It really wasn't that his alma mater, South China University of Technology, was bad. It was a Project 985 university, after all. SYSU simply offered better value.
South China University of Technology focused entirely on science and engineering, whereas SYSU was a comprehensive university. The admission cutoffs for some programs at its Lingnan College and School of Medicine had already surpassed those of Tsinghua and Peking University.
"SYSU's Lingnan College" was even hailed as a business school on par with "Peking University Guanghua School of Management." Its MBA program had produced many corporate executives, and it enjoyed considerable recognition not only across the five southern Chinese provinces, but also in Hong Kong and internationally.
But then a question occurred to Chen Zhu:
If I really get into SYSU and change both my university and my major, will I still take the civil service exam later?
Or, more directly, even if I stick to the original path and go to South China University of Technology again, do I still want to become a civil servant?
Why had he taken the civil service exam back then? After finishing his master's degree, he had tried several jobs without finding one he liked. Just when he felt utterly lost and full of doubt, registration opened for the provincial civil service exam.
He had been like every other graduate: if you couldn't find a decent job, you might as well give the civil service exam a shot.
What he hadn't expected was to actually pass without a hitch.
If I'd had a job paying fifteen thousand yuan a month back then, I probably wouldn't have taken the provincial exam.
Chen Zhu brooded over the thought.
Working within the government system had its advantages and drawbacks. It mostly came down to what a person wanted and chose.
The advantages were:
A reliable income come rain or shine, a certain amount of social standing, connections you could call on when your child needed schooling or a family member was hospitalized...
In a small fifth- or sixth-tier city, being a civil servant could actually make for a pretty happy life.
Of course, there were drawbacks too:
The salary barely covered living expenses, overtime was relentless and unpaid, and behind those institutional walls, your choices often weren't your own. The higher your position, the greater the pressure...
Sometimes even an offhand remark from a superior could leave you tossing and turning, picking it apart over and over.
Now that he had unexpectedly been reborn, should he still take the civil service exam in the future?
Frowning deeply, Chen Zhu spun his pen around and around. Then the ballpoint slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a clack, and in that instant, he made up his mind.
The civil service exam definitely isn't my first choice!
It's only 2007! I know how society will develop over the next dozen years, and I've spent all those years immersed in the government system. My skill and ability to handle problems are beyond question. Why should I go back to slowly climbing the ladder, one year of seniority at a time?
I can start laying the groundwork and making things happen while I'm still at university.
Who takes the civil service exam after being reborn?
I spent over a decade walking on eggshells in the government system. Can't I finally enjoy myself now?
Keep the music playing, keep the dancing going.jpg
Actually, even his second choice wouldn't be the regular civil service exam. It would be the selected-graduate recruitment program.
Mandatory entrance exams were a fundamental national policy for civil service recruitment, but candidates in the selected-graduate program could earn extra points through their performance at university.
So Chen Zhu figured he could first clear every hurdle to becoming a selected graduate while he was still at university.
That included building connections within his college and the university, with important departments such as personnel and student affairs, and even with the student union.
To an ordinary university student, all of that seemed far removed from everyday life. They wouldn't even know where to begin.
But Director Chen could find an opening in that tangled web of relationships.
At the same time, he would start his own business.
If I've become Chen Busi four years from now, then sorry, I'm going off to be an entrepreneur.
If I'm still only running a small operation, that's fine. I'll become a selected graduate.
Chen Zhu had made a major decision about his life. Unfortunately, he couldn't share it with his good friend Huang Bohan, so he simply channeled his excitement into motivation and kept his head down, working through problems.
After finishing math, physics, and chemistry, he took out the Chinese and English papers from their last monthly exam to study.
As for English, the parts he hadn't understood were still beyond him.
But after looking over his Chinese paper for a while, Chen Zhu's face scrunched up like a steamed bun.
For example:
Every secondary school student knows that "A thousand miles from home, a constant guest in autumn's grief" is followed by "A lifetime plagued by illness, I climb the terrace alone." How did I manage to forget it back then?
And in "Slow Song of Yangzhou," the poet clearly described the city's former prosperity to express sorrow over the destruction of war and a longing for peace.
How did I decide that the poet was captivated by Yangzhou's bustling, prosperous scenery and expressing delight?
And that essay-absolutely ridiculous!
Did I really write something that far off topic?
Noticing that Chen Zhu had been staring at his Chinese paper with a constantly shifting expression, Huang Bohan leaned over for a look, then patted his shoulder reassuringly.
"Stop looking at old papers. Our first mock exam is in a couple of days. Just follow my lead with your Chinese revision for now. Memorize whatever I memorize, and I can at least help you break a hundred."
Although Huang Bohan wasn't as strong as Chen Zhu in math, physics, and chemistry, he wasn't nearly as bad at Chinese and English either. His marks were fairly balanced across the subjects, and he had eventually gotten into South China University of Technology too, just not into as good a major as Chen Zhu.
Chen Zhu glanced at the thoroughly average yet supremely confident Huang and said nothing.
Soon it was nine thirty, and evening study ended. Chen Zhu and Huang Bohan both lived off campus. They were not only deskmates, but also meal buddies and companions on the journey home.
Chen Zhu vaguely remembered that back then, if one of them needed to take time off, he even had to find a replacement companion for the other in advance:
"I'm taking this lunchtime off. I've already arranged it for you-go eat with so-and-so in a bit."
Thinking back on it now, it had been both goofy and innocent.
After classes let out, soft moonlight bathed the campus beneath a scattering of stars. High school students walked along the tree-lined paths in twos and threes, some pushing bicycles, others carrying schoolbags.
One moment they were talking loudly, the next whispering among themselves. They radiated youthful energy, their smiles full of hope for the future.
Perhaps this was what youth truly looked like: unaware of their own limits, each convinced of their extraordinary talent. They fancied themselves charming and worldly, yet remained open and sincere. Caught up in the atmosphere, even Chen Zhu felt like humming a few pop songs.
The campus radio station played music at this time every day, and tonight was no exception. Soon, Jay Chou's "Hair Like Snow" drifted from the speakers beside the path:
Your hair, like snow, made our parting hauntingly beautiful
For whom did I burn incense and stir these feelings?
I invited the bright moon to make our memories shine
Love was perfect beneath the moonlight
"Hair Like Snow" had remained popular for years afterward and was still on Chen Zhu's playlist in 2024. Now, abruptly back in 2007, he was hearing those familiar lyrics again.
For a fleeting moment, Chen Zhu felt as though the wind of passing years had brushed over him.
"Why aren't you moving?"
Seeing Chen Zhu suddenly stop beneath a streetlamp and stare into space, Huang Bohan couldn't help turning back to hurry him along.
Chen Zhu jogged a few steps to catch up, then asked Huang Bohan, "Huang, have you ever noticed how the campus radio station has terrible sound quality, but the songs it plays always sound better than they do through headphones?"
"Do they?"
Huang Bohan lacked the life experience to understand-or rather, he was still living through that very experience, so it was hard for him to relate.
After all, you couldn't be young and appreciate your youth at the same time.
The bus stop was right outside the school gates. The two of them boarded and found seats.
There were few passengers at this hour. The occasional ones were miserable workers heading home after overtime, exhaustion written all over their faces. Some rested against the windows, while others looked down at their Nokia phones, which still had blue screens.
Each person seemed like an island, scattered among the seats, their lives never intersecting.
When Chen Zhu had first started working, he too had often stayed late. He knew the loneliness of a late-night bus ride all too well.
Several stops passed like that. Usually, the two of them would be chatting about all sorts of school gossip by now, but tonight Chen Zhu wasn't much in the mood to talk. He kept staring at the neon lights outside and sinking into thought.
"What's wrong?"
Huang Bohan grinned guilelessly. "You've been acting weird all evening, like you just got dumped. But as far as I know, Yu Xian hasn't got a boyfriend."
In high school, Chen Zhu had actually had a crush on a girl. It wasn't Song Shiwei, but an arts student named Yu Xian.
She was not only gorgeous, but also feisty and flirtatious. Her personality had deeply attracted a homebody like Chen Zhu, who kept his desires hidden beneath a reserved exterior.
Huang Bohan knew this secret, and like any good friend, he often brought it up to tease Chen Zhu.
Back then, Chen Zhu had been thin-skinned. Whenever Huang Bohan mentioned "Yu Xian," his face would flush with embarrassment.
Every time he saw that reaction, Huang Bohan felt the satisfaction of a successful prank.
But now...
Looking at Huang Bohan, who was thoroughly enjoying himself, Chen Zhu sighed. Then he reached out and considerately straightened Huang Bohan's collar. "I haven't been dumped. I'm just thinking about a few things. One of them involves you."
"Involves me? What is it?"
Huang Bohan believed him completely. He blinked a few times, puzzled by Chen Zhu's gesture.
"I've realized..."
As Chen Zhu spoke, he discreetly picked up his schoolbag. When the bus reached his stop, he suddenly gave Huang Bohan a slap across the face, neither too hard nor too soft, and swore, "You're a fucking idiot!"
"Fuck!"
Huang Bohan jumped up to hit him back, but Chen Zhu had already timed his escape and hopped off the bus. With a creak, the doors shut.
"Fuck you! Just you wait till tomorrow!"
With no other option, Huang Bohan opened the window and shouted his threat.
"Good night!"
Without even turning his head, Chen Zhu raised an arm and casually waved twice.
The evening breeze billowed through his open school uniform. Beneath the streetlights, the boy's retreating figure was tall and straight.
Huang Bohan froze for a moment. Right then, he felt as though his friend had changed.
(Another chapter around eight tonight. Please support the new book however you can. Dragon King really needs your support!)
(End of chapter)
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