Military training has always been one of the hottest topics among students. College boot camp, in particular, brings together complete strangers from all corners of the country, united in their shared resistance against the drill instructors’ tyrannical authority. Sweating buckets across campus and laughing loudly together—only those who’ve truly experienced it can appreciate the strange, bittersweet joy woven through the pain.

Military training is also one of the few times during college when you get to see your entire class all at once—making it the perfect opportunity for freshmen to make their first university friends. At Nanhu College, the freshman military training lasted a full twenty-one days. By the end, nearly everyone was significantly tanned. But compared to the joy of forging new friendships, such a minor “cost” clearly didn’t bother most newcomers.

Shu Yuxin, however, was an exception.

She found this military training quite different from what she’d imagined.

As mentioned before, Yuxin had enrolled in the Software Engineering program—essentially, she was training to become a coder. Anyone familiar with the field knows it’s a notoriously grueling profession. Beyond its demanding technical requirements, it’s practically infamous as a “hair-killer.” It’s not uncommon to see people in their twenties or thirties looking like old men, balding and weary. Unsurprisingly, female students in this major are exceedingly rare. This year, Nanhu College admitted over a hundred Software Engineering freshmen, split into three classes. Yuxin was in Class One, which had thirty-seven students—including her—and only four girls. And those four? They all happened to be her dormmates.

Looking back, Yuxin mused that she’d at least done the class a favor: she’d turned one less “wolf” into one more “piece of meat.” Whether that “meat” was appetizing or not was another matter—but at least this piece wouldn’t compete with the wolves for other pieces. Yuxin was fairly traditional in her views: though she didn’t oppose same-sex relationships, she herself would never become one—not in the physical sense, anyway. (“Yuri,” as some might call it.)

Ahem—back to the point. Why did Yuxin feel this military training was unlike her expectations? Mainly because the school administration, noticing just how few girls were in the Software Engineering program, decided it simply wasn’t appropriate to have them train alongside a horde of burly young men. So, with a sweeping administrative gesture, they regrouped all the female Software Engineering students with girls from several other majors into a single, all-female platoon—complete with a female drill instructor. They even gave it a name: the “Amazons.”

Stuck in this environment, our heroine spent more than twenty days wearing what could only be described as a permanent deadpan expression. She had no idea how to talk to the sea of girls around her. She didn’t understand a single topic “normal” girls found interesting—and as for the things she liked? Well… better not go there. In any case, her forced aloofness nearly convinced the drill instructor she was being socially isolated. At one evening gathering, the instructor even publicly expressed concern—which left Yuxin utterly mortified.

But honestly? She really, truly didn’t know how to chat with girls.

Fortunately, while she made zero progress in making broader friendships, Yuxin did at least get to know her three dormmates.

The bed at the foot of hers belonged to Peng Xiaoxiao. True to their first encounter, Xiaoxiao was a textbook otaku—deeply versed in all things geeky, with a love for gaming, anime, and sugary sodas. Surprisingly, however, her looks and figure were solidly in the “above average to quite attractive” range. Though she had a few freckles, they didn’t detract from her charm—in fact, paired with her large-rimmed glasses, she even gave off a quiet, literary-girl vibe. Like Yuxin, Xiaoxiao didn’t care much for typical “girl talk,” which ironically gave them plenty of common ground. Her initial impression of Yuxin as a “cold goddess” quickly dissolved with more interaction.

Across from Yuxin’s bed slept Su Ya—a girl Yuxin found reasonably attractive by her standards. Su Ya had a gentle, delicate personality: the classic “soft girl.” Her hobby? Reading physical books, specifically classic literature from both China and abroad. Such girls were increasingly rare these days. Though Yuxin didn’t talk to her much, she held a very favorable impression of her.

The last bed, diagonally opposite Yuxin’s, belonged to Cheng Xiaonan—the most “conventionally normal” girl in the dorm. Her desk held no books, only an overflowing collection of cosmetics. She spent nearly half an hour each morning and evening getting ready. A true “social butterfly,” she was rarely in the dorm except to sleep—and rumor had it she’d already snagged a boyfriend during military training. Cheng Xiaonan didn’t interact much with any of her roommates, and seemed to radiate an air of subtle disdain toward them—especially toward Yuxin, leaving the latter perpetually baffled.

Peng Xiaoxiao wasn’t fond of her either. “No matter how much makeup you slap on,” she once remarked offhandedly (though never to Cheng’s face), “if you’re ugly, you’re still ugly. Thinking jealousy’ll make you prettier? Please—get real.”

Of course, Xiaoxiao only said this after Yuxin asked about it one day. Despite being a homebody otaku, she wasn’t naive—after all, it was only the first week of school. Open conflict would benefit no one.

Nanhu College’s military training officially ended in the afternoon. During the final drill demonstration, a light rain began to fall—mingling with the students’ tears as they bid farewell to their instructors in a bittersweet final scene.

Coincidentally, Minghai University’s boot camp also concluded that same day. As dusk settled, Yuxin met Jiang Zixuan for dinner.

Nanhu College had three cafeterias: West, Central, and South. Aside from the Central Cafeteria, the other two weren’t particularly good. Our picky heroine struggled to find even a few dishes she liked. After sampling nearly everything, Yuxin finally gave up and dashed over to Minghai University’s cafeteria to try their offerings. This was where the gap between a tier-one and tier-two university became painfully clear: though both schools used outsourced catering, Minghai’s food quality was clearly several notches above Nanhu’s. At least there, Yuxin found plenty of dishes she enjoyed.

But commuting to Minghai for every meal was impractical. So, without much guilt, Yuxin started “exploiting” her best friend. For the next while, Zixuan would pack her favorite dishes from Minghai and meet her at a pavilion near Lianhua Lake, bringing his own meal along.

Lianhua Lake was a small artificial lake, but exceptionally picturesque. Situated exactly midway between Nanhu College and Minghai University, it technically belonged to Minghai—but due to its central location, students from both schools tacitly treated it as shared territory, informally splitting it down the middle.

As a scenic landmark, Lianhua Lake had naturally become one of the most popular date spots for campus couples. Every evening, the lakeside was filled with young lovers whispering sweet nothings and shamelessly showering bystanders in “dog food.”

Today was no exception.

Sitting in the pavilion, Yuxin wrinkled her nose as she ate her bowl of grilled pork rice, muttering under her breath, “The stench of love is in the air.”

“Haha, yeah, yeah—the stench of love…” Jiang Zixuan burst out laughing as he watched her reaction.