[Are these two really throwing everything away for love?]

The incident stemmed from a simple Chinese dictation exercise.

The list of texts required for memorization in the college entrance exam remained largely consistent year after year, with only a few adjustments—either adding or replacing one or two pieces. Zhou Leqi had already mastered all the mandatory ancient poems and essays from previous years; after all, she was in her third attempt at senior year, and forgetting them would be nearly impossible. However, this year, two additional classical texts were added to the list. Teacher Pan emphasized their importance and frequently tested the entire class on them.

In Class One, filled with top students, everyone passed the dictation that day. Over 95% scored perfectly, except for Zhou Leqi… Not only did she make two mistakes, but she also failed to complete the last third of the test.

Teacher Pan was furious and publicly called her out in front of the class, warning everyone not to neglect the basics or become complacent. Zhou Leqi’s face flushed red with embarrassment, and Hou Zihao, sitting behind her, could feel her entire body trembling.

He realized then… her memory was beginning to fail her.

It was inevitable—she hadn’t been sleeping, managing only an hour or two each night. Even someone made of iron couldn’t endure such strain. Hou Zihao had researched it online: severe depression indeed caused memory decline.

She needed to see a doctor—and soon.

The psychiatric department at Third Hospital was excellent, and its director knew him personally, making things convenient. However, this would mean Hou Feng would inevitably learn about Zhou Leqi’s condition, which might lead to biases against her—a situation Hou Zihao desperately wanted to avoid.

Thus, he began searching for specialized psychiatric hospitals in City A. Once he found one, he made an appointment in advance and prepared to discuss it with Zhou Leqi.

But her reaction turned out to be far stronger than he anticipated.

He brought it up as they walked home after getting off the bus.

It was late October, and the autumn nights in the north had grown chilly. They strolled along a dimly lit street, flanked by uneven and crumbling walls.

He asked, “Do you have time this weekend?”

She glanced at him when she heard his voice. Having just woken up on the bus, her eyes still carried the hazy look of someone who had just emerged from sleep.

Without speaking, she nodded slightly.

He hummed in acknowledgment, paused for a moment, then carefully said, “I’ve contacted a hospital recently. Their psychiatric department is excellent. This weekend… I’ll accompany you there, okay?”

Her expression, initially dazed, gradually sharpened. Her brows furrowed, and her gaze turned cold.

“Psychiatric department?” She looked up at him, her entire body tense. “Because I thought about suicide, you think I’m crazy?”

For a high school student in 2013, the phrase “psychiatric department” carried a terrifying weight. It evoked unsettling imagery: people behaving erratically, dark isolation rooms, eerie screams, and senseless violence.

Zhou Leqi didn’t understand what “depression” was. She didn’t realize that the cunning illness tormenting her had a name. To her, the term “psychiatric department” felt like an insult—a harsh, mocking accusation.

Hou Zihao noticed the shift in her emotions and detected a faint hostility in her eyes. Feeling flustered, he quickly denied her assumption. “No, of course not—I’d never think that!”

Though his denial was emphatic, its lack of substance made it seem hollow—at least to Zhou Leqi.

She didn’t argue, choosing instead to silently walk ahead, intending to brush off his unintentional offense.

But he wasn’t willing to let it go. He continued beside her, saying, “I’ve never thought you’re crazy, but I do believe you need to see a doctor—whether it’s counseling or medication, either will help. These methods can ease your mind and help you sleep…”

He repeated himself patiently, but to Zhou Leqi, his words felt like slow torture. She didn’t believe she was ill and refused to admit it, much less accept treatment. She thought her problem was simply weakness—a trait she despised most about herself, something she believed she needed to overcome alone.

She endured listening to him for a while before finally interrupting, controlling her emotions as she said, “Thank you for your concern, but no. I’m not sick, and I won’t go to the hospital.”

She bristled like an animal whose tail had been stepped on, her defenses fully raised. Hou Zihao sensed the tension and fell silent for a moment, waiting for the atmosphere to ease before speaking again.

“I know you’re not sick. I truly understand,” he said as gently as possible. “How about we check out your insomnia issue? No one can keep going without sleep—it’s taking a toll on your body.”

She stopped responding, using silence to express resistance. The yellowish lamplight stretched her shadow long across the ground.

Her attitude left Hou Zihao feeling anxious. The memory of her rooftop ordeal lingered in his mind like a ticking time bomb, constantly reminding him how close she was to the edge. As long as she avoided seeing a doctor or receiving treatment, tragedy could strike at any moment.

This anxiety made him increasingly impatient, and his tone grew firmer.

“If you’re not going to see a doctor, then what do you plan to do? Keep suffering in silence all by yourself?” he snapped. “Zhou Leqi, you’re human, not a machine! If you keep pushing yourself like this, you’ll destroy yourself! What happens if you can’t hold on anymore? Are you going to run back to the rooftop and jump again?”

Truthfully, his words stemmed solely from deep concern—not mockery or sarcasm. But from Zhou Leqi’s perspective, it wasn’t so simple.

The rooftop incident was not just painful for her; it was humiliating, a testament to her surrender to life’s torment. And he had witnessed it all—every excruciating detail. She felt her weakest, ugliest self exposed, and now he was bringing it up again, effectively beating a dead horse. Shame and anger surged within her.

The continuous insomnia and physical pain had already left her emotions unstable, ready to explode at the slightest spark. At this point, she could no longer control herself. Her voice rose sharply as she exclaimed, “So what if I destroy myself? What does it have to do with you? Did I ask you to interfere? Or did I beg you to save me that day on the rooftop? Hou Zihao, stop with your overflowing sympathy—I don’t need it!”

She unleashed her fury at him, but it brought her no relief. Instead, she felt even more pain and oppression, coupled with profound guilt.

Deep down, she knew he harbored no ill intentions toward her. In fact, he had been nothing but kind, caring for her more thoughtfully than even Yu Qing. Her anger was misplaced—a projection of her hatred for this suffocating life and her crumbling self.

Faced with her displaced anger, his response was complex.

Was he angry? Perhaps not. He couldn’t truly be mad at her because he liked her too much, always seeing her as beautiful and radiant.

But was he completely unbothered? That wasn’t possible either. He was frustrated by her self-loathing, her irresponsible attitude toward her own well-being, and her stubbornness.

A knot had formed between them. Both knew where the issue lay, but one refused to untangle it, while the other couldn’t.

Everything froze.

And yet, this wasn’t the worst of it. The arrival of the third mock exam was the real storm.

…They both bombed.

Zhou Leqi dropped to 80th place in her grade, failing to even enter the second testing room. Hou Zihao fared slightly better, but only managed 13th place.

Objectively, these scores weren’t terrible. In a prestigious school like theirs, ranking within the top 100 for science guaranteed admission to top-tier universities. Their results were still commendable. But compared to their usual performance… they had fallen far short.

Zhou Leqi had tried her hardest. She had studied diligently and put forth immense effort. But the relentless insomnia had significantly drained her stamina. During the exam, her vision blurred, and her hand trembled as she held her pen. After turning in her paper, she quickly became disoriented, unable to recall the questions she had just answered.

Hou Zihao hadn’t slacked off either. He had studied hard, but his study hours had dwindled. To accompany Zhou Leqi home after school, he could only start studying at nine each night. Recently, his energy had been consumed by arranging her hospital visit, leaving him unable to cope with the intense competition of senior year.

They had once been hailed as “geniuses,” but in reality, there were no gods. Behind every seemingly effortless performance lay countless unseen efforts. Those efforts had once elevated them, and now they had abandoned them.

They had fallen from their pedestals.

In contrast, Yan Lin’s persistence finally paid off. Scoring 723 points, he reclaimed first place in his grade.

His foundation had always been solid, and his ability to maintain composure and discipline was rare. Grades were perhaps the most honest thing in the world, reflecting precisely how much effort one had invested. Yan Lin’s efforts hadn’t betrayed him—he reaped what he sowed.

Naturally, he was pleased with his results, but he also worried about and sympathized with Hou Zihao and Zhou Leqi’s declines. After the scores were released, he wanted to talk to Hou Zihao, but the latter’s demeanor differed from what he expected. Rather than fretting over his own drop in grades, Hou Zihao seemed more concerned about Zhou Leqi.

Are these two really throwing everything away for love?

Sigh.

Yan Lin was troubled, but before his sigh could finish, Ge Ao delivered shocking news: Mi Lan, ranked 29th in the humanities grade-wide, securing a spot in the top 30.

Yan Lin: “… … … …”

Ge Ao was always enthusiastic about gossip, and since he had performed well enough to enter the first testing room, his spirits were high, fueling his enthusiasm for spreading rumors.

Excitedly sidling up to Yan Lin, he teased, “Hey Yan Lin, am I misremembering, or didn’t someone say that if Mi Lan made it into the top 30, he’d willingly submit to her?”