It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 21

The evening glow was lingering and affectionate, its golden hue tinged with a faint crimson, spreading across the vast sky and earth, dyeing late autumn with a touch of charm.

Two slender figures stood beneath a towering plane tree, their shadows stretched long, adding to the quiet serenity.

Pei Suye handed over a small bottle of medicated oil.
“Your knee is all bruised. Here, use this to rub it.”

Ye Wanjia froze, then lowered her head. Sure enough, her right knee was red and purple. She hesitated before taking it, both flattered and surprised.
“Thank you, Senior.”

Pei Suye gave her the medicated oil? Pei Suye was showing concern for her? Was this a hint? A subconscious reveal of her feelings? Or just ordinary concern from the student council president?

What should she do? Someone tell her!

But having an introverted nature did have one advantage—no matter the storm raging in her mind, her face wouldn’t give away much.

At most, she would blush. That could be explained away as the result of exercise.

Pei Suye looked at her lowered lashes, a ripple spreading across her heart.
“The competition is tomorrow. Be more careful. Getting hurt now would be bad.”

Ye Wanjia forced out a somewhat decent smile.
“Mm, okay.”

That day, Pei Suye’s hair was different from her usual loose style. Instead, she had braided it into an elegant fishtail. The ash-brown strands were gilded with warmth in the sunset glow, as if the cool bright moon had been caught blushing on a fine evening, its pale cheeks tinged with a rosy hint of mortal fireworks.

That faint blush seeped into Ye Wanjia’s heart, filling her with courage. Just as Pei Suye was heading toward her bicycle, Ye Wanjia, as if possessed, rushed forward and boldly asked:

“Senior, can I hitch a ride with you?”

Pei Suye glanced back, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her lips curving into a gentle smile.
“Sure, hop on.”

To this day, Ye Wanjia still didn’t know that Pei Suye’s bicycle originally had no back seat. Strictly speaking, it only had a cold iron rack. Yet after that night when she gave Ye Wanjia a ride back to the dorm, that icy rack suddenly had a soft cushion added.

The evening glow burned just as beautifully, watching as the two figures bathed in its light rode off, disappearing down the long, straight ginkgo avenue.

November 20th, Saturday. North Campus Gymnasium.
The annual cheerleading competition officially began.

At 10 a.m., each college team was given ten minutes for on-site rehearsal. Slotted ninth, the Veterinary Medicine team entered according to schedule and walked through their routine once with the music. Because of the previous plagiarism incident, they didn’t perform the final “Blossoming Together” formation in full—only confirmed where everyone should stand in formation.

At noon, lunch boxes were distributed. Wei Xiaoxiao snapped several close-up shots of Ye Wanjia while also handing her a bottle of drink—the same brand Pei Suye was holding.

“My CP is drinking the same thing today. Double the buff, get it?” Wei Xiaoxiao said, righteous and unapologetic.

By 12:30, it was time to change into costumes and apply makeup.

All the girls had their hair styled into high buns, with bangs pinned back at the crown of the head. Silver sequins were stuck to their temples and eyelids, eyeliner flicked upward, and lips colored richly, giving them a vibrant look full of energy.

Blue sequin uniforms were paired with pink pom-poms, creating the illusion of a vast sea of floating flowers—a combination of the ocean’s passion and waves with the romance of a blooming field. That was why the highlight of the routine was the “Blossoming Together” formation. By contrast, the plagiarizing Law School, dressed in plain white uniforms, completely lost the essence of that move.

“Oh my god, baby, you look amazing!”

Wei Xiaoxiao never let slip a chance to take photos—close-up shots, wide-angle artistic captures—she wanted to film a whole 120-minute movie.

“You’re already pretty without makeup, but with makeup, you look like a celebrity!”

Under orders, Ye Wanjia posed for more than a dozen shots in “Xiaohongshu influencer” style before Wei’s enthusiasm finally calmed a bit. Then her eyes darted toward the railing, where Pei Suye was standing, and she whispered conspiratorially:

“Go take a picture with the President.”

Ye Wanjia faltered.
“There are so many people here… Maybe later when it’s less crowded.”

Wei Xiaoxiao nearly exploded.
“There’ll be people all day—it’s competition day! If you won’t go now while we’re waiting, you’ll be hopeless once the competition starts!”

So, pushed by her, Ye Wanjia nervously gathered her skirt and walked forward. Pei Suye was leaning against the railing, her ash-brown curls draping down as her eyes remained fixed on the central arena, as if visualizing how the formations would unfold on that grand stage.

Two steps away, Ye Wanjia’s courage collapsed, and the foot she had lifted shrank back. But in the next second—

Smack!

Wei Xiaoxiao gave her a shove on the backside.

“Ah!”

She stumbled forward, about to crash straight into Pei Suye. Luckily, her reflexes kicked in, and she grabbed the railing just before colliding, reducing it to only a light bump.

Pei Suye turned her head, just in time to see Ye Wanjia’s face wearing a “catastrophe-struck” expression—while Wei Xiaoxiao boldly stepped forward to smooth things over.

“Oops, sorry, President! We were trying to take a picture and lost our footing! How about this—why don’t you two take a picture together? Come on, come on!”

Thus, a scheme turned into an open ploy—and the one “trapped” was perfectly happy with it.

And that was how Ye Wanjia got her third photo with Pei Suye.

All three times, the photographer was the bold and cunning vanguard general—Wei Xiaoxiao.

At 2 p.m., the competition officially began.

The Law School, who plagiarized “Blossoming Together,” still maintained their annual top-tier standard, scoring 91.8.

“Their costumes don’t match the formation at all. It feels disjointed. Overall difficulty and visual appeal aren’t as strong as ours,” Yi Meixi analyzed professionally. “As long as we don’t make mistakes, 92 points is within reach.”

The catch was—the Law School had set the highest score so far.

But competitions were unpredictable. For example, this year, the Foreign Languages Department suddenly made waves.

Drawing inspiration from “Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix,” they switched formations four times mid-routine. With a level-two gymnastics athlete on their team, both the visual effects and choreography surpassed the Law School’s.

“Now announcing the Foreign Languages Department’s final score—93.6!”

“What the—!”

“No way! That much higher than Law?”

“How are the later teams supposed to compete?”

“It’s capped, totally capped. At best, our college might hit 92. What now?”

At that moment, the ninth team, Veterinary Medicine, was already waiting at the sidelines. The announcement brought a wave of murmurs through their ranks, until Pei Suye raised her hand and steadied everyone with her final 30-second pep talk:

“These past weeks have been tough for everyone. When we go up there, don’t think about anything else. Don’t worry about other teams’ scores. Just follow the rhythm and show everything we’ve practiced. Cheerleading is about formations, yes—but it’s even more about spirit and energy. Make every move strong. Keep your spirits high. Remember every move. Remember to smile. You’re all the best.”

The team steadied, straightened their backs, and when the host called their name, marched proudly into the center of the gymnasium stage.

Ye Wanjia’s entrance move had been specially designed by Yi Meixi. While the other 29 members performed four counts of eight, she would cartwheel in from the left side.

In other words, she had a slightly longer wait time than the rest.

As the lights dimmed around the stage, a single spotlight lit the center. The edges of the court plunged into darkness.

In that darkness, Ye Wanjia gripped her pom-poms tightly and whispered to the figure beside her—Pei Suye, equally hidden in the shadows:

“Senior, I’m going to take a risk.”

Pei Suye froze for a moment, recalling that night when Ye Wanjia’s eyes had blazed as she said—

“I’m not afraid of hard work. I’m only afraid that after all this training and effort, everything will go to waste.”

In that instant, she understood. In the fleeting seconds, she didn’t have time to say much more—only the most important words:

“I believe in you. But safety first.”

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