It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 57

After moving up to sophomore year, Ye Wanjia, who had originally only been a minor officer in the Literature Club, was promoted to vice president because of her outstanding ability.

Ye Wanjia was hardworking and never complained. According to the unanimous evaluation of the previous student union veterans, Ye Wanjia was very likely to become the next club president, or even the president of the student union itself.

Yet, this promising student leader, the “successor in waiting,” was now hiding in the last stall of the restroom, unwilling to take a single step out—all because her future mother-in-law had suddenly appeared.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

The big stadium was hosting team events, and with no one else in the restroom, Pei Suye waited patiently outside, speaking softly.

“Why are you so shy?”

Ye Wanjia kept her head lowered. Even though the stall door protected her from Pei Suye’s gaze, she still didn’t dare look up.

“I’m not ready yet.”

Pei Suye was puzzled. “Ready for what?”

“Just… just…”

“Do you want me to go back with you to the dorm so you can change clothes?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Ye Wanjia hesitated, then whispered, “Mental preparation.”

Pei Suye tried to understand. “You mean, you’re afraid my mom won’t accept you? Don’t worry, I already came out to my family.”

“But… I just feel I’m not good enough, I’m afraid she won’t like me.”

At that, Pei Suye’s voice went quiet, the gentleness in her eyes dimming a little. When she spoke again, there was a hint of reproach:

“Xiao Yezi, do you remember the three rules we agreed on?”

Because of her background, family situation, and upbringing, Ye Wanjia always carried a streak of deep-rooted inferiority. After getting together, Pei Suye not only encouraged her constantly but also set three rules for her.

Inside the stall, Ye Wanjia pursed her lips and slowly recited:

“Don’t say I’m not good-looking. Don’t say I’m not capable. Don’t say I’m not excellent.”

Sure enough, she had fallen into the trap of self-denial again.

Why was there such a difference between people? She was so quick to belittle herself, yet Pei Suye lived so openly, as though her calm life was a poem in itself.

Or maybe, Pei Suye had walked into her springtime, pushing away the dark clouds above her. This person carried her own glow and tenderness—she herself was a poem.

“…Then, let’s meet her.”

Even if she doesn’t like me, you will always like me.

No matter what happens, Pei Suye is my confidence.

When Su Hongyue first laid eyes on Ye Wanjia, her pupils trembled fiercely.

This girl was tall, with large eyes like two glistening purple grapes—round and clear. There was a strange sense of familiarity about her.

“Hello, Auntie.”

The young girl stood before her, nervously clutching the hem of her T-shirt, lips pressed together lightly, making her eyes look even bigger.

So pretty.

“Hello,” Su Hongyue smiled, her eyes curving. “I was watching from the stands just now—you’re amazing at high jump.”

Ye Wanjia smiled shyly. “Not really… Senior is even better, I still can’t beat her.”

Su Hongyue explained, “Pei Suye trained with a sports team when she was young. You’re only one centimeter behind her—you’re already excellent. Don’t worry, keep working hard and you’ll surpass her next year.”

Her voice was soft and gentle, perhaps because of her long struggle with stomach illness. There wasn’t the slightest hint of harshness in her tone. This warmth eased Ye Wanjia’s nervousness, and for the first time she lifted her eyes to meet Su Hongyue’s gaze.

“Mm!”

“What’s your name? Let Auntie add you on WeChat?” Su Hongyue said, pulling out her phone.

Ye Wanjia glanced sideways, caught Pei Suye’s encouraging look, then also pulled out her phone, introducing herself:

“My name is Ye Wanjia. Auntie, I’ll scan your code.”

Click!

A thunderclap split through the clear skies—Su Hongyue’s eyelids twitched violently. She hesitated before asking:

“Your surname is Ye?”

Her searching gaze fell back onto Ye Wanjia’s innocent face, as if trying to read hidden words from it.

Caught off guard, Ye Wanjia nodded. “Yes… that’s right.”

She glanced anxiously at Pei Suye, who also looked confused. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

Su Hongyue blinked, quickly returning to her earlier gentle expression. “Oh, nothing. Just thought your surname was a bit rare. It also happens to be the same as the last character of Suye’s name.”

Relieved, Ye Wanjia continued with a smile, “Yeah! Our names are even linked like a couplet!”

Her first impression of Su Hongyue was very good. Even years later, she would still remember that a gentle aunt once brushed through her life. She was elegant, kind, and carried the same tenderness that ran in Pei Suye’s bloodline.

The summer breeze blew by, scattering thick white clouds and letting shafts of golden sunlight break through—fleeting, shifting, impossible to pin down.

Pei Suye entered the joint laboratory, while Ye Wanjia became vice president of the Literature Club. Both grew busier with their studies and work.

It was just like migratory birds flying apart.

Meals became hurried affairs. To carve out a little more time together, they gave up their afternoon naps. That way, after lunch each day, they could have one hour alone.

During that hour, they would sit on a bench outside the cafeteria, watch an episode of their favorite show, fingers interlaced.

The autumn wind carried the scent of chrysanthemums. Resting her head on Pei Suye’s shoulder, Ye Wanjia asked softly:

“The day after tomorrow is the Chinese Heroes finals, will you come?”

It was another year of the Chinese Heroes contest. For the Literature Club, this was the most important event. The president was determined to groom Ye Wanjia as her successor, and so entrusted her with full responsibility for the competition.

In other words, this was her first time organizing an event on her own.

There are moments in life that fill us with a sense of ritual, making us long to share them with the person we love.

But there are also moments when busyness pulls us away, leaving behind long-lasting regrets.

“I have to go to another province for an experiment that day,” Pei Suye said apologetically, holding her hand and tracing circles in her palm with her finger. “The school doesn’t have the equipment we need. I booked it a month in advance—only that day is available.”

Disappointment pulled at Ye Wanjia’s lips. She buried her face against Suye’s neck, the faint fragrance of her perfume softening her mood.

“That’s such a pity… I really wanted you to see it. I designed so many new elements for this year’s contest.”

“I’m really sorry,” Pei Suye said sincerely.

“Oh, it’s not serious enough to need an apology.”

“Then how about this—I’ll ask Xu Qian to record it for me. Once the experiment’s done, I’ll watch it that night, okay?”

That sounded perfect. Ye Wanjia’s eyes curved into a smile. “Okay!”

On the day of the finals, Ye Wanjia shouldered the heavy responsibility once more, stepping up as the master of ceremonies. When not on stage, she was at the tech booth overseeing backstage operations, ensuring everything ran smoothly.

The finals were a great success. Beyond the participating teams’ supporters, many other students came to watch. The lecture hall was packed full, with people spilling out into the doorway.

In her qipao patterned with blue-and-white porcelain, Ye Wanjia stood on stage beneath the spotlight, her figure captured by Wei Xiaoxiao’s camera. That photo would later enter the year’s campus beauty contest.

When the champion was announced, the taut string inside her finally loosened. Her first solo event—success.

Flowers and applause surrounded her. Even without Pei Suye’s presence, the competition had gone smoothly, achieved success, and ended perfectly.

Yet her heart still felt empty.

Like biting into a donut, only to find her teeth sinking into the hollow center.

“Alright, let’s now invite all the contestants, as well as our backstage staff, onto the stage for a group photo!”

Holding the microphone, she stepped onto the stage for the last time, speaking the closing line of her script, and cast one last glance at the empty doorway.

And then, she saw a path of flowers.

From the far end, someone pushed open the lecture hall door—one hand carrying a laptop bag, the other holding the jacket she had taken off from running too fast. Her face was hurried, her expression a little worn.

Outside, the night was heavy with dew. But she had come, carrying starlight across the sky.

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