Cheng Shuo was truly happy; he had never loved autumn this much in his life.

Cen Zeng watched this person laugh, and in his laughter, he unexpectedly sensed an inexplicable sadness.

'Has my depression worsened?'

I haven't reached the point of seeing a tree and wondering if it's a good one to hang myself from.

But have I reached the point where I feel sad watching someone laugh?

He tried to regulate his breath; it felt normal, and he didn't feel any fatigue. Meanwhile, the person opposite him had stopped laughing and said, "You're very interesting."

'Why can he sound so serious when he says things like that?'

Paired with his radiant face, it added a touch of feigned sincerity.

Cen Zeng couldn't be bothered to think too much about it and said, "It's more interesting that you've been waiting for me after class for six days straight."

"I want to be friends. I heard you're particularly cold and aloof, so isn't this me trying to show my sincerity?"

The last time someone wanted to be friends with him, it was in his third year of high school, and they mainly wanted him to explain problems to them. After tutoring him for three months, when the news spread that his mother had attempted suicide by hanging, the person told him, "Sorry, my condolences." They then stared at his still somewhat frightening neck for a while and didn't dare to approach him again.

Cen Zeng didn't particularly care. He wore short sleeves as usual during the humid weather.

A classmate came up to show concern for him after he had been absent for a few days, saying, "I heard. Are you okay?" He looked at the gossiping expressions of the people around them, a little surprised that they had waited a whole day before sending someone to ask.

So he replied flatly, "The rumors are true. But my mom can't die from sleeping pills; she's been discharged from the hospital. I'm fine too. The marks on my neck will fade soon. Let me know if they scare you."

Even those who were scared would act as if they weren't, not to mention they were in the science-focused advanced class. After adjusting their moods with some classmate gossip, they still had to go back to struggling with the last sub-question of every major problem.

He was the first to lower his head and continue solving his equations.

"Why do you want to be friends with me?" the present-day Cen Zeng asked the person beside him.

Of course, he possessed normal social skills and wouldn't usually ask questions that would make anyone feel awkward.

It was just that he naturally felt the person before him had the ability to handle such a blunt topic.

Upon hearing this, Cheng Shuo showed no confusion, embarrassment, or surprise. He simply curved his eyes into a smile and said, "You look like you're short on friends. I'm actually short on friends too."

He didn't manage to get any real information out of him, but he didn't mind. He said that making friends with medical students might lead one to mistake them for being dead during finals week.

"What about you?" Cheng Shuo said.

"What?"

"Are you usually dead too?"

"You can consider me dead," Cen Zeng replied. "We have one hour left, then I have to go to the hospital."

"We still have that much time?"

"If you prefer, it can be ten minutes."

Cheng Shuo smiled and said, "Why can't it be an hour and ten minutes?"

He was someone who loved making witty remarks. Cen Zeng didn't respond.

He led Cheng Shuo into the cafeteria.

Then he watched as the person opposite him ordered their meals with practiced ease—two servings.

When he was about to swipe his card, Cheng Shuo was already holding the trays with a grin, saying, "You get that."

He looked and saw that it was the sliced bamboo shoots and fish noodles he always liked to order.

It was inexplicably suspicious.

"You've been observing me," Cen Zeng said.

"Why do you always state your questions like they're declarative sentences?"

'What does he mean by "always"?' "Besides, this is indeed a declarative sentence."

Cen Zeng raised his eyes. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"You ordered what I usually eat."

"Oh? Are we that fated to be? I got it right on the first guess," Cheng Shuo said. "In that case, eat up."

Cen Zeng asked him, "You don't want to say?"

Cheng Shuo wondered, 'When this person's mental state isn't so bad, is he always this aggressive?'

He completely ignored the bizarre excuse he himself had used to approach Cen Zeng, and also ignored Chen Ziheng, who still had him blocked.

He said, "Then you can just assume that in order to be your friend, I secretly observed what you were eating from a dark corner of the School of Medicine's cafeteria every day."

He laughed at his own words after saying them.

Across from him, Cen Zeng chewed on the bamboo slices expressionlessly, crunch, crunch. He guessed Cen Zeng wanted to chew him up instead.

"I have my channels," Cheng Shuo answered this way. "If you really want to know, I'll tell you in the future."

"The same strange channels that got you my class schedule?"

"Getting your schedule was just a small trick of mine," Cheng Shuo said, a little smugly. "This one, however, is indeed rather strange."

"Don't do anything illegal," Cen Zeng said. "Otherwise, I'll report you."

This was what Cen Zeng talked about during their first meeting.

Cheng Shuo was amused for a long time.

As the person opposite him wore a happy expression, Cen Zeng calmly finished his meal. He glanced at the bus schedule for the hospital and said, "There are twenty minutes left. I have to go."

"Then, let's add each other on WeChat?"

Cen Zeng nodded. While writing the contact name, he asked, "What's your major?"

It was the first time he'd asked, so he answered, "I'm in the same year as you. I study Public Policy."

Cen Zeng thought for a moment, but in the end, he didn't add the major, just writing the two characters for "Cheng Shuo."

'A very special person; no extra adjectives needed.'

He stood up. Cheng Shuo grabbed him again, a woody, berry-scented cologne wafting from his cuff. "When will we meet again?"

Cen Zeng thought for a moment and said, "Send me your class schedule too. I'll take a look tonight when I get back."

When he arrived at the laboratory building, he ran into a few senior brothers. The three of them looked terrible. Upon seeing him, Song Shuyi, with whom he had been interacting more recently, whispered, "He's going crazy. Wait ten minutes before you go in."

He nodded and said, "Thanks."

Ten minutes later, he was still getting chewed out mercilessly.

Standing amidst the spray of the other person's spit, Cen Zeng thought for no particular reason, 'This is a rare experience too. When I was a child, my teachers would see me and just sigh, saying, "Cen Zeng, we know things are difficult at home for you, and your grades are so good."'

'But you need to tell your mom that the school fees can't be delayed any longer.' Or they would ask him, "Have you had breakfast? Teacher has an extra egg here."

In his third year of high school, his teacher was very worried about his psychological state and even asked if he wanted to go see a movie, offering him a ticket. He had simply replied, "It won't affect the college entrance exams. Please don't worry."

Director Li's insults were extremely creative; listening to them, Cen Zeng felt he should record and memorize them.

Then, after each of his mother's panic attacks, when she would weakly belittle her own life, he could stand by and insult himself with even more scathing language. They were both actually quite good at it, but he, after all, didn't like to say it out loud.

He listened to the lecture for twenty minutes. In between insults, Li Aimin told him to first deliver the photocopies of the case files, then go input the biochemical indicators of recent patients from one to seven days post-op, and organize them into a table.

Then, he was to look up recent research on a certain post-operative infection, organize the literature in the evening, have Song Shuyi check it over, and then send it to him before twelve o'clock. "Don't hand in a pile of garbage again!"

He pointed out that some patient records were written illegibly and asked if he could be provided with that doctor's contact information, only to receive the reply, "What kind of medical student are you if you can't even read the handwriting?"

Then, when Li Aimin told him to hurry up and get the hell out to help, he bowed and said, "I will work hard." Then, amidst the other person's annoyed expression, he left and went to the lab to wash beakers.

It was actually worse than dissecting rabbits; at least he was good at administering anesthesia, and the teacher for that class gave clearer instructions.

But things had come to this, so he could only do it.