Lin Shuang stepped out of the shower wrapped in a bath towel, and the relentless ringing of her phone cut off abruptly, leaving four missed calls on the screen.

After returning to Beiquan, she’d changed to a new phone number, and her contacts list was sparse. Anyone who could hound her with calls like this could only be her aunt.

Ten minutes later, Lin Shuang called back and heard her aunt’s eager voice.

“Hello, Shuangshuang, there’s a young man who’s pretty decent, do you have time to meet him…”

Great, another blind date.

“Auntie, why won’t you ever let up? I’m really busy, no time for blind dates.”

“Busy with what? Did you get a job?”

“No, I’m staying home.”

“You’ve been back so long and still haven’t found work, what are you planning to do with yourself?” Her aunt shifted her attack, starting to nag about her job. “That position your uncle pulled strings to get you, you ran off after two days. Found you a company job, you complained the nine-to-five was exhausting. Shuangshuang, you’re a girl — coming back to Beiquan is better than drifting outside, at least somewhat. But once you’re home, you can’t be picky and useless — you still need to live a solid, down-to-earth life.”

In the half year since she’d come home, Lin Shuang had spent her days playing games and sleeping in. Her aunt, anxious to the point of distraction, came around every few days to lecture her, but Lin Shuang remained unmoved, content to lie flat like a salted fish.

“This is just how I am, Auntie, can you please just leave it alone.” Lin Shuang reached for the cigarette pack on the table, casually tapping one out. “Even my mom doesn’t nag me about this. Why do you care?”

“Your mother doesn’t manage you, so I, as your aunt, will.” Her aunt’s righteousness was unwavering. “This young man this time really is good. You must meet him, have a good talk.”

Lin Shuang said sarcastically, “Not another divorced guy with a kid, is it? Spare me, Auntie, I don’t want to be a stepmother.”

“That’s not — how could you just say things like that.” Her aunt was so angry on the other end she was practically stamping her feet. “Don’t say things you shouldn’t. Look how many people you’ve scared off. Keep talking nonsense and I really will pinch your mouth shut.”

“This one was introduced by our office director. From what I’ve heard the conditions are quite good, the young man is decent, he’s a teacher, no family burdens, very upstanding, and ambitious too…”

Her aunt rambled on for a while, and Lin Shuang listened absentmindedly. Half an hour later, her aunt forwarded her a WeChat message.

Zhou Zheng, twenty-six years old, local, math teacher at Beiquan High School, graduate of a Double First-Class university, decent-looking, reliable character, both parents deceased.

She smirked. Both parents deceased equals no family burden — what kind of matchmaking logic was that?

Unable to fend off her aunt’s insistence, Lin Shuang gave in. The next day at noon, she received a call from an unfamiliar number.

She answered, said hello. There was a clear pause on the other end, then a young man’s voice came through, slightly hoarse: “Hello… is this Lin Shuang? I’m Zhou Zheng. It’s like this… Auntie Lin passed me your number… you…”

She was in the middle of a mobile game and cut him off: “Blind date, right? I’m free Saturday morning, around ten. Does that work for you?”

“Sure, then where should we—” The man waited for her to decide.

“There’s a coffee shop on the first floor of Fountain Plaza. Do you know it? Let’s meet there.”

“Okay.” He seemed to relax. “We’ll stay in touch then, see you Saturday.”

She hung up. Two minutes later a WeChat friend request popped up — the profile picture was half a sunrise rising from a sea of clouds, with a note that read: Hello, I’m Zhou Zheng.

Lin Shuang swiped past the interface, ignoring the friend request.

Fountain Plaza was in the old city center, Beiquan’s earliest shopping mall. The plaza had a musical fountain and was the top choice nearby for residents’ entertainment and square dancing. From Lin Shuang’s home, it was only a ten-minute walk.

It had rained the night before, and the air was damp. She sat outside the café waiting, wearing an apricot-red high-neck alpaca-wool sweater — the fabric light and soft with a slight downy texture — paired with black pencil pants and short high-heeled boots. It framed her like a fluid, undulating painting, without a single wasted line, her legs long and straight, striking enough that passersby couldn’t help but sneak glances.

Even more eye-catching was her exquisite, flawless face — the kind of beauty that stopped people in a crowd, perfect bone structure, features fitting together as though naturally born that way, thick curls, long thin eyebrows, fair skin, red lips.

She crossed her legs, curled into the rattan chair playing her game, oblivious to the glances around her, or simply used to them.

At ten o’clock, the musical fountain at the plaza burst into life on schedule. Someone passed by her, and out of the corner of her eye she caught black suit trousers and leather shoes.

The taste and quality of the clothes and shoes left something to be desired.

The man’s shoes were pointed directly at her. Lin Shuang looked up — a stranger in a navy shirt, neither tall nor short, on the thin side, close-cropped hair, a young face decent enough to call handsome, with a scholarly, restrained air about him. But he wasn’t wearing glasses, which didn’t quite fit the image of a math teacher.

It was the flourishing bloom of April, the weather neither cold nor hot, but the shirt fabric was thick and stiff, the cut too careless, wrapping the man in something reserved and somber. His sleeves were rolled up in layers to his elbows, revealing forearms with defined muscle and knuckled hands.

The hand he extended into her field of view belonged to the voice from the phone call, a bit raspy and hoarse, like a soft-edged green leaf: “Hello, Lin Shuang…”

“I’m Zhou Zheng.”

Zhou Zheng — the name, spoken from his mouth, was simple and clean, without a trace of artificial affectation, striking and memorable in one hit.

“Hello, Teacher Zhou.” She didn’t move from her position, leaning sideways in the chair, a smile on her face, gesturing to the seat across from her.

“Please, sit.”

The man withdrew his hand and glanced at the empty tabletop: “What would you like to drink, Miss Lin? I’ll go order.”

“A cream-topped coffee, thank you!”

A few minutes later, the man returned with a coffee and a glass of water, setting the coffee in front of her, keeping the water for himself.

“Thank you.”

Lin Shuang looked at the glass of steaming plain water. “Teacher Zhou doesn’t drink coffee?”

“I’m not used to coffee.” The man pressed his lips together. “Plain water is fine.”

“Teachers usually have poor throats. You should drink more hot water.” Lin Shuang smiled with crinkled eyes, as if to show understanding.

The atmosphere was lukewarm, and the two chatted on and off.

“Teacher Zhou teaches at Beiquan High School? What grade?”

“Yes, I teach senior third year.”

“That’s my alma mater. Impressive, Teacher Zhou.”

“I graduated from that school too.”

“Even more of a coincidence — fellow alumni.”

Beiquan High School was the only municipal key high school in Beiquan, one of the top ten schools in the province, with a strong reputation for teaching quality in the surrounding counties and cities. Its annual enrollment was also considerable — most college students who came out of Beiquan City had graduated from Beiquan High School.

Lin Shuang’s grades in high school had been mediocre, and she felt no particular nostalgia for the school.

“Is Teacher Zhou also from Beiquan City? Which area do you live in? East side or west side?”

“My family isn’t in the city. It’s in a township under Beiquan, a small village on the eastern side of Lotus Peak.”

Lotus Peak was the highest peak within Beiquan’s territory, not particularly close to the city center, and also a locally well-known scenic area — a pilgrimage site for hiking enthusiasts.

“Then is it far for Teacher Zhou to get home?”

“Not too far. An hour on the rural bus.”

Lin Shuang gave a long “Oh.”

The two of them chatted back and forth, question and answer, like an exam — Lin Shuang would toss out a question, and Zhou Zheng would give the answer. Perhaps it was his profession as a teacher, but he spoke unhurriedly, with a rhythm that put people at ease, his emotions steady, his words solid, direct, without embellishment or technique.

“I’ve heard teachers do quite well on the dating market, especially teachers from Beiquan High School — snapped up in no time. Why is Teacher Zhou still going on blind dates?”

Zhou Zheng’s expression dimmed slightly. He answered slowly: “Work’s been busy… never met the right person.”

Lin Shuang smiled radiantly and took a sip of coffee without speaking.

She knew this male teacher’s problem well enough — no house, no car, still renting to this day, an elderly grandmother back home still depending on him for support. His family background was a major deduction on the marriage market. In other words, his current status as a poor man outweighed his potential as a stock worth investing in.

The mall’s speakers played a song she liked, and her mind wandered, drifting along with the music.

Condensation had gathered on the coffee cup, water droplets slowly trickling down onto the table. She looked lazy, extending an index finger, tracing idle patterns in the water on the tabletop.

Zhou Zheng noticed her brightly colored nail polish.

“I don’t know if my aunt told you or not — I’m twenty-six this year, my parents are divorced, I went to a third-tier university in the provincial capital, worked away from home after graduation, came back last winter, planning to settle in Beiquan.”

“She told me. I know all this.” Zhou Zheng nodded.

Lin Shuang leaned back, fished a cigarette pack out of her bag, and swung it in her hand, giving him a sidelong, flirtatious glance, tilting her head to ask: “Mind if I smoke?”

His gaze swept over the colorful cigarette pack, and he shook his head.

Her red lips bit down on the slim cigarette. Lin Shuang cupped the lighter with practiced ease, took a deep drag, and asked, holding the cigarette between her fingers: “Does Teacher Zhou smoke?”

“I don’t touch cigarettes or alcohol.”

“That’s good, then. Good health, long life.” She squinted with a smile, her face amid the smoke both striking and alluring.

“You just asked Teacher Zhou so many questions — let me talk about myself too.”

“After my parents divorced, I stayed with my father. Both of them remarried and started new families with new kids. A few years ago my father got into trouble and was imprisoned — economic crime, sentenced to eight years, still in prison now.”

“They left me a run-down old apartment, not worth much. I don’t have much ability myself. Working outside was too exhausting, and coming back to my hometown is also just drifting through life. I’ve been an unemployed drifter at home this past half year.”

“I’ve dated a few boyfriends before. I’m the childfree type — don’t plan to have kids.”

“I’m a pretty vulgar person, honestly, quite vain, no spiritual pursuits to speak of — I just want to live an easy, carefree good life.”

Her implication was clear.

The slim ladies’ cigarette had burned halfway down, lipstick staining the butt. Lin Shuang tossed it into a paper cup, changed her posture, sat up straight and proper, and looked directly at the man before her: “Does Teacher Zhou have anything to say?”

“Nothing to say.” He looked back at her calmly.

“Then… Teacher Zhou, I have somewhere to be. Shall we say goodbye?” Lin Shuang raised an eyebrow, rose from her chair, and picked up her bag to leave.

Zhou Zheng stood up along with her.

“Oh, right.” She swung her purse onto her shoulder, pointing at his shirt cuff. “Looks like you’ve got some dust on your sleeve.”

“It’s chalk dust from the blackboard.” He lowered his head to pat his shirt sleeve. “Sorry, I rushed over right after class.”

“Saturday makeup classes, the fine tradition of Beiquan High School — the teachers work hard.” Lin Shuang smiled, waving goodbye to him. “See you around, Teacher Zhou.”

Zhou Zheng watched her retreating figure — chestnut wavy curls shining, level shoulders, slim waist, long legs, walking with a swaying grace, her face also very pretty, the kind of looks that struck you at first glance and lingered in memory.

Lin Shuang went to the nail salon on the third floor of Fountain Plaza — this was a shop opened by her middle school classmate Miao Cai. She’d made an appointment for eleven-thirty to get her nails done, but who knew the blind date would only take half an hour, quick and decisive, so she arrived an hour early.

“Are you free right now? If not I’ll go home first and come back later.”

Weekends were the salon’s busiest time, and all the nail technicians had clients. Miao Cai pushed her toward the break room in back: “Of course I’m free for you. VIP treatment, I’ll serve you myself.”

There wasn’t much to do for entertainment back home, so Lin Shuang had become a regular at the nail salon this past half year, and the two had grown close.

“What time did you sleep last night?” Miao Cai noticed she looked a bit tired. “It’s the weekend, aren’t you sleeping in? Rare to see you out this early.”

“Didn’t lie down until two in the morning.” She yawned. “Just had a blind date at the coffee shop downstairs.”

“Another blind date?” Miao Cai’s eyes lit up. “Who this time? How’d it go?”

“Not much to say.” Lin Shuang popped a mint into her mouth. “A teacher from Beiquan High School.”

“Teachers are great.” Miao Cai’s interest surged, counting on her fingers. “Civil servants, bank employees, teachers, doctors — the four heavenly kings of the dating market. What’s he like? How’d you feel about him?”

Lin Shuang, uninterested, brushed it off with one sentence: “Nothing special, kind of boring, we chatted a bit and then parted ways.”

Miao Cai looked disappointed: “No spark again?”

“No spark.”

“Your standards are too high. Beiquan is so small, there’s only so many people your age here — where else are you going to find someone you like? Why not reconsider one of your old classmates? Since you came back, quite a few guys have hinted they’re interested in you, asked me about you like eight hundred times, all decent guys — really not a single one you fancy?”

Lin Shuang hadn’t been back to Beiquan for years and had long vanished from her old classmates’ social circle. Last Chinese New Year, Miao Cai had posted a photo of the two of them together in her WeChat Moments, and the male classmates had gone wild over it, stirring up quite a commotion.

“No interest.” Lin Shuang lowered her eyes, pinky finger raised delicately. “Don’t want to bother.”

By the time her nails were done, it was nearly noon. Lin Shuang went with Miao Cai to eat lamb hotpot, then went to see a movie alone. By the time she came out of the theater it was already five-thirty in the afternoon, the sky not yet fully dark, the lights not yet on, the sunset a rich, brilliant red. She crossed her arms, standing under a tree smoking a cigarette, her figure like a poppy swaying in the wind, vivid and alluring.

An eighteen- or nineteen-year-old passed by, then turned back, pinching an unlit cigarette, grinning as he came over to ask for a light. Lin Shuang glanced sideways, a smile at the corner of her lips, and lightly said two words: “Not lending.”

The young man grinned cheekily: “Pretty sister, be kind, do a guy a favor.”

“Two meters behind you there’s a small convenience store. A lighter costs one yuan.” She stubbed out her cigarette, striding away on her long legs. “You’re welcome.”

Lin Shuang bought beef noodles on her way home. The cramped alley had two rows of electric scooters parked haphazardly, the buildings on both sides a dusty concrete gray. She entered the pitch-black stairwell — the whitewashed walls plastered with a mess of illegal advertisements, the narrow, steep stairs worn shiny black by countless soles, the half-rusted railing leaving a hand full of grime when touched.

She stopped on the third floor, found her keys, opened the door, kicked off her boots at the entrance, and switched into slippers.

She’d forgotten to grab disposable chopsticks with her noodles. Lin Shuang rummaged through the kitchen looking for chopsticks — she’d been eating takeout the entire half year she’d been back, so the kitchen only had two bowls and one pair of chopsticks in regular use. She finally found the moldy bamboo chopsticks in the sink and had to break apart a plastic fork from an instant noodle cup as an emergency measure.

That night her aunt called again, but Lin Shuang couldn’t be bothered to answer and replied on WeChat instead.

[Met him. Felt nothing special. Don’t like him.]

Her phone flooded with seven or eight long paragraphs from her aunt. Lin Shuang didn’t even glance at them, just cleared the WeChat conversation entirely.