Chapter 3

The person who took my picture is a senior student who helped me academically step by step when I wasn't familiar with the area. My major is occult healing, which mainly involves teaching some inexplicable spells and strange feelings. The level of expertise can be judged by effectively combining these with one's own talents.

Of course, this is just one of the courses, titled "Basic Teaching of Mystic Healing II." Other subjects and electives related to this topic have different evaluation criteria, which were quite unfamiliar and confusing to me as a newcomer.

Also, I am a freshman.

I originally thought that if I didn't label the grade, how could students know where they would be taking classes? But I didn't expect that as soon as I entered the school gate, there was a floor plan showing the location of the departments and classes, and a specially marked "Mystic Healing is a newly established major" sign, indicating that I was among the first batch of students.

Knowing the location was useless, though, as I knew absolutely nothing about the school. Even my neighbors probably knew more than I did. Luckily, a senior student came to my aid in time.

My senior's major is ecology, and his class is upstairs from mine. The difficulty of the course content is only increasing. Under these circumstances, his willingness to help me, who is clearly acting against common sense, is truly touching.

I met this senior in an elective class called "A Study and Its Influence on the Savior Mentality," which was probably a weak course. I guessed they wanted to study the White Knight Syndrome, but it was too late to care. The book was quite nice, but everyone's textbook cover and some details were different, which shows how tough it must have been for the people who took this course and how leisurely the professors who managed it were.

The senior student sat next to me; his flaxen hair made his eyes look gentle. I hadn't intended to ask anyone for help; I was simply waiting for the teacher to arrive.

"This course doesn't have a teacher." The senior student approached me unnoticed and whispered in my ear, his breath making my ear itch. "But we've already reached Chapter Four. Hey, aren't you in the class group chat?"

"..."

I would rather say that I never attended a university here.

I'm not sure if I've attended before. This university has certainly surprised me in many ways, but thinking about it carefully, it makes sense, since I've never really figured out what kind of worldview it has.

The senior student enthusiastically took out his phone, scrolled to the group chat, pointed to the colorful names on it, and said to me, "If you don't have one, I'll add you in. Let's add each other as friends first?"

I was certain I didn't have this group chat, so I scrolled to my friend's ID and said, "Thank you, classmate, for your help."

That's how I met my senior. He was gentle, friendly, sincere, and had a sense of boundaries. However, due to our professional backgrounds, we rarely talked about academic matters. We just shared our difficulties and daily experiences. A while ago, I even told him that I had temporarily adopted two children. My senior calmly said, "Oh, Qinghe, you're just too kind."

The senior student smiled and glanced at me, then said, "Just tell me if you feel something's wrong, and I'll come over and help you solve it."

It's rare to see someone so willing to go to great lengths for a friend these days, and I couldn't help but feel touched. I don't make promises to others easily, but I couldn't help but say, "Senior, if you ever need any help in the future, just let me know."

The senior smiled again, his tone gentle: "Since you've put it that way, I happen to have something I need your help with."

How could it be so fast?

I was speechless for a moment, anxiously awaiting his judgment, when I heard him say, "I've been annoyed by how you call me that for a long time. Next time we meet, just call me by my name."

“Xavier,” I nodded to him, “this is my first time here.”

I could see his brow furrow and relax for a moment, as if he hadn't expected me to address him that way. Xavier stood next to me—why was he standing next to me? There were so many people behind us, and they naturally pushed their way forward. He smiled at me and said, "This is my first time here too. I heard this shop uses high-quality ingredients and adds some special plants to enhance the flavor, but no one at school has been able to tell what they are, so I came to see for myself."

I casually asked him, "Then why didn't you wait in line?"

He then snapped out of his daze, looked behind him, and sure enough, no one was willing to give him their seat. Although he could have forced his way in—after all, it was his original spot—after spending time with him, I knew he wasn't good at engaging in argumentative conversations, even if the chances were only 30%.

Xavier, who looked about the same age as my two young children, seemed frustrated and anxious about this. I didn't want to see him in such a predicament: "Let me buy it for you."

It's just steamed buns; it's much better for me to buy them for him than for him to queue up again. Xavier stood beside me, smiling, "Thank you so much, Qinghe. What do you want to eat today? I'll pay."

There was no need to go to such lengths. Just as I was about to speak, it was our turn in the queue. Following his instructions, I bought all of that model, but also made sure to buy another one with a familiar name.

We emerged from the crowded area, and Xavier tasted the still-steaming bun: "So it's Twilight Grass."

I'd never heard of that name before. Seeing my curiosity, Xavier explained, "It's a plant that lives in water. Its flowers are shaped like pitcher plants, and it's often found under water lilies. Like water lilies, it repels mosquitoes, but I never imagined it could be used as a seasoning." He remarked with a touch of wonder.

My memory could recall entries related to pitcher plants and water lilies, but not to twilight grass. It was a plant specific to this place, one I'd never seen before. This added to my sense of disconnection from the world, but Xavier smiled at me.

His warm hand landed on my shoulder, his eyes filled with anxiety: "Qinghe? Qinghe?"

"What's wrong?" I asked him, bewildered.

He seemed relieved when he saw that I could answer his question. Xavier said apologetically, "You seemed very distant just now, and your expression was confused. Maybe I overreacted..." He spoke earnestly, "My mother, my mother left me with this same look on her face... I'm sorry, I must have scared you."

He didn't elaborate, but I could sense the loneliness and sorrow in his voice. It's hard to imagine that someone as sunny and gentle as Xavier could have such a painful past. Recalling the flashbacks in my memory, I couldn't help but feel a sense of sympathy for him, and even thought that he was more pitiful than I was.

I gently took his hand. He looked back at me in surprise. I knew it was too rash, that it might disappoint him, and that I would feel sad too. He was my first friend, and I wanted him to feel at ease and happy, at least with me around.

I smiled at him, trying my best to make my tone as gentle as his: "Xavier, if you're unhappy, please come to me. I'll be happy if I can offer you some help."

I saw tears glistening in his eyes, the light flickering. He looked deeply moved, yet even more sorrowful, and he grasped my hand in return.