The Academic God Becomes an Internet Sensation After Joining a Dating Show - Chapter 100 - The End

Professor Qing had to leave for Europe on work, while Shen Xuzhi happened to be heading to Northern Europe to seek inspiration for his next music video. Naturally, the two decided to travel together.

They had been married for ten years—long past the so-called seven-year itch—and yet, their affection only seemed to deepen with time.

At twenty-nine, Qing Lin earned the title of full professor, becoming the youngest in the university’s history. Meanwhile, Shen Xuzhi had swept through both domestic and international music awards, his name synonymous with brilliance.

When Qing Lin turned thirty, Shen Xuzhi built an art museum in his honor.

Their love had never been something they tried to conceal; it was open, radiant, and unashamed. Even in their thirties, they were still like two young lovers, faces glowing with excitement as they planned and prepared for yet another journey together.

The last stop of the lecture tour was Sweden.

Qing Lin bowed and stepped down from the podium amidst applause and cheers.

Shen Xuzhi was waiting below with a bouquet of freshly picked Freud roses.

The vibrant pink flowers and the deep, dark brown of autumn were perfectly matched. The man holding the flowers was even more stunning, handsome and composed, with a gentle smile whenever he saw Qing Lin.

Shen Xuzhi’s international tour included a stop in Sweden, and many people here recognized him. So, when he appeared to meet Qing Lin, it naturally caused a small sensation.

“Professor, you and Mr. Shen Xuzhi actually know each other!” a few foreign students asked Qing Lin curiously when they saw Shen Xuzhi.

Qing Lin accepted the flowers, leaned close to Shen Xuzhi, and said, “He is my husband.”

The students were astonished.

Shen Xuzhi smiled. He leaned in and naturally kissed Qing Lin, saying, “I thought I was being high-profile enough.”

He took Qing Lin’s hand, gently kissed it on his lips, and showed everyone their wedding rings.

They were beautiful matching rings. It was clear they had been well-protected by their owners. After so many years, they still sparkled in the sunlight, making one’s heart flutter.

Shen Xuzhi looked at the rings, which were engraved with their names, and said, “It seems engraving our names on the rings is still too subtle. Should I wear a necklace next time with ‘I am Qing Lin’s husband’ specifically written on it?”

Everyone present laughed.

Qing Lin couldn’t help but laugh as well. “How old are you now, and you’re still this childish?”

“Professor, thank you for your hard work this time. I’ll take you to the lounge now,” a staff member thanked him, leading him and Shen Xuzhi to a private lounge area.

The maritime climate in Sweden made autumn mild and rainy, yet there was still a quiet desolation to it—thankfully softened by the sight of crimson maple leaves outside the window.

The organizers had been especially generous this time, arranging the rest area in a hotel right next door—a room where one could look out the window and see moss-covered pines and cypresses swaying in the breeze.

“I accidentally spilled coffee on the shirt I was wearing today, and the organizers didn’t have a spare one,” Qing Lin said as he walked into the room, looking out the window.

Shen Xuzhi entered, put away the umbrella, and glanced at the shirt he was currently wearing. He asked, “Then what are you wearing now?”

Qing Lin didn’t answer. He simply walked in front of Shen Xuzhi and began to undress in front of him.

Only when he took off his jacket did Shen Xuzhi realize it wasn’t a complete shirt.

It was just a false shirt collar.

Qing Lin was far bolder than one might have imagined. Everything below his navel was bare, and only the thin, translucent white collar remained—its faint shimmer tinged the air with a delicate flush of pink.

To prevent warping, four black shirt garters held the front and back, dividing his pale, slender waist into three sections, revealing the butterfly tattoo clearly.

“The weather is warm,” Qing Lin said faintly.

“If you say the autumn weather in Sweden is warm, you might as well say there is no art in Stockholm,” Shen Xuzhi lowered his gaze and peered at him. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

Qing Lin didn’t reply. He just turned around and gently unfastened the tight black strap buckles.

After a moment, he wrapped his arms around Shen Xuzhi’s neck and murmured, “Quite smart.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The lounge was private and sealed. After a shallow kiss, Shen Xuzhi took off his glasses.

The thought of Professor Qing having just lectured on stage dressed like that made his insides surge again. He pushed the half-shirt up, letting Qing Lin bite it, as he traced his collarbone.

“Just this once.” Qing Lin sank gently onto Shen Xuzhi’s shoulder and reached for his coat. “I’ve aged ten years—I can’t go at it like I used to when I was younger.”

“When you were younger,” Shen Xuzhi pressed against Qing Lin’s tattoo, easily gripping his waist with one hand. He slowly rubbed his earlobe, gently and methodically kissing his shoulder blade to soothe him.

“You’re ten years older, I’m ten years older, and the world is ten years older. We’ve all changed together,” Shen Xuzhi said softly. His voice had deepened over the years—no longer the youthful tone that once sang of love, but one that carried the weight and warmth of time itself.

Qing Lin’s face burned. He pushed at Shen Xuzhi, urging him to close the curtains, but instead, he was pulled into his arms and told to do it himself.

Outside the window, pale pines and cypress trees stood tall, their shadows long and delicate. The forest path below was blanketed with brown and yellow pine needles, glimmering faintly under the sunlight.

For a moment, Qing Lin’s thoughts drifted. He remembered hearing from the students that not far from the hotel was an art museum called Artipelag.

The art in a corner of Stockholm was a romantic utopia.

A little further lay the tranquil sea.

A forest art museum by the sea, where life breathes in a quiet ruin.

“Thanks for the treat.” Shen Xuzhi kissed Qing Lin’s cheek, his voice soft and affectionate. “That was the longest shirt placket I’ve ever seen.”

Qing Lin lay in Shen Xuzhi’s arms, glanced out the window again, and the textures of the world floated through his mind.

Death, he had thought about it many times before.

He wasn’t actually afraid of it; compared to aging and death, he seemed far more concerned about whether his students had submitted their essays on time.

But if he were to die peacefully, he would want to go there and see it.

“Shen Laoshi, let’s go to Iceland tomorrow.”

And so, they did. The very next day, they arrived in Reykjavík.

During this season, daytime in Iceland felt like a race against time—brief and fleeting—while the nights stretched endlessly.

Yet, the locals didn’t seem to mind. They moved at their own unhurried pace, strolling the icy streets in thick down jackets and woolen hats, as if time itself had softened for them.

They said the romance of Iceland was painted in Klein Blue mixed with Monet’s gray, and the night sky was never truly dark. It lingered in a deep, misty blue that seemed to breathe.

Qing Lin and Shen Xuzhi looked at the city covered in ice and snow. There was no noise, no burden of thought—only silence so vast it felt like time had stopped. They drove until there were no more people in sight, no wind, no sound, just the quiet breath of the frozen earth.

The world seemed to have been put on pause.

The landmarks were beautiful—the bells atop Hallgrímskirkja church, the endless black sand beaches with their thundering waves—but they found themselves drawn instead to the quieter places: walking side by side through nearly empty streets, their hands clasped together for warmth, watching as the little shops along the way flickered to life, bathing the snow in a soft, golden glow.

Occasionally, a playful mood would overtake them. Qing Lin, with a teasing glint in his eyes, would flirt with Shen Xuzhi, mimicking the local way of charming a crush.

“You are my destiny.”

Shen Xuzhi played along, voice calm and amused. “I’m sorry, but I’m married.”

“That’s a pity,” Qing Lin replied, smiling. “Then should I wish you a happy new marriage?”

“Thank you,” Shen Xuzhi said politely. “Although we’ve been married for ten years, we’re still passionately in love.”

Qing Lin laughed softly. “So, are we here for our honeymoon?”

“Not acting anymore?” Shen Xuzhi asked.

“No more acting.” Qing Lin hooked his arm through Shen Xuzhi’s, seeking refuge in his embrace, and said, “I’ll return your wife to you.”

Later, Qing Lin bought an ice cream, and the sweetness stirred an old memory—of a winter in Buenos Aires, ten years ago, when they had also shared ice cream together.

That was in July.

Was that their first date?

It didn’t really matter. Even after all these years, the memory of that July snow still felt quietly romantic.

Shen Xuzhi and Qing Lin sought refuge indoors. The heating was warm, but the ice cream didn’t melt.

The simple and humble life in Iceland was too charming—ancient and mysterious, yet with a rare sense of ritual.

“Qing Lin, I love you,” Shen Xuzhi said suddenly.

Qing Lin blinked, caught off guard. “Why the sudden sentimentality?”

Shen Xuzhi brewed a cup of warm tea, the rising steam curling softly between them. He set it down in front of Qing Lin and spoke with quiet ease. “I just feel the moment calls for it. Or maybe—it’s simpler than that. I just wanted to tell you.”

Qing Lin looked at the man in the soft sweater, his expression gentle. He accepted the tea, taking a slow sip before replying. “I know, even if you don’t say it. But since you did, let me say this too—”

He set the cup down, his eyes crinkling slightly with warmth.

“Shen Xuzhi, I love you too.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

On their way back, they passed by a field dotted with low stone tablets.

“This is a local cemetery,” a kind Icelander explained to Shen Xuzhi and Qing Lin.

There were no fences, no neat rows—just stones scattered across the grassy slope facing the sea. Some were rectangular, others carved into crosses; some stood alone, while others leaned close together as if keeping company even in rest.

Qing Lin stepped closer, reading one of the epitaphs aloud. “Shen Laoshi, this one says, ‘Make a friend.’”

Shen Xuzhi crouched beside another stone, brushing off the moss with his fingertips. “This one says, ‘After a miserable life, there will be glory.’ Hmm… quite free-spirited.”

[He loved roses and also the ice and snow]

[An unsuccessful but beautiful and interesting person]

[She was still beautiful when she left]

[A flower in bloom.]

Qing Lin observed the uneven gravestones in the green field, the weeds that were gradually growing taller than them and being swayed by the wind, and the colorful neon light tubes wrapped around them.

Shen Xuzhi glanced at him. “What is it?”

Qing Lin smiled, the corners of his mouth gentle and distant. “Nothing… just feeling a little emotional.”

The people resting here must be very happy.

They had witnessed the world in its vivid freedom, kissed the roaring winds with their passion, and when silence came, they melted into the snow—returning, over and over again, to live anew in the breath of time.

“When we die,” Qing Lin said softly, “should we have our gravestones set in a snowy city too?”

Swept along by the winds of Reykjavík Harbor, through the dazzling chaos and shimmering brilliance, his beloved seemed to sense his thoughts and offered a quietly tender, romantic suggestion.

Qing Lin turned, watching the twilight chase away the last traces of sunset. “Then, Shen Laoshi,” he asked quietly, “what will your epitaph be?”

Shen Xuzhi pondered for a moment and said,

“He lived through an extraordinary thirty thousand days, and in his next life, he still wishes to meet his beloved again.”

Qing Lin’s eyes shimmered, fragments of light scattered like a broken galaxy. Shen Xuzhi reached out, his fingers gently lifting Qing Lin’s chin before pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his lips.

“I’m afraid God might be too busy,” Shen Xuzhi murmured against him, his voice low and affectionate. “So, I’ll remind Him once more.”

“His beloved is Qing Lin.”

“They will definitely meet again.”