Chapter Text
Friday, February 13th
The Chemistry Department of the Yunmeng University is on fire.
Not figuratively.
Literally.
Because Professor Wei Wuxian’s newest project sent the roof of the lab through the winter air, almost hitting a particularly rare reed parrotbill.
A typical Friday the 13th, one could say.
Earlier, none of Professor Xie Lian’s classes worked out. The archives in his flash drive kept getting corrupted. His laptop’s wi–fi wasn’t working. He spilled his favorite oat latte on his white shirt.
Everything is normal, to be perfectly honest.
Across the campus, the winner of the Most Stressed Man of the Year (a.k.a. Dean Jiang Cheng) is yelling at someone through the phone. On the Department of Medicine, Professor Wen Qing is threatening her assistant with a scalpel. On the cafeteria, Professor He Xuan, the specialist in a very specific fish species that only exists in a remote location, is the only one courageous enough to try one of Qi Rong’s fish pies (and no one knows what goes into making one of those). Professor Nie Huaisang, from the Ornithology Department, is photographing birds (again).
Only one thing stands out as particularly… uncommon.
The arrival of a new professor to the department of Arts & History. He is a newcomer from heaven knows where and got on campus on a crimson Harley Davidson that probably costs more than the med students’ tuition.
The question remains: who is he? Why someone that looks (and smells!) so wealthy even needs this job? And why does he look so excited to work in that shitty department, alongside the unluckiest professor ever?
The air in the faculty lounge — that usually smells of coffee and burnt ego — now smells like niche perfume and expensive mistakes that will cost someone their job. Professor Wei Wuxian is currently being chased across the parking lot by the Dean, who is brandishing a scorched attendance sheet like a weapon of war.
You know, as one does.
As it goes on, a flash of crimson interrupts them, accompanied by a roar that vibrates through the students’ very bones.
The newcomer has arrived. He dismounts his motorcycle with a grace that makes every girl in a 50–meter radius forget how to breathe.
His name? Professor Hua Cheng (though he insists Professor Xie Lian call him ‘San Lang’ for some unknown reason I’m yet to dissect). He now teaches Ancient Weaponry & Strategic Arts (which sounds like a made up position, but nothing can be proven at the moment). He has a vibe of “I own the bank that holds your mortgage, but I’m here because I like the aesthetic of the chalk dust”.
And here is where the mystery thickens: he doesn’t head for the Dean’s office nor the administration building. He doesn’t even look at the smoking crater that used to be the Chemistry lab. He walks straight toward Professor Xie Lian, who is currently trying to scrub oat milk off his sleeve. The students watch in awe as Professor Hua Cheng grabs a handkerchief (probably Hermès) and a coffee that smells so expensive it probably has its own tax haven.
And the way he looks at our unlucky colleague! Well… If Xie Lian is a disaster magnet, this man is the specialized containment unity. He looks at the ruined latte–stained shirt as if it’s a masterpiece of modern art.
“Gege,” he says. “You look like you’ve had a difficult day. May I offer you a ride?”
Xie Lian, bless his oblivious soul, smiles. The kind of smile that makes the sun feel redundant.
“San Lang! You’re the new hire! What a coincidence!”
Coincidence? Dear colleagues, there is no such thing as a coincidence when a man with a custom Harley and a leather jacket that costs more than the Medicine Department’s budget “happens” to take a job in the most underfunded wing of the Arts building.
As this scene unfolds, Lan Wangji, the Professor of Ethics from the Law Department, is standing by his window, staring at the bike, probably calculating the exact decibel violation of the exhaust pipe. The question that must be popping in his head is probably the same crowding the thoughts of every student on campus:
Why is a man who smells like a Clive Christian limited–edition perfume so intent of carrying Professor Xie Lian’s eco–bag?
That’s what I plan to dissect in my further observations.
As for now, I’m curious to see if Professor He Xuan will survive Qi Rong’s fish pie or if it will cause the outbreak of another pandemic or something far scarier, like The Last of Us – Yunmeng Edition. Thankfully, Professor Shi Qingxuan can be seen hopping in his direction, carrying one of his usual light and airy teas that could even cure a broken heart.
The sun begins to set, casting long shadows over the remains of the Chemistry Wing. Most professors trudge toward the parking lot with the haunted look of soldiers retreating from a lost battle. Professor Mu Qing, the prideful and dismissive professor of Restoration & Preservation of Fine Arts, is currently shaking his fist at a group of pigeons that had the audacity to exist near his pristine black sedan. He looks particularly sour today — likely because he spent the afternoon grading papers while listening to the distant sound of Dean Jiang Cheng’s vocal cords snapping.
Near the campus gates, the atmosphere is different: Jian Lan is closing her bakery and the scent of fresh cinnamon is the only thing keeping the student body sane. Feng Xin, looking like he’s aged a decade in a single eight–hour shift at the Administration office, is leaning against the brick wall, pleading.
“Jian Lan, please, just one dinner! Cuocuo needs a stable father figure!”
Cuocuo, better known as The Agent of Chaos, ignores his parents’ argument as he attempts to use a scalpel (that I’ve seen him “borrow” from Professor Wen Qing’s lab) to carve something into the tire of a parked police cruiser. Officer Xuan Ji sees nothing, for she’s distracted staring longingly — and somewhat terrifyingly — at the Law Building’s balcony, hoping for a glimpse of Professor Pei Ming.
Inside the cafeteria, the lights flicker. Professor He Xuan has survived the fish pie. Professor Shi Qingxuan is practically vibrating with energy, wearing a flowy t–shirt from the “History of Transgender Expression” seminar while trying to drag He Xuan toward his light seafoam green car.
“He–xiong! Dinner is waiting! And I have appetizers that don’t involve food poisoning!”
But all eyes drift back to the parking lot.
Professor Xie Lian is trying to unlock his bicycle — a feat made difficult by the fact that the lock is stuck (another Friday the 13th miracle). He looks ready to accept his fate and walk home under the soft drizzle.
Then, the crimson beast roars again.
Professor Hua Cheng doesn’t just ride; he performs. He stops his Harley inches from Xie Lian’s feet, the engine purring like a satisfied oversized feline. He hands Xie Lian a spare helmet — white, vintage, and suspiciously the exact size for a head full of soft, disaster–prone thoughts.
“The forecast predicts a torrential downpour, Gege,” Hua Cheng says. “And I’ve heard the streets toward your apartment are already flooding. It would be… irresponsible of me to let you go alone.”
Xie Lian blinks at the sky, clutching his eco–bag. “Flooding? Already?”
“A total washout,” Hua Cheng guarantees. “My loft is just around the corner. We could… discuss the curriculum over a meal.”
As they disappear into the twilight, a flash of white caught my eye. High above, in the Law Building, Professor Lan Xichen is packing his leather briefcase, looking toward the Administration wing with a soft, longing smile. Beside him, his younger brother remains a statue of silent judgment, his eyes following the taillights of the Harley until they vanish.
The campus is quiet now, save for the sound of Professor Nie Huaisang clicking his camera shutter one last time before heading to his car, and the distant, muffled scream of Dean Jiang Cheng finding out that Wei Wuxian tried to “fix” the plumbing issues of the Physics Department with a reaction that was a little too… reactive.
It’s going to be a long night.
COMMENTS:
Sandu_Angry_Manager:
I don’t know who runs this blog, but if I see one more photo of my Faculty on fire, I am subpoenaing the hard drives.
Everyday_Means_Everyday:
The decibel level was 110. School regulations state 85 max. Also, the “white flash” was a reflection of the truth.
Lattes_and_Lotus:
Cuocuo is perfectly stable!!! He just has a very creative way of expressing his interest in mechanics!
Archivist_MQ:
@Everyday_Means_Everyday Only 110? It sounded like a scream from the depths of hell. And someone tell the “newcomer” that parking a motorized vehicle next to the 18th century tapestry wing is a biohazard. The exhaust fumes are acidic. I’m watching you.
Wind_Master_88:
OMG!!! HE-XIONG SURVIVED! The seafoam green car is actually a hybrid, very eco–friendly! And San Lang is SO COOL, right? Best Friday the 13th ever!
Deep_Sea_Debt:
@Wind_Master_88 Stop tagging me. I didn’t “survive.” Also, the new guy’s watch is a Patek Philippe. I’m going to start charging for “security consultations” in the parking lot.
Suibian_and_Science:
Is no one going to mention how San Lang’s hair stayed perfect inside that helmet? That’s the real scientific mystery here.
Official_Officer_X:
If the red motorcycle is exceeding the speed limit, I will personally escort the driver to the station for… questioning. Extensive questioning. Does anyone know if Professor Pei Ming likes leather jackets? Asking for a police report.
Ruoyes_Dad:
Oh, I didn’t realize there was a blog! San Lang was very kind to help. The flooding was quite bad. His loft has a very impressive collection of historical swords. Very educational.
Jon_Snow:
@Ruoyes_Dad How fascinating! It’s truly a miracle how localized that flooding was. I didn’t see a single drop on the Law Building’s side. Must be a very specific microclimate!
Butterfly_King:
@Ruoyes_Dad Anytime, Gege. @Archivist_MQ My exhaust is cleaner than your personality. Don’t touch the bike.