had another class before his, and the locations were far apart, so she always arrived just as the bell rang. By then, the classroom was packed, and she had to struggle to find a spot in some corner. Sometimes, she even had to bring a chair from the neighboring room to sit in the aisle. Meanwhile, he sat at the very front. From her vantage point, all she could see was his back—the clear lines of his shoulder blades were strikingly handsome, though they were often obscured by the students sitting in between.

...She found herself wanting to photograph him.

Perhaps it was a journalist’s occupational habit... she felt that someone as good-looking as him deserved to be captured earnestly through imagery.

But she only thought about it—she didn’t dare to do something so strange. Aside from occasionally glancing at him during class, she remained focused on listening to the lectures. Song Dynasty literature was a magnificent treasure trove—poetry, classical prose, storybooks, the Three Sus, Wang Anshi, Ouyang Xiu... Even without him, Professor Jia’s lectures were captivating. A flourishing era unfolded like a scroll before their eyes, with literature as its backbone. Though the dynasty’s flesh and blood had long turned to dust in the sands of history, its remnants still lingered.

Was this what he studied—these ancient yet brilliant things?

Did he... love them?