Mid-September, the hottest time of the year, had passed.
University students, exempt from the autumn harvest, lived in their ivory tower.
Washington Normal College, located in the west third ring road, is often confused with “Washington Normal University” by some people. While the college doesn’t compare to the university, it’s still a first-tier undergraduate institution under the jurisdiction of the municipal government. Even with Greenfield County’s educational standards and faculty, getting into this school required immense effort.
Whitaker Rosalie and Walter Janson, a returned youth, both from Larkspur Village, were accepted into this college.
A couple both admitted to the same university—a truly heartwarming love story, at least in Whitaker Rosalie’s dorm. Every night after lights out, her roommates teased her relentlessly about her open displays of affection with Walter Janson.
Whitaker Rosalie’s roommates jokingly called him.” Walter Janson, at 25, was indeed older than most freshmen.
However, Walter Janson was tall, handsome, and a good match for Whitaker Rosalie’s oval face. Whitaker Rosalie’s roommates were green with envy.
Despite receiving a substantial sum from home, Whitaker Rosalie remained frugal. She believed Walter Janson was a high-potential stock, and that investing in such a stock required sacrifice.
Walter Janson, a returned youth, came from a complicated family background, leaving Whitaker Rosalie with many expenses to cover.
She was simple, studious, and elegant. Within half a month of enrollment, she had made many friends and impressed her professors. Everything felt new and exciting to Whitaker Rosalie, a reward for her hard work. Her relationship with Walter Janson was also progressing smoothly… if it weren’t for the troublesome matters back home.
Shortly after arriving at school, she received a telegram from home, stating that her younger cousin, Whitaker Scarlett, had attempted suicide by headbanging due to pressure from gossip, though she survived.
Half a month later, Whitaker Rosalie received another telegram, a concise dozen words carrying significant information:
“Elizabeth divorced, mother and daughter moved out, Wesley arrested for theft.”
Telegrams were charged by word count, and Whitaker Rosalie knew her parents, despite their improved financial situation, were reluctant to spend money. Receiving the telegram instantly soured her mood.
What kind of person was her aunt?
A meek and mild woman, a complete doormat who wouldn’t dare defy her husband, who couldn’t bear him a son, dared to file for divorce? It certainly wasn’t her second uncle’s idea; otherwise, the telegram wouldn’t only mention ‘Elizabeth,’ emphasizing the initiator of the divorce.
Whitaker Scarlett’s suicide attempt had clearly triggered long-simmering family conflicts.
Though Whitaker Rosalie disliked Whitaker Scarlett, she never wished her dead. Their lives had diverged completely, allowing her to adopt a magnanimous “successful person” attitude. However, she was still dissatisfied—dissatisfied with her parents’ lack of decisiveness!
So easily said, so clearly explained, yet the situation spiraled out of control?
With Wesley arrested for theft, Elizabeth divorced, and the mother and daughter moving out, how could she maintain control over Whitaker Scarlett’s fate? The mother and daughter had undoubtedly moved to Wellwater village. Elizabeth’s family was small, with a married sister who rarely visited, but her only brother was quite protective of Whitaker Scarlett and her mother.
Thinking of them associating with William, Whitaker Rosalie felt much relieved.
William was a good-for-nothing, and Elizabeth had no chance of remarrying. Stuck in the countryside, the disgraced Whitaker Scarlett wouldn’t amount to much.
Beauty might offer temporary advantages, but intelligence was far more crucial.
Whitaker Rosaliea discarded the telegram. Knowing Walter Janson had a full morning schedule, and that the professors in the political science department often ran overtime, she took two lunch boxes to the cafeteria.
She didn’t wait long in the small flowerbed in the classroom corridor before seeing Walter Janson leave class. His classmates, familiar with him, expressed their envy:
“Walter, your girlfriend packed your lunch again!”
“Walter, your relationship is amazing!”
“You lucky dude…”
Whitaker Rosalie greeted them cheerfully, and they dispersed after a few jokes.
“Our class ends later, you can eat first. What do I need to do?”
Walter Janson, a typical northerner, was tall and handsome, with strong features, but his expression often conveyed a distant aloofness.
Whitaker Rosalie looked at him, her eyes filled with tenderness and joy, “It wasn’t long, and besides, we’re dating. Who else would I be thinking of but you?”
Walter Janson was speechless.
They found a spot by a flowerbed. Whitaker Rosalie handed him a lunch box.
Walter Janson opened it to find a clearly divided box: one half filled with fluffy white rice, the other with chicken sauce. Whitaker Rosalie opened her own lunch box, revealing steamed buns and stir-fried cabbage. One was the highest standard of the school cafeteria, a meal even professors wouldn’t often indulge in, while the other was the cheapest—buns and cabbage… Even the reserved Walter Janson felt a pang of sympathy.
