When I was twenty years old, I was a sophomore studying Chinese at Department of Chinese Literature of F University. The professor teaching us the Introduction to Foreign Literature was a well-known senior who had already retired. However, driven by his love for literature, he took the initiative to teach a very relaxed class. He delivered his lectures with such vividness that it felt as if he was serving us tea and snacks like a storyteller in a teahouse. He possessed the pride and poverty often associated with intellectuals and did not bow down to money.

I became his assistant by accident, helping him with routine tasks such as collecting assignments or issuing announcements. The advantage is that his office has many books available for students to borrow.

As the end of the semester approached, he asked me if I had any free time during the summer vacation. A friend of his had a son who had just returned from abroad and his Chinese was not very good. They hoped to find a tutor for him.

I initially didn't agree because I've never taught students before and I'm afraid I won't do a good job. Besides, if it happens to be a troublemaking kid, it would be even more of a headache.

He also mentioned for me to consider it, because I am his student and he has great confidence in my abilities and character. Furthermore, he mentioned that the salary is very high, two hundred yuan per hour.

I couldn't help but be amazed.

Generally speaking, college students who work part-time as tutors usually earn up to one hundred yuan per session. However, the high salary is indeed tempting yet dubious.

Perhaps he is a difficult child to teach, that's why he earns such a high salary.

I thought about it and declined due to my insufficient ability. The professor was not angry either, they patted my shoulder and said, "That's really a pity."

After leaving the office, I belatedly felt a tinge of regret. After all, the temptation of four hundred yuan for two hours was hard to ignore.

Another week passed, and I gathered all the hard copies of my final paper and submitted them to his office.

The professor was not there. Sitting on the black sofa chair across was a boy. That was Fu Yuye, who was sixteen years old.

The office has excellent lighting, with unobstructed sunlight casting an extra white glow on his face, highlighting his delicate eyebrows and eyes. He was initially engrossed in reading a book, then lifted his lashes, which seemed to carry some weight.

The pupils were shallow amber in color, as if there was a black butterfly trapped inside.

I placed the thesis on the table and couldn't help but see what he was looking at. I saw that he had spread out the Book of Songs on the desk.

That page happened to be the first poem of the Classic of Poetry, titled "Guan Ju."

He seemed somewhat distressed, or perhaps it was that undeniable air of low pressure emanating from him. Suddenly, I connected him with the boy the professor mentioned, the one looking for a tutor. I thought he was in elementary school, but I didn't expect him to be this old.

Moreover, it was the kind of clean and pure beauty, revealing a hint of sharpness, like delicate yet solid porcelain with gemstones embedded.

It is an artwork that is placed in a noble glass display case, awe-inspiring and worthy of admiration.

Unable to resist, I couldn't help but draw closer, yet I also felt my own insignificance.

At that time, I don't know how it happened, but my mind went blank and I went up to him and said, those two characters are pronounced as "jū jiū" and refer to a type of bird called "cuckoo".

Then he asked me a question that still makes me laugh today.

"Is that the meaning of keeping the bird locked up?"

In the future, I witnessed how he would transform into a composed, indifferent, and formidable person, yet I still remember the naïve questions I asked when I first met him.

When the professor returned, I had already led him in reciting four sentences and explained to him their meaning.

The professor looked at me and then at him, enjoying the scene of passing on knowledge and teaching: "Xiaoye, this is Deng Ling."

Then I felt Fu Yuye's scrutinizing gaze, even though it was merely a polite and casual observation, as if trying to connect my face with that name.

However, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease under his frank and seemingly meaningless gaze. Perhaps it was his incredibly handsome appearance, or maybe it was his intense proximity that made my palms sweaty.

I wanted to take a step back, and Fu Yuye, who was sixteen years old, just...

With sincerity and determination, he asked, "Can you be my tutor?"

I don't know whether to refuse or to agree.

He must have sensed my hesitation and unease. Therefore, he lowered his posture and asked again, "Is it okay?"

His eyes were like gemstones, his lips like delicate flower petals. The light-colored pupils resembled a net, capturing my every move, unable to hide even a single thought.

At that time, I didn't yet know that he was so cunning, adept at using his strengths to capture people's thoughts. As a result, in the following years, I could be utterly embarrassed and miserable in front of him without any scruples.