Here’s the conclusion first: Having a good boyfriend doesn’t guarantee happiness. But having a bad boyfriend will definitely make you laugh a lot. Because... when people are utterly hopeless, they often can’t do anything but laugh.
And this was the conclusion Lin Zhiyan arrived at as she stood numbly in the convenience store, watching the police put up sealing tape.
Just moments ago, a fugitive resisting arrest had stolen a police car and sped off. Then, the car plowed straight into the convenience store with a deafening crash, shattering glass everywhere as flashing red-and-blue error codes and alarms blared. The driver, his black hair matted with blood sticking to his face, lay unconscious in the seat.
Soon after, officers rushed in, dragged him out of the car, cuffed him, and hauled him away.
Lin Zhiyan, who worked part-time at the store, was briefly questioned by the police. Her pale face, trembling voice, and a few untimely bursts of laughter led them to unanimously conclude she was in shock.
"Miss, let us know if you need anything. Don’t be afraid—this was just an accident," an officer said.
Lin Zhiyan’s lips moved, but no words came out.
At that moment, she wanted to tell them: No, she wasn’t in shock. She was just too hopeless. Hopeless because—that fugitive who crashed the car was her boyfriend. But she couldn’t say it, because that would involve another hopeless truth: She was in her fourth year of high school, set to take college entrance exams next year.
District 16, the most backward and crime-ridden district in the Ringstar Empire, enforced strict background checks. If one person committed a crime, even their cat would be linked to the criminal network. As for whether the cat’s future college applications would be affected, the authorities had no comment.
Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.
Looking back on her life, despite being an orphan, she’d always been a model student—kind, diligent, and meticulously maintaining a pristine image, like an idol trainee pre-debut. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect that, while lacking an idol’s luck, she’d inherit their curse of getting caught in scandals the moment they dated.
Under normal circumstances, this could’ve been avoided.
Because this delinquent had dropped out of high school. Though not a blond troublemaker, he radiated the same nihilism, aggression, and insatiable dissatisfaction. One glance at him, and anyone could predict his future: ten years to life in prison, maximum penalty death.
Lin Zhiyan saw it too. But she chose to play blind.
Maybe it was because he was ridiculously good-looking. Maybe it was because he seemed capable in... other ways. Or maybe it was just the fate of a delicate flower to star in a painful teenage drama. Whatever the reason, she gritted her teeth and decided, screw it, let’s date. The day she made up her mind, she looked in the mirror and swore she saw hickeys from middle school on her neck.
But now, she never imagined she’d not only have metaphorical hickeys from middle school but also a criminal record by association.
The thought made the corners of her mouth twitch uncontrollably again.
The officer frowned. "Miss, do you need to come with us to the station for counseling?" he asked carefully.
Lin Zhiyan closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady herself.
Then, she untied her convenience store apron and said, "No, I’d like to leave first."
The officer hesitated. "Are you really—"
"I’m fine," Lin Zhiyan shook her head, forcing a smile. "I have class."
With that, she hurried out—or more accurately, bolted.
Today was the final day to apply for the Ringstar Central Military and Political Academy’s entrance exam.
Originally part of the Wartime Military and Political Academy, the United Military and Political Academy had produced countless high-ranking officers and prominent politicians, including the current prime minister. Over the years, it had expanded beyond military studies to include other disciplines.
It was an elite institution, but until today, she hadn’t planned to apply. High school lasted five years, and she was only in her fourth. Applying now meant a year less preparation than other candidates.
But now, she had no choice.
At this point, only a handful of schools allowed cross-year applications, and the United Military and Political Academy was the most prestigious among them.
She had to get in before being dragged down by her boyfriend’s crimes.
Lin Zhiyan sprinted toward school, mentally drafting her plan.
God damn it. She hadn’t even tasted the sweetness of dating before it blew up in her face—faster than a Ponzi scheme.
Cursing internally, she dashed into the school’s administrative office. Three minutes to fill out the application, five for verification, only to be greeted by four bold words on the submission page:
[Application Failed]
[Reason: Missing Critical Documentation]
Lin Zhiyan stared at the screen, dumbfounded, before turning to the homeroom teacher sipping tea nearby.
The teacher, however, looked unsurprised. She adjusted her glasses, took a sip from her thermos, and cleared her throat. "Oh? Did it fail? Was it because you didn’t have a recommendation letter?"
Every wrinkle in Lin Zhiyan’s brain smoothed out, reverting to caveman-level comprehension. "Huh?"
The teacher sighed. "The application guidelines were updated last week. You can’t apply without a school recommendation, and only the principal has the authority to issue one. But, Lin Zhiyan, the principal just left for an inspection in another district. I’m afraid he can’t write one for you."
Well, what now? Give me a solution!
That was the only thought left in Lin Zhiyan’s mind.
"Don’t worry," the teacher said, shaking her head like a bobblehead. "Lin Zhiyan, you’re an outstanding student. Your scores will be even better next year—no need to rush. Besides, it’s almost finals. Focus on the unified exams for now."
District 16’s standardized exams, known as the unified exams, were a big deal. Lin Zhiyan had topped them for four consecutive years. Rather than seeing her leave early for the Central Academy, the teacher preferred she keep winning to attract more students.
"Go on back," the teacher urged.
Lin Zhiyan didn’t move. "Can’t you contact the principal? This is important."
"The principal is busy," the teacher said, sighing as she patted Lin Zhiyan’s shoulder like a concerned mother. "Are you struggling mentally? Should I arrange a psychological evaluation for you?"
Psychological evaluations went on permanent records. A poor result would ruin her chances at top universities and jobs.
Clearly well-versed in the Art of War, the teacher layered her words with veiled threats: "Your results in previous years were excellent."
Back in her first year, Lin Zhiyan had adopted a cold, aloof persona: top grades, silent and brooding. But after months of solitude, the school’s psychological department called her in for a questionnaire. The early questions confused her, the middle ones made her ponder, and by the end, she had an epiphany—they thought she was either suicidal or homicidal.
Realizing she’d overplayed her role, Lin Zhiyan quickly switched to a gentle, melancholic persona and dodged further scrutiny. Who knew this ancient history would come back to haunt her now?
She glanced at the teacher, sighed, and said, "I understand."
After speaking, she walked out of the office and turned toward the rooftop.
Lin Zhiyan stepped onto the rooftop, strode straight past the railing, and stood in the cramped corner, gripping the railing behind her. The howling wind whipped her black hair into the air, and her calm, dark eyes reflected the drifting clouds, like scattered flecks of white flame. For no reason, she smiled faintly, the tear mole at the corner of her eye caught in the upward curve.
In school, rooftops weren’t usually a big deal, and being a top student wasn’t either—but combining the two worked wonders. After all, those who jumped off rooftops were always accused of being unable to endure academic hardship, while top students were accused of willingly submitting to systemic oppression.
Ah, recommendation letters… I miss you so much up here on the rooftop.
Lin Zhiyan took out her terminal and made a call.
An hour later.
The application page displayed four bold characters:
[Application Successful]
Back in the office.
"Thank you, teacher. I thought I’d never get that recommendation letter."
Lin Zhiyan clutched her chest, like a tearful award-winning actress.
"Of course not! It was my fault for not explaining clearly. Oh, please, never think of doing anything rash again!"
The dean also clutched his chest, pale as if suffering a heart attack.
Lin Zhiyan sighed melancholically. "But what about my records—"
"No, no!" The dean cut her off hastily. "Don’t worry, no one will ever know about this. Your psychological evaluation won’t be an issue. Just focus on your exams!"
Lin Zhiyan arched a brow.
See? When people think you’re crazy, it’s best if you really are.
She clasped the dean’s hand earnestly. "I will pass the exams!"
The dean gripped back, even more earnestly. "You must pass!"
Their hands shook in agreement, and just like that, a week passed in the blink of an eye.
The moment Lin Zhiyan returned from finishing her exams, she was promptly invited for "tea" at the police station.
Three days later, the police concluded that her personal records should be linked to the network of connections.
On the fourth day, news of Lin Zhiyan receiving an acceptance letter from the United Military and Political Academy was reported by multiple media outlets.
On the fifth day, the police and Lin Zhiyan reached a confidential agreement.
Seven days later, Lin Zhiyan, armed with a spotless record, gave interviews to several newspapers, tearfully recounting a heartwarming story.
In this story, she had been held hostage by an escaped convict in a convenience store, prompting the police to cut power across the entire city to rescue her. Afterward, traumatized, the officers treated her to a meal, washing the cups and plates seven times. Finally, on the day of her exam, when her admission ticket went missing, the officers dug through the earth to retrieve it, wrapped in oiled paper, and once again cut power citywide to escort her to the test.
No one knew why the city needed to lose power, but logic didn’t stop the story from becoming wildly popular. On social media, the interview video was flooded with likes, shares, and emotional comments. While people from the 16th District spammed question marks, the other fifteen districts were moved to collective introspection.
Unfortunately, when Lin Zhiyan used a burner account to DM them asking if they’d like to trade lives, none of them replied.
Hmph. Such trivialities.
Whatever.
Lin Zhiyan turned her gaze out the window.
The airport in the 16th District was cramped, its blue suspension light strips dim, crowded by a chaotic jumble of fluorescent signs. A shabby airship sat in the tiny space, while beyond the fences, red lights cast a glow over the crooked buildings, making them look like freshly gutted organs, the wind carrying an inexplicable metallic tang.
Soon, the sensation of weightlessness set in, and the scenery below grew smaller and smaller.
Lin Zhiyan closed the window and lifted her chin.
Whatever. School was starting, and she was off to the Central District to become upper-class elite material!
She had every reason to be confident. After all, her ambitions weren’t grand—just a modest plan to enter the civil service after graduation, spend the first half of her life navigating political tides, and the latter half in prison before a swift, stylish execution. Getting into the United Military and Political Academy meant she was already halfway there, especially since this school had no "Notable Alumni" list.
Reason one: most students who got in and out were destined to become high-ranking officials. Reason two: the alumni list refreshed faster than a competitive game leaderboard, with people falling from grace daily—often in entire strings at a time.
Under such circumstances, Lin Zhiyan couldn’t not be confident.
She wasn’t just confident—she was downright brazen.
The proof? Even as she peered at the world outside the window with the furtive gaze of a pauper peeking through a keyhole, she felt not an ounce of reverence or shame. If anything, she fancied herself a detached observer, coolly scorning the world.
By now, it was daytime. Golden sunlight spilled over the towering, straight-lined skyscrapers of the Central District, where shimmering blue light and rare-material glass intersected to cast deep indigo reflections. Interspersed among them were buildings of classical elegance or exquisite beauty, with lush greenery and vibrant rivers weaving through. It looked like a place untouched by technological abuse, AI rebellions, or war pollution—no different from the utopian cityscapes in old textbooks, a serene paradise.
Lin Zhiyan tilted her head higher, brimming with confidence.
Hmph. Just Truman’s world.
The airship began its slow descent.
Lin Zhiyan lifted her chin even higher, radiating audacity.
Once she stepped off this ship, this place would be her world.
God, she was so inflated with self-importance that even dividing her ego by ten and taking the cube root wouldn’t bring her back to normal. But if knowledge couldn’t deflate her, reality certainly could.
What was reality? Reality was the entire airport’s airships being unable to open their hatches, leaving everyone stranded inside, forced to wait. Wait for what? For three pitch-black airships, their tails emblazoned with an opulent, unrecognizable insignia and gleaming with gem-like brilliance, to land first.
After an agonizing wait, the three ships touched down, and their doors opened.
Lin Zhiyan caught sight of several uniformed guards stepping out, surrounding a young man at the center.
The youth wore a silver-black military uniform, a cap shading his sharp jawline. A single-shouldered cape fluttered in the wind, emphasizing his broad shoulders and tall frame. Beneath the cape, his jacket was cinched by a golden belt, accentuating a lean waist. A sword hung at his hip, its cold glint matching the silver buttons, while his trousers tucked into polished boots highlighted long legs.
He and his entourage strode confidently down the boarding bridge, as if making an entire airport wait forty minutes was perfectly reasonable. As if… it was only natural that out of ten possible routes, only one was activated—and that a passage meant for hundreds now accommodated only him and his guards.
Lin Zhiyan watched in awe, her inflated ego rapidly deflating.
After all, the ownership of this world was crystal clear.
It belonged to this guy.
Ah, school! Ah, capitalism! Ah!
She stood there, dazed, sulky, and thoroughly deflated.
