Zhou She went upstairs and knocked on Ji Tan’s door. Ji Tan came running out while wiping his face and asked, “Are we sleeping together again?”
Zhou She glanced over Ji Tan’s earnest, inquisitive brows and eyes, then looked down at the milky-white fish soup in the bowl. He suddenly had a strong urge to pour it away.
“I am not participating in your romantic plans,” Zhou She said concisely. “Are you drinking this or not?”
Caught off guard, Ji Tan realized that the bowl in Zhou She’s hands contained the crucian carp soup he had missed out on the night before.
“I will drink it.” Ji Tan’s eyes lit up instantly, and he nodded repeatedly.
The small tea bowl of fish soup was snatched from Zhou She’s hands by Ji Tan before he could react. Zhou She’s fingertips felt empty, and he found himself thinking that perhaps it was fine that he had not poured it away.
Zhou She had only served a small bowl, and Ji Tan finished it in two gulps. Ji Tan gestured with his hands. “For such a big fish, was there really only this little bit of soup?”
Zhou She glanced unintentionally at Ji Tan’s abdomen and said to Ji Tan, who lacked common knowledge, “It takes a lot of effort to simmer a fish this size to get so much soup. Do you not think that is too hard on the fish?”
Ji Tan was still savoring the lingering freshness on the tip of his tongue when Zhou She suddenly accused him of being insensitive to the fish. Whether it was hard on the fish, Ji Tan did not know, but it was certainly hard on the person who had to simmer the soup.
“Thank you, little brother.” Ji Tan respectfully held the empty bowl with both hands and returned it to Zhou She, asking sincerely, “Can I have more tomorrow?”
Zhou She lifted his eyelids calmly. “Is your way of asking for favors to take advantage of people?”
Ji Tan had the gall to call someone six years his senior “little brother,” and Zhou She was genuinely impressed. Ji Tan nodded, answering logically, “I am calling you by your seniority.”
Zhou She let out a sharp, cold scoff.
“There is no more tomorrow.” Zhou She took back the empty bowl and turned to leave. Ji Tan watched Zhou She’s retreating figure, licking the residual soup from his lips with reluctance.
“Brush your teeth.” Zhou She tossed this remark back over his shoulder. Ji Tan’s last bit of satisfaction vanished.
Ji Tan had a dream where the whole world was filled with crucian carp. When he woke up, he seemed to still smell the fresh fragrance of the fish from his dream. 523 remarked to Ji Tan as he washed up, “You really are a glutton.”
Ji Tan spat out the toothpaste foam. “Did you really not smell the aroma of the crucian carp?”
“What do you think?” The system did not have a nose.
Ji Tan cupped clean water to wash his face, his long, curled eyelashes dripping with water like a lotus blossom wet with morning dew. The system did not have a nose, but it did have an odor analysis function.
523 noted, “You have been slacking off lately.”
Ji Tan was currently just waiting for Zhong Peiyi’s stance on his marriage to Zhou Wenbai to become clear. If Zhong Peiyi agreed, it would be much easier to unlock the knot in Zhou She’s heart. If she did not agree, Ji Tan would have to hurry and think of other ways. Before Zhong Peiyi’s attitude became clear, Ji Tan, being “idle,” spent his spare time pondering his appetite.
“I remember the mission.” Ji Tan wiped the water from his lashes with a towel. “Zhong Peiyi is meeting me today.”
Ji Tan changed his clothes and went downstairs. The aroma of crucian carp soup he had smelled upon waking was not an illusion. A bowl of fish soup noodles was still steaming on the table. The lines of the white shirt fitted the man’s sturdy torso, the tailored cut tapering at his lean waist. Bathed in the soft morning light, the fragrant soup on Ji Tan’s nose seemed to carry the clarity and elegance of fresh morning snow.
“Thank you.” Ji Tan curved his amber eyes, took the chopsticks, and eagerly picked up the noodles to eat. Zhou She had left a note before leaving: there was leftover crucian carp soup in the fridge from the night before that could be used for noodles. Zhou Wenbai had made the breakfast. Zhou Wenbai wanted to let Ji Tan sleep in a bit longer, so he had made it before calling him. He had not expected Ji Tan to wake up so early.
Zhou Wenbai pushed the side dishes toward Ji Tan, and as expected, he received another polite and distant “thank you.” Ji Tan’s clear, glass-like pupils were beautiful but cold. After they had started dating, being under Ji Tan’s unfamiliar gaze again made Zhou Wenbai’s heart constrict. So, this was the way Ji Tan looked at Zhou She. Zhou Wenbai had not seen Ji Tan’s expression like this for a long time, and only now did he remember that Ji Tan’s attitude toward strangers had never changed.
Zhou Wenbai had not thought anything of it before, but now he found it hard to accept. Ji Tan had been obedient for so long—so obedient that Zhou Wenbai had forgotten there was any possibility of losing him.
“Why are you being so polite with your husband?” Zhou Wenbai endured the sharp constriction in his lungs, pinched Ji Tan’s fair chin, and kissed the corner of his lips, which were still stained with soup. The soft touch vanished as soon as it made contact.
Ji Tan blinked, his sugar-candy eyes melting. “It is Dr. Zhou.”
Zhou Wenbai looked at Ji Tan’s instantly intimate expression, and his tight throat slowly relaxed. After Ji Tan finished his noodles, he naturally took Zhou Wenbai’s hand, waiting for him to drive him to school. Zhou Wenbai gripped the smaller hand in his palm instinctively; a nerve in his temple twitched uncontrollably, as if it were anticipating something bad.
Zhou Wenbai felt his heart skip a beat and suddenly stopped in his tracks. Ji Tan turned his head in confusion. “Dr. Zhou?”
Zhou Wenbai rubbed his fingertips against the soft flesh of Ji Tan’s cheek, though the smile in his eyes did not reach deep inside. He asked unexpectedly, “Tuan Tuan will marry me, right?”
“Yes.” Ji Tan was always direct; there was no build-up to tease the soft flesh of his heart. “If our parents agree, I will marry Dr. Zhou.” Ji Tan voiced the wish he had never changed.
Zhou Wenbai looked into Ji Tan’s clear eyes and gradually calmed down, kissing the corner of Ji Tan’s mouth. “I will satisfy all of Tuan Tuan’s conditions.”
Zhou Wenbai dropped Ji Tan off at school and waited to pick him up in the evening, unaware that Ji Tan had left campus at noon to meet Zhong Peiyi.
“Does Tuan Tuan not like Zhou She? Why are you unwilling to marry him?” The large floor-to-ceiling window of the café reflected Zhong Peiyi’s elegant updo. Ji Tan stabbed his small cake and shook his head.
“You do not like him?” Zhong Peiyi took a sip of her bitter, aromatic black coffee and smiled gently. “Then, what if you had met Zhou She first, Tuan Tuan? Would you still not like him?”
Ji Tan, his tongue coated in dense cream, looked up at Zhong Peiyi in confusion. Zhong Peiyi revealed a friendly smile. “The one you were supposed to have a blind date with at the beginning was not Wenbai; it was Zhou She.”
“The person you were willing to continue dating after meeting Zhou She was Zhou She. If you had not been willing to date him, there would have been no reason for Wenbai to enter your life later.”
Zhong Peiyi’s meaning was clear enough. No matter the circumstances of Ji Tan’s first meeting with Zhou She, Zhou Wenbai had no sufficient reason to continue appearing in Ji Tan’s life afterward. Ji Tan’s claim that he loved Zhou Wenbai was significantly undermined. After all, the person Ji Tan should have loved first was Zhou She, whom he met at the beginning.
523: “Wow.”
523 sneered: “I told you to figure out the difference between Zhou Wenbai and Zhou She as soon as possible, but you did not. Now look, you do not even know who you were on a blind date with.”
Ji Tan was silent for a rare moment. 523 did not intend to let Ji Tan go and continued to mock him. “Oh, I forgot. Zhou Wenbai is the code you wrote yourself to be exactly like Zhou She; you could not tell them apart at all.”
Ji Tan: …
“That is not it,” Ji Tan replied, though he lacked confidence. “I set up a distinguishing feature for them.” He could not have truly set the character code to be identical to the protagonist; otherwise, how could he judge the criteria for passing the level?
523 saw no hope. “So, do you know what the difference between them is?”
Ji Tan remained silent. “I have not found it yet.”
“Ha!”
“The one I love is Zhou Wenbai.” Ji Tan insisted. “He is the one I want to marry.”
Zhong Peiyi spoke like a parent dealing with an unreasonable child. “Tan Tan, what if I do not agree?” Zhong Peiyi set down her coffee, the porcelain saucer emitting a faint, crisp sound, her gaze warm and shallow. “I hope you marry Zhou She.”
Ji Tan spoke after a long pause. “Is it because he killed someone, and I am an attempted murderer that two bad people are a better match?”
The unspoken truth was suddenly laid bare, and Zhong Peiyi’s eyes flickered. “Is that what Tuan Tuan thinks?” Zhong Peiyi looked at Ji Tan’s fluffy curls and instinctively reached out to touch them. It felt very good, like a little teddy bear.
How annoying; the whole family loves giving nicknames to strangers. Ji Tan avoided Zhong Peiyi’s hand, unhappy.
Zhong Peiyi was rejected, paused for a moment, and slowly stopped smiling. “My husband, the father of Wenbai and Zhou She, was a haughty university professor.”
Zhong Peiyi did not get angry at Ji Tan’s temper; instead, she thought of Ji Yuan. It seemed she finally had someone to vent to after all these years. “The Zhou family is a very large family, and it is inevitable that there are all kinds of people mixed in. He was like a clear stream in a deep pool of snobbish interests, and I fell in love with him uncontrollably.”
For a sheltered good girl who followed the rules and had never stepped out into the world, it was very easy to be attracted to a professor who had a superior background yet appeared untainted by the mud, and who loved literature and art.
“I gave birth to a pair of clever twins for him.” Zhong Peiyi raised her lips faintly. “I was very satisfied with my life—a talented husband with integrity, and cute, lively sons. I never felt so happy; this life was just like what was depicted in textbooks.”
Zhong Peiyi lowered her eyes; the black coffee sat still in the cup, reflected for a moment by the white porcelain cup or the bright lights, but its original black color remained unchanged. Zhong Peiyi had not expected that her husband’s integrity was just a front to deceive the Zhou family and better seize their assets. Money-for-sex deals, wealthy young ladies he flattered to gain help, and female executives in his company were all things he exploited. Zhong Peiyi felt he was utterly filthy.
The filter of his high-minded virtue, which Zhong Peiyi had for him, was completely shattered, and the home she viewed as a textbook example of happiness became abominable.
“On the day Wenbai and Zhou She were kidnapped, their father had just come down from the bed of another naive wealthy lady he had deceived. He died in a car accident while rushing back after receiving the police call.”
Zhong Peiyi laughed again, an indescribable sarcasm. “He died out of concern for his sons; you could say he did not die in vain.”
“Tan Tan, you have to understand Auntie.” Zhong Peiyi looked at Ji Tan calmly. “Both of their genes are bad. Zhou She’s evil has already been exposed. I must keep a close watch on Wenbai so they will not become as dirty as their father.”
Ji Tan listened to Zhong Peiyi’s story without any waves, his clear, light-colored eyes looking at her. “Aunt, Mom says she hates people with mental health issues the most.”
Zhong Peiyi was taken aback.
Ji Tan added, “I hate them, too.”
Zhong Peiyi could not help but be amused by Ji Tan again. Ji Tan blinked in confusion, not understanding why she was laughing. Zhong Peiyi laughed until tears were almost falling, wiping away the moisture from the corner of her eyes. “Tuan Tuan, you really are worth being raised by Ji Yuan; you are exactly the same as her.”
“How about coming home with Auntie?” Zhong Peiyi suggested.
Ji Tan shook his head firmly. “I am very obedient; I am not dirty, I do not want to go.”
Zhong Peiyi chuckled, picked up her handbag, and walked over to Ji Tan, her expression gentle. “The last time was my fault. I should not have agreed to your grandfather’s request. It will not happen again.”
Only then did Ji Tan hesitantly go to the Zhou house with Zhong Peiyi. Zhou She was also at the Zhou house.
“Why are you here? Skipping class?” Zhou She glanced at Ji Tan, who was standing at the doorway of his room.
“Mother Zhong asked me to come.” Zhong Peiyi insisted that Ji Yuan had promised her that her child would recognize her as a godmother in the future, and she forced Ji Tan to change how he addressed her. Ji Tan walked inside and stopped opposite Zhou She, who was leaning on the balcony. “Classes were rearranged; it is tomorrow afternoon now.”
He thought that after meeting Zhong Peiyi, things would become clear. However, Zhong Peiyi’s attitude was ambiguous; Ji Tan could not see through her thoughts.
“You go stay in the living room; I am going to take a shower.” Zhou She frowned in discomfort, smelling the incessant scent of incense on his own body. Zhou She turned and went to the bathroom.
The bathroom mirror reflected the dense, swollen red welts on Zhou She’s back—the punishment he received for defying Zhong Peiyi to help Zhou Wenbai. Zhou She only took one look before putting on a short-sleeved shirt and walking out. His sharp, stern features were not softened by the hot water. Seeing Ji Tan still in his room, his deep, dark eyes paused.
Ji Tan was sitting on Zhou She’s bed, explaining knowingly, “Mother Zhong will not let me go out. She said if I leave without her permission, she will arrest me and send me to the Buddhist hall.” Zhong Peiyi was not insane enough to go that far.
“Are you an idiot?” Zhou She furrowed his brow, unable to understand why Ji Tan would believe her, and if he believed her, why he would come to the Zhou house.
Ji Tan muttered unhappily, “You are the idiot.”
Zhou She’s gaze turned sharp, and Ji Tan shut his mouth.
“What do you want to say?” Zhou She looked past Ji Tan, who was hesitating. The heavy scent of incense had not completely faded; Zhou She flattened his lips and pulled out the bronze lighter in discomfort.
Ji Tan said first, “Do not smoke; I do not like the smell of cigarette smoke.”
“Is it your room or mine?” Zhou She retorted, lighting the aromatherapy on the nightstand. Ji Tan silently covered his mouth. The faint floral scent slowly filled the room, relaxing his tense nerves.
“Mother Zhong said that it was you I had the blind date with initially.” Ji Tan tilted his head and asked cautiously, “Is that true?”
Zhou She missed the mark with his thumb, and the faint blue flame of the lighter vanished.
Zhou She’s voice seemed devoid of fluctuations. “Why ask this?”
Ji Tan pouted. “Mother Zhong said that if I had known you were the one I was on a blind date with, the person I wanted to marry would have been you, not Dr. Zhou.”
Only then did Zhou She know what Zhong Peiyi had been doing today when she met Ji Tan. Sowing discord.
“Then what are your own thoughts?” Zhou She did not believe Zhong Peiyi’s sowing discord would work; he had seen Ji Tan’s clinginess toward Zhou Wenbai. “If I say yes, will you marry me?”
Zhou She put away the lighter, but Ji Tan did not answer. Zhou She lifted his eyelids to meet Ji Tan’s clear, pure eyes, and his brow twitched uncontrollably. Ji Tan blinked, his beautiful face showing a trace of confusion, as if challenging Zhou She’s moral bottom line.
“Is that okay? Would you really agree to it?”
Zhou She’s eyes were like lacquer, and his throat suddenly tightened.