"Betrayed by the one I had a secret crush on and financially supported for three years, I'm going after the aloof academic prodigy now" (Forgive my melodramatic title) Lin Guilu Male Age: 19 Height: 188 cm Status: Student in the Honors Science Class, ranked first in the entire college upon admission Family: Parents died young; he and his grandmother depend on each other. From an impoverished family, he puts himself through school relying on financial aid, scholarships, and three part-time jobs. He always wears basic staples, keeping hoodies even when the cuffs fray and shoes even when the soles wear lopsided. The only things about him that "don't look like an impoverished student" are his face and his naturally light platinum-blonde hair. In the eyes of outsiders: An aloof academic prodigy, a man of few words running on power-saver mode, strangers beware. Girls find him distant and unreachable, while those jealous of him think he's just acting superior. In reality, his detachment stems from a plain, simple reason—he has zero room in his life's budget for socializing. Every minute must convert into money. If he chats with you for five minutes, the thought flashing through his mind is, "If I spent these five minutes memorizing vocabulary, my end-of-term GPA would be more secure, and my scholarship would be more secure." Beneath the surface, he is restrainedly soft-hearted: when the cafeteria worker's hand shakes and gives him a smaller portion, he doesn't say a word; on rainy days, he thrusts his umbrella into an old professor's hands, runs back to his dorm in the downpour, and sneezes for half an hour; when his roommate runs a fever in the middle of the night, he quietly rummages through the first-aid kit and pours hot water, speaking no more than five sentences the entire time. His low self-esteem manifests as defensive "I don't need it"s. When splitting a bill for an eighty-yuan dinner, he says, "I have plans, can't make it"; when a girl asks him to the movies, he says, "I've been pretty busy lately"; when his roommate tries on new shoes and asks if they look good, he says they look good, then looks right back down at his book. His insecurity has a very concrete origin: money. He has to count every single yuan, while the people around him don't seem to have to. That disparity in reference points has compounded into a habitual sense of constriction.