Volume 1 / Chapter 21: Machines Are a Man’s Romance

Wáng Jiālè’s voice dripped with disappointment, but Mò Xuěyáo’s mood couldn’t have been better.

Inside the small box lay a Q-version Gundam assembly model. Whether imported from Japan or domestic, she couldn’t tell—but it looked decently crafted. Either way, it didn’t seem like it would be a letdown.

Definitely a boy’s kind of toy.

With excitement bubbling in her chest, Xuěyáo’s began unpacking the plastic parts and started assembling them right on the spot.

Seeing Xuěyáo’s radiant smile, Jiālè tilted her head in confusion. "Xiǎoyáo… do you actually like this?”

"Huh? Yeah, why?"  

“…What’s even fun about that?”

"Machines are a man’s romance—and giant robots are the ultimate romance." Xuěyáo answered breezily, her fingers deftly snapping pieces together.  

"...But you’re a girl, not a boy..." Jiālè propped her chin on her hand, watching skeptically. "Assembling things seems tedious, not fun at all."  

Xuěyáo didn’t reply—This time, it wasn’t that she was pretending not to hear—she genuinely didn’t. Because at this moment, she was completely immersed in her own little world..  

While Jiālè being a girl, had zero interest in this sort of thing. But the boys? They quickly gathered around her desk.

"Whoa! That looks detailed!" one exclaimed.  

"It’s the original Gundam!" Zhōu Yǒng’s eyes lit up.  

" Yuanzu Gundam, technically," Liú Xiǎowěi corrected with an eye-roll. "Just a Q-version. Not expensive."  

"I’ve got one like it at home—cost about thirty-something yuan," Gāo Yuán boasted, leaning in. "This version is pretty decent. The only annoying part is the stickers.”

All the boys looked on with envy, their gazes locked on the half-assembled model in Xuěyáo’s hands.

But their gaze kept drifting from the plastic to Xuěyáo herself. Oblivious, she remained utterly absorbed in her task, didn’t even notice the crowd forming. So the boys just unabashedly stared at her, giving them free rein to stare. Some watched her slender hands at work; bolder ones studied her face.  

“Hey hey hey! What are you all crowding around for?" Jiālè snapped clearly irritated, though Xuěyáo seemed oblivious. "You’re using up all the fresh air in here!”

"Oho, Wáng Jiālè is mad! Run for it before she turns into a raging she-gorilla and starts beating people!” someone joked in the crowd.

Laughter erupted as the boys scattered like startled pigeons.  

“Who are you calling a she-gorilla?! Ugh—!” Jiālè fuming, raised her little fists—but there was no one left to hit. So in frustration, she gave Mó Xuěyáo’s shoulder a light, harmless punch. "Hey hey, Xueyao, could you at least react a little?” 

“What? What’s wrong?” Mo Xueyao looked up, genuinely confused. 

“Those boys only came over pretending to care about your… toy. They were actually just ogling you, okay?”

“Huh? No way. They were obviously just admiring the model,” Mó Xuěyáo replied, giving the half-assembled Gundam a little shake.

Jiālè huffed. "Do you actually enjoy being ogled?"  

"No?" Xuěyáo’s confusion was so pure, Jiālè just sighed and flopped onto her desk. "Whatever."  

The morning classes flew by—or at least, they seemed to fly by. In truth, some of them—like math—dragged on painfully.

But that’s the thing about time: it feels slow when you’re in it, fast when it’s passed.

The last class of the morning was computer class. Having taken it in middle school, so she was well prepared—she already had a fresh pair of plastic shoe covers in her backpack.

In this era, entering the computer lab was treated with near-ceremonial reverence. Students shrouded their shoes in plastic, banned drinks and snacks— as spilled water could short-circuit the computers, and snack crumbs might somehow kill the machines if they got blown inside.

Break one, and your family had to buy the school a new one. In an era where a single computer could cost upwards of 10,000 to 20,000 yuan, most students—even the skeptical ones—didn’t dare test their luck. They obediently slipped on their shoe covers and kept their food and drinks far away.

Xuěyáo even washed her hands before entering, like some ancient scholar purifying before writing.  

Despite all the rules, chaos still managed to find its way into computer class.

For instance…

As Xuěyáo settled beside Jiālè, she discovered her mouse’s tracking ball was missing.  

In 1999, mice relied on a rubber-coated sphere to move cursors. Without it, the pointer staggered drunkenly across the screen.  

“Ugh… someone took the mouse ball again…” Xuěyáo muttered, searching the desk in vain.  

"What’s wrong?" Jiālè asked, seeing her looking around.

“My mouse… the ball’s missing,” Xuěyáo said, holding it up and pointing at the empty hole.

“Oh, just ask the teacher later.”

“Right… speaking of which—where is the teacher?”

“He’ll be here soon. Our computer class is taught by the principal, you know.”

“The principal?” Mo Xueyao blinked, surprised.

“Yep. But don’t worry, he’s not scary or anything.”

“Still… even if he’s not scary, it’s kinda stressful having the principal teach us… Thank goodness it’s only computer class,”

 Xuěyáo murmured. She turned to the keyboard and opened the applications menu, then launched a typing practice program and started playing one of the typing games.

The one she picked had you pilot a plane that shot down enemies when you typed the correct letters. If you typed fast enough, the bullets would clear the entire screen.

But since she didn’t have a computer at home and only used one during class, her typing speed was pathetically slow. Even on the easiest setting, her plane barely survived. Eventually, she gave up and just started mashing keys randomly in frustration.

She wasn’t the only one. All around the classroom, you could hear the chaotic clacking of keys—clearly, many others had adopted the same “strategy.”

Jiālè, meanwhile, didn’t bother with typing games. She opened the drawing program doodled wildly in MS Paint, grinning at her abstract creations.

No one could tell what she was drawing, but she seemed to be having fun.

It might’ve been childish, but on a novelty device like a computer in that era, even scribbling felt exciting. Drawing on paper just didn’t have the same magic as doodling on a digital device.

Yǔkōng High teachers loved arriving precisely on time—and the principal was no exception. He finally strolled into the room after the class bell had gone silent.

Before Xuěyáo could even gather the courage to ask for a mouse ball, several boys had already shot their hands into the air.

"Teacher Mò! My mouse doesn’t have a ball!”

"Mine either!"  

“If your mouse is missing a ball, come up to the podium and get one,” the principal said calmly, clearly used to this recurring issue. It happened almost every computer class: someone would swipe a mouse ball. Inside the locked drawer of his desk, he kept a stash of gray rubber mouse balls just for this.

Xuěyáo joined five or six others at the front to receive a replacement, and the lesson finally began.

The principal had a perpetually scruffy look—his beard always seemed uneven—and he carried himself in a slow, sleepy way. Luckily, most of the class involved simple demonstrations, followed by open time for students to operate the computers freely.

As long as you submitted the required assignment, you could do whatever you wanted.

For students who didn’t have computers at home, this was a golden opportunity.

So they’d rush through the boring stuff just to squeeze in a few extra minutes of fun—never mind that there weren’t many games available.

Aside from Minesweeper, the only other real "game" was the typing software.

It was meant to help with literacy and keyboard practice, but let’s be honest—most students just used it to shoot planes and blow stuff up.

Even with the principal teaching, Xuěyáo barely felt his presence. It was as if his only job was to sit up front and make sure no one broke the equipment. The classroom noise grew louder and more animated as more students finished their work.

"Holy crap Gāo Yuán, you brought a floppy disk?" A tall, handsome boy grabbed Gāo Yuán’s arm. "Got games on it?"  

"Heh, obviously." Gāo Yuán puffed his chest out. “Relax, I’ll let you all try it later.”

“Wait, Gāo Yuán, does that mean your family bought a computer?” another tall boy asked—his face covered in pimples, but just as curious.

“Yup.”

“How much did it cost?” Lǐ Hóngrǎn chimed in, joining the growing crowd. The class’s three tallest boys were now all gathered.

“Not bad—less than twenty thousand,” Gāo Yuán replied in a casual tone that made you want to punch him.

“Damn! Rich kid!”

“Eh, nothing special. My dad runs a business, that’s all.”

The other boys, overhearing the conversation, came crowding over, each with envy written all over their faces.

“What game is it?” Zhōu Yǒng asked, though everyone was more curious about this than they let on.

“Don’t know the exact name, but it’s some kind of airplane shooter,” Gāo Yuán said with a smirk. “Relax, I’ll get it set up first. Once it’s ready, you can all try it.”

“Okay okay, I’m next!”

“No way, me first!”

And just like that, the boys were bickering again.

Xuěyáo glanced at the front of the room where the principal sat. She couldn’t help but think he was just... ornamental.

Honestly… she thought to herself, I kinda want to ask for that floppy disk too… so I can play it myself.