Reborn in 1977, I will no longer be my brother's blood bag.

"You're more like a sore loser than we are."

Li Mingyuan's words were like a pebble dropped into my heart. On the surface, I remained calm, but ripples spread throughout my soul.

On the way back to the dormitory, Lin Xiuhe remained silent.

She knew, of course, that Li Mingyuan meant no harm. On the contrary, it was precisely because he understood that he said those things.

She lost in her past life.

Losing your job means losing your opportunities; losing your life means losing everything.

That's why she's desperately seizing every opportunity in this life.

It wasn't because of greed, but because I knew what loss felt like.

Thinking of this, Lin Xiuhe slowly exhaled and looked up at the teaching building in the distance. The morning sunlight fell on the roof, making it golden.

In this life, she will not lose again.

At least, we won't lose easily.

In the following days, the people in dormitory 403 noticed something: Lin Xiuhe was busier than ever.

She gets up at 5:40 every day, has English at 6:00, eats breakfast at 7:00, goes to class at 8:00, goes to the library in the afternoon, and studies her major materials in the evening. Sometimes, after lights out, Gu Xiaolan can still see her memorizing vocabulary by the light of the corridor lamp.

"That's terrifying," Liu Xue exclaimed, hugging her blanket. "I feel like she has forty-eight hours in a day."

Gu Xiaolan nodded seriously: "Now I believe she is the best in the whole county."

Su Qing put down her book and said calmly, "The most terrifying thing about her isn't her talent. The most terrifying thing is that she knows where she falls short."

The dormitory suddenly became quiet.

Because everyone understands that this statement is true. Many people work hard, but don't know where to direct their efforts. Lin Xiuhe is different; her goals are frighteningly clear.

Meanwhile, in the English classroom.

Teacher Zhou became increasingly satisfied.

At first, Lin Xiuhe couldn't even completely repeat a listening passage. Later, she could repeat half of it, and then she was able to grasp the main points.

The pace of progress is astonishing.

Even so, Teacher Zhou remained strict: "Try again, the pronunciation is wrong. Continue, do it one more time."

These words were repeated in the classroom every morning.

Sometimes even Zhao Guodong felt a chill run down his spine listening to it.

Finally, one day after class, he couldn't help but ask:

Aren't you tired?

"What?"

"Learn like this every day."

Lin Xiuhe was organizing her notes when she heard this and looked up: "Tired."

"Then why not stop for one day?"

Then she smiled and said, "Because no one else stopped either."

Zhao Guodong was stunned and didn't know how to respond for a moment.

Because this sentence is too simple, yet too true.

Just then, Teacher Zhou came over and placed a piece of paper on the table:

Next week, the school-wide English proficiency ranking will be released.

Zhao Guodong frowned subconsciously: "The whole school?"

"Yes, all the freshmen together."

Teacher Zhou looked at the two of them: "The results will be announced later, and the rankings will be made public."

After saying that, he left immediately.

Zhao Guodong's expression was visibly grave.

Because he knew what public rankings meant. Some would become famous overnight, while others would lose face.

English, however, is precisely what they are least proficient in.

As they walked out of the teaching building, Zhao Guodong suddenly asked, "What score do you think you can get?"

Lin Xiuhe thought for a moment: "Sixty-five."

Zhao Guodong was stunned: "So low?"

"Let's be realistic. What about you?"

Zhao Guodong paused for a few seconds: "Around seventy-five."

The two looked at each other and suddenly laughed at the same time.

This was the first time they chatted like normal classmates, not as competitors.

In the afternoon, at the library.

Lin Xiuhe was looking up information when someone suddenly sat down opposite her.

She looked up and saw Li Mingyuan.

"Why are you here again?"

"study."

"There are so many seats here."

"The lighting is good here," Li Mingyuan said seriously.

Lin Xiuhe was too lazy to expose her and continued to read her book.

After a while, Li Mingyuan suddenly asked, "How's your English?"

"Sixty-two."

"I know, so why are you asking?"

"I'm asking about now."

Lin Xiuhe paused for a moment, then said, "I can understand a little bit now."

Li Mingyuan nodded: "That's right. At your pace, you should be able to catch up in six months."

Lin Xiuhe looked up: "Half a year?"

"That's already very fast," Li Mingyuan said matter-of-factly.

But for some reason, Lin Xiuhe suddenly laughed: "It's been too long."

Li Mingyuan was taken aback: "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to wait six months."

At that moment, the sunlight from the library streamed through the window and fell on her profile.

Li Mingyuan suddenly seemed a little dazed.

Because he couldn't quite put his finger on who the girl in front of him was fighting against—others, herself, or time itself.

After a long silence, he finally smiled and said, "You really don't leave yourself any way out."

Lin Xiuhe lowered her head and opened the book, without answering.

Because she knew that time was her greatest advantage and her greatest secret.

Just then, a commotion broke out at the library entrance, and many students looked up.

"What's wrong?"

"Something has been posted on the bulletin board."

"What is it?"

"Scholarship List"

The sound reached them, and many students in the library immediately stood up. Even Li Mingyuan looked over.

Scholarships. For college students of this era, their significance is far greater than that of later generations.

It's not just about honors, it's about real money. And for many rural students, it's even about whether they can focus on their studies.

Lin Xiuhe slowly raised her head as well.

Because she suddenly remembered that she was starting to run out of money.