[Gold Powder GL] True Elegance Comes with Knowledge - Chapter 16

Have you ever looked at someone with quiet admiration and wondered what it takes for a person to make such a decisive leap toward an ambitious goal? That’s exactly what Leng Qingqiu felt as she stood near the gates of the university, her gaze sweeping across the energetic flow of students hurrying by, their youthful enthusiasm lighting up the sprawling campus.

For a brief moment, Qingqiu was caught in a daze. Something about this place had shifted in her perception. Where once it may have appeared distant, unreachable, or indifferent, now it pulsed with life and possibility. The air felt friendlier, more inviting.

The landscape, once unfamiliar and intimidating, now radiated warmth and a strange kind of intimacy. She began to see herself as part of this bustling world — a part of the very scenery she once only dared to observe from afar.

In her mind’s eye, she could almost see herself among them — mingling with the crowds, immersed in discussions, flipping through thick books in the library, laughing under the shade of tall trees in between lectures. It was a powerful vision, and although some part of her still trembled with the anxiety of stepping into the unknown, another part of her thrilled at the thought.

Can I truly do this? she wondered.

Then she smiled softly.

It doesn’t hurt to try.

With that simple yet courageous thought, Leng Qingqiu found herself more driven than ever. Whether she was poring over textbooks late into the night, scribbling pages for her serialized articles, or managing her time between school and other responsibilities, she did it all with a new sense of purpose.

Of course, dreams didn’t come free. Attending university required resources, and in the past, Qingqiu had pushed such thoughts aside, assuming they were out of reach. But now that she had found a legitimate and even promising way to earn an income — through her writing — she began to plan more practically. This time, she wasn’t fantasizing. She was preparing.

And so she worked. Day in and day out, she moved through her days with tireless focus. Gone were the leisurely strolls and idle moments she once had. Her schedule grew packed, her mind buzzing constantly with ideas for her next article or strategies to budget for future expenses.

Naturally, such a dramatic transformation did not go unnoticed.

Within the Leng household, the shift in Qingqiu’s demeanor sparked a ripple of reaction. They were, to put it plainly, pleased. She had evolved into someone they could rely on. For a family that once regarded her primarily as a child to be married off to secure a stable future, this newfound independence was both surprising and welcome.

Mrs. Leng, who used to worry about arranging a respectable marriage for her, now began to view her daughter’s success as a point of pride. Household discussions slowly began to include Qingqiu’s opinions. Even Uncle Han and Aunt Han, once mildly dismissive, began to treat her with more seriousness.

Even her uncle, who was often away on business, took the time to write back after hearing about her accomplishments, praising her work ethic and resilience.

But while her family had adjusted to her new role with relative ease, her school life painted a different picture.

Leng Qingqiu attended a traditional girls’ middle school. In that era, it was still uncommon for girls to receive formal education, and those who did were often from families hoping to elevate their daughters’ marriage prospects. Education was rarely seen as an end in itself — rather, it was a means to polish a girl’s manners, intelligence, and conversational ability, making her more attractive to a potential suitor.

At Qingqiu’s school, the curriculum reflected this belief. While students studied standard subjects like literature and arithmetic, they also attended classes in etiquette, embroidery, proper speech, and domestic skills. It was, in many ways, a finishing school — a place where girls were shaped into ideal wives, balancing modern sophistication with traditional virtue.

Given this context, the idea of a girl continuing her studies at university — especially one as prestigious as Peking University — was unheard of. Most of Qingqiu’s classmates expected to be engaged or married shortly after graduation.

Perhaps that’s why, when Qingqiu began spending less time at school and more time focusing on her writing, rumors began to spread.

Many of her classmates assumed she was preparing for marriage. She no longer participated in group outings or idle chitchat between classes. Her wardrobe had subtly improved, and her demeanor exuded a quiet confidence that had not been there before. These changes, in their minds, could only mean one thing.

The speculation grew more pointed when Qingqiu borrowed a necklace to attend a wedding and returned looking especially radiant. It reminded everyone of a girl glowing from love.

One afternoon, a few girls who were particularly close to her decided to confront her directly.

“Qingqiu,” one of them said, holding out a small hand mirror, “just look at yourself. You’re beaming. If it’s not because you’re engaged or in love, then what is it?”

Qingqiu took the mirror and stared at her reflection, genuinely surprised.

She hadn’t truly looked at herself in a while. Ever since her schedule had intensified, she had neglected the little details — the way she dressed, her hair, even her complexion. But now, peering into the mirror, she saw something different. Her features hadn’t changed, but there was a brightness in her eyes, a sense of calm strength that came from within.

Her classmates weren’t entirely wrong. She did look happy — but not because of a man. It was the kind of happiness born from purpose.

With a soft chuckle, she returned the mirror. “Something good has indeed happened,” she admitted, “but it’s not what you’re imagining.”

“Oh?” another girl asked, eyes gleaming. “Then what is it?”

For a moment, Qingqiu hesitated. She hadn’t spoken to anyone at school about her writing. It felt boastful, somehow — or perhaps she feared they wouldn’t understand. But now, surrounded by genuine curiosity, she decided to share.

“I’ve been writing a serialized story,” she said. “It’s published in the newspaper under a pen name.”

The room fell into stunned silence, quickly replaced by a chorus of excited voices. The idea that one of their own had a hand in something as public and prestigious as a newspaper story was beyond thrilling.
“What pen name?”

“Wait—didn’t I read something by you last week? That story about the riverbank?”

“No way, that was you?! I loved that piece!”

For the first time, Qingqiu found herself the center of attention — not for her looks or background or potential marriage, but for her work. Her classmates admired her not for who she might marry, but for what she had achieved. It was a revelation, and one that filled her with quiet joy.

As the conversation carried on, one of the girls suddenly grinned and said, “Okay, so the writing explains part of the glow, but don’t think we didn’t notice that dreamy look on your face earlier.”

“What dreamy look?” Qingqiu blinked.

“The look of a girl thinking about someone special,” another chimed in. “Come on, you can tell us. Who is he?”

“What nonsense!” Qingqiu protested, blushing. She touched her cheek, flustered. “I wasn’t thinking about anyone in particular…”

But her heart betrayed her. She knew exactly who had filled her thoughts earlier. There was only one person who came to mind — the person who had encouraged her from the beginning, who had gently pushed her to believe in herself, who had quietly become a central part of her life.

Yan Hui.

Her closest friend, her confidant, her mentor.

But could it really be love? she wondered.

She shook off the thought as her classmates moved on to other topics. Yet the question lingered in her heart.

Later that day, she visited the Yan household for her regular class. As she entered the room and caught sight of Yan Hui seated behind the desk, her heart skipped a beat. The memory of her classmates’ teasing came rushing back, and her face warmed.

“What’s the matter?” Yan Hui asked, noticing her pause at the door.

Qingqiu quickly looked away. “It’s nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. “I walked here too quickly. Just catching my breath.”

Satisfied with the answer, Yan Hui nodded, and soon the teacher arrived. They settled into the lesson as usual.

But Qingqiu couldn’t concentrate.

She was hyper-aware of her presence beside her — the way she moved, the sound of her voice, the calm confidence in her expression. Every so often, she caught Yan Hui glancing at her, which only flustered her more. Was she looking at her differently? Or was it all in her head?

Eventually, she calmed down. Their familiar rhythm helped her regain focus. And with that, she began to reflect on her feelings.

Maybe she was simply overthinking. Yan Hui had always been kind, attentive, and wise. It was only natural that she felt drawn to her. But that didn’t mean it was romantic. Marriage, after all, was complicated. It wasn’t just about affection — it involved family, social expectations, uncertainty.

In that moment, she realized something profound: even if she never married, even if she never followed the conventional path expected of her, a life spent beside someone who truly understood her — like Yan Hui — might be enough.

But all of that was still far off in the future.

For now, Qingqiu had immediate concerns: manuscripts to finish, assignments to complete, outlines to draft, and the all-important preparation for her university entrance exams. Her heart may have fluttered briefly, but her mind remained focused.

And so, her tangled thoughts settled into quiet corners of her mind, leaving behind only the softest of traces — like ink drying on a page, waiting for the next chapter to be written.