When Ming Ying closed his eyes and bowed, he counted it out in his mind: today, it was the God of Wealth’s turn.
He said Amitabha. Please, God of Wealth, let everything go smoothly today.
Perhaps because of the bizarre, mismatched way he prayed, Ming Ying ran into bad luck right on his way to school—halfway through his bike ride, the tire blew out.
He’d run over a sharp rock. The pop was actually quite loud.
But Ming Ying still had his headphones around his neck. Someone nearby even warned him, but he didn’t notice. He just felt the bike become unresponsive while pedaling, nearly sending him headfirst into a roadside bush, and then he realized the tire was flat.
Damn. What a streak of rotten luck.
All that morning praying was for nothing!
Ming Ying pushed his bike aside and kicked it.
This was his only current movable asset.
Then he sighed, took out his phone, and snapped a photo of the deflated tire.
Next, Ming Ying started his mass-messaging spree. First the childhood friends group, then Mark, then Moments, and finally, he sent one to XI too.
With a pitiful sticker attached.
After sending it, he didn’t expect XI to reply. He just closed it.
Heh. Reply or don’t, whatever!
After a night of tossing and turning, Ming Ying felt like he’d achieved some kind of zen-like enlightenment.
He thought to himself, as long as she doesn’t block me and I can still send messages, that’s fine.
Though he hit bad luck first thing in the morning, the wobbly bike eventually delivered him to the teaching building’s entrance. Ming Ying pep-talked himself mentally, grabbed his backpack, and headed upstairs.
This class was Oliver’s Architectural Design Research.
Just last night, burning the midnight oil (and pestering XI), Ming Ying had finally submitted last week’s assignment just before midnight.
Actually, dragging it out until the last second wasn’t because he hadn’t written it well, but because he always felt it wasn’t good enough, not perfect enough.
This was another quirk of Ming Ying’s character—he wanted to produce a perfect result in the minimum amount of time.
However, up until this morning, Ming Ying had thought he’d achieved that.
He’d felt quite good about this assignment. But then, at breakfast today, he’d glanced at it again and suddenly felt everything he’d written was absolute garbage.
He even wanted to retract the submission, lest Oliver see it and deduct his participation score for writing so poorly.
He’d even texted XI to complain about it.
Mingo: Do you think the me in the morning and the me at night are the same person?
Mingo: Why does the stuff written at night feel so trashy in the morning?
Mingo: [Soul ascending]
XI didn’t reply.
It seemed even homework questions were no longer something she wanted to engage with.
Ah. Ming Ying felt he’d prematurely entered the heartbreak phase.
He used to mock his buddies for losing their minds after a breakup. Now, karma had come for him.
No, Ming Ying shook his head vigorously.
What was he thinking? They weren’t talking until tomorrow. What if XI wanted to elope with him!
Ming Ying checked the time. First class started at nine; it was now eight-forty.
Too early. A loss.
Although it was a twenty-minute loss, for a large lecture like this, a major course, seats should already be filled by now.
Since it was a huge lecture hall, Ming Ying habitually stuck close to the wall and headed towards the back the moment he entered.
—But why was it so noisy today?
It was always crowded, sure, but not this kind of clustered commotion. It felt less like a classroom and more like Small Street Market.
Sensing something odd, Ming Ying stopped and looked up. The front rows were practically empty, while the back was packed.
Guys and girls, dark-haired and blond, in pants and in skirts, all crowded together in the back, seemingly in high spirits. Ming Ying frowned.
Damn.
Since when did everyone switch habits like this?
Abandoning the front rows to cram into the back?
In this class, or rather, this specific classroom, Ming Ying had always sat in the exact same spot—the back row corner by the window.
Because normally, no one wanted that spot, and he could lean against the wall. For someone like him, it was prime real estate.
But clearly, its value had now skyrocketed, ready to leave him just like XI was.
Why was he thinking about that again!
But even about that seat, Ming Ying had shared stories with XI.
Dammit. Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it.
Mourning the loss of his seat, Ming Ying rubbed his face and let out a “Heh.” He was utterly indifferent to whatever drama was unfolding at the back of the room.
Whatever it was, he wasn’t interested.
He turned around, scanned the room, and found an empty spot in the third row.
Ming Ying walked over, clasped his hands together, and gave the Asian girl sitting on the aisle a bright, sunny smile. “Excuse me, sorry to bother you, could I get in here? Thank you.”
The Asian girl smiled back, shifting one seat in. “You can take the outside.”
“Thank you very much.” Ming Ying beamed as he thanked her. “May your entire day go smoothly.”
The Asian girl laughed at that. “You too.”
Still wearing his smile, Ming Ying sat down, then snuck a glance towards the back rows.
Instantly, his smile vanished. Silently, he made a mental note: that’s the second thing.
If he hadn’t prayed to the God of Wealth this morning, but some other deity, he’d have mentally cursed that deity’s entire extended family by now!
Ming Ying tapped his fingers on the desk. Instinctively, he sensed a third piece of bad luck waiting for him today. Maybe even more than three.
XI wasn’t in this category, since they were only meeting tomorrow.
So, his first thought went to his assignment. Could it really have problems?
Ming Ying felt a bit insecure, but he really didn’t want to pull it out and look again.
Oliver wasn’t here yet. The commotion from the back rows was making Ming Ying too curious to resist. He listened intently, but all he could pick out from the noise were words like “Really?”, “GOD,” “so fuking handsome.”
This…
Watching the few people in the front rows also turning back to look, Ming Ying couldn’t hold back anymore. He followed suit, asking offhandedly, “Did some celebrity come to our classroom? Or is Professor Oliver planning to lecture from the last row today?”
“Not a celebrity.” The Asian girl said, surprised, “You don’t know? It’s Mr. Aston.”
Who?
Ming Ying frowned reflexively. Why did that name sound familiar?
“He is…?”
The girl laughed lightly, seeming a bit incredulous. “The youngest School Board Director at N University? You don’t recognize him? His name is on the school’s Hallway of Honor!”
Click. It snapped into place in Ming Ying’s brain. He remembered now. On his first day in New York, Mark had told him about this!
One of those three unwritten rules of N University—the ASTON one!
Ming Ying was enlightened. “What’s he doing here?”
“Auditing a class, obviously,” the girl shrugged. “Probably here for Oliver’s.”
Ming Ying glanced back at the crowd once more.
Fine. So his seat had been hijacked by this guy.
Forget it. Ming Ying withdrew his gaze. As long as it’s not that strange professor (XI’s dad), he could accept anyone.
—Wait, what the hell?! Why did I think of him?!
Ming Ying covered his face, horrified by his own thoughts.
It really wasn’t his fault. The blame lay entirely with that strange professor, who’d left him with a massive psychological scar.
Like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
Ming Ying closed his eyes, but the moment he did, the scene from that Luxury Apartment the other day barged into his brain like an unwelcome leech.
Save me.
If time machines existed, Ming Ying would pay some not-too-painful price to go back.
No, he needed to do something else to distract himself!
—Study?
Oliver still wasn’t here.
Ming Ying mentally grumbled.
Might as well play.
Then Ming Ying pulled out his phone, slid the screen open.
His finger hovered over the chat interface with XI—the very last page.
Because he didn’t dare scroll up. Scrolling up even one page would reveal some NSFW content.
Propping his chin on his hand, he began his morning greeting ritual.
Mingo: [Morning~]
Mingo: [How is it today? Feeling a bit better?]
Ming Ying was just about to pick out a sticker to send when suddenly, the single blue checkmark on his message silently “poofed.”
Turned into two.
Ming Ying blinked, stunned.
Then, realizing XI had Read his message, Ming Ying immediately put his hand down, sat upright, and typed with a serious expression.
Mingo: You saw me?
Mingo: My tire blew out this morning, hahaha.
Mingo: Did that cheer you up at all?
Crap.
No reading, no reply.
At that moment, Ming Ying heard someone behind him shouting, “Aston! May I invite you to our performance?!”
That foreign kid had a truly sonorous voice. The shout sparked waves of laughter.
Ming Ying didn’t turn around. He was messaging XI, even a bit annoyed by the noise.
But suddenly, inspiration struck. Good stuff, he’d been running out of things to talk about.
Mingo: XI, you know what? The School Board Director came to audit our first class this morning.
Mingo: Has he ever come to yours? I haven’t really heard about him.
Mingo: But the key thing is, he took the last row seat!
Mingo: Heh.
Ming Ying’s typing started carrying a bit of personal resentment.
Mingo: It’s sheer capitalist arrogance!
Mingo: Where am I supposed to sit if he takes my spot?
Mingo: Right?
Mingo: [Puppy fainted sticker]
After sending the message, Ming Ying mentally braced himself for the inevitable “Ming. Stop spamming.”
But what he didn’t expect was that it was Read immediately after sending!!!
So fast?
Ming Ying’s eyes widened.
Just then, he heard another wave of hubbub rising behind him, but—why was it getting closer?
A lecture hall like this had 400 seats, rivaling a Broadway-style small theater. The distance between the third row and the last row was enough to fit a small marketplace. So how could the noise feel so near?
Thus, Ming Ying turned his head—
…?!
WHAT THE HELL???
WTF???
Ming Ying’s pupils constricted violently.
Simultaneously:
“Aston came over!” The girl beside him excitedly slapped his shoulder. “Why is he coming our way?!”
“He really is walking towards us!” a black guy in front also yelled.
“Is he leaving?!”
“No, the door is over there!”
…
But as the surrounding commotion and curious gazes closed in, Ming Ying had mentally tuned them all out. All his senses, his entire vision, narrowed to just one face.
He practically froze in place—holding his phone, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide—watching that person cut through the crowd at the back of the room and descend the stairs.
Too shocked to even think,
Questions like: Why was this strange professor even here?
Am I fcking dreaming?
Maybe I’m still living in last Sunday?
Has he chased me all the way here to kill me?
All these thoughts slid smoothly through his brain, then, when the man stopped right in front of him, exploded simultaneously!
Ming Ying even forgot to stand up.
He just heard the man frown and speak: “Ming, it seems we need to talk. Now.”
I …
Talk about what?
About how my online crush is actually the School Board Director’s daughter???
Surely not about my crappy essay and having to fail me?
Wait, hold on—
…Ming?
Who is Ming?????
![No Redemption for Dark Protagonists [Quick Transmigration]](https://i0.wp.com/dobynovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/quickkk.jpg?resize=151,215 "No Redemption for Dark Protagonists [Quick Transmigration]")
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