“Comrade Qi Weiguo.”
Li Zhihuan’s voice carried a slight hoarseness from staying up late, like a feather lightly brushing across his eardrums.
“Come here. Stand properly.”
Qi Weiguo watched as she walked toward him step by step, holding a dangling yellow measuring tape. His body reacted before his brain could catch up—he stood at attention, straight as a poplar tree awaiting inspection.
But his heart was far less obedient than his posture.
From the moment Li Zhihuan took out that sapphire-blue batwing blouse, from the moment his mother wore it and instantly looked radiant, Qi Weiguo felt his understanding of this woman completely collapse and then rebuild itself again.
She was not the original host who only caused chaos.
Nor was she a lazy, idle “salted fish” drifting through life.
She was like a magician—turning trash into treasure.
She was like a mystery—each layer you thought you understood only revealed ninety-nine more layers you didn’t comprehend at all.
“I need to… take your measurements.”
Her declaration was like a stone thrown into a deep lake, sending ripple after ripple through his heart.
Measurements?
Those three words, in Qi Weiguo’s twenty-eight years of life, had only ever been associated with military uniforms and cold, expressionless tailors.
But now, the person measuring him was Li Zhihuan.
The same Li Zhihuan who had leaned on his shoulder that morning and said another woman “wasn’t worthy.”
The same Li Zhihuan who had rewarded him with a fried egg.
Qi Weiguo felt his throat go dry, even his breathing becoming careful.
Li Zhihuan stood in front of him and looked him up and down.
“Mm, you’re a good clothes rack,” she nodded, like a picky craftsman inspecting raw material.
Then she rose onto her tiptoes.
A unique scent of soap and fabric dust mixed with her warm breath rushed toward him.
Qi Weiguo’s entire body tensed instantly, unsure where to even look.
Li Zhihuan held one end of the measuring tape and made him hold the other, then moved behind him to measure his chest.
The tape slid across his crisp military shirt like a snake carrying a faint electric current.
Through the thin layer of cotton, he could clearly feel her slightly cool fingertips accidentally brushing against the contours of his back muscles.
Each touch was like a tiny electric shock.
His heartbeat began to lose control.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
He even felt it was louder than the sound of his mother practicing vocal exercises in the yard.
“Chest: ninety-eight,” Li Zhihuan’s voice came from behind him, calm and businesslike.
She circled back to his front, preparing to measure his waist.
This time, their eyes briefly met.
Qi Weiguo’s face immediately flushed red. He instinctively avoided her gaze.
He didn’t dare look into her clear, focused eyes, afraid that all the turbulent thoughts in his heart would be exposed.
Li Zhihuan didn’t care about his embarrassment. She bent slightly, wrapping the measuring tape around his waist.
This movement brought her head almost against his chest.
Strands of loose hair lightly brushed his lower abdomen.
Qi Weiguo suddenly inhaled sharply. His abdominal muscles tightened instantly like iron plates.
“Tsk.”
Li Zhihuan clicked her tongue in mild dissatisfaction.
“Comrade Qi Weiguo, can you relax a little?”
She reached out and patted his hard abdomen through the military shirt.
“You’re so tense the tape is getting crooked. How am I supposed to measure?”
“…”
At that single pat, Qi Weiguo felt all the blood in his body rush violently toward an indescribable direction.
Relax?
How was he supposed to relax?!
Right now he felt like a fuse that had been lit—ready to explode at any moment.
And the one who lit it looked completely innocent, even annoyed that he wasn’t cooperating properly.
“I… I’m not nervous,” he squeezed out between his teeth, his voice dry like sandpaper.
Li Zhihuan glanced at him suspiciously. Seeing that even his ears were completely red and he looked like he was about to sacrifice himself heroically, she roughly understood.
Oh, this pure block of wood really couldn’t take teasing.
A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes, though her tone remained serious.
“Alright then, hold steady. Waist: seventy-six. Good—standard V-shape.”
She continued reading measurements while quickly recording them in her notebook.
Shoulders, arm length…
For Qi Weiguo, these few minutes were more torturous than a thirty-kilometer weighted march.
Every inch of his skin, every pore, trembled because of her proximity.
He could smell the faint fragrance in her hair, feel the warmth of her fingertips, hear the soft scratch of her pen on paper.
All of it acted like a precise form of torture, slowly dismantling his self-control.
Finally, Li Zhihuan put away the measuring tape.
“Alright, you can move now.”
Qi Weiguo felt as if he had been granted amnesty. He immediately stepped back a large pace, putting a safe distance between them.
Leaning against the wall, his chest rose and fell heavily as he tried to calm the heart that felt like it was about to leap out of his throat.
She held a pencil and rapidly sketched on the paper.
Men’s clothing was not as flashy as women’s; the key lay in structure and detail.
What she wanted to design was a modified workwear jacket.
Using the color differences of the defective fabrics to create a patchwork effect.
Dark, wear-resistant fabric for the shoulders, and lighter tones for the pockets and collar as accents.
It would match the aesthetics of this era while carrying a hint of modern, street-style flair.
Qi Weiguo watched the woman who was completely immersed in her own world, and an extremely complicated feeling rose in his heart.
There was nervousness after being stirred, irritation at his own loss of control—but more than anything, an unprecedented sense of… frustration.
He was here, emotionally stormy and shaken, while she was simply focused on her work.
He felt like an idiot.
A hopelessly self-indulgent idiot.
Just then, Li Zhihuan suddenly looked up, her gaze landing precisely on him.
Qi Weiguo’s heart skipped a beat.
She looked at me! Was she going to—
“Battalion Commander Qi,” she said, “it’s a shame you’re not a model with that body.”
After saying that, she lowered her head again and continued refining the design, muttering softly:
“Mm, once this cut is made, it’ll definitely charm all the young guys in the compound.”
“Then we won’t have to worry about sales.”
Qi Weiguo: “……”
So that’s what she was thinking about the whole time—business.
A huge wave of disappointment crashed over him, instantly extinguishing all the romantic thoughts that had just been sparked by the idea of “taking measurements.”
He turned around, preparing to quietly retreat back to his room (the living room).
“Wait!” Li Zhihuan called him back.
Qi Weiguo paused, a faint trace of hope rising again in his heart.
“Did Mom go out?” she asked without looking up.
“Mm.”
“Timing should be about right. Go wait at the courtyard gate. When she comes back, report the situation to me immediately.”
After speaking, she waved her hand as if dismissing a subordinate.
“Go on, my chief male model and intelligence officer.”
Qi Weiguo stood there, looking at her boss-like demeanor, torn between laughter and irritation—but somehow unable to refuse.
He took a deep breath and turned to leave.
Fine.
If he was going to be an intelligence officer, so be it.
He was also quite curious—what kind of storm his mother-in-law would stir up in the compound wearing that new outfit.