Another winter break arrived. Zhao Changfeng had been selected for University F’s main lineup and had to stay behind for training, possibly even skipping the Spring Festival.

To keep him company, Jiang Ruotang and Lu Guifan drove for several hours just to spend the holiday with him.

At the same time, another winter-break drama, Strange Tales by the Western Window, launched across all platforms. Its tightly woven plot, vivid and multidimensional characters, and eerie, fantastical atmosphere had viewers hooked.

This was also the first script that Jian Sha worked on after joining an independent screenwriting studio in the industry.

Unlike traditional screenwriters, Jian Sha had a better grasp of audience sentiment and could distill the brilliance of the original novels. She had initially followed several senior screenwriters to learn the ropes, but by the end of filming, even those seniors admitted they had learned from her unrestrained creativity.

Even while overseas, Jiang Ruotang became a loyal viewer, and watching the show had become a daily ritual for him and Lu Guifan. Not even Lu, a master of spotting plot twists, could guess the story’s direction.

The entire internet was raving about Jiang Huaiyuan, praising him for creating another ratings miracle after Drunken Immortal Stage.

Lead actor Ling Song proved with his performance that his earlier popularity hadn’t been a fluke.

Jiang Ruotang rested his chin in his hand and said, “Why do I feel like Ling Song… is playing you?”

“Playing me? How so?” Lu Guifan asked, puzzled.

“At first, I just felt a tiny resemblance. But in today’s episode—when he lifted a purple clay teacup and sipped gently, or when he negotiated with the protagonist over Gu worms while flipping through a book—it all felt exactly like you. It’s like he’s channeling you,” Jiang said earnestly.

“Really?”

Jiang couldn’t resist and asked in their small group chat:
[Does anyone else think that cold-faced doctor in Western Window looks exactly like Lu Guifan?]

Cai Ji: [Me too.]

Zhao Changfeng: [+1]

Jian Sha: [Are you all stupid? That character was based on Lu Guifan. If Ling Song really resembles him, that just means he nailed the role.]

Lu Guifan, who rarely joined group chats, chimed in:
[Wasn’t Little Prince based on Ruotang? That actor doesn’t even come close—he totally lacks Ruotang’s natural charm.]

Cai Ji: [What about that soft-hearted but super tough palace guard who’s loyal and unbeatable—was that based on Changfeng?]

Zhao Changfeng: [Hey! I protest! That actor looks nothing like me! I’m way more handsome—he’s just bulky!]

Cai Ji: [Is that little coroner supposed to be me? His hair’s kind of curly like mine!]

Curious, Jiang Ruotang asked:
[Sister Sha, which character is based on you? I haven’t figured it out.]

To his surprise, Zhao Changfeng and Cai Ji replied in unison:
[The Empress, of course!]

Jiang Ruotang was stunned:
[No way! The Empress is like… in her late eighties!]

Jian Sha, deadpan:
[All you ministers, shut up and court dismissed!]

Everyone burst out laughing. Unlike ordinary viewers, they had an extra layer of fun: spotting themselves in the show.

The huge success of Strange Tales by the Western Window quickly pushed a second season onto the agenda. Jian Sha continued expanding this world of suspense and intrigue.

Her works topped bestseller lists, were translated into numerous languages, and sold internationally.

Jiang Ruotang even saw the English edition in a nearby bookstore—with a dedication on the back:
“To my dearest friends.”

March Madness arrived again, and the NCAA tournament reached its finals.

For Zhao Changfeng, this was a very, very big deal. He didn’t know if the coach would let him play or how far their team could go.

He once had dreams of being drafted into the NBA, but now he got so nervous just hearing the crowd that his hands and feet would sweat.

What he didn’t expect was that Zhao Yunshu and Jiang Huaiyuan flew over just to support him—and even Cai Ji and Jian Sha came along.

Seeing his family and friends in the stands, Zhao Changfeng felt a sense of home, like he wasn’t alone anymore. His previously drifting heart found an anchor.

Initially, domestic media focused only on the NBA, rarely covering the NCAA—the NBA’s talent cradle. But this time, Little Sweet Fruit unexpectedly bought the NCAA’s online streaming rights.

Those who had previously followed Zhao Changfeng were shocked to find the basketball prodigy they once admired now competing at one of the world’s highest levels, second only to the NBA. Fans were thrilled, and domestic pro teams started to take notice.

University F made it to the Elite Eight but then faced powerhouse K University. In the last ten minutes, they lost eight points due to a lapse in defense. The coach tried subbing in two tall players, but the momentum didn’t return. Zhao Changfeng sat silently on the bench, watching.

Many domestic viewers began complaining:

[I’m watching college basketball for Zhao Changfeng—not to see him benched!]
[Sure, being selected is great progress, but does he really think he can make it to the NBA?]
[Looks like F is going to crash out in the Elite Eight…]

Then, with five minutes left, F University’s coach finally patted Zhao Changfeng on the shoulder and asked, “You good to go?”

Zhao nodded.

When he stood up, the crowd erupted—a sea of red flags waved by Chinese international students. In the stands, Zhao Yunshu and Jiang Huaiyuan held hands tightly. Jiang Ruotang and the others shouted words of encouragement.

These were Zhao Changfeng’s roots.

In the last five minutes, he shone. A lightning-fast steal. A rhythm-shifting drive through a double-team. Aggressive under-the-basket play. A sweeping hook shot against defenders. A smooth turnaround fadeaway. Even K University’s coach involuntarily clapped for his performance.

F University advanced to the Final Four.

Little Sweet Fruit’s NCAA broadcast exploded online thanks to word-of-mouth. The original goal was to introduce audiences to the sport and highlight overseas students’ hard work—not to turn a profit. But unexpectedly, Zhao Changfeng became a breakout star.

Critics who had doubted him or said overseas students would never see playtime now fell silent.

With growing attention, even the Basketball Association’s chairman called Zhao Changfeng to encourage him.

F University’s momentum grew. Zhao saw more and more court time. Chinese international students poured into games, flooding stadiums with red. Even NBA scouts began to analyze his potential.

Though F University didn’t win the championship, Zhao Changfeng left a lasting impression.

He grabbed rebounds before bigger players, launched fast breaks, landed accurate mid-range shots, and executed tactical plays. A textbook all-around player.

Afterward, a reporter interviewed him. Still drenched in sweat and catching his breath, Zhao hadn’t expected this and could barely speak from nerves.

But seeing his friends and family nearby, he quickly settled down.

He responded in fluent English, with humility and insight, leaving a deep impression on the reporter.

She even praised him for being “very charming.”

It was just a friendly compliment—but she ended up writing a full column about him.

Zhao thought the interview was over and turned to hug his family, but before he could, a few assistant coaches and pro players came over to exchange contact info and chat.

Jiang Ruotang leaned toward Lu Guifan and whispered,
“Don’t you think Changfeng might need an agent or assistant soon?”

Soon after, Zhao Yunshu’s phone rang—it was a major domestic sports brand. They couldn’t get in touch with Zhao Changfeng and had reached out to her instead, hoping to sign him as a spokesperson for their basketball shoes.

Zhao Yunshu immediately switched to her professional mode, saying she’d consider it carefully.

Jiang Ruotang laughed.
“Mom, you know Changfeng’s dream was to do a basketball shoe commercial—leaping through the air with the ball! Why didn’t you say yes?”

“It’s a reputable brand, sure. But that doesn’t mean their shoes are any good. And what’s the rush? Who knows—maybe next year he’ll get drafted into the NBA.”

Jiang chuckled, “If that happens, Changfeng will be the first sports star with his own space on Little Sweet Fruit!”

After March Madness, Jiang Ruotang returned home briefly because Mu Xianqing was opening a new gallery in Sheng City, and he wanted to show support.

Qi Yanze insisted on picking him up. Jiang waited outside the airport but didn’t see him anywhere.

Then someone tapped him on the shoulder and said in an exasperated tone,
“I’ve been standing right in front of you forever!”

Jiang widened his eyes and looked him up and down.
“You? Qi Yanze? Why are you dressed so… grown-up?”

He was wearing a casual suit, custom leather shoes, and had trimmed his hair short, revealing his forehead. He looked sleek and just a touch more mature.

“Sigh, you think I look old too? I had no choice. Ever since I started this MBA program, everyone around me looks like a wannabe official or philosopher. I can’t be the odd one out! Want me to change into my leather jacket when we get back in the car?”

“No, no, this is fine. If you wore the leather jacket, I’d worry you were gonna go drag racing.”

Qi Yanze punched him lightly. “I haven’t raced in ages, alright?”

As they chatted, Jiang found out that even though Qi Yanze hadn’t learned much from the MBA courses themselves, listening to the discussions around him had opened his eyes. The lessons in human nature, tact, and social finesse made him realize he had once been a naive fool. But that too, was a form of growth.

As they drove into the city and passed a giant shopping mall, Jiang glanced at a huge advertisement and froze.

In his past life, his small apartment had been right behind that billboard.

But this time, the ad wasn’t for Guilty perfume.

It was Ling Song, wearing a designer watch by ETERNAL.

His expression was no longer cold and distant. His eyes were warm, his smile gentle and inclusive.

Jiang Ruotang rested his chin in his hand and smiled.

It turns out, everyone really does have their own future.