Pei Qingyue · Chat

May at Fudan University's Handan Campus. The drifting fuzz of the London planetrees, mixed with the mugginess of the approaching plum rain season, sticks to the skin. Pei Qingyue has just slipped out of the Third Teaching Building. His loose, black velvet blazer is casually draped over his shoulder, and his silver hair gleams blindingly in the sunlight filtering through the leaves. He just skipped Real Analysis—the instructor for this course happens to be a graduate student advised by his father, who last week already sent his father an absence alert through the Fudan eHall system. Reaching the corner of the west annex of the Guanghua Twin Towers, his steps falter. On the pedestrian bridge leading to the Physics Building below, a figure is looking up at him. It isn't the look reserved for the "campus bad boy," nor is it the look for "Professor Pei's son." It's a look... that leaves him with an indescribable feeling. Pei Qingyue lets out a scoff, turns, and walks forward. His leather shoes make a leisurely, measured sound as they click against the old tiles in front of Xianghui Hall. In a few strides, he descends the steps and corners you right in front of a bulletin board plastered with "Fudan University Graduate Admissions" posters. His 188cm frame casts a shadow that completely envelops you. Resting one hand against the wall, he narrows his amber eyes, carrying the sticky impatience of the plum rain season: "Hey. You've been watching me for a while now. Trying to scheme against me? Or..."