When he first requested that half-year leave, the paperwork was so maddeningly tedious it could drive a person insane,
it was Liu Guodong who, under pressure, paved the way with green lights all the way.
Jiang Ci had never forgotten that favor.
He hardly hesitated.
“No problem, Teacher Liu.”
Jiang Ci agreed on the spot.
The mont he spoke, Liu Guodong’s entire deanor changed.
That face, once so stiff it could have applied for intangible cultural heritage status, instantly softened.
He straightened, put his face back into a stern expression, and reclaid the authority of the head instructor.
Turning, he addressed the whole class in an amiable tone.
“Everyone’s here, give a smile! We’re ready to take the graduation photo!”
After saying that, he grabbed Jiang Ci’s arm and shoved him into the most conspicuous spot in the center of the line.
Zhao Zhen and Chen Mo standing beside him were completely dumbfounded.
The shoot began properly.
The photographer was a seasoned veteran, a professional through and through, and with cara in hand he kept directing the student standing in the C position, Jiang Ci.
“This student, yeah, you right there.”
“Don’t look so down, it’s the graduation photo, cheer up!”
“Yes, yes, tuck your chin in, give that sunny, healing vibe! Think of sothing happy!”
Jiang Ci tried.
He thought of the reassuring string of numbers in his bank account,
he thought of the life span in the system that exceeded three years.
These should have been sources of joy, but his facial muscles seed to retain a mory of sorrow,
instinctively invoking the expression belonging to “Ye Chen.”
He forced his mouth upward, but it only turned into a twitch more bitter than any farewell.
Next to him, Zhao Zhen, listening to the photographer’s directions, nearly rolled his eyes out of his head.
He suddenly leaned to one side, deliberately squeezed next to Jiang Ci, and made an extrely exaggerated grimace, twisting his features into a caricature.
“Ci-ge, smile for , give your old man sothing to laugh at!”
The voice was neither too loud nor too soft, but it utterly shattered the photographer’s painstakingly crafted “star atmosphere.”
That grotesque face completely cracked Jiang Ci up.
He could no longer hold that lancholic young star act,
and the instant the shutter clicked, he and Zhao Zhen both broke into an unguarded smile.
“Click.”
After the group photo was taken, it moved into free photo ti.
At first, an odd vacuum ford on the field.
Jiang Ci stood there, with no one within three ters of him.
Classmates gathered in twos and threes, eyeing him like a rare animal, furtively sizing him up, yet no one dared approach.
Then a ponytailed girl, egged on by her friends, blushing, clutching her phone, ran over.
“Jiang Ci… could we… take a photo with you?”
“Of course.”
Once that door opened, it was like a dam burst.
“Jiang Ci! too!”
A guy who once slung an arm around him on the basketball court and traded trash talk now, half a ter away and awkward, lifted his phone and asked, “Jiang Ci, um… mind a photo?”
That polite “Jiang Ci,” instead of the familiar “Ci-ge,” stabbed at him.
He nodded, habitually raising his arm,
wanting to drape it over the other’s shoulder, but that half ter of space
suddenly felt impossibly vast.
In the end his hand hovered awkwardly in the air and then gently dropped.
“Ci-ge, Ci-ge, look over here!”
“Ahhh Jiang Ci, I’m your fan!”
Jiang Ci was surrounded by a press of black gowns and raised phone screens.
The classmates’ requests were polite yet distant,
that kind of courteous unfamiliarity ford an invisible wall,
completely separating him from the campus life he’d known.
That distance felt more awkward than being sward by crew mbers on set.
He patiently complied with each request, putting his arm around one unfamiliar shoulder after another.
Zhao Zhen and Chen Mo watched from the edges of the crowd, seeing Jiang Ci swallowed by people, wearing a practiced comrcial smile.
Zhao Zhen irritably scratched his head.
Chen Mo calmly pushed up his glasses.
They exchanged a look and nodded in tacit agreent.
“Make way! Make way!”
Zhao Zhen, like a human tank, pushed in aggressively.
Chen Mo followed, using his slim fra to quietly block those trying to surge forward.
“We’re done, we’re done, Ci-ge needs to go to the bathroom, can’t hold it!” Zhao Zhen shouted nonsense at the top of his lungs.
“Based on human bladder capacity and fluid intake analysis, he indeed needs to imdiately resolve physiological needs.” Chen Mo supplented in a perfectly serious tone.
The two of them flanking left and right “rescued” Jiang Ci from the crowd.
The three of them escaped the noisy center and flopped down on the highest row of the stadium bleachers.
Below, classmates in black gowns were still excitedly taking photos, laughter carried distantly and sounding oddly unreal.
Jiang Ci exhaled a long breath, peeled off the stifling graduation robe, and tossed it aside.
Watching those lively, leaping figures below, he finally realized his university life had ended just like that.
Just then, his phone rang at an awkward ti.
The incoming call displayed — Lin Wan.
He slid to answer.
“Back in the capital? Quiet as a mouse, wings all grown, and you didn’t even co say hello to your boss?”
Lin Wan’s signature teasing, commanding big-sister voice ca through.
“Sister Wan, I’m at school, taking graduation photos.”
“Graduation photos?” The other side softened, “Okay, so you still look a little like a student.”
After a brief exchange, she moved straight to business.
“Have you read through The Lurker’s script?”
“Almost.”
“Director Hou just sent word this afternoon. The main cast is basically confird, just waiting on the final contract steps. In early July they’ll officially announce the crew formation.”
“Good.”
After hanging up, Jiang Ci stared absentmindedly at the busy field.
“I’m going ho tomorrow,” he told the two beside him.
Zhao Zhen, who was tussling with Chen Mo over a bottle of water, paused, handed the bottle to Jiang Ci, and patted his shoulder.
“Sure, perfect timing. Three Lifetis Tribulation opens at the end of the month, right? Go ho and watch it with your aunt, give her a surprise.”
Zhao Zhen even knew the Three Lifetis Tribulation release date, which ward Jiang Ci a bit.
“Want to hook you up with two premiere tickets?” Jiang Ci asked.
Zhao Zhen shook his head and squeezed the empty bottle until it warped.
“Premiere? No way, can’t face watching my buddy be a big star while I can’t even land an extra role.”
He laughed self-deprecatingly, “Graduation equals unemploynt. I’ve been hustling on sets until my legs practically fell off. The assistant director looks at my resu and just says, ‘We’ll let you know.’”
“At this rate, I’ll end up fighting over space under the bridge.”
Chen Mo pushed up his glasses, his tone as calm as ever yet laced with undeniable fatigue: “I filtered fifteen crews that fit my early developnt plan,”
“I submitted seven optimized electronic portfolios, and followed up by phone with casting directors from three of those crews. So far, zero feedback.”
Jiang Ci watched them and didn’t say more.
He simply stored those two nas quietly in his heart.
Just then, his phone screen flashed to life by itself.
A news push filled the entire screen arrogantly.
[The most anticipated xianxia epic of the year, Three Lifetis Tribulation, officially set to premiere June 28, lighting up the sumr!]
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