The life-and-death race at Mount Dongling didn't just win back my tuition; it unexpectedly caught the eye of a specific spectator. Sitting in the shadows of the stands that day was the Chief Technical Officer of a top-tier European F1 racing team. What he saw wasn't just Lu Shaodong’s recklessness, but his absolute precision in controlling the car’s center of gravity and the engine he had tuned to near-perfection.

"A genius who can turn scrap parts into a masterpiece shouldn't rot in an underground garage."

Those were the words the German man said as he handed Lu Shaodong a business card.

The opportunity came with a steep price: a six-month intensive engineering program in Hamburg, Germany. It was the golden ticket to the halls of the world’s elite racing engineers, but it also meant that our life in Beijing, which had only just begun, was about to be split by the vast expanse of the Eurasian continent.

In our cramped basement in Wudaokou, Lu Shaodong sat silently, smoking through the night while staring at the invitation stamped with the eagle crest.

"I'm not going," he said, crushing out a cigarette as I returned from the lab. "The mess in Nanshi just settled, and I finally found my footing in Beijing. I can't leave you alone right now."

I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his neck. His back was broad, yet he looked thin from the sheer weight of his recent exhaustion.

"Lu Shaodong, there’s a term in physics called 'escape velocity,'" I whispered in his ear. "To break free from Earth's gravity, a probe must accelerate to 11.2 kilometers per second. This invitation... it’s your escape velocity."

"But I don't want to escape you," he said, turning to grab my hands.

"You aren't escaping me; you're conquering the stars and the sea for us," I said, pushing up my glasses with a resolute look. "The Lu Shaodong who repairs cars in a basement to save fifty thousand yuan is cool, but I want to see the Lu Shaodong who is honored by the world as a 'Chief Engineer' on a podium."

He looked at me, a whirlpool of complex emotions in his eyes, finally melting into a long, bittersweet kiss.

On the day of his flight, Beijing was drenched in a heavy downpour. In the terminal of Capital Airport, Lu Shaodong stood with his old canvas bag, gripping his passport tight.

"Yin, wait for me," he didn't say anything overly sentimental. He just pressed a deep kiss to my forehead. "If you get tired, look at the necklace. Remember, quantum entanglement transcends time and space."

He turned and walked through security without looking back. I knew he didn't dare to.

The next six months were defined by "time-zone romance." Midnight in Beijing was evening in Hamburg. We shared our lives through screens: I showed him my first published paper in a core journal, and he showed me the wind tunnel tests for a streamlined wing he helped design.

Though separated by ten thousand miles, our hearts had never been closer.

Six months later, in early summer, the graduation ceremony at Tsinghua University was held in the grand auditorium. Dressed in my cap and gown, I stood on stage as the valedictorian.

"...Physics taught me that all complex phenomena in the world eventually return to simple, fundamental forces. For me, the force that carried me to this day is called 'belief'."

Just as I was about to step down, a commotion broke out at the back of the hall.

A man in a deep blue jumpsuit strode into the room. He was tanner, thinner, but his gaze was sharper than ever. He wasn't carrying flowers; instead, he held a sleek, glowing metal component that looked like a piece of future tech.

Amidst the silence, he walked straight onto the stage and stood before me.

"Sorry, the flight was delayed," Lu Shaodong panted slightly, handing the metal part to me. "This is the patent I secured in the lab before coming home. It’s the most advanced kinetic energy recovery system in the world, and I’ve named it—'The Ling-Yin Variable'."

The faculty and students were stunned for a moment before erupting into a deafening roar of applause.

"Ling Yin," he looked at me through the swirling tassels of the graduation caps, his smile brilliant and bold. "I told you I’d make sure the whole world sees you. Now, every car equipped with this system will carry your name across the globe."

I hugged the cold metal part tight, but I felt a warmth more intense than anything I’d ever known.

From the balcony of Nanshi No. 1, to the basement in Beijing, to the podium today—we had finally completed the trajectory from "hurting each other" to "building each other."

"Lu Shaodong," I looked up at him, the sun hitting our faces. "Welcome home."