Wang Zhuo was startled, and at the same time, a shadow fell over his heart.

He recalled that he was the one who had personally saved Zeng Yan's life; had he not intervened then, Zeng Yan might well have died that very day. Yet, only a few months later, Zeng Yan was still facing the certainty of death, and those months had brought immeasurable torment and pain to his relatives. Wang Zhuo sometimes genuinely wondered if saving Zeng Yan had been a mistake.

"Wang Zhuo, hello?" Ji Qiong's voice inquired through the phone.

"Oh," Wang Zhuo composed himself and forced a bright tone, "I'm sorry, Ji Qiong, I just received a text message, something came up, so I can't come over for dinner tonight. Let's reschedule for another day."

Ji Qiong was instantly disheartened, but she still managed a gentle smile: "It's alright, whenever you are free is fine, you are always welcome."

Wang Zhuo chuckled: "Good, it's settled then. I'll hang up now."

After hanging up, Wang Zhuo took a deep breath, lifted the passenger seat cushion, and retrieved the tablet computer hidden beneath.

Euthanasia, a legislative vacuum in China. Because it involves ethics, morality, law, medicine, and is constrained by economic conditions and humanistic factors, China has yet to establish any law that can be piloted or referenced in this area.

Globally, the majority of countries with euthanasia laws are developed nations with relatively sound politics, economies, and legal systems, where citizens can legally obtain "active euthanasia." In China, currently, only "passive euthanasia" is feasible—the withdrawal of life support from a critically ill patient, commonly known as "pulling the plug."

"Pulling the plug" means removing the oxygen tube or life-sustaining IV drips, allowing the dying patient to pass naturally. However, for many in persistent vegetative states or with incurable diseases, removing support does not result in death, making this passive approach inapplicable.

Using the tablet's wireless internet function, Wang Zhuo researched relevant knowledge about euthanasia. Clearly, Zeng Yan's condition would qualify for euthanasia in many countries with such laws. But in China, he could only remain alive like a mindless plant, continuing to inflict suffering upon his friends and family.

From a medical perspective, Zeng Yan was still alive: he had spontaneous respiration, some reflexes remained, and his brainwaves and heart activity were present. But from another angle, Zeng Yan was effectively dead. His brain had sustained irreversible damage, permanently losing the function of recovery, entering a state of eternal sleep, leaving behind only a shell.

"What a troublesome field," Wang Zhuo muttered, rubbing his forehead with a wry smile.

After reviewing a considerable amount of related material, Wang Zhuo summarized two points. First, passive euthanasia was unsuitable for Zeng Yan; removing support would mean he would starve, perhaps slowly over three to five days or even a week. Second, administering euthanasia to Zeng Yan would constitute murder, as the law did not permit it.

After a period of contemplation, he pulled out his phone and dialed Ruan Mingqing.

"Wang Zhuo..." Ruan Mingqing's voice carried a note of grief and desolation that inexplicably tugged at the heart. "Did you see my message?"

"I did," Wang Zhuo sighed inwardly and asked quietly, "Are you planning to take him to a country where euthanasia is legal?"

"Yes," Ruan Mingqing replied. "His father is already arranging visas; they're going under the pretense of treatment. We've decided to scatter his ashes at sea in Hawaii."

It seemed they had thought this through completely... Wang Zhuo nodded silently, thinking that having money certainly helped. Even if they couldn't save a life, at least they could arrange a respectable, expensive farewell.

International euthanasia, followed by a Hawaiian sea burial—these two expenses would likely cost hundreds of thousands at minimum. For an ordinary family, even selling their house and children wouldn't cover it. They would probably be left with only the option of pulling the plug and letting him starve, followed by cremation and scattering the ashes in the East Sea.

"When are you planning to leave the country?" Wang Zhuo asked.

"Around mid-September, we estimate," Ruan Mingqing sighed. "Wang Zhuo, do you think we are being cold-blooded?"

Wang Zhuo strongly wanted to tell her that Zeng Yan had been gone long ago—the person in the hospital bed was just a set of breathing flesh. But putting himself in her shoes, if it were his own woman lying there, he wouldn't want to hear that either.

So, he only offered a comforting, wry smile: "Sister Ruan, I think you are doing the right thing. If Brother Zeng knew he would end up like this, he would support you. Euthanasia, regardless of who it is for, is the best release."

"Heh, perhaps," Ruan Mingqing's tone clearly sounded much relieved.

"If you're still in Jiangzhou, try to find time to sit down together soon," Wang Zhuo said gently, trying to comfort her. "The living must go on; don't make your own life too hard."

"Okay," Ruan Mingqing chuckled lightly. "I don't have many friends in Jiangzhou. I'll find a day in a few days and treat you to dinner."

...

Because of this interlude, Wang Zhuo had to postpone his invitation with Ji Qiong, meaning Siyuan had him all to herself that evening, as she wished.

The days flew by, and it was already late August. Major universities across the country were reopening—old students returning, freshmen registering. Wang Zhuo, now a veteran student, had finally matured into a senior, greeting this year's new cohort with the bearing of an elder.

In the span of one year, he had undergone a seismic transformation. In terms of appearance, demeanor, experience, and knowledge, he was incomparable to the youth who first arrived from Jiangdong. When he first enrolled, he was merely a slightly outstanding, sunny young man. But now, walking across the university sports field, he exuded such presence that every student, new or old, couldn't help but notice this exceptionally distinguished youth standing head and shoulders above the crowd.

As an officer in the Student Union, participation in the welcoming activities was mandatory, and Wang Zhuo was no exception.

On the first day of registration, as soon as he arrived at the freshman reception area, several male and female students approached him, their objective singular: to obtain a volunteer badge for the new student reception.

Wang Zhuo looked with surprise at Geng Bin, his deputy seated next to him: "Where are the badges? Didn't you hand them out?"

Geng Bin's weight had noticeably increased over the summer break, transforming him from bulky to slightly chubby. He retrieved a box from the desk drawer and chuckled slyly: "I can't control these guys. These badges really need to be handed out by you, or it'll be utter chaos."

"What chaos is there?" Wang Zhuo asked, confused.

"Hey, think about it," Geng Bin leaned in and whispered, "Why are they so eager to help? Isn't it just to use the opportunity to hit on the new handsome guys and pretty girls? If we don't keep them in check, if a handsome guy shows up, seven or eight older girls will fight over him, and if a poor kid shows up, no one will guide him after waiting forever—what kind of image does that give our school? Isn't that tarnishing our reputation?"

That made sense. Wang Zhuo nodded, fighting a smile, and pulled the box of badges toward him, waving to the volunteers: "Everyone come and get your badges."

After handing one to each person, Wang Zhuo laid down the ground rules sternly: if any "uncivilized" behavior occurred, the badge would be immediately confiscated; if they performed well, they would get priority in choosing whom to assist. If these words had come from Geng Bin, they might not have been convincing, but coming from Wang Zhuo, even if they grumbled internally, these students could only nod for now.

Only the most exceptional students—the pride of their districts or the second-highest scorers in their cities—managed to get into Jiangzhou Medical College. Among them were certainly those who were arrogant and looked down on others.

And sure enough, soon after, a young master appeared, swaggering in under the escort of several elders. The parents boasted loudly to everyone about how smart, capable, and high-scoring their young master was, treating the student volunteers like mere green foliage and extras. One auntie even assumed they were working for work-study credit and tried to offer a volunteer a tip to carry her nephew's luggage.

"Little brother, what was your score?" Wang Zhuo asked congenially while registering the young master, feigning casual interest.

The young master smiled reservedly, and an uncle beside him proudly chimed in: "Our Xiao Yuan scored 679; first in the entire district!"

"Oh, oh. That's thirteen points higher than my score last year. Quite impressive," Wang Zhuo smiled and nodded.

"Senior, you're quite remarkable too," the young master's eyes lit up. "I heard last year's exam was much harder than this year's. You scored 666; you must be pretty famous in your area, right?"

"Not at all, not at all," Wang Zhuo smiled modestly, then turned to Geng Bin and asked, "Young Master Geng, what was your score again?"

"Me? I only ranked around the middle of our class, just 670. Our province's exam was easier." Geng Bin seized the opening and pointed at the person who had offered the tip: "Big Worm scored a perfect 700. His uncle bought him a Buick!"

The young master's eyes immediately went wide. A guy carrying bags had a Buick? Was that true?

A head popped over from the adjacent desk, where another registrar was working. He chuckled: "This year's candidates are really strong. I've registered over thirty people so far, and the lowest score was over 650."

The young master's face immediately showed embarrassment, and the entourage of doting parents around him wilted like eggplant left out in the frost.

"It's a key university, after all," Little Glasses Zhou Huai'an appeared at the right moment, joking: "Anyone who gets into our school was a top student in high school, right? The guy who was dead last in our class last semester was still the third-highest scorer in his city during the college entrance exam. We're all geniuses here, but someone has to be at the bottom, right?"

The young master's sense of superiority immediately shot off to the moon. He was only the top scorer in his district, ranking just fifth in the entire city. Hearing that a city-level top-scorer was at the bottom of their class, how could he possibly feel superior or accomplished?

Big Worm, who had scored a perfect 700, led the young master and his entourage toward the dormitories. Along the way, no one dared to treat Big Worm as a mere background character again. In this school where talent was abundant, their tiny bit of superiority, as soon as it surfaced, was shattered.

After the once arrogant and now humbled group left, Wang Zhuo and Geng Bin exchanged knowing smiles. These spoiled children, all arrogant and high-and-mighty, needed an early lesson to understand that there is always someone better beyond the horizon. Crushing their arrogance was necessary for them to truly integrate into campus life and society—to let them know that good grades weren't everything; the real substance lay beyond the textbooks.