It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 73

In the flurry of kisses, the two of them didn’t leave until 7:40.

Fortunately, both were skilled riders. They sped down the side path and dashed into the classroom at 7:59 sharp.

“Hey.”

Ye Wanjia shot the person next to her a glare. “This is my chosen class. Why did you follow me here?”

If it hadn’t been for this person kissing and hugging her just moments ago, would she have almost been late? Would she have had no time to even put on makeup?

And now she had followed her to class. What did she want—more touching? Absolutely not! If she dared try anything in the classroom, Ye Wanjia swore she’d stomp her foot flat as a pancake, leather shoes and all!

Suye Pei, however, clearly hadn’t been driven senseless by desire. In fact, upon entering the classroom, she casually brushed back her hair, blown messy from the ride. She parted it neatly, tied it behind her head, and tucked a few loose strands of her short hair behind her ear with slender fingers.

She hadn’t put on makeup either, yet somehow she looked brighter than any other day.

“I don’t really know,” she answered vaguely to Ye Wanjia’s question. But then, realizing how odd that sounded, she quickly added:

“I don’t have any experiments this morning. I’ll keep you company.”

To show she was prepared, she reached into her bag to pull out a notebook. The bag was the same one she’d carried yesterday, which should have contained an umbrella, her keys, and a small notepad she always carried around.

But after rummaging for a while, she only managed to pull out a fountain pen. Not a single sheet of paper, not even an A4.

“Um…”

Miss Pei rubbed her nose awkwardly, unable to meet Ye Wanjia’s gaze. She glanced at the open notebook in front of her and mumbled softly:

“Tear me a sheet?”

“Ha!”

Ye Wanjia couldn’t hold it in—she laughed out loud in the middle of the student crowd. If the professor hadn’t just walked through the door, she would’ve laughed even louder. She tore a blank page from the back of her notebook, slapped it on the desk, and pushed it over. At the top, she had written three bold characters:

Little Fool.

“Heh…” Pei Suye chuckled, a low sound vibrating in her throat, like a spring breeze flowing through a harmonica.

She picked up the pen, crossed out “Little,” and wrote “Old” beneath it.

Old Fool.

Ye Wanjia completely lost it. She buried her face in her hands and shook with silent laughter under the desk. This person actually changed “Little” instead of “Fool”? How could anyone be so dense—and so adorable? Was this really Pei Suye?!

Her bent upper body trembled like a sieve, the small ponytail at the back of her head bouncing with each laugh. She shook for a full two minutes before finally resurfacing, face flushed red, trying to sit up straight again.

“Hoo… hoo…”

She kept taking deep breaths, even waving her hands rhythmically like a character from a xianxia drama, as if she were cultivating immortality.

But then, turning her head, she met Pei Suye’s expression—pure bafflement, as if silently asking: What are you laughing at?

She cracked again.

“Pfft—”

A second round of laughter burst out, and she ducked under the desk again. Luckily, this was a large lecture with fifty or sixty students. Sitting in the back row made them inconspicuous. Otherwise, if they disrupted the class, she’d never be able to show her face again.

The last time she straightened up, Ye Wanjia steeled herself into saintly composure and focused on the lecture. The entire ninety minutes, she never once looked in Pei Suye’s direction.

Because honestly—this person had become such a fool.

When you first reconcile, everything suddenly becomes amusing.

The mountain wind, the roadside flowers—every step of the journey seemed to brim with stories that lifted the heart.

They liked to talk about the past: how Ye Wanjia worked an entire year to finally earn the national scholarship; how the literature club once hosted a city-level event, and she bought a qipao just to attend; how, the moment she decided to come to Davis, her fate was destined to intertwine with Pei Suye’s.

As for Pei Suye, life had been quieter over the past year. Without student council competitions and activities, her days revolved around the lab and the road leading to it.

But devoting herself to one thing didn’t mean no results—

Her first academic paper had been published.

And the journal it appeared in carried an impact factor of 17.34.

What did 17 mean?

In most universities back home, the doctoral graduation requirement was an accumulated impact factor of 5. For example, several papers could add up to 5. A veterinary medicine PhD who published even a single article above 10 could easily secure a national graduate scholarship, not to mention a smooth career path afterward.

But Pei Suye wasn’t even a PhD yet—just a second-year master’s student. Publishing a first-author paper with an IF of 17 was explosive.

Her lab was already known for high output, but when the PI learned of this, he was still delighted. Not only did he award Pei Suye a $2000 bonus, he also invited everyone to celebrate at his villa.

Pei Suye, meanwhile, paid out of pocket to treat everyone to Chinese food. She borrowed Professor Li’s private car, personally fetched the dishes from the restaurant, and arranged them at the villa. She made sure Ye Wanjia’s favorite—sweet and sour ribs—was placed right in front of her.

But a party meant people, and people meant gossip.

“Don’t you think Jessica and Leafage are a little too close?”

“I think so too. They keep looking at each other, smiling at each other.”

“Sure, girls often hold hands, but when they went to get food earlier, their fingers were interlaced!“

Hearing this chatter, Alma—the one with the air of a prophet standing above the stratosphere—lifted a hand, her expression smug and knowing.

“No—”

She dragged out the word, wagging a finger, eyebrows arched.

“I used to be Leafage’s roommate. I already asked her.”

Everyone fell silent, leaning in as one, forming a circle around her.

“You know something? Spill it!”

Alma swept her golden curls back, sapphire eyes glinting with drama. Lifting her chin and hand, she declared with flourish:

“They’re just schoolmates. Alumni, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a convincing explanation. If Alma hadn’t actually lived with Ye Wanjia, the group would have torn her apart on the spot.

“But honestly,” one of them added, “it feels like they’re more than friends. Almost like… girlfriends.”

The group spoke in English, and the word girlfriend struck Alma’s memory hard. She recalled Ye Wanjia’s righteous face, and her emphatic words, delivered with absolute certainty:

“Not girlfriend. They’re just friends.”

Given that statement came straight from her former roommate, everyone accepted it—at least somewhat. But recalling how Pei Suye and Ye Wanjia acted, something still felt off. They looked up at Alma, who stood glowing with confidence, and hesitation gnawed at them.

Clink!

The sound of dishes clattering in the garden cut through the air. Minds went blank for a second before realizing—wasn’t it just Pei Suye and Ye Wanjia out there, sorting the food?

Like prairie dogs, the graduate students crept to the door and stacked their heads one above another, peeking out into the garden.

There, Ye Wanjia had just stolen a rib and been caught by Pei Suye.

“Stop eating, or there won’t be any left.” Pei Suye handed her a wet wipe.

Ye Wanjia spat out the bone, slowly chewing every last bit of flavor from the meat before swallowing.

“But I haven’t had Chinese food in so long.”

Her voice was soft and sweet as she leaned against Pei Suye, her body melting into hers, pleading:

“Just one more? Please, Senior?”

Pei Suye couldn’t resist people’s coquettish begging—least of all Ye Wanjia’s.

And her kind of “couldn’t resist” was clearly not the same thing.

“Fine. A small one. But that’s it.”

Using clean chopsticks, she picked out a piece of pure meat and fed it to the little glutton.

“Ah—mmpf!”

Ye Wanjia’s arms wrapped around her waist, mouth opening round and wide to bite into the juicy, sauce-drenched rib. Her face was blissful.

“You missed a spot.” Pei Suye’s eyes lingered at the corner of her lips.

Ye Wanjia blinked in confusion, wiping her mouth. “Where?”

Pei Suye didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned in and swept away the sauce with her lips, straightening with satisfaction.

“Mm. Clean now.”

And just like that, she earned herself a blushing red little leaf.

For a couple, it was the most ordinary interaction imaginable. But for the hidden onlookers, it was like heaven and earth colliding, thunder striking fire.

All eyes turned toward Alma. Their gazes dimmed, brows furrowed, chins lifted. In unison, they demanded:

“Friends?”

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