To Get Married - Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Thinking of this, Lu Yudong suddenly felt as though her future was filled with infinite light. A secret joy bubbled up within her, and her lips curled into an uncontrollable smile.

Seeing this, Ye Liujing frowned. “Yudong, what are you laughing at now? Are you questioning the wisdom of Professor Tang?”

“No! Professor Tang is absolutely right!” Yudong replied, before casually asking, “Have you eaten?”

“It’s six-thirty, of course I have,” Liujing said.

“Oh,” Yudong noted. “Then I’m heading to the cafeteria by myself.”

“Eh?” Liujing asked. “You didn’t eat before coming back? Do you want me to go with you?”

“No need. There won’t be many dishes left at this hour. I’ll just grab a bite.” Yudong walked to the door and waved goodbye.

“Yudong… Lu Yudong!” Liujing called out. “You’re not going to stay and chat about Little Mystery with me?”

Yudong shook her head with a laugh. “Now that we know his name, he’s not a mystery anymore! Let’s talk tonight.”

Liujing grumbled a bit. Once Yudong was gone, she flopped back onto her bed, clutching her phone in a state of self-induced excitement.

It was strange—Liujing had wandered around the piano building for a whole week previously with zero results. But ever since that Sunday encounter, Jiang Fang’s appearances at the piano rooms had become much more frequent. She felt that if she went to the building ten times, she could find him at least six of them.

However, she hadn’t thought of a natural way to strike up a conversation yet. Her routine consisted of finding an empty room nearby to practice the assignments her piano teacher gave her. Then, when she left—or when Jiang Fang left—she would pretend to look his way “accidentally.”

Her roommates found this behavior baffling and entirely pointless.

Chen Yang argued: “You might as well just find a random excuse to talk to him. Knock on his window and ask to borrow a book. Saying a few words is better than letting day after day go by with nothing happening.”

Liujing shook her head. “No, that’s too intentional!”

Yudong added: “You’re not even a piano major. You go there to practice for hours just to get two glimpses of him. Aren’t you tired?”

“A crush! What do you two know about crushes? Just seeing him makes me happy… Besides, it’s not just me noticing him,” Liujing insisted. “I feel like he’s noticed me recently. A few times when we ran into each other elsewhere on campus, he was looking at me!”

Tang Qian chimed in: “Maybe it’s an illusion?”

“It’s not an illusion! I really feel his gaze. I’m very sensitive to being watched, Yudong knows that!” Liujing countered. After all, as a practitioner of magic, if she intentionally expanded her mental energy, she truly could be “all-seeing and all-hearing.”

Yudong nodded, pondering. “I think it’s reasonable that he noticed you.”

“Right? Right! I am worth noticing!” Liujing started to boast, but was immediately choked by Yudong’s next sentence.

“After all, you frequently practice in the room next to his, and you play terribly. Think about it—if I were in a practice room and constantly heard someone next door hitting wrong notes and losing the rhythm, I’d notice them too.”

“…”

Chen Yang and Tang Qian burst into laughter. They were all Vocal Music majors; while piano was a required course, they were all learning the most basic pieces. Unlike private lessons, the teachers in the large classes wouldn’t guide them individually; they’d demonstrate the fingering a few times and leave them to practice. Consequently, Liujing was practicing very basic, short pieces—and still managed to mess them up. It was indeed a bit embarrassing.

“Yudong, you have no right to laugh at me, we’re in the same boat!” Liujing huffed. “You want to be a teacher, right? A music teacher can’t be that bad at piano. You need to practice more. Come and practice with me!”

“It’s not convenient for me to go with you. It’s enough for Little Mystery to notice one of us. I won’t go and pollute his ears or try to steal the spotlight.”

Another wave of laughter filled the dorm.

Life as a freshman was leisurely for Yudong. With few classes, she spent most of her free time resting in the dorm. Occasionally, when Chen Yang or Liujing snagged an empty vocal practice room, they’d invite her over for a session—it was like a free KTV, provided they brought their own backing tracks.

At the start of the semester, Yudong hadn’t dared to skip a single class. But as time passed and she saw her seemingly “good girl” roommates selectively skipping, she began to slack off too. Not only did she skip class, but she often skipped to go home.

Many times, after finishing class at noon or in the afternoon, Liujing would message Yudong to grab lunch at the cafeteria, only to find that Yudong was either already home or on the bus.

Liujing was astonished. “Your home is so far away! It takes nearly two hours one way. Don’t you find it a hassle?”

Yudong’s answer was always: “Not at all.” If the school weren’t so far, she’d want to go home every single day. She had lived at school since high school and could only see Manzhu once a week. Now that university was less intense, she would go home no matter the distance.

Yudong kept in mind the “offensive” romantic tactics Tang Qian had mentioned. Physical contact or exchanging food didn’t seem very applicable to her situation. Aside from casual compliments, the only thing she hadn’t tried was the “social media strategy.”

To launch a full-scale offensive, Yudong found a random excuse to teach Manzhu how to use WeChat.

On the day Manzhu registered her account, Yudong went to the bar early and added everyone as a friend for her, carefully labeling each contact. Then, she pulled Manzhu to a corner to begin the tutorial.

“Look, Sister, if you want to chat with me, you can find me here… ‘Little Winter Deer’ is me. Unlike SMS, messages here are free.”

“You can even send voice messages. Look, press and hold here, speak, and let go… Oh, and there are voice and video calls, see? And ‘Moments’ is where you share things—selfies, moods, whatever. Only friends can see them. If you don’t want someone to see, you can block them. Let me show you…”

Manzhu watched the screen intently. She was a fast learner and could remember things after seeing them once. The only reason she hadn’t used social media before was because she felt she didn’t need it—aside from Yudong, she rarely contacted anyone. In the past, her contact list had only two names: Lu Yudong and Mu Chenshan. Now, she had only added three more: Yudong’s middle and high school teachers, and the bar’s chef, Gou Hongjie.

It was clear that Manzhu’s phone existed solely for Yudong. It was no wonder that when her old flip-phone finally died, she almost bought an identical one. To her, even the most high-end smartphone was just a tool for texting Yudong. Fortunately, the others had talked her out of it, or she wouldn’t be able to watch dramas or use mobile payments now.

Yudong naively thought that by teaching Manzhu WeChat, she could observe Manzhu’s “Moments” to gauge her moods and preferences.

As it turned out, Manzhu didn’t post at all. Not a single one.

The only change was that their communication shifted from outdated texts to voice messages. Since Manzhu didn’t know Pinyin well and relied on handwriting, she much preferred speaking. Their frequency of chatting increased since there were no more SMS fees.

Suddenly, Room 415 had a resident who spent her time lying in bed sending voice messages. The worst part, according to her roommates, was that Yudong—who looked so innocent—was actually a huge “poser.”

They mostly exchanged messages at night when Yudong was free and Manzhu was busy. Yudong would receive Manzhu’s messages instantly, but since Manzhu could only listen to them when she had a break, Yudong used that time to “perform.”

She would record a voice message, but if she thought her voice didn’t sound pretty enough halfway through, she’d delete it and restart. Once a message was finally sent, she’d listen to it herself; if she still didn’t like it, she’d withdraw it and record it again several times. This meant her roommates often had to hear her repeat a simple sentence seven or eight times.

Even worse, the content was becoming increasingly “saccharine.” What kind of “sisters” talked like that? It sounded exactly like a young couple showing off their love.

After a few days, the single dogs in the dorm couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lu Yudong! Why do you have to be such a poser?!”

Yudong ignored them completely. If she wanted to pose, she would pose.

In response, the roommates came up with a new tactic. Whenever Yudong started recording a voice message, they would turn into drama queens and shout in the background:

“Master, stop chanting, Master! My head hurts, my head hurts!” (A reference to Journey to the West) “Lu Yudong, what are you doing? We need a fourth for mahjong, come on! Don’t run away just because you won money!” “Lu Yudong! How are you going to pay back what you owe me?!”

“Wow! You three, try being human for once!” Yudong cried.