Huo Shize furrowed his brow slightly and leaned a little toward Zhu Ling. She instinctively stepped back, but he quickly closed the distance again. With their breaths nearly mingling, her heart tightened, and her voice dropped several notches lower than before: "What are you doing? Why are you looking at me like that?"
His hands in his trouser pockets, he looked down at her from his height, gazing at her eyes—of which he could only see half—and finally spoke: "Isn't it heavy? That row of shadow hanging over your eyes—doesn't it bother you?"
"No, not at all. Besides, this is exactly the effect I want."
He let out a scoff through his nose, but then said: "Make sure you study hard, and don't you dare drop out."
"I'll keep studying, but I can't try too hard either. I want to stay in school forever and be a college student for life."
He raised an eyebrow: "Why?"
"Because as long as I'm a college student, I get student discounts. I can watch movies at discounted prices now, and the money I save can buy me a McDonald's meal!"
He laughed again, and his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He stepped aside to take the call, but before walking away, he glanced at her: "You really are a clever little thing."
The call was from the hotel's legal affairs head. He had recently been planning the hotel's development, only to face obstruction from several old-school, conservative senior executives. They had grown too comfortable in their easy lives, wanted no changes, and refused to take any risks, so they obstructed and resisted him in every open and covert way. Over the past few days, he had held several meetings with the legal team and the law firm, and finally decided to fire those old, conservative managers along with more than a dozen of their middle-level loyalists.
The termination plan had been finalized five minutes ago, and the legal affairs head called to report progress and confirm whether the announcement would be made at the next morning's meeting.
He said: "Just proceed with the plan." His words came slowly and unhurriedly, each syllable as light as a feather.
The hotel's management underwent a complete overhaul, with strict assessments and retraining implemented in every department—anyone who failed was dismissed. For a time, morale was shaken throughout the organization. Huo Shize bore enormous pressure, holding meetings every day, slamming tables, and losing his temper. From eight in the morning to ten at night, he worked nonstop for a week. On Friday afternoon, once his urgent tasks were done, he gave himself half a day off and went to the dojo to train all afternoon. That evening, he called up a few staff members and instructors to grab barbecue at the Tianlin Road night market. After parking the car, he had just reached the street corner when, from a distance, he spotted Zhu Ling and her group in front of a bustling little shop crowded with people. He said: "You all go ahead. I have something to take care of—I'll be right back."
They asked him: "What is it?"
He tilted his chin forward: "Du Song's classmate. Something to ask about."
He and Zhu Ling weren't familiar enough yet for him to go out of his way to greet her and make small talk—if he was going to approach her, it could only be to ask about Du Song. By the time he reached her, she was just about to have dinner at the little shop.
That day was originally when Zhu Ling was supposed to go home to check in and collect her living allowance, but she hadn't gone back to ask for it. That week, she had paid her rent and also sponsored one of her Huang Mao underlings to get a tattoo. The kid got a Hannya demon tattoo—a large piece, and expensive. He didn't have enough money, so he negotiated with the tattoo artist to pay in two installments. But halfway through the tattoo, he couldn't come up with the remaining payment. The tattoo artist stopped working and told him to get lost.
Half an uncolored demon head sprawled across his body—not to mention how hideously ugly it was, the real problem was that anyone could tell at a glance it was an unfinished job. He came crying to Zhu Ling for help, and she had no choice but to go settle the remaining payment for him.
It was the same well-reputed tattoo studio, the same tattoo artist favored by the Feizhuliu kids. The tattoo artist still remembered the two beautiful little pieces on Zhu Ling's body vividly. In the midst of his busy work, he even came over specially to show her a flowing floral design, trying to tempt her: "Do you like this flower? It looks amazing tattooed on the outside of your thighs—absolutely stunning!"
The design was indeed quite beautiful. Zhu Ling wasn't going to get it, but that didn't stop her from admiring it. As she was still looking, the tattoo artist glanced around, lowered his voice, and whispered in her ear: "Let me tell you, this design has another special feature. When you wrap your legs around someone's waist…"
Zhu Ling's eyes went wide: "What?"
"At that moment, the vines of the two flowers on your thighs align perfectly, forming a passage with no end, leading to eternity…"
Zhu Ling frowned, blew out a puff of smoke, and snapped angrily: "Are you trying to get yourself sacrificed to the heavens or what?"
After paying the tattoo bill for this Huang Mao underling, she went out and bought another Huang Mao a secondhand moped. Unexpected large expenses kept piling up one after another, and her phone balance hit zero. Usually, she'd keep a thousand or two as backup, but today she didn't have a single cent left. Still, she refused to go home to ask for money. Her father had sent her a nagging text asking why she hadn't shown up, and she simply ignored it. Milia loved going back with her to watch the commotion at that little shop, and had been reminding her all morning: "Time to go back to the zoo—today is wild animal park visiting day."
Zhu Ling wasn't feeling well today. She was weak, and something was off about her condition. She absolutely did not want to go back, so she said: "In a few days."
Milia was puzzled. If they had no money, why not go back and get some? Wasn't it foolish not to? She asked why she refused to go back, and Zhu Ling said, "Getting near that place makes me feel down, makes me unlucky."
Milia thought she was talking nonsense as a joke and giggled for a long while.
They wandered with the younger boys and girls to the night market, but had no money to spend. Zhu Ling rarely found herself short of cash. The younger ones offered to treat, but they had no money either, so they took turns scanning their phones, each scraping together a few dimes and pennies, pooling their funds to buy two bowls of vermicelli soup. Then they called out to the owner, asking for a few extra empty bowls so everyone could share the noodles. The boys even chivalrously said they didn't need the vermicelli—just the broth would be fine.
Just as the noodles were divided and they were about to eat, Milia urgently sent over a small red packet. Everyone looked—38.8 yuan—and were overjoyed, ecstatic, exclaiming, "Great, we can splurge again! Now two people can share one bowl of noodles!"
The young ones looked so shabby that the young lady Zhu Ling could hardly bear to watch. She also remembered that one of the younger girls had just gone through a breakup, and she'd planned to take her to a KTV to sing karaoke to ease her sorrow. But being this broke, how could they sing? Even her own living expenses for the next few days were a problem. She thought for a moment, and suddenly a spark lit up in her brain: Oh, my little brain is pretty sharp after all.
At the end of her rope, Zhu Ling came up with a brilliant idea and muttered to herself, "Don't I have a high-quality baby? If I ask my high-quality baby for a red packet, problem solved."
She was genuinely delighted, crunching on her soft candy, humming a song by her favorite band, swaying proudly as she sang: "I remember when I first noticed that you liked me back, we were sitting down in a restaurant waiting for the check…"
When Huo Shize spotted Zhu Ling and came over to ask about Du Song's recent situation, it happened that a flash of inspiration struck her—she remembered there was still a high-quality big brother lying in her phone. Feeling smug, she hummed her tune, swiped through her contacts, found the big brother, and sent a cute blushing-face emoji, asking, "Baby, wanna come out and dance together?"
The rebellious girl who'd been silent for nearly a year suddenly rose from the dead, and the high-quality big brother was thrilled, flattered beyond belief. Without a word of hesitation, he sent a red packet within a second. He'd never been invited by Zhu Ling before, let alone called "baby," and he felt light as air. After sending the red packet, he felt it still wasn't enough—because red packets had a limit, and it didn't do justice to the intimate term "baby."
Dizzy with the sudden sweetness, the high-quality big brother followed up the red packet with a large direct transfer, then sprang up from the sofa like a leaping fish, asking urgently, "Where are we dancing? Send me the address, I'll fly over within twenty minutes! Baby, wait for me!"
Zhu Ling pocketed the red packet and the transfer, then greeted the suddenly appearing Huo Shize: "Good evening, we meet again."
Huo Shize raised his hand to check his wristwatch: "It's not even six and you're already here—skipping class?"
She made a smug face: "Thank the Creator, it's Friday again. I have no classes on Friday afternoons!"
He glanced at the shop sign again—"Spicy Bullfrog Vermicelli Pot" glowed in seductive red letters—and said, "You even eat bullfrog?"
"Oh, my friends love it." She shrugged and said calmly, "You should know, we Chinese eat anything."
"OK." He expressed understanding, but pressed further, "After eating bullfrog, what else do you plan to do?"
Remembering how she'd barged into his place last time, she warmly invited him: "We're planning to hit a bar for dancing, then go to a KTV to sing. Want to come along?"
He'd been standing by her side the whole time, using his height advantage to read her entire conversation with the contact labeled "High-Quality Baby." At her words, he let out a scoff through his nose and looked down at her: "If I go, what about your high-quality baby? Won't he be upset?"
Zhu Ling glanced at her phone, then told him, "Oh, my high-quality baby changed his mind. He's not coming."
"Why?"
She shrugged again, looking regretful: "He fell asleep. He can't make it."
He raised an eyebrow: "Is that so?"
"Really, I'm not lying to you."
"I still have things to do. I'm off." His expression was a half-smile, his tone laced with a hint of mockery. As he left, he said to her, "Have fun!" He pulled his baseball cap down lower, covering half his face, and turned to walk away.
That night, as Huo Shize was turning off the lights to sleep, a thought suddenly struck him. He picked up his phone and sent a question to the Huang Mao whose contact info he'd saved last time, seeking some pre-bedtime consultation: "When members of your circle—say, a rebellious girl, a delinquent girl—say her high-quality baby has fallen asleep, what does that mean?"
The young master's questions were usually answered by Huang Mao within seconds: "When we say 'fallen asleep,' it usually means they've been blocked."
After Huo Shize took over the hotel, though his days remained busy, work gradually fell into a rhythm and everything became routine. After getting off work at the hotel, unless he had other plans, he would drive straight to the Dojo, train for an hour or two, then either head home or go meet friends for drinks. Occasionally he'd also go out with the Dojo staff to shoot the breeze and grab some late-night snacks.
That evening, he called a few staff members out for dinner again. The staff couldn't stop singing the praises of that barbecue place on Tianlin Road from last time, and suggested in unison: "How about we go back to that spot at the Tianlin Night Market?"
Huo Shize said OK, anywhere was fine, and drove them over. After finishing the barbecue and settling the bill, they happened to run into two groups of Feizhuliu girls arguing in the street. The leader of one group was none other than Zhu Ling. The opposing leader was a skinny girl with a small face, a big mouth, and a neat straight fringe, also dressed in Feizhuliu style. She was launching personal attacks at Zhu Ling—from what could be heard, she was claiming Zhu Ling's chest was fake.
After the fringe girl finished attacking Zhu Ling, the underlings behind her all laughed gleefully, hee hee hee.
Zhu Ling was angry but also a little amused. She blew out a puff of smoke: "With your flat, sunken chest, looking at mine—so round and perky—you must be so envious and jealous. Not only am I tall, even my chest is this impressive. If I could, I'd gladly help the poor and rescue the needy, share a bit with you. Too bad I can't. Sorry about that."
The fringe girl said, "What are you talking about? I'm just a little lacking today—just slightly short, that's all!"
"You call that slightly? You couldn't even fill an A-cup!"
The fringe girl shouted, "Don't just talk about me! You went and got surgery on the sly—how dare you talk about me? Your chest is a counterfeit product!"
Zhu Ling blew out another puff of smoke: "All these years, I never noticed my chest was this impressive, this worthy of envy and jealousy." She looked down at her chest and said sincerely, "Thank you, my chest."
Huo Shize frowned at the scene and told the staff, "I have something to take care of. I'll be right back."
Everyone had also spotted the two groups of Feizhuliu kids arguing, and immediately understood. They laughed and said, "It's Du Song and his classmates again? Go ahead, we'll head off first."
The fringe girl arguing with Zhu Ling was none other than Shang Xianzi. The two groups of Feizhuliu kids had crossed paths at the night market, and their eyes burned with mutual hostility. But in such a bustling area, they didn't dare throw punches, so verbal sparring was the only option. As they were arguing, Milia returned—she'd just gone to the restroom. Coming back, she spotted in one glance the edge of thermal cotton pants peeking out from beneath Shang Xianzi's long skirt. That was a big deal. She immediately joined the fray, mercilessly mocking away.
Forget cotton pants—true Feizhuliu girls wore light clothing even in winter, not even thermal long johns. Wearing cotton pants was like committing a cardinal sin, grounds for expulsion from the Feizhuliu ranks. Milia's sharp eyes caught Shang Xianzi's fatal flaw, and she burst out laughing, mocking her at a volume that carried halfway down the street: "Oh my god, if anyone around me wore cotton pants, I'd kick them away with one foot and refuse to hang out with them anymore! You're old, your body's weak—go home, lie in bed, and watch TV. Don't come wandering around the night market. It's embarrassing! Get lost!"
Shang Xianzi was too skinny, with almost no body fat, and couldn't withstand the cold well. She'd been wearing skirts for a while and had caught a chill from it. She really couldn't take it anymore, so she'd reluctantly put on cotton pants. She felt ashamed of herself, and since she couldn't out-argue Milia anyway, she chose to selectively ignore her and focus solely on Zhu Ling, insisting that Zhu Ling's chest was fake.
Having been subjected to Shang Xianzi's personal attacks all this time, Zhu Ling was absolutely furious. She snapped, "I'm not wearing a bra today. If you've got the guts, you're welcome to come check whether it's real or fake!"
Before Shang Xianzi could say anything, Milia was the one shocked. She asked Zhu Ling, "You're really not wearing one? How can they be so perky without one? And how come there's no visible outline?"
Zhu Ling said, "I'm telling you, I'm not wearing one. If you don't believe me, come look."
Milia actually stepped forward, pulled open the collar of Zhu Ling's sweater, peeked inside, and gave her verdict: "She really is going commando. Yours are the cute cherry type—the gentle, demure, modest kind. Not very prominent. Whether you wear one or not, you can't really tell."
Zhu Ling's anger turned to delight, and she smiled softly: "Your sweet words are lovely to hear. Those who read more really are different. What about yours, then?" She pulled open Milia's clothes and took a look as well, then said, "Yours look like raisins."
"Like a pink cherry just plucked from the tree, dewy and fresh, delicate and lovely… That's a good sentence. I should write it down—might come in handy someday." Milia, the literature enthusiast, managed to multitask between arguing and self-improvement, silently memorizing the beautiful phrase before turning to Shang Xianzi. "What type are you? Want me to take a look? Though judging by your figure, you probably don't have one at all. I can't critique something that doesn't exist, hahaha."
The younger girls in the group burst into cheerful laughter—giggles, chuckles, and snickers filling the air.
Shang Xianzi wasn't as beautiful as Zhu Ling, nor as sharp-tongued as Milia. Every time she argued with them, she came out on the losing end. Furious and dizzy with frustration, she spat out, "Fine, fine! Just you wait!" before turning and running off.
A boy dressed like a street loafer sauntered over, clearly intending to strike up a conversation. But before he could even open his mouth, Zhu Ling stepped back and made a disgusted face. "You stink."
The would-be suitor's pride was wounded. Stunned, he said, "What? You're saying I stink?"
Zhu Ling looked at his face and grew even more disgusted. "Ugh, and you're so lame!"
These two moves were Zhu Ling's lethal finishing combo in navigating the streets. "You stink" was the opening strike, delivering a blow to the head. "You're so lame" was the follow-up, rubbing salt in the wound. Under the double assault, any boy with a shred of self-respect would crumble.
Sure enough, the boy turned red, nearly cried from frustration, and shouted, "You're so mean!" before running off.
Having driven away Shang Xianzi and angered the would-be suitor, the younger members of the group went off to Mixue Ice Cream & Tea to buy drinks. Finally, peace and quiet returned. Zhu Ling stood under the streetlamp, chewing on soft candy and thinking, humming Eason Chan's "Next Year Today": "If this chandelier came crashing down, perhaps I would no longer exist…"
She lit a menthol cigarette and took one puff when a familiar fragrance drifted over. Zhu Ling turned her head, momentarily confused, then broke into a smile. "Have you become a regular at our night market now?"
The next second, the cigarette was snatched from her hand by Huo Shize. He confiscated it, extinguished it, and casually tossed it into the trash bin.
Zhu Ling took off her earbuds and pointed at Milia. "My friend Milia—do you know her?"
"No."
"OK, now you do."
Huo Shize kept his hands in his pockets, his expression indifferent, and said nothing more. Milia had only seen him once a few days ago at a small shop that served bullfrog and vermicelli hotpot, and even then, he'd only exchanged a few words with Zhu Ling. Milia looked up at him, noting his somewhat serious expression, then turned to look at Zhu Ling, but couldn't read anything from her. She knew when to make herself scarce, so she said she was going to buy a drink and hurried off.
Once Milia was gone, Huo Shize spoke. "You seem really busy—smoking, eating candy, singing, and arguing."
Zhu Ling tilted her head, thought for a moment, and laughed at herself. "Really? I didn't even notice."
"Why do you argue? Can't you just avoid provoking people?"
His tone was surprisingly familiar for someone she barely knew. Zhu Ling was taken aback, then found it a little amusing, and even felt a twinge of sympathy for him. With a rebellious slacker at home and a shady relative like Du Song, he was clearly overburdened with worry—so much so that he felt compelled to lecture and meddle with delinquent-looking students who reminded him of Du Song. She said, "I don't go around provoking people. It's them who come provoke me, alright? Look at my height, and her height—would I go picking a fight with her? Give me a break."
"And those topics just now—why would a girl discuss those things in public?"
Being scolded and lectured on the street by a man she'd only met a few times and didn't know well left Zhu Ling surprised and a bit baffled. But she couldn't say she disliked him. This man had expressive features, eyes that sparkled like stars, and a bearing reminiscent of a male star from an old movie she'd once seen—a high-class, suave assassin in that film. But at this moment, he seemed even more arrogant in demeanor and more profound in temperament.
Everyone appreciates beauty; the pursuit of aesthetics is an age-old tradition. Anyway, Zhu Ling found him quite handsome and easy on the eyes, and she bore him no ill will, so she simply said, "Are you talking about the chest topic? We girls talk about that all the time—it's like discussing cute kittens. What's the big deal?"
But the next second, she crossed her arms over her chest and stepped back. "Hey, what are you looking at me there for!"
"Aren't they cute kittens? Do kittens come in the 'lookable' and 'not lookable' variety?"
"Between us girls, they're cute kittens. Between opposite sexes, they're not!"
"OK." Huo Shize raised his hand to check his watch. "At this hour, aren't you heading home?"
Zhu Ling said, "I still have a party to attend."
"What party?"
Still hugging her chest, she lifted her chin and pointed at a distant stall selling roasted sweet potatoes. "A roasted sweet potato party. Want to join?"
Huo Shize was caught between laughter and tears. He clicked his tongue in exasperation, giving up on urging her further. Just as he was about to turn and leave, a middle-aged man with greasy hair sidled up to him, asking for money outright. The man wore a fawning smile and said, "Kind sir, please have some pity and give me a bit of money—ten or twenty yuan will do."
Huo Shize had been back in the country for quite some time and had never once seen a vagrant or beggar on the streets, so he found this rather odd and took a closer look at the man asking for money. This fellow had all four limbs intact, was slightly plump, with his hair combed meticulously, and his clothes were fairly clean—nothing like a beggar or vagrant living in hardship. So he asked, "What do you need the money for?"
The slick-haired man said, "I'll go buy some chicken feet and duck necks. If you give me more money, I can even buy a bottle of liquor."
"OK, you're an honest man." The fake beggar's honesty was admirable, and Huo Shize intended to give him money, but then remembered he didn't have any on him. He could only apologize, saying, "Sorry, I don't have any cash."
The fake beggar was prepared. The moment Huo Shize finished speaking, he held out a payment QR code in front of him: "Sir, scan here."