Jiangcheng, April.
Seven in the morning, on the subway heading towards Bolin Station.
“Host, host, good morning, meow.”
“…”
“What does it mean when the host ignores this system?”
Pei Du leaned against the subway handrail, too sleepy to open his eyes.
The signal from his hazy consciousness was—this wasn’t a normal person speaking, no need to pay attention.
He really didn’t have the energy to respond to the voice in his ear; his body had long been drained dry by the grueling schedule of senior year.
Right now, seizing every minute and second before reaching school to catch up on sleep was the most correct course of action. Everything else could wait; he needed to close his eyes for a bit first.
A short one-minute nap might feel as effective as sleeping for ten hours. This was Pei Du’s firm belief in his utterly exhausted state. This was definitely not him clinging to the brief pleasure of these few minutes; it was an ineffable, highly efficient method of rest.
“Host, host, we’re at the station, meow.”
This kind of earth-shattering reduplicated words and supernatural sentence-final particles again, this really isn’t common, right?
“…Thanks a lot, I guess.”
Following the crowd of students exiting the station, Pei Du finally opened his eyes and focused his gaze on the light blue panel floating before him.
This system that had been chattering in his ear had suddenly appeared last night just as he finished reviewing and was about to sleep. He was so tired that by the time he processed it was a “golden finger” arriving, it was already 6:30 in the morning.
The words [Perfect Life Partner System] were engraved on the first line of the panel, followed by densely packed small text.
It seemed endless, like the detail questions for argumentative essays on a Chinese language exam, full of rigid phrasing and mechanical clichés, completely killing any desire to read further.
“Introduce yourself.” To save trouble, Pei Du simply spoke directly to the voice in his ear.
“Okay, host. This system is the [Perfect Life Partner System]. As the name suggests, it is a system designed to help the host find a life partner. This system absolutely upholds positive energy, pursues a peaceful and happy future, and is determined to seek for the host…”
“Wait, do high school students need to start looking for a life partner?” Pei Du naturally took out his phone to scan the exit code, a look of confusion on his face. “I’m not picking a fight, but from society’s perspective, wouldn’t that be puppy love? What kind of positive energy is that upholding?”
The voice in his ear fell silent for a few seconds before resuming. “Host, host, as of today, you have already turned eighteen years old. So this is not puppy love, meow. Furthermore, according to the human information captured by the system, hosts who worry about whether it’s puppy love at this stage are the unusual ones among their peers—no, among ninety percent of Earthlings, meow.”
“…Carry on.”
Jiangcheng in April seemed not yet free from winter. A chilly wind blew as he exited the subway station, forcing Pei Du to zip up his school jacket.
His earlier question about puppy love was prompted by seeing a student from the neighboring class ahead of him, walking while memorizing words from a small vocabulary notebook.
Did time-strapped high school seniors really have the leisure to pursue something like a life partner? Realistically speaking, the vast majority of high school students don’t have the energy to handle both academics and a relationship well. Even if they squeeze out time like wringing a sponge, it’s usually to relax their own minds.
Having studied hard for so many years, if he were to waste all that previous effort because of dating, he would find it hard to forgive his foolish self.
However, not using a golden finger that had fallen into his lap would also be foolish. For now, listening to its functions before replanning his future was the optimal choice. If its function really was only to screen for a so-called life partner, he probably wouldn’t use this system until he was at least twenty-five.
The system chattered on in Pei Du’s ear about incomprehensible terms and conditions, while Pei Du mentally calculated whether he should also get a portable vocabulary notebook. His English grades were good, but he wondered if holding a notebook while walking might make him less sleepy in the mornings?
Lately, he had indeed been quite troubled by his morning drowsiness.
Also, this system’s speech always felt artificially sweet—full of reduplicated words or strange sentence-ending particles. Was its usual sugar intake a bit too high?
“…The above constitutes this system’s main purpose and additional clauses, host, host. Are there any areas the host does not understand?”
“Got it.” Pei Du hadn’t listened much, but his response was delivered without a hint of shame or a racing heart.
“Okay, meow. Host, next, this system will select the first perfect life partner for the host, tailored according to the host’s internal standards.”
“Wait a moment.”
“Yes, does the host have any questions?”
Pei Du walked into his classroom. Trying to speak to the so-called system in his mind, he discovered they could communicate telepathically. He signaled the system to close the blue panel.
Unlike other classes, Class 7 of Senior Year—Pei Du’s class—did not have orderly morning reading or self-study sessions in the morning.
Instead, two distinct situations coexisted in clear demarcation: students in the front quietly read, recited, or silently memorized; students in the back gathered in small groups, some chatting, others copying homework. In short, it was chaotic, hardly resembling a class on the verge of the college entrance exams.
This was a certain characteristic, at least at Jiangcheng East High School where Pei Du studied. For the sake of superficial equality, the school didn’t place all the top students in one class, nor were there terms like “regular classes” or “rocket classes.” They maintained grade balance by ensuring each class had a number of top students.
But the school couldn’t just not provide good students with a good learning environment. So, across the seven senior classes, each class was “assigned” some top students, while students with less ideal grades were placed in the later-numbered classes, and so on. This way, at least the top and mid-tier students could have a decent atmosphere.
Pei Du’s rank happened to be seventh in his grade, so he was assigned to Class Seven. This also meant their class was probably the academically weakest class in the entire East High senior cohort.
Precisely because of this, other classes, no matter how varied their grades, wouldn’t have free time to chat and play in the morning. Only Class Seven, gathering the weakest students, had this kind of atmosphere and environment.
“Young Master, homework, let me copy.”
Just after entering, Pei Du’s backpack was already taken attentively and placed on his own seat by someone. The person who took it was somewhat short, with an ordinary appearance, a standard student buzz cut, a forehead full of acne, a wide, beaming smile, and wearing black-rimmed glasses.
The person who inexplicably called Pei Du “Young Master”—Zhao Yu. He was considered the closest among Pei Du’s fairly good friends in Class Seven. No special reason, just that their interests and hobbies were similar, and they got along comfortably, so naturally their relationship became good.
However, Pei Du had always been puzzled about why Zhao Yu called him “Young Master.” Zhao Yu answered like this: “Compared to a lower-class person like me who just can’t grasp math and physics, you are the lofty Young Master.”
A very ambiguous answer, probably some internet meme. Pei Du didn’t understand but didn’t inquire further. At first, Pei Du wondered if he had some kind of “princess sickness” or similar “young master sickness” that made others uncomfortable. Later, he realized it was just good-natured teasing, not dissatisfaction, so he let him call it.
After sitting down, Pei Du rummaged through his backpack, organized all his homework, and placed it on the desk. “Take it yourself. Hand it in for me after you’re done copying.”
“Got it.”
“Try to understand it a bit before you copy.”
“Understood.”
Zhao Yu fished out the math and physics test papers and ran back to his own seat to finish the homework. On his way, quite a few people gathered around him trying to share the exclusive answers from Pei Du’s homework.
Regarding copying homework, Pei Du had actually lectured Zhao Yu a few times. Senior year homework was like experience points in a game. Not gaining the experience yourself meant actively falling behind others in level. It was best to gain the experience yourself if you could.
But every time, Zhao Yu would pull a long face and say, “Young Master, when it comes to math and physics, if you don’t get it, you just really can’t do it.”
Then Pei Du naturally had nothing more to say. Everyone chooses their own path in life; he couldn’t force others onto what he considered the right path.
Moreover, the new college entrance exam allowed for flexible subject combinations. Class Seven followed the Physics, Politics, and Biology combination, which could be called a trump card for university major admissions. With Zhao Yu doing well in his other subjects, giving up on math and physics to focus on the others was also an option.
“Host, host, shall I continue selecting the first perfect life partner for you?” Seeing Pei Du sit down, the system resumed its functional presentation.
“We’ll talk about it during the morning run later.”
“Received, meow.”
“No need to add ‘meow’ at the end from now on.”
“Received. But the system indicates it does not understand. The system adjusted its communication style based on the host’s preferred method of communication…”
“Just like that.”
Pei Du retrieved the Collection of Key College Entrance Exam Poetry Recitation Points from the book basket under his desk, planning to practice writing from memory once more during morning reading. Pure recitation might make him fall asleep; holding a pen and writing something would help a lot—this was a final sprint tip Pei Du had summarized during senior year.
It wasn’t that he was putting on airs, deliberately snubbing the system, or not using his golden finger. It was just that he had persisted with morning reading and writing from memory for almost a year. Suddenly doing something else at this time made him feel a little guilty. The thing was his anyway; there was no rush to use it immediately.
