Xun Yuming followed the direction of the voice and instinctively lifted his head. On the white beam that ran across the ceiling of the lecture hall, someone had written a row of gray-black numbers in thin marker. The first few matched exactly what the professor had written on the board. The final number, slightly darker and more deliberate, was 42.
For a moment, everything connected.
The so-called "sequence" had never been a mathematical progression at all. It was simply copied—observed, not calculated. The answer had been hanging above their heads the entire time. The professor's question had been about attention, not algebra.
Understanding dawned slowly, followed immediately by heat rising up his neck.
So that was all it was.
He had stood up so solemnly, explained his reasoning with absolute seriousness, outlining what he believed to be the most precise logic, only to miss something as obvious as looking up. The embarrassment struck harder than the memory of drunken foolishness at the winery the day before.
His ears burned first. Then his cheeks.
California sunlight streamed through the tall windows, and against that brightness, Zhuang Yi seemed almost backlit, casual, amused, entirely at ease. He extended a hand as if offering formal introduction.
"Hello, Little Ear. My name is Zhuang Yi. Nice to meet you."
"Hello," Xun Yuming replied stiffly, ignoring the hand for half a second before taking it. His voice regained its seriousness. "My name is Xun Yuming. Not Little Ear."
"I know," Zhuang Yi said, dimples appearing as he smiled. "I walked you back to your dorm yesterday. Don't you remember?"
Yesterday.
Xun Yuming searched his memory and found nothing but fragments, blurred lights, dizziness, the heavy pull of sleep. He had woken up in the middle of the night alone in his dorm room, shoes kicked off carelessly, head pounding and thoughts blank. He had assumed someone from class helped him back, but he had not asked who.
He shook his head honestly. "I don't remember."
"You forget quickly," Zhuang Yi said lightly, falling into step beside him as they descended the lecture hall stairs. "I left my car keys in your dorm. Had to take a taxi back."
Xun Yuming tightened his grip on his backpack straps. The man talked too easily, too casually. It was distracting. He kept his gaze fixed ahead.
"I'll go look for them," he said. "I'll bring them tomorrow."
"That won't work." Zhuang Yi spread his hands dramatically. "I have plans tonight. How am I supposed to get there without my car?"
Plans.
Instead of studying at night, he drove out to watch games. The categorization formed quickly in Xun Yuming's mind: undisciplined.
"I'm going to the library," Xun Yuming said firmly. "I can't go back now."
Zhuang Yi looked at him and sighed. "You look like Baby Jesus, but you have quite a temper."
Xun Yuming flushed again. "I said I'll give you the key this afternoon."
He took two steps, then stopped, turning back with visible reluctance. "Thank you… for yesterday."
He removed his backpack, tore a sheet of paper from a notebook, and wrote down his phone number carefully. "Call me at 7:30. I'll bring it to you."
Zhuang Yi saved the number without comment. By the time he looked up, Xun Yuming was already halfway across the courtyard.
Instead of heading toward the biology library like most students in their program, Xun Yuming walked toward the Ryan Medical Library. Stanford had more than twenty libraries, but he gravitated toward the medical section instinctively. The subjects felt concrete, structured, less likely to trick him with hidden answers on ceilings.
Zhuang Yi followed on his bicycle, maintaining a deliberate distance. He didn't call out again. He simply trailed behind until Xun Yuming entered the building.
Inside, the library was quiet and sunlit, heavy wooden shelves stretching upward in orderly rows. Xun Yuming stood on his toes in front of one shelf, trying to reach a thick volume from the top row. He was still growing, his frame lean and not yet fully filled out, shorter than many of his classmates.
Before he could stretch further, a hand reached over him easily and pulled the book down.
He turned sharply. "Why are you following me?" he whispered.
"When did I say I was?" Zhuang Yi placed the book on the long wooden table and pulled out a chair beside him. "I'm just passing time."
"The library is for studying," Xun Yuming replied, tone tight.
He gathered his book and moved to the opposite side of the room, placing distance between them as though it were necessary for concentration.
Zhuang Yi didn't protest. He leaned back in his chair, texting idly, occasionally glancing up.
Xun Yuming wore a bright red zip-up jacket and black windbreaker pants that rustled faintly when he moved. The hem of the pants sat slightly too high, revealing a strip of white socks above worn sneakers. The combination looked outdated, almost old-fashioned. Yet the way he sat, legs pressed together neatly, back straight, utterly absorbed in the text, made the awkwardness look almost deliberate.
He did not fidget. He did not check his phone. He did not look around.
He simply read.
Hours passed.
By six o'clock, Zhuang Yi's patience began to thin. He stood and walked over. "Can we go now?"
Xun Yuming nearly startled out of his seat. He checked his wristwatch—an older model with gold trim that still shone despite its dated design.
"It's not even 6:30," he said, closing the book.
"You said 7:30," Zhuang Yi reminded him. "It takes at least fifteen minutes by bike."
"I'm not riding."
Zhuang Yi unlocked his bicycle. "Why not? The campus is huge."
"I…" The word stuck. He stared at the pavement. "I can't."
"Can't what?"
"Ride."
There was a brief pause.
"You don't know how to ride a bike?"
Xun Yuming's ears flushed again.
Zhuang Yi's expression shifted, not mocking, just surprised. "Alright," he said after a moment. "I'll take you."
The dimples reappeared faintly. It wasn't teasing. It wasn't pity. It was simply practical.
Xun Yuming hesitated before sitting stiffly on the back seat. Zhuang Yi reached back, took his hands, and placed them around his waist.
"Hold on. Don't fall."
The bicycle launched forward.
"Slow down!" Xun Yuming shouted immediately as wind rushed into his collar and downhill momentum picked up speed. "It's too fast!"
Zhuang Yi laughed softly and eased the brakes.
"Where are we stopping?"
"There's a place ahead," Xun Yuming said. "They sell milk."
"Every place sells milk," Zhuang Yi muttered under his breath, but he didn't argue.
They stopped at a small campus café. Xun Yuming went inside and returned with two milk sandwiches. He handed one over earnestly.
"For you."
Zhuang Yi hadn't planned to eat, but he accepted it anyway. "Thanks."
Just beyond the café stood Munger Graduate Residences. It was unusual for an undergraduate freshman to live there, but Zhuang Yi didn't ask.
He simply waited while Xun Yuming walked toward the entrance, backpack heavy against narrow shoulders, unaware that this unremarkable evening, keys, bicycles, milk sandwiches would later become the starting point of something neither of them had anticipated.