On the second day after the meeting, the school immediately submitted the nomination list. Apart from Qin Chaoyu, the other two were doctoral students—one named Kong Han and the other Yin Ledan. Both were top-tier students in the school.
In the past, after submitting the list, the instructions from above always took a long time to arrive. Waiting ten days or even half a month wasn’t unusual—like an elderly person strolling leisurely without a care. But this time, for some reason, the instructions came unusually fast, arriving on the third day.
The content of the instructions was as usual: the nominated students were to prepare early and head to the capital in three days for the selection process.
Qin Chaoyu hadn’t expected the timeline to be so tight. Once she left for the selection, she wouldn’t be able to contact the outside world for one or two months, so she had to settle her affairs. But no matter how much she rushed, she only managed to arrange everything the day before departure.
Truth be told, she didn’t have much in terms of assets, so logically, she shouldn’t have been so busy. But her responsibilities were scattered—she had her hospital consultations, teaching her apprentice, managing Benyuanzhai and Yumeiren—all of which gave her a headache. What worried her most was arranging care for her apprentice. The boy was too young, had no relatives, and was fiercely independent. Even if he suffered grievances, he wouldn’t speak up. No matter who she entrusted him to, she couldn’t feel entirely at ease.
However, in the end, Bai Pengpeng and Han Shuying both pounded their chests and swore they would take good care of her little apprentice, urging her to go with peace of mind, bring glory to the country, and slap the faces of all those who looked down on her!
With that, she could only half-believe and half-doubt as she handed her apprentice over to two people who didn’t seem particularly reliable. She just hoped he’d still be in one piece by the time she returned.
With these complicated thoughts, Qin Chaoyu boarded the train to the capital.
Yuzhou was quite far from the capital, but the high-speed rail made the journey in just a few hours. The three of them had seats bought by the school—three in a row. Accompanying them was a teacher named Lu Yahan, a delicate-looking woman with fair skin and a scholarly air—a beauty with refined grace. Though she was called a “little beauty,” the teacher was likely in her thirties, but her youthful face made her look no older than twenty.
After a brief exchange, Qin Chaoyu quickly grasped the teacher’s personality. She was gentle and considerate, like a slow-flowing river in the ancient city of Yuzhou—a beauty made of water.
The school had assigned such a teacher to act as logistical support. During the selection period, if any issues arose, they could turn to her for help.
Sitting in her seat, Qin Chaoyu closed her eyes to rest, reviewing the medical knowledge she had recently learned and pondering whether there might be more perfect treatment plans for certain illnesses. It was a way to pass the hours.
She wasn’t fond of smartphones either. For her, they had only two uses: making calls and payments. Frankly, she never understood what was so fun about them—constantly staring down, tapping away at the screen. Didn’t people’s hands get sore? Didn’t they worry about cervical spine issues from looking down for so long? It wasn’t healthy at all.
Yin Ledan sat beside Qin Chaoyu. At first, she wanted to chat with this junior, given how young she was to be nominated by the school—her skills must be exceptional. But seeing her eyes closed, Yin worried she might be asleep and deliberately softened her movements to avoid disturbing the genius junior.
Instead, she returned to staring at her phone screen, once again immersing herself in the world of medical texts she had downloaded.
Her mindset was calm and rational. She didn’t envy Qin Chaoyu for being nominated at such a young age, nor did she maliciously speculate whether Qin had used underhanded means to compete.
Because she had a brain. The government-organized selection would see top-tier traditional Chinese medicine institutions across the country nominating their best talents. If someone with no real skills got nominated, the school’s reputation would take a massive hit. Every institution in the country would know what a foolish thing the school had done, and it might become a laughingstock. Universities valued their reputations above all else—why would they take such a risk? So, logically, this junior must have genuine talent.
Unbeknownst to her, Kong Han had arrived at the same conclusion. In fact, since his grandfather had been present at the meeting, he knew even more than Yin Ledan. Of course, his grandfather hadn’t gone into detail about what happened—after all, such an embarrassing incident wasn’t something he’d share with his grandson.
Grandfather Kong had only told Kong Han that Qin Chaoyu was exceptionally talented and advised him to befriend her—or at the very least, not to antagonize her.
But Kong Han’s imagination ran wild. Since his grandfather had spoken vaguely, Kong assumed Qin Chaoyu was a once-in-a-century genius who had undoubtedly dazzled everyone at the meeting with her unparalleled talent and medical prowess. His grandfather, too proud to admit it outright, must have secretly admired her to no end.
Thus, Kong Han began to idolize Qin Chaoyu. From the moment he saw her, he erupted with unparalleled enthusiasm, eagerly trying to ingratiate himself with her. If not for the pure, utterly non-romantic look in his eyes, Qin Chaoyu might have thought he had a crush on her.
This also revealed that Kong Han’s mind might differ slightly from the norm—what some might call “second-year syndrome.” Despite being nearly thirty, he still harbored grandiose, “dragon-proud-sky” dreams, especially idolizing superheroes like Spider-Man and Iron Man. But his version of second-year syndrome was unique. While others fantasized about being the one-in-a-million destined for greatness, he believed such people existed and dreamed of meeting one, witnessing their rise to dominance firsthand.
Now that he’d finally encountered someone who fit the bill—Qin Chaoyu—it was understandable that he couldn’t contain his excitement. Yin Ledan, as another top student at the school who knew him well, was aware of his eccentricities. So when Qin Chaoyu was startled by Kong Han’s enthusiasm, Yin stepped in to smooth things over.
Facing the junior’s skeptical gaze, Yin felt a pang of frustration. She had no idea why Kong Han’s idiocy had chosen this moment to flare up. She didn’t want to deal with him either, but as senior students, they had to maintain some semblance of dignity and authority—or at least try.
No matter what, they couldn’t let their junior think they were unreliable!
So no matter how much it pained her, she gritted her teeth, forced a smile, and desperately held back Kong Han as he tried to squeeze closer to Qin Chaoyu.
When choosing seats, Yin had also made sure to sit beside Qin Chaoyu first, pretending not to notice Kong Han’s death glare.
By the end of the journey, Yin felt her mental fortitude had leveled up. After this, no situation could faze her!
Soon, they arrived in the capital. Exiting the high-speed rail station, the group spotted a middle-aged man holding a sign that read, “Picking up Yuzhou University students,” scanning the crowd.
Teacher Lu said uncertainly, “That might be our ride… maybe?”
Yin Ledan, pulling her luggage, waved a hand decisively. “Who cares? Let’s just ask.” With that, she strode ahead toward the man.
Helpless, Lu Yahan had no choice but to follow. She couldn’t let the students charge ahead while she, the teacher, hid behind them. So all four headed toward the man.
Upon inquiry, sure enough, he was there for them.
He introduced himself as Xing Guang, responsible for picking them up and arranging accommodations.
Once he had them, his job was simply to escort them to the pre-booked hotel—mission accomplished.
This time, for some reason, the usually stingy organizers had suddenly become generous. Not only were they covering hotel expenses, but they’d booked rooms at one of the capital’s top-tier establishments—the Shengle Hotel.
Even the standard rooms there weren’t cheap, costing several thousand per night. When Yin Ledan and Kong Han first heard they’d be staying at the Shengle, they were stunned, thinking they’d misheard. The organizers’ notorious penny-pinching was well-documented, passed down through complaints from past participants. It wasn’t until they were sitting on their hotel beds that it finally sank in.
Their first thought? “Either the organizers have lost their minds, or they’ve been replaced!” And they weren’t alone—everyone from other schools staying at the Shengle had the same reaction.
But whether it was madness or a change in leadership, no one was complaining about enjoying the Shengle’s services.
As people gradually arrived, the organizers thoughtfully gave everyone the night to rest, scheduling the first gathering for nine the next morning.
The location? A mountain—more precisely, a private garden estate.
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