Everyone said that Shen Luye was a loser without a father or a mother. His grandfather was in prison, he was extremely poor, and he shamelessly admitted to the Provincial Academy of Fine Arts.
She arrived late on the first day of school. She was standing at the door of the classroom wearing a white-washed Deliang shirt. The sun shone through her waistline - all the boys in the class stopped using their pencils at the same time.
The professor said: "Students, this is the freshman who got perfect marks in the professional courses this year."
The faces of those who laughed at her poverty turned green.
And the cold-faced major stationed in the military training camp, in a corner where no one could see, brushed his thumb over her chin stained by paint:
"Shen Luye, if you look at me like this again, believe it or not, I will—"
"Just what?"
His Adam's apple rolled, but he didn't finish.
