The lecture hall hummed with the low-frequency anxiety of fifty students facing their first Macroeconomic Theory class with the newly infamous Professor Nan. Whispers slithered through the rows like snakes, punctuated by stifled giggles and the frantic tapping of phones undoubtedly still displaying that drone footage. Nan Xi stood behind the sleek, modern podium, a panther surveying territory suddenly filled with unfamiliar, predatory scents. Her black suit was armor, her posture rigid, her face a flawless mask of glacial composure. Only the knuckles of her left hand, gripping the edge of the podium, betrayed a tension bordering on violence.
The Chancellor's "solution" reeked of punishment disguised as damage control. Transferring Xu Lin into her section? Forcing proximity? It was gasoline on the wildfire of gossip. Evans' parting threat – "One more misstep, Nan. One. And the board won't care about your blockchain model. They'll feed you to the wolves." – echoed in the sterile air.
The door at the back of the amphitheater creaked open. Conversations died mid-syllable. Heads swiveled. The atmosphere crackled.
Xu Lin entered, unhurried. He wore dark jeans and a simple black sweater today, devoid of the hoodie's anonymity. He moved with that same unsettling quiet grace, carrying only a thin, unmarked notebook. The whispers surged again, louder, bolder. "Viper Hottie!" "Is he blushing again?" "Bet he sits front row…"
He didn't. He slid into a seat near the middle, third row, off-center. Deliberately unassuming. Yet his presence was a physical weight pressing against the fragile silence Nan Xi had imposed. His gaze, when it finally lifted to meet hers, wasn't defiant, nor apologetic. It was… observant. Calculating. Like a scientist noting the reaction of a volatile compound.
Nan Xi snapped the laser pointer on. The bright red dot burned onto the projection screen beside the podium, landing squarely on the title: Keynesian Multiplier: Fiscal Policy & Aggregate Demand. Her voice, when it came, was crisp, clear, and colder than liquid nitrogen. It sliced through the residual murmurs like a scalpel.
"Open your texts to Chapter 3. Forget what you think you know about market equilibrium. Keynes argued that demand, not supply, is the primary driver of economic fluctuations in the short run." She began pacing the small stage, a controlled, deliberate movement. Her eyes scanned the rows, deliberately skipping the third. "The multiplier effect… amplifies any initial change in spending. Inject $100 billion into infrastructure…" She clicked the pointer. A complex formula appeared. "…and the total increase in national income might be significantly larger. Why?"
She stopped pacing, facing the class. Her gaze swept across expectant faces, nervous faces, faces hiding smirks behind laptops. It landed, inevitably, on him. Xu Lin wasn't looking at the screen. He was looking at his phone, held casually below desk level, his thumb scrolling. The disrespect was blatant. A challenge thrown down in her own arena.
A collective intake of breath. Every student froze. This was the moment they'd been waiting for. Would the Ice Queen crack? Would she melt? Would she… kiss him again?
Nan Xi felt the familiar icy rage surge, a welcome counterpoint to the lingering humiliation. This boy, this viper, thought he could play games in her domain? He thought the drone video gave him leverage? She was Professor Nan Xi. Her mind was a weapon honed by equations and ruthless logic. Alcohol had been her weakness. This classroom was her strength.
"Mr. Xu Lin." Her voice cut through the silence, sharper than the laser pointer. "Third row. The student engrossed in his social media feed." She paused, letting the condemnation hang. "Since multitasking seems to be your forte, perhaps you can enlighten the class. Explain the Keynesian multiplier effect. And calculate," she gestured to the formula, "the theoretical total increase in income if the marginal propensity to consume is… 0.8. Starting now."
A low ripple went through the class. It was a brutal opening gambit – complex theory delivered cold to a student caught red-handed. Many seniors would stumble. Expectant eyes locked onto Xu Lin.
He didn't flinch. He didn't stammer. He slowly lowered his phone, placing it face down on the desk. Then he looked up, meeting her glacial stare head-on. There was no panic in his dark eyes. Only a flicker of that same dark amusement she'd seen in Evans' office. He leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers on the desk.
"The Keynesian multiplier," he began, his voice calm, resonant, effortlessly filling the lecture hall, "denoted as 'k', represents the ratio of the change in equilibrium national income to the initial change in autonomous spending that caused it. It's calculated as 1 divided by 1 minus the marginal propensity to consume, or MPC." He didn't glance at the screen. The formula seemed etched in his mind. "Given an MPC of 0.8, the multiplier 'k' would be 1 divided by 1 minus 0.8, which equals 1 divided by 0.2. Therefore, k = 5."
He paused, his gaze never leaving hers. The class was utterly silent, spellbound. "Therefore, an initial injection of $100 billion into infrastructure spending, assuming no crowding out and a closed economy for simplicity, would theoretically lead to a total increase in national income of…" He tilted his head slightly, the movement predatory. "…5 times $100 billion. $500 billion. Professor."
The answer was flawless. Delivered with the cool precision of a seasoned lecturer, not a freshman caught off-guard. Nan Xi felt a sliver of unwanted professional respect pierce her anger. He was intelligent. Dangerously so. It made him more formidable, not less.
A smattering of impressed whispers broke out. Xu Lin didn't acknowledge them. He held Nan Xi's gaze, a subtle, challenging curve playing on his lips. "But Professor Nan," he continued, his voice dropping slightly, gaining an intimate, almost conversational tone that silenced the whispers instantly. "While the multiplier effect elegantly quantifies the economic impact of fiscal stimulus…" He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. "…I find myself more curious about another variable entirely. One less… theoretical."
He paused, letting the tension coil tight. The red laser dot trembled minutely in Nan Xi's grip. She knew what was coming. She braced.
"Given your… demonstrated familiarity with potent stimuli last night," Xu Lin said, his words deliberate, loaded, "perhaps you could enlighten us? What's the approximate metabolic rate for ethanol oxidation in a healthy adult female? And how does intoxication significantly impact cognitive functions… like, say, recognizing appropriate forms of address?" He raised an eyebrow, the picture of academic curiosity. The flush on his ears was back, but his gaze was steady, sharp, and aimed directly at her wounded pride.
The gasp from the class was audible. Someone choked back a laugh. Phones surreptitiously lifted. He'd done it. He'd weaponized her humiliation, cloaked it in academic inquiry, and fired it back at her in her own lecture hall.
For a heartbeat, the Ice Queen facade threatened to shatter. The memory of the rooftop – the scent of him, the desperate words, the terrifying vulnerability – slammed into her. Her grip on the podium tightened until the metal edge bit into her palm. The laser pointer's red dot danced erratically on the screen.
But Nan Xi didn't crack. She drew the cold around her like a shield. Her expression didn't change, not a flicker. Only her eyes, locked with his, held a storm of fury and a chilling promise. She didn't answer his question about alcohol metabolism.
Instead, she took a single, deliberate step closer to the edge of the stage, leaning slightly towards him. Her voice, when it came, was softer than before, but it carried the cutting edge of a scalpel dipped in liquid nitrogen. "An intriguing pivot, Mr. Xu. From macroeconomics to biochemistry. Tell me," her gaze flickered down, almost imperceptibly, towards his collarbone hidden beneath the sweater, then back to his eyes, "does this sudden fascination with metabolic processes extend to… identifying other toxins? Or recognizing vipers in the grass?"
She saw it then – the first genuine crack in his unnerving calm. A fractional widening of his dark eyes. A micro-tension in his jaw. The reference to the viper tattoo landed. Hard.
Before he could formulate a counterstrike, Nan Xi straightened, turning back to the stunned class, her laser pointer snapping back to the Keynesian formula. "As Mr. Xu has *so ably* demonstrated, understanding fundamentals is paramount. Now, back to the crowding-out effect…" She resumed her lecture as if nothing had happened, her voice steady, her mask firmly back in place. The classroom remained frozen, the air thick with unsaid accusations, dangerous curiosity, and the electrifying sense that the war between the panther on the podium and the viper in the third row had just escalated to deadly serious.
Outside the lecture hall, unnoticed by the riveted students, a nondescript man in university maintenance overalls lowered a high-fidelity digital recorder from the ventilation grate near the door. He tapped a message on a secure burner phone: "Target provoked. Reaction controlled but hostile. Viper reference confirmed. Proceed to Phase Two."