Chapter 94: A Meeting Written in Wind and Sun

The golden afternoon sun stretched across the university's tree-lined path, casting long shadows that danced with the rhythm of the wind. The leaves rustled like the whispers of time, brushing gently against the old brick walls of the campus buildings. The breeze was soft, carrying the scent of autumn leaves and roasted chestnuts from the street vendors near the university walls.It had been two weeks since college had begun, and the once unfamiliar world had now settled into a soft rhythm for Jia Lan.

Today, her usual grace was even more eye-catching.

Her pale apricot dress fluttered slightly in the breeze, cinched at the waist with a soft silk ribbon, swaying like petals. Her long dark hair was tied into a low, velvet-tied ponytail, the ends curling gently as if kissed by a curling wand, though none was used. A faint blush lingered on her cheeks, her lips tinted rose, her eyes calm and luminous like spring water—elegant yet distant, making others admire from afar without daring to approach too closely.

Even her shoes were exquisite—cream leather loafers polished to a soft sheen, paired with lace-edged ankle socks. She looked every bit the refined city girl, one who had stepped right out of a magazine page. As she walked her bicycle slowly along the campus path, her cardigan draped gently over the basket, she looked like a dream in motion.

He'd heard about her already.

People whispered about a beauty in the English major who lived in a courtyard house with a housekeeper and rode a gleaming bicycle with grace. They said she was kind, but kept her distance; friendly but elusive. Zhao Cheng hadn't paid the stories much mind.

Until now.

For a moment, Zhao Cheng almost paused in his steps.

He saw her from across the path, haloed in sunlight, the edge of her dress swaying with her slow steps. She looked like a girl who had walked out of a dream not only beautiful, but unreal in her serenity.

For a moment, Zhao Cheng forgot to move.

Zhao Cheng noticed her before she noticed him.

He had come to submit a few documents at the administrative building. Dressed in a clean, well-pressed white shirt with the sleeves neatly folded to his forearms, and dark blue trousers, he looked studious yet steady. His skin was slightly tanned from the countryside, but his eyes were calm, deep, and held a maturity beyond his peers. He had a satchel across his shoulder, and though simple, he carried himself with a kind of quiet steadiness—like a boy who had survived fire and returned carrying light.

He was walking past the garden path when he saw her.

She was… breathtaking.

The rumors hadn't done her justice. Ever since arriving at university, he had heard the whispers about the "courtyard girl"—beautiful beyond reason, polite, composed, aloof yet never rude. Some said she came from a wealthy family in the capital, others said she lived in an old courtyard with a housekeeper. Zhao Cheng hadn't paid much attention. He had bigger things on his mind. He had a life to build from ashes.

But now, seeing her in person, he understood the awe.

And yet, what struck him most wasn't her beauty—it was the look in her eyes. Calm. Observant. As if the world could not shake her inner peace.

Their paths crossed at the corner near the west library gate. She stopped to adjust her cardigan from the basket as the wind tried to steal it.

Jia Lan, who rarely took the time to stare at any male student directly, caught a movement from the corner of her eye and turned.

Their eyes met.

Zhao Cheng straightened slightly, recovering himself, offering a faint polite nod. He didn't stare, didn't gawk like so many others. That's what made Jia Lan pause. His eyes were the only thing that betrayed surprise—his posture remained calm, even indifferent, but there was something in his gaze that held weight. She had seen it once before.

Grief.

Something flickered in her chest.

Zhao Cheng, clearing his throat gently, spoke first.

"Excuse me," he said politely, with a respectful smile, "Are you Jia Lan?"

She turned, blinking once before replying, "Yes."

"I thought so. I've heard your name around campus," he added. "I'm Zhao Cheng. First-year, same batch."

The moment she heard his name, something shifted in her gaze—ever so slightly. She knew that name. Zhao Cheng.

In the book she had read in her previous life, Zhao Cheng was a fleeting yet painful character—a boy from a broken family who had died tragically during his time as an educated youth, his talents buried in dirt, his name lost to history.

But here he was. Alive. Standing before her. No longer doomed.

Her lips curled into a soft smile. "It's nice to meet you, Zhao Cheng."

Her voice was gentle, but her mind was racing.

He's alive. So he must've been reborn too? No… no, he doesn't look at me like he knows anything. He must've just been lucky. Or maybe… maybe something changed.

"I've seen you from a distance before," he said. "But this is our first proper meeting. You looked… busy."

"Not really," she said with a soft laugh. "I've just been adjusting. This place takes getting used to."

"Were you from the capital before?" he asked.

She nodded. "Born and raised."

He didn't say anything at first, just smiled faintly. "You're lucky. The capital is a different world compared to the countryside."

There was no bitterness in his voice—just quiet reflection.

"What major are you in?" she asked, changing the topic slightly.

"Literature," he replied. "I love to read. Always have."

"Ah, same," she smiled. "Though I'm in English Language Studies."

He nodded in appreciation. "You must be good at it. I heard someone gave an incredible self-introduction in full English on the first day. Was that you?"

She laughed modestly. "Guilty."

He gave a rare, genuine chuckle. "Everyone was talking about it in the dorms. You impressed even Professor Chen."

"I try not to stand out too much," she said with mock seriousness.

"You failed," he said simply. "In the best way."

There was a brief moment of quiet between them, the wind rustling the leaves, a golden leaf falling between their feet.

"Do you live in the dorms?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. "No. I stay in a courtyard nearby. With my housekeeper. It's… an old place, but well-kept."

Zhao Cheng tried to hide the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

Not because of the luxury—but because of the contrast. He had walked miles of dirt road just to escape the ghosts of his family. She, on the other hand, had a sanctuary waiting for her, polished and warm.

He didn't envy her.

But he couldn't help but notice the difference.

"I'm glad we met," he said finally. "You're not what I expected."

"And what did you expect?" she asked, teasing.

He gave a slight smile. "Someone proud. Cold. Untouchable."

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "you caught me on a good day."

And just like that, a soft breeze passed between them.

He bid her goodbye with a polite nod, and they parted ways.

But in both their hearts, the meeting lingered—quiet as a footnote, but just as powerful as a first chapter.