Zhu Ling had seen this panhandling man often. He was a professional con artist, and a sleazy one at that. Every day around quitting time, he'd station himself near the subway entrance and pester young, pretty white-collar women, claiming he was from out of town, had lost his wallet, run out of money, couldn't get back home, and didn't even have enough for a meal—begging them to spare some change for food. If he spotted someone particularly attractive, he'd follow and harass her for a long, long way, muttering all sorts of indecent nonsense under his breath. She hadn't expected that after just a few days without seeing him, his territory would expand to the night market. He'd probably sized up Huo Shize as someone of distinguished bearing, the type who looked wealthy—not only asking for money for snacks and chicken feet, but even daring to ask for drinking money.
Zhu Ling didn't care that Huo Shize was being swindled. She'd never been one to meddle in other people's business. But she really disliked this sleazy con man and didn't want to see him get his way, so she stopped Huo Shize from giving him money, telling him, "He's not a real beggar. Don't give him any money."
Huo Shize had already taken out his phone. With an air of indifference, he scanned thirty yuan to the man. The sleazy fake beggar heard the payment notification from the phone and his face lit up with joy, thanking him profusely. But he was also annoyed that Zhu Ling had exposed him. As he left, he said to Huo Shize, "Mister, you are a kind and generous good man, but your woman is a very bad person."
"Pfft!" Zhu Ling fumed, rolling her eyes wildly. The world was going to the dogs—it was hard being a good person these days.
The fake beggar walked off into the distance. Huo Shize checked the time once more. It really was quite late. He asked her again, "Heading back now? I can give you a ride."
"No need. Bye!"
What a day this had been. Utterly inexplicable, to say the least.
To help ease her heartbroken little sister's sorrow, that evening they sang karaoke until very late. When they parted ways to head home, Zhu Ling again sent her younger siblings money for their cab fare. She'd never been one to budget her spending—basically, she spent whenever she felt like it and spent whatever needed spending. The red packets and transfers she'd scammed out of him, a few thousand yuan, were used up within two weeks. And that generous, big-hearted sugar daddy had fallen into an eternal sleep, never to wake again. With no money for living expenses coming in, Zhu Ling still had to go home and report in.
Milia had recently started dating a new boyfriend—one of Du Song's classmates, a fellow slacker. The two of them had gone out that day to look for an apartment, preparing for their future cohabitation, so this time Zhu Ling came back alone.
When she arrived at the base of Santian Trading Building, she stopped by the Starbucks next door to order an iced Americano. While waiting in line, she overheard a man and a woman talking at a nearby table. One was her father, Zhu Zhangyang; the woman was Qian Xinyi. The two of them were eating a quick meal and arguing about something. It seemed Qian Xinyi had also posted an indecent image on her Moments—with a shock value on par with the words "f*cking idiot"—and then tagged Xiao Yao to come look. Xiao Yao had taken a screenshot and sent it to Zhu Zhangyang.
Zhu Zhangyang had known that Xiao Yao had previously called Aiqing a f*cking idiot. Xiao Yao had a straightforward personality, so nothing she cursed about surprised him. What surprised him was that his elegant and beautiful Aiqing had also posted an indecent image, and with such vulgar, unsightly language. He was deeply shocked and found it hard to accept, so he'd specifically called her out to talk about it, saying to her, "How could you post something like this?"
Qian Xinyi defended herself: "Oh my, how could that possibly be me? It wasn't me. It was my daughter who used my phone. She saw someone cursing me online and cursed back on my behalf. I had no idea!"
Her daughter had just started middle school, attending an international private school in Qingpu, where she was reportedly being groomed like a little princess. Zhu Zhangyang was skeptical: "Your daughter? Really?"
"Tell me, would I be the kind of person to use foul language? Would I be the kind of person like Xiao Yao? Would I stoop to her level?" After defending herself and convincing Zhu Zhangyang, she then lodged a complaint: "Xiao Yao left for her lunch break fifteen minutes early yesterday. I've told you about this several times now. Why won't you say anything to her? Why won't you deal with it?"
Zhu Zhangyang knew how to delegate to the right people and valued this Aiqing highly. However, the authority he'd granted her was only the power to raise issues—not the power to make final disciplinary decisions. This meant that even the most trivial matter had to be reported to him, lodged as a complaint, forcing him to arbitrate and mete out punishment. It was a bit annoying, but no matter where Zhu Zhangyang was, he could keep tabs on every move of every employee, and he rather enjoyed that.
When the iced Americano was ready and the barista called out to Zhu Ling, the two of them noticed her and fell silent at the same time. They'd just finished eating and had intended to ride the elevator up together with Zhu Ling, but she refused, deliberately stepping a few paces away to avoid them, waiting for a different elevator and riding up to the 38th floor alone.
In the afternoon when work resumed, Old Zhang from sales came to submit a leave request form. His method of submission was quite distinctive—with his left hand he handed the request form to Qian Xinyi, and with his right hand he held up his phone and snapped a photo. Click. He'd captured everything from Qian Xinyi's neck down. Qian Xinyi protested coquettishly, "What are you making such a big fuss about?"
Old Zhang chuckled and said, "Don't worry, your face isn't in it."
Qian Xinyi looked down on him for being like this, but there was nothing she could do about it, so she gave a cold laugh and let it go. Turning her head, she saw the finance lady sitting next to her and smiled again, flattering her: "Have you been losing weight lately? You look slimmer! Your skin looks great too—so fair and glowing."
The finance lady touched her own round, chubby face and said in surprise, "No, I haven't lost any weight."
"Is that so? Well, I just love people with your kind of auspicious look. When I was looking for a husband, I went by the standard of fair and plump—my husband is fair and chubby, and he's really adorable." After saying this, she pressed her lips together in a smile, looking utterly charming and beautiful.
Nowadays, even vulgar country aunties or coarse city women wouldn't use this kind of flattery anymore. The finance lady suddenly heard words like "plump" and "auspicious look" from a seasoned compliance professional who had studied abroad and spent six years in the compliance department of a foreign investment bank. More than feeling offended, she was shocked. At the same time, she recalled the vague rumors she'd overheard from the cleaning staff and restroom attendant, and instinctively glanced at Zhu Zhangyang, who was lean and thin. Only then did she realize that the fair, plump husband Qian Xinyi mentioned must be the one living at Lakeside Villa on Huqingping Highway in Qingpu—reportedly an executive at a French company.
Qian Xinyi, for some reason, had only been away for a few weeks, yet she was now showering the finance lady with kindness at every turn. She asked the finance lady to fill out an electricity statistics form for her—something as simple as one plus one equals two—and when it was done and sent to her, she exclaimed, "Wow, what a brainstorming session!"
A moment later, she came over and pinched the finance lady's earlobe as a gesture of intimacy, praising her earlobe as a sign of good fortune, paired with a fair, plump face—oh my, blessings beyond measure. She then handed her a bag of clothes: "These are my daughter's outgrown clothes. I'm giving them to you—see if you like them."
The finance lady opened it to find two or three little girls' dresses, about seventy or eighty percent new, but washed spotlessly clean. This lady's family were demolition-compensation beneficiaries, and they'd been compensated multiple times over. She looked extremely plain, but her bank account held a mountain of money. With several elderly family members doting on the child, the little girl's food and clothing were all at nouveau-riche standards—there was neither need nor habit of accepting hand-me-downs. Suddenly receiving old clothes was a bit baffling, but it was kindly meant, so she hurriedly smiled and thanked her: "Ah, thank you! This size, I think it'll fit perfectly next summer."
A moment later, another snack was passed over: "I bought this at Master Bao Bakery. My daughter loves it—try some."
The finance lady hurriedly thanked her and casually offered a handful of beef jerky in return. She took it and smiled apologetically: "Today is the first of the lunar month, so I'm eating vegetarian. I'll have it in a couple of days!"
Across the room, Xiao Yao had just closed a deal with a difficult client and was delighted, unable to resist letting out a small whistle. The office was tiny, so any sound was audible to everyone. Qian Xinyi was disturbed, held it in for a moment, then couldn't help herself. She looked Xiao Yao straight in the eyes and said softly, "Xiao Yao, this is an office—a public space, not your own home. A young lady making such noises is very ill-mannered behavior, you know?"
Xiao Yao had always been a woman of few words, and even when arguing, she kept it brief: "People who lack something always call it out!"
Qian Xinyi's face flushed red instantly. She was so furious that she couldn't think of a comeback. She was a lady of Lakeside Villa, a refined and respectable person who couldn't resort to foul language, so she was suited for verbal sparring, not crude confrontations. She excelled at whispering behind people's backs and loved composing elegant, beautifully worded condemnations to attack others. But when faced with a blunt, straightforward post-90s girl like Xiao Yao who would curse someone out with vulgarities at the slightest disagreement, she was at a disadvantage. Worse, she had no quick wit—when enraged, her mind went completely blank. Furious to the point of death, all she could do was glare.
Everyone in the room wore expressions of enjoying the show, and fortunately the finance lady jumped in to mediate: "Stop arguing, you two, please stop…"
Zhu Ling was on her period today and wasn't feeling well. She was being forgetful and had left her earphones at school, so she couldn't listen to music. She had no energy for mobile games and no mood for homework. After finishing an iced Americano, bored for the moment, she poured the ice cubes onto the cup lid and picked them up one by one to eat. After about two or three cubes, her head began to ache faintly, with a buzzing in her brain. Unable to sit still any longer, she went to the meeting room to ask her dad for money and leave—but someone was already in there: Qian Xinyi, pressuring Zhu Zhangyang to deal with the matter of Xiao Yao taking her lunch break fifteen minutes early yesterday. Zhu Zhangyang was hemming and hawing, saying who knows what. Then came another bout of sticky, flirtatious laughter.
After Qian Xinyi finished her tattling and flirting, a few building property management staff came in to speak with Zhu Zhangyang.
Zhu Ling saw how busy her dad was, so she had no choice but to endure her discomfort and keep waiting, listening to everyone gossip about the company's messy affairs.
These past few days, a major event had occurred at Santian Trading Company—Vice President Zhu, whom Zhu Zhangyang had poached with a hefty salary, had taken off. Initially, everyone had assumed he was some kind of con artist. After all, with his American education and experience at a large corporation, why on earth would he set his sights on a tiny company like Santian? But once he was gone, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, thinking, well, at least he wasn't a fraud.
The highly anticipated Vice President Zhu had fled, and Zhu Zhangyang was heartbroken. He decided not to create the position of assistant to the general manager anymore and issued a directive: the laptop that had been assigned to Zhu Yan had a higher specification than those of regular employees, and leaving it idle would be a waste—the battery would also degrade. So, the office staff would draw lots to decide who would get it.
The high-spec laptop had top-tier configuration, a larger screen, and was still quite new. Some people wanted it, while others were indifferent, saying, "Let's just draw lots then." Qian Xinyi was tasked with handwriting the lots. Excluding General Manager Zhu Zhangyang, there were five full-time office employees. The sales lady waived her right to participate, leaving four people to draw. Qian Xinyi wrote out four slips of paper, rolled each one up tightly, and placed them on the table.
To appear magnanimous, she let the other three draw first. After they each took their slip, opened it, read it aloud, and said "Not chosen," she reached for the last slip, glanced at it, tore it into several pieces, crumpled them into a ball, and said, "I won."
The laptop was kept with the sales lady. She handed the computer to Qian Xinyi and simultaneously sent an email reporting the drawing results, copying the entire office: "General Manager Zhu, Miss Qian won the draw. Mr. Zhu Yan's laptop will be given to Miss Qian for her use."
Immediately afterward, Qian Xinyi also sent an email to Zhu Zhangyang: "I was the last to take a slip, and unexpectedly, I drew the winning one. Thank you to the company, thank you, General Manager Zhu. I will take good care of the computer."
Qian Xinyi received Vice President Zhu's laptop, brought it to her desk, and was carefully inspecting its condition when a travel agency from out of town happened to visit. She set the laptop down and went to receive the guests. After exchanging pleasantries and seeing them off, she returned to find that a box of Daoxiangcun pastries they had brought was sitting on the seat next to Zhu Ling. Everyone happened to be busy, and Zhu Ling was looking at her phone. Qian Xinyi quietly picked up the pastry box, held it in front of her body, tried her best to conceal it with her figure, and crept out, all the while glancing back with the corner of her eye to check what the others were doing.
This was her old habit—whenever a client brought any gift or souvenir, she would take it and give it to someone outside the company. Internally, her motto was: better to feed it to a dog than to let a despised colleague benefit. Externally, it was her own way of building favors. Two birds with one stone, double the joy. If the packaging was opened, she'd take the whole thing and give it to the cleaning lady. If it was unopened, she'd bring it to the administrative girl on the 39th floor.
The 39th floor housed an imported food wholesaler, a large operation with over two hundred office employees. Most of Santian Trading Company's goods came from them, and the two companies had a mutually dependent relationship of supply and distribution, with frequent business dealings.
Qian Xinyi used her body to shield the pastry box and tiptoed out of the office. The sales lady watched her retreating figure and spoke up: "When I used to read ancient Chinese novels about everyday life, I never quite understood the word 'sneaky-slinky.' It wasn't until I saw her that I finally got it. That word is personified in her."
The finance lady didn't understand Qian Xinyi's behavior and whispered to Old Zhang across from her: "What's she being all secretive about?"
Old Zhang didn't hear her, but Xiao Yao answered on his behalf: "A rat in the gutter."
Old Zhang was staring blankly at the secondhand computer on Qian Xinyi's desk that Vice President Zhu had used. Seeing this, the finance lady quickly tried to console him: "The old computers we have will be fully depreciated by the end of the year, and then we can get brand-new ones. It's only two or three months away—just wait a little longer."
The sales lady who had waived her right also chimed in: "You don't know this, but when that Zhu Yan, Vice President Zhu, was here, he was constantly snacking on his pastries—eating and drinking, drinking and eating, all day long. The gaps between the keys on his laptop were full of pastry crumbs. Even the cleaning lady said his seat was filthy and hard to clean. Who would want to use his dirty secondhand computer? Who knows how many germs are on it!"
Someone else said: "Even when we get new ones, they'll be low-spec. Not as good as his."
The cleaning lady came into the office to collect the trash. When she reached the bin under Qian Xinyi's desk, Old Zhang called out to her: "Auntie, give me that bag of trash."
The cleaning lady was puzzled but silently handed it to him. After she turned and walked away, he spread the half-full trash bag on his own desk. Not minding the filth, he picked out the shredded, crumpled pieces of paper that Qian Xinyi had torn up from among the nutshells and melon seed shells, smoothed them out one by one, and painstakingly pieced them together. Though the handwriting was incomplete and now dirty and smudged, he could still vaguely make out two characters: "Not chosen."
The finance lady, being the newest hire and the least able to keep her composure, immediately gasped: "But there were four 'Not chosen' slips!" Half a second later, she figured out the trick behind it and quickly shut her mouth, her heart pounding wildly.
The remaining few had worked with Qian Xinyi for years and had been tempered through fire—they could withstand KPI assessments and endure petty cruelty alike. Each of them possessed a terrifyingly strong inner core, like bats, the most mysterious mammals on Earth, capable of surviving even in nuclear radiation environments. Yet even they couldn't help but exchange stunned glances at the shattered, filthy characters "Not Middle" before them, shocked into silence.
After a long moment, the sales sister clutched her chest and shook her head repeatedly: "Oh my god, I truly didn't see this coming, truly didn't. Children raised in normal families like ours—even if you beat us to death, we couldn't have thought of something like this. My chest is starting to churn, I feel sick to my stomach. Really, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes and experienced it myself, who would dare believe there exists such a shameless woman in this world, such filthy business! And she's in big-bank compliance, a Lakeside Villa lady! No sense of shame at all!"
"Lowlife scum."
"Trash."
Prompted by those four "not middle" characters, the sales sister recalled an old incident from years ago when she'd been swindled by that lady: "A few years back, she invited a close warehouse girl to dinner one day and called me along too. I thought it was just a routine business exchange. When we got back, I split the bill with her fifty-fifty. The very afternoon I transferred the money to her, General Manager Zhu announced in the office that she was being promoted to supervisor. That dinner was actually her promotion celebration."
Speaking of this, the sales sister was so furious she was puffing and panting, pounding the table hard: "From start to finish, she never mentioned a single word about her promotion—just to mislead me, to trick me into sharing her celebration dinner costs! She got promoted to supervisor, her salary went up five thousand yuan! Garbage woman! No shame at all! It was just an Ippudo ramen place in Metro City, a hundred-some yuan—she can take that money and buy herself some medicine!"
These past days, everything the finance sister had seen with her eyes or heard with her ears made her feel like she'd swallowed a fly—nauseated and revolted. And today's incident, besides making her sick, also filled her with a hint of fear. She downed half a glass of cold water in one gulp before her emotions settled, then asked Old Zhang in a low voice: "Those four 'unsuitable' notes—how did you know about them?" Did you see them?"
Old Zhang wore a smug smile of one who understood everything: "If it were anyone else, I definitely wouldn't have thought in that direction, but with this woman—hah. Though you back-office folks haven't seen much of the world. I've been in sales for so many years, out on the road every day—what kind of despicable, filthy things haven't I witnessed…" He trailed off mid-sentence as he suddenly heard the office door, hastily tucked away the torn paper scraps, and shot the others a look. Everyone fell silent at once and began tapping their keyboards in unison.
The administrative girl on the 39th floor was surnamed Ji. After Qian Xinyi delivered the Daoxiangcun pastries to Miss Ji and returned, she wrote an email and sensed the office atmosphere was unusually stifling. She smiled and asked everyone: "With the year-end holiday coming up, what plans does everyone have?"
She asked once, and no one answered. So she turned to the finance sister, who felt her heart start racing the moment she heard her voice. Not daring to meet her eyes, she replied in a voice as faint as a mosquito's: "I haven't decided yet."
Qian Xinyi's eyes caught sight of an accounting textbook by the finance sister's hand, and she smiled: "You know, you should go get an intermediate professional title. That way you'll have greater development in the future. One can't be content with the status quo, little sister."
The finance sister mumbled something unintelligible and scurried off to photocopy documents.
She and Xiao Yao were in a state of cold war, and the sales sister had been burned by her a few times, so now they didn't interact unless necessary. Qian Xinyi therefore turned to Old Zhang across from her, who chuckled: "I'm planning to take the wife and kids to Sichuan to see the Leshan Giant Buddha. What about you? Any plans?"
Her expression was indifferent as she said: "Oh, my husband has a project in Laos. I'll be going to Laos with him to inspect the project."
This woman had a peculiar trait: she liked to observe people's expressions after finishing speaking. So the moment her words landed, she swept her gaze across everyone. Aside from Old Zhang letting out a "wow" with wide eyes—giving the ideal reaction—the rest all kept their heads lowered, their expressions unreadable, and no one picked up the thread to ask about the details of the Laos project. Quite boring, really.
For Old Zhang's warmth and tact, she regarded him with slightly more favor and smiled to flatter him: "You've been looking thinner lately, and your skin looks much better too! What's going on—have you been working out, or…?"
This woman was clever and calculating—all the office employees combined couldn't match half her brain—but when it came to compliments, this clever woman, after living over forty years, had only stored one method in her head: "You've lost weight, haven't you? Losing weight is good, losing weight is beautiful." Didn't lose weight? That's fine too—she liked people who were fair and plump anyway. She'd found her husband according to the fair-and-plump standard.
Flattered by senior compliance officer Qian Xinyi's decade-long refrain of "You've lost weight, you've lost weight, you're fairer, you're fairer," senior salesperson Old Zhang was still willing to humor her, replying with a grin: "Have I lost weight? Not really, I hadn't noticed myself. Haha."
As the two seasoned professionals chatted and laughed, the atmosphere in the office once again became harmonious and congenial.
Qian Xinyi, through her cleverness and resourcefulness, had effortlessly obtained a brand-new high-spec computer for 9.9 yuan, and at the same time, by offering a gift to someone else, had reaped a box of Daoxiangcun pastries as a token of friendship from Miss Ji on the 39th floor. Moreover, the box of fresh pork mooncakes she had intercepted and sent up a few days earlier had also garnered widespread praise, with Miss Ji and her colleagues all coming to thank her. The strategy of "befriending the far and attacking the near" had paid off handsomely, so Qian Xinyi was in an excellent mood, her desire to chat and share at an all-time high. Unable to resist, she struck up a conversation with Zhu Ling, who never responded to her: "Miss, do you have any plans at the end of the year…"
Before she could finish, there was a sudden thud—the sound of Zhu Ling collapsing to the ground.
Zhu Ling was anemic, and having eaten ice, she developed a headache and dizziness. She felt increasingly unwell, and couldn't wait for her father's business to wrap up. She just wanted to leave early and rest, so she grabbed her bag and made to go. But the moment she stood up, a wave of dizziness hit her, and she couldn't stay on her feet—she fell straight to the ground.
What followed was a flurry of commotion, the sound of two people helping her into the conference room to rest. In her daze, someone muttered: "Sigh, the young miss is a weak-bodied evil-attractor."
"Have you seen the paintings she does? Just like her mother's—there's a bit of spiritual quality to them. A child with weak constitution and early brilliance, handed over by her father to that… that stubborn troublemaker… forced to stay together with him… destructive…"
A few days later, Huo Shize was off work and stuck in traffic on the elevated highway when he received a message from Huo Tai Nu's secretary, saying that Du Song had been skipping class consecutively, not answering calls, not replying to messages, and was now completely unreachable. The secretary asked what he should do. Huo Shize frowned, initially not wanting to get involved, but then reconsidered and said, "I'll go look for him."
It was drizzling that day. He didn't go to the Tianlin Road night market but drove straight to an old residential complex a few kilometers away. The complex sat between the night market and the school, and was currently undergoing renovation. The ground was pitted and uneven, the building numbers were all jumbled up, and the complex had become a maze. He drove around for quite a while before finding the place.
He knocked on the door for a long time before a young girl came out to open it. The girl recognized the young man before her—he was someone Zhu Ling knew, having met her twice at the Tianlin night market a few days prior. Each time, they'd exchanged only a few hurried words before he rushed off again, making it hard to tell what their relationship was or how well they knew each other.
The girl had no idea why Huo Shize had suddenly shown up at their door. Though surprised, she still let him in and told him, "Our Lord of All Spirits is busy right now. Come in and wait a moment."
Zhu Ling's rental was about fifty or sixty square meters—a compact two-bedroom, one-living-room layout. The decor was decent, and the place was kept quite tidy. On the living room wall hung two or three sketches, some of landscapes and some of people. The lines were hasty, clearly dashed off casually rather than done with care, yet they were all vivid and expressive, with a certain charm. One of them had a title written on it, called "The Surprised Girl." In the painting, a girl stared with wide eyes and furrowed brows—cute, playful.
Huo Shize looked at the author of the sketch with the same expression as the girl in the painting. The author, Zhu Ling, was in the living room competing with two young girls in a contest of heat endurance.
The air conditioner's heating was cranked to maximum. Zhu Ling and the two girls sat squeezed side by side on a sofa, each wearing a down jacket and draped with an additional thick blanket.
The whole room was like a steaming oven. Zhu Ling had wrapped herself up tightly, like a silkworm chrysalis. By now she was already unbearably hot, fine beads of sweat covering her forehead. Seeing Huo Shize suddenly appear in her home, she was quite puzzled. But if she got up, the blanket would fall off, and once the blanket fell, it would count as forfeiting the competition. So she remained seated, unmoving. She held on for a while longer until she reached her limit—her makeup was ruined, and her false eyelashes were crooked.
Huo Shize genuinely couldn't fathom what was going on inside these girls' heads that they could invent such a refreshingly bizarre competition. He was taken aback but said nothing, pulled over a chair, and sat in front of Zhu Ling to watch. He waited for a long time, seeing no sign of her getting up, and noticed her face growing redder and redder, clearly getting hotter and hotter. Unable to resist, he reached out and plucked the two limp false eyelashes from her eyelids, then casually flicked her on the forehead—it stung a bit. She let out an "ow" and rolled her eyes at him, but still stayed tightly wrapped in her blanket, not moving an inch.
As for the two girls, they'd been staring at Huo Shize for quite a while, and the more they looked, the more flustered they became. The previous two times they'd seen him at the night market, he'd been in a jacket and baseball cap, all casual style. Today, though, he was in a black suit with a black tie, and he had a diamond earring in his left ear. He projected a refined, elite image, yet there was a roguish handsomeness to him that was utterly captivating. In this shabby rental, he was practically making the place shine.
The two girls stole glances at Huo Shize until their faces flushed crimson. They could no longer hold out, and hurriedly grabbed their blankets and ran back to their room.
Zhu Ling held out to the very end, quite pleased with herself: "This year's heat endurance champion is me!"
The girls called back: "Fine, fine, you're the best!"
Huo Shize had gone to great lengths to find this place, and after sitting and waiting for a long time, he finally got a pig head—both amusing and shocking. He let his gaze fall on her face, which was as flushed as a pig's head: "Do you have to be this ridiculous?"
One of the younger girls heard this and said, "We also have the Endurance Cold Competition and the Rain-Proof King Contest!"
Huo Shize couldn't help but laugh at this, teasing her: "How old are you? Aren't you being a bit silly?"
Zhu Ling asked him the purpose of his visit and told him, "Du Song isn't here with me, and I've never brought him to my house. He's probably at his classmate's place playing games."
Inside the room, the two younger girls suddenly started arguing over a pair of shorts. Both shorts were from Uniqlo, the same style and color, but they couldn't remember which was whose. Seeing the pair, each claimed it was hers, and their voices grew louder and louder. There was a man in the house, and even Zhu Ling couldn't stand it anymore, so she gave them a suggestion: "Shout out your sizes at the same time—whoever's size matches gets to wear them."
The two girls shouted "S" and "XS" simultaneously, and the one who said XS was right, putting them on triumphantly on the spot.
Huo Shize heard everything clearly from the living room, caught between laughter and tears, and also growing a bit impatient, rubbing his brows and the bridge of his nose repeatedly. The girls noticed and thought he was hot, so they hurried to the fridge to get him a drink. They grabbed a Coke, then switched to Sprite, then thought better of it and changed to tea, worried he wouldn't be able to sleep, so they switched to a milk drink. They went back and forth so much they nearly gave the old fridge a chill, and finally brought him a bottle of juice.
Huo Shize thanked them and casually placed the juice on a desk. Looking up, he saw Zhu Ling's textbooks and homework scattered across the desk. In the corner sat a few soft-bodied dolls. The dolls had no hair, wore not a stitch of clothing, and were bare with flesh-colored bodies, looking quite strange. He asked casually, "What are these?"
She said, "They're something new that's become popular in our class—BJD dolls, also called ball-jointed dolls. Right now they're in an unfinished state, so you can customize them with makeup, hair, and outfits according to your own preferences. But I haven't had time to buy my tool kit yet. Once I get all the tools, I can start working on them over winter break."
These kinds of dolls were relatively niche, and Huo Shize had never heard of them before, so he couldn't picture them. He asked, "What do the finished ones look like? Are they very pretty?"
She thought of her classmates' works, some beautiful and some ugly, and laughed: "How pretty they are really depends on the maker's sense of style."
He also noticed a photo of her from her middle school days and picked it up to look at it. The girl in the photo was about twelve or thirteen, wearing a white princess dress with a large skirt, standing beside a piano. The metal braces on her teeth were quite eye-catching, but her smile was still radiant as she faced the camera with a victory sign.
Zhu Ling said proudly, "This was taken when I was twelve and participated in a piano competition. I won first place in the junior division that time!"
"A champion would make such a tacky gesture?"
"Haven't you noticed that this gesture carries a certain intellectual beauty befitting a champion?"
Huo Shize laughed. He'd gotten the information about Du Song's whereabouts, and it was getting late, so he told her, "I'm leaving."
"Bye. Next time you need something, you don't have to come all the way here—just send me a message. The roads in our neighborhood aren't great, and parking isn't convenient either."
So naturally, they exchanged contact information.
At the door, he suddenly said again, "I got lost in your neighborhood on the way here. Would you mind stepping out to point me in the right direction?"
"OK, we haven't eaten yet anyway, so we can go out for a meal." She went back to her room to touch up her makeup, re-applying two layers of false eyelashes on her eyelids, threw a trench coat over her loungewear, grabbed her phone, and called for the girls to come along for a ride. For some reason, the girls were being coy, giggling and refusing to come along, telling her to go ahead first and they'd follow later.
His car was parked downstairs. To point him in the right direction, Zhu Ling specifically sat in the passenger seat. No sooner had she settled in than he suddenly turned his face and leaned his entire body toward her. She was startled and asked, "What are you doing?"
Without a word, he suddenly raised his hand and, one on each side, plucked the false eyelashes off her eyelids and tossed them aside. This was already the second time tonight he'd removed her false lashes. She was baffled: "What are you doing? Seriously!"
He looked her over, the corners of his mouth curving up, and said, "You look better this way."
Feeling offended, she turned to open the car door and get out, but his arm suddenly reached over and pressed her back into her seat. Before she could react, he clicked her seatbelt into place and started the engine at the same time. The whole sequence flowed like water, leaving her no room to resist. She let out a startled cry, but didn't dare move recklessly in a moving vehicle. On top of that, without the protection of her heavy artillery false lashes, she felt a bit vulnerable and uneasy, so she had no choice but to sit still. Eyes wide open, brows furrowed, lips pouted—she became the startled girl in the painting.
He glanced at her and chuckled softly, amused by how cute she was, then asked, "Cold?" and handed her a thin blanket.
After all, it was November, with big temperature swings, and it had just rained, so the evening was still a bit chilly. She draped the blanket over her knees and pointed out the way out of the neighborhood for him. The neighborhood's driveway was narrow, with no separation between pedestrians and vehicles. At this hour, many elderly people and children were out for strolls, so the car had to keep stopping to let people pass, moving slowly. Suddenly, he asked again, "When did you get the tattoo? When I first met you, you didn't have one."
She let out an "ah," instinctively raising her hand to cover her collarbone, and said, "Just recently. The tattoo artist said it was cute, so I got it."
He hummed in acknowledgment: "It is pretty cute." As he spoke, he tilted his head to glance at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but the next second, he turned preachy again, "You're still young. Don't do these things anymore."
His words made her feel a bit uncomfortable and a little annoyed. Lecturing her and spouting big truths over and over—who did he think he was? They'd barely exchanged a few words, and they'd only added each other on contact five minutes ago. Even her father hadn't spoken to her in that tone for years. Really.
A young lady like her was prone to rebellion; she wanted to talk back, but then thought better of it. He wasn't someone she knew well enough to bother with. So she said nothing more, turning her face to look out the car window. Yet the next second, he reached out his arm, using one hand to turn her face back toward him, gripping her chin to hold it steady, making sure she wouldn't move, then let go, saying, "Look ahead and guide the way properly."
He kept touching her, and she was stunned, opening her mouth to say something, but not a single word came out. She'd completely lost the carefree composure she had when armed with her heavy weapon—her fake lashes. With fake lashes, she was a Houthi militant; without them, she was a defenseless civilian, a delicate young lady with no strength to truss a chicken. He told her to guide the way properly, and she really did guide him properly.
He seemed quite satisfied with her quiet obedience, tilting his head to glance at her again, clearly with an approving look.
From his series of actions, she sensed he had a special fondness for her. Since the school ribbon-cutting event that day, every time they met, his gaze grew deeper and more focused, and tonight, he'd made many boundary-crossing moves. So far, many people had liked her or pursued her, but most of them would be nervous around her, at a loss, even afraid to meet her eyes. Someone like him, who after only a few brief encounters would go straight for domineering moves, was truly unprecedented.
She remembered recently at his house, watching a recording of a championship match he'd won together with Du Song. Du Song had commented on his performance on the field, saying, "He doesn't talk much, he just goes for it. Damn, who can withstand that? Who can handle that?"
Perhaps it wasn't just on the field—his style with women was the same. Few words, straight to action.
From their limited interactions, she could already tell he was definitely not the refined gentleman he appeared to be on the surface. What kind of person he really was, Du Song seemed to have mentioned it too: "You see him in his suit and shirt, can you imagine he's…"
Forget it, she wouldn't think about it. She had a boyfriend; there was no need to waste her thoughts on another man. Besides, with so many suitors, she couldn't think about them all anyway.
She pulled the thin blanket up to her chin, wrapping herself up. It took him about five minutes to drive through half of the old, rundown neighborhood, and at the entrance, he let her out. She was like a little shrimp breaking free from a fishing net, regaining her vitality, her tone becoming lively as she waved at him, "Bye-bye!"
He rolled down the car window and asked, "Where are you going to eat? I'll give you a ride."
"No need, I'm going to Haidilao, it's nearby."
"Like hotpot?"
"It's alright, I like it moderately. I'm going today because they have birthday activities there."
He was slightly surprised: "You? Isn't your birthday not here yet?"
"It doesn't matter. Whatever day I go to Haidilao, that's my birthday." She turned to walk away, then suddenly stopped, turned back, and asked him, "How do you know my birthday isn't here yet?"
He didn't answer, just waved at her, stepped on the gas, and the car sped off into the distance.