CHAPTER 46: CHAPTER 45: FRIENDSHIP ON A BASIL LEAF

How long can the handwriting on a bookmark last?

Not long, so despite the careful preservation of the leaf, the person flipping through the diary gently put it back in place, but the ink from the fountain pen had already cracked, and the two goblin faces were barely recognizable.

The title page of the diary was torn off, and who the two goblin faces and the owner of this diary were, Su Ziceng had no way of knowing. Compared to all the diaries Su Ziceng had seen, the handwriting in this one was quite scribbly and the style seemed odd; one could tell it was written by a girl with a carefree personality. The content of the diary was even more unusual.

"Basil leaf?" Su Ziceng sniffed the leaf, filled with the familiar scent of herbs, a familiar smell often found in Italian pasta. The following description confirmed her thoughts. This diary of Anon was far from businesslike; it didn’t record trivial daily matters or school regulations, but only page after page of recipes, and what was more exaggerated, it was a "forged" Rose Handbook. As for the original Rose Handbook, it was probably smuggled out.

All the pages were recipes, each written in the language of Country Z and another foreign language. At Kelly Women’s College, everyone had to learn a foreign language, Su Ziceng thought, even such a seemingly carefree girl knew to record recipes in a foreign language. From pasta to pastries, Anon copied everything down and clearly tried them because each recipe was followed by comments such as excellent, burnt, pig food, not suitable for diabetics, etc., in a handwriting that did not seem to belong to the diary’s owner, but probably from the hand behind the other smiling face on the basil leaf.

Upon reaching the last page, there was only one sentence: "God bless my Italian exam to pass, I’ve translated a whole Italian Recipe book, flipping and cooking it, to the point that we don’t want to eat Italian food for a while." Closing the book, Su Ziceng couldn’t help but burst into laughter. So, the Rose Handbook of Anon was also a product of necessity. Could it be that at that time, Kelly Women’s College required mastering Italian, and the owner of this handbook had the fun idea of using recipes to learn Italian.

A chord in her heart was struck; this must be the material Pello mentioned, along with the incongruous sentence from Wen Maixue that day. "Only this is what I like," Wen Maixue liked French poetry. Wen Maixue, only five years old, how could she have the perseverance to learn a dull language unless it was something she truly enjoyed. Just like this Italian cookbook, what did Su Ziceng like? The Champs Elysees in France, the dazzling array of clothing and jewelry, if it was those, could she remember them all?

"I really must thank you," Su Ziceng kissed the "Rose Handbook" like she found a savior and pushed the diary back onto the shelf before hastily running to the dormitory. She was in such a hurry that when placing the book back on the shelf, the pages loosened, and the basil leaf floated out again, spinning and landing face down on the ground, revealing an overlooked scrawled signature on the back of the main stem: Tina, Qiao Chu.

The dormitory door was bumped open with a "bang," and Yan Wuxu, who was changing clothes, let out a scream. Su Ziceng said, "Sorry," as she pulled out several trendy magazines brought back from abroad and picked a few blank notebooks, then dashed out like a whirlwind. She didn’t even take a good look at Wuxu, who was about to go out on a date.

When Mr. Green walked into the classroom again and saw only Su Ziceng, he was about to ask her to repeat the morning’s lessons, but then saw her flipping through a magazine with a keen interest, "Mr. Green, can you help me translate an article?"

Helping others is the source of happiness, which was a Chinese saying that Mr. Green, not very fluent in the language, had learned recently. So, he immediately applied his new knowledge and started translating.

One after another, after translating over a hundred pages of colorful magazines, Mr. Green cursed in his heart: "The blather of helping others being the source of happiness." In just one afternoon, he translated one article, Su Ziceng asked for explanations for another, and after three articles, Mr. Green was sweating profusely, while Su Ziceng became more and more spirited, realizing that her brain could be so effective.

The first article, detailing Paris Fashion Week, was over five hundred words long, yet she managed to jot it down unevenly. The second, a brief message about the death of fashion master Roland, was already burned into her memory, and it even coaxed a handful of tears from her, for she adored the clothes designed by that deceased master with the violet eyes. The third was a profile of a supermodel.

She had memorized everything and, to commend herself for discovering this creative learning method, she decided to treat her stomach well. She had not eaten a grain of rice since noon and made a trip to Daquan University.

In the dormitory, there was still no sign of Yan Wuxu. She had previously reached out to Hang Yishao without getting a response, so Su Ziceng decided to try her luck at Daquan University. Even if she wouldn’t bump into Hang Yishao, she could still surprise that guy Qiu Zhi.

Now at Daquan University, the last class of the afternoon had also finished. Compared to Kelly Women’s College, the exiting crowds at Daquan University were much larger and bustling.

Firstly, Su Ziceng went to the B Area canteen where Hang Yishao and company usually hung out, but she didn’t see any of the faces she was hoping to. In the middle of this, a little episode occurred when she encountered an acquaintance she had met only once.

"Classmate!" After searching the private dining room in the canteen and just about to leave, Su Ziceng was blocked by someone.

The one who blocked her way was none other than the acne-faced boy she had seen over two months ago. He stood with a group of third-year male students, waiting in line to buy food when he spotted his longed-for beauty. This time, his courage was much greater, and he approached her f

or a chat.

Su Ziceng didn’t quite remember his face but remembered the shiny pimple on his nose. After more than two months, both the pimple and his courage seemed to have grown.

"What a coincidence," said the pimple-faced boy. After looking for her among the new students at the start of the semester and not seeing her again, he thought she might not have been admitted. But today he ran into her once more, and after an initial wave of nervous excitement, he eagerly inquired, "My name is Wang Ziqian, a third-year in Information Management. What’s your name?"

With many students buying food, Su Ziceng’ was blocked, and it wasn’t easy to turn him down. After some thought, she replied with a smile, "My name’s Chang Chi, I’m in Business Management Class one. My beeper number is *******, let’s keep in touch when you’re free."

Wang Ziqian was pleasantly surprised, got her name, and even her contact details. He made a note of the number. Seizing the opportunity, Su Ziceng quickly slipped away, secretly amused and couldn’t wait to see Chang Chi’s future expression.

Since she couldn’t find anyone in the B Area canteen, Su Ziceng called Qiu Zhi’s beeper too, but again no response. Without thinking, she knew that fatty must have gone to D Area’s ’Sichuan Delights’ for food. Qiu Zhi particularly enjoyed spicy food. Su Ziceng felt a bit regretful as she headed to the D Area canteen. Hang Yishao was the worst with spicy food; she wouldn’t bump into him today.