On July 24th, Lin Shuang had prepared decorative balloons in advance, made advertising posters, brought in a speaker system, and opened up the tea shop’s storefront fully.

That day, students really did start trickling back in droves — half were boarding students returning with their luggage to the dormitories, and half were repeat-year students coming in from nearby counties, most accompanied by their parents, with quite a few families turning out in full to help settle their kids in.

The tea shop’s poster was one Lin Shuang had made herself with photo-editing software, simple and direct. The latest promotion was a top-up deal — recharge 100 yuan, get 10 free; recharge 200, get 20 free, and so on — plus a free drink on your birthday.

The cheapest item, lemon water, was 4 yuan a cup, healthy and refreshing, and buying milk tea also came with a free college entrance exam paper this year.

The words “college entrance exam papers” worked even better than “free.” Honestly, it was the first time she’d seen parents so eager to buy their kids milk tea, and also the first time she’d seen students buying tea with such hard-to-describe expressions on their faces.

“Boss,” a parent squeezed forward, “this is the English paper — could I get one of the other subjects too?”

Lin Shuang smiled as she worked. “Sorry, we have a set daily quota for the exam papers, and once they’re gone for the day, that’s it. But this promotion runs for a whole month — collect the full set and you’ll also get free stationery.”

Was this… hunger marketing, in a way?

“What kind of scheme is giving away exam papers — even the milk tea in my hand doesn’t taste as good anymore.”

“This year’s exam paper is actually pretty simple, doesn’t look too hard — look at these big questions, they’re all from last semester’s material.”

“The popping boba texture is so good.”

“Such a simple question — how the hell did I mess this up in the exam hall?”

“This boss is way too gorgeous, my god, is she really not a celebrity?”

The weather was hot, and plenty of people came in and out of the tea shop. Lin Shuang and Nana hadn’t had a single break since opening; in nearly a month of being open, this was the first time they’d faced such an intense workload.

Over the next two days, more students trickled back and senior year officially began classes. With all its selling points now stacked together — good, cheap milk tea, a glamorous owner, plus motivational exam papers — the tea shop became an instant campus sensation.

Even the teachers thought it was something else. Students would be drinking their milk tea on campus, then spot a teacher and wave an exam paper at them excitedly: “Teacher, which answer is right for this multiple choice question — A or B?”

In the office, a teacher waved that tea shop flyer around: “Whose brilliant idea was this ad? At least ten students have already come to me asking for the full answer key — never seen a class this eager to study.”

“This tea shop really miscalculated on this one — should we go report it? They really ought to put the standard answers on there, isn’t this just adding to our workload?”

Zhou Zheng looked up in the office, thoughtful, nodding slightly.

These past few days had been busy with the start of school; he’d been running back and forth between the classroom and the dorms. One evening, taking advantage of the evening study period, he went by the tea shop to take a look — Nana had already clocked out, and only Lin Shuang was still there, getting ready to close up.

“How’s it going, keeping up okay?”

Lin Shuang dumped the unsold toppings into the trash and washed the equipment. “Not bad, much better than during the trial period.”

She propped herself against the sink, her posture casual and relaxed, yet unknowingly alluring. “A lot of it’s thanks to you helping out, Teacher Zhou — I never expected those exam papers to work so well.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Lin Shuang went to change in the back and came out wearing a vintage velvet dress, a ginger-yellow scarf gathering her long hair, her face a near-perfect oval, her lips vividly colored, her eyes gleaming: “Maybe I could treat you to a meal sometime, Teacher Zhou, as a proper thank-you.”

“Do you have time, Teacher Zhou? Bring Luo Wei along too, and we can all catch up.”

Luo Wei had been in meetings downtown all week and kept nagging to arrange a meal with Lin Shuang, adding offhandedly, “Maybe we could invite Teacher Zhou too — not sure if he’d have time? Get him to take us around our old school, it’s been years since I’ve set foot there.”

Zhou Zheng glanced at her, hands in his pockets, hesitant. “Maybe some other time.”

She smiled brightly. “Alright then.”

“It’s so late — how are you getting home?” Zhou Zheng asked her. “Should I… walk you back?”

“A friend’s picking me up.” She turned her head to speak with him, then turned away to take a call, drawing out the syllable “mm” coquettishly before letting out a giggle.

Miao Cai’s nail salon had just closed too; she and Zhao Feng drove over to pick Lin Shuang up for a late-night snack. The car pulled up outside the tea shop; Lin Shuang, still on the phone, picked up her small purse and turned, her skirt swaying in a graceful arc, and waved cheerfully at Zhou Zheng: “Bye, Teacher Zhou.”

Her laughter was crisp and charming.

“Goodbye.” He smiled and waved, his expression gentle.

The call had been from Mr. Polo Shirt. Lin Shuang got into the car and had just hung up when, in the front seat, Zhao Feng’s phone rang too. Mr. Polo Shirt instructed him, “Drive carefully, and make sure Shuangshuang gets home safe after the late-night snack.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Director Zuo, don’t worry.”

Once the call ended, the two people in the front seat kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

“What’s up?”

“Word around headquarters is our Director Zuo is the type who wades through a sea of flowers without a single petal sticking to him — no scandal-linked woman has ever surfaced.” Zhao Feng shook his head. “The other day I heard the secretary’s office gossiping, saying Director Zuo was in a meeting room, head down, chatting on WeChat, a smile on his lips, calling someone ‘baby’ — was that you?”

Lin Shuang smiled. “There’s no shortage of ‘babies’ in this world.”

That year, Qixi Festival fell in mid-August. A few days before the holiday, Mr. Polo Shirt showed up unannounced, having made the special trip from Linjiang to be with Lin Shuang.

The man, cradling a bouquet, warmth in his eyes, strode toward the tea shop on his long legs.

In some ways, Lin Shuang was something of a looks-oriented person — she’d fangirled over countless idols in her time, switching “husbands” with every new idol drama she watched.

Mr. Polo Shirt’s looks were more than pleasing enough, and money brought not just a polished exterior but presence and confidence too.

For a moment it was like a silent film — everyone in the tea shop turned their heads in unison, watching in hushed silence as Mr. Polo Shirt made his entrance.

Lin Shuang leaned against the counter, smiling faintly: “Passing through again, Director Zuo?”

“Not passing through — I came specially to be with you.” He held out the roses, his handsome face lighting up. “Flowers for you.”

The roses were purple this time — ever since Lin Shuang had mentioned she liked roses, he’d kept switching up the varieties he sent her. Today’s were “Cool Water,” a frosty beauty, their purple shading from light to deep, delicate and rich in color — flown into the country just yesterday. This morning, Mr. Polo Shirt had gone to pick them up from the flower shop himself and driven five hours to bring them over.

The rose bouquet was wrapped in a thin layer of gauze, with a pearl necklace draped across it — the pearls plump and full, gleaming with a lustrous shine, clearly no cheap accessory but an expensive piece of jewelry.

Lin Shuang would occasionally receive gifts he sent — sometimes famous desserts from a five-star hotel, sometimes trendy perfumes and lipsticks. Lin Shuang never put much stock in the monetary value of the items — maybe Mr. Polo Shirt got them wholesale as freebies — but they were indeed all the kinds of things that could win a girl’s favor these days.

“A gift for you, I hope you like it.”

“Thank you.” She smiled radiantly, her dimple showing faintly.

Mr. Polo Shirt sat comfortably in the tea shop doing his work, occasionally lending Lin Shuang a hand, leaving the young girls who came in for milk tea utterly starstruck.

This tea shop had become something of a campus “influencer spot” — even Zhou Zheng, sitting in the math office, had heard some version of the romantic story about “the tea shop owner and the devoted CEO.”

Mr. Polo Shirt handled work during the day and moonlighted as the tea shop’s star attraction, keeping Lin Shuang company on the side, going all out with three meals a day spent together.

At night, he went back to the hotel alone.

He held Lin Shuang’s slender waist, his kiss drifting from her cheek to her red lips; needing to maintain gentlemanly composure downstairs from her apartment building, he could only hold back, his tone carrying a note of longing: “Won’t you invite me up?”

“My place is a mess.” Lin Shuang leaned into him, her face flushed.

“Then how about my place?” His kiss drifted to her earlobe, his breath warm.

“Maybe there’ll be a better time.” She bit her lip lightly, holding onto his strong shoulders.

This year, Qixi happened to fall on a weekend — the weather was just right for light, sheer clothing, and perfume could work its full seductive effect too. The movie theater and the hotel were both packed. Lin Shuang paid Nana triple wages to mind the shop alone, while Mr. Polo Shirt had booked a movie and a candlelit dinner, the schedule packed tight.

She wore an intensely feminine dress — the emerald satin gown from the film Atonement, its thin straps and slender collarbone complementing each other perfectly, her shoulders, neck, and nape bare, her lustrous long hair loose, her fair, glowing skin visible in glimpses.

The only misstep was adding the pearl necklace on top — one accessory too many.

The small-town movie theater wasn’t large, and the waiting area was full of couples. Mr. Polo Shirt held Lin Shuang close, chatting idly; over his shoulder, Lin Shuang spotted Luo Wei, animatedly chatting with a young man as they wove through the crowd.

She went over with a bright smile to say hello: “Luo Wei, Zhou…”

The man beside Luo Wei turned his face — fair-skinned and thin. It wasn’t Zhou Zheng; it was someone else.

Lin Shuang paused mid-sentence and glanced at Luo Wei.

Luo Wei, dressed up nicely too today with makeup on, bit her lip a little awkwardly and gestured toward him. “A coworker of mine, we’re just out for a look around…”

“Our movie’s starting soon, let’s catch up another time.”

Lin Shuang and Luo Wei were watching the same film — a whiny urban love story. The theater was packed; Luo Wei’s seat was in the front row, sharing a bucket of popcorn with her male coworker.

People occasionally whispered to each other, and some laughed out loud. The theater had a stuffy, cloying air to it. Mr. Polo Shirt seemed a bit distracted too, pulling her hand over and lacing their fingers together.

Lin Shuang slipped her hand out of his. “I’m going out for a smoke.”

Mr. Polo Shirt, noticing she’d been gone a while, went to find her and saw Lin Shuang standing in the smoking area, gazing blankly at a movie poster on the wall. He walked over and tucked back a strand of her hair that had fallen loose over her chest. “What’s wrong?”

“This movie’s so boring.”

The man suggested, “Why don’t we go for a walk instead?”

“Sure.” She stubbed out the cigarette.

The candlelit dinner was booked for six-thirty; it was only three-thirty now, still three hours to go.

Mr. Polo Shirt took her to the hotel where he was staying.

Lin Shuang didn’t refuse.

It was the only five-star hotel in Beiquan, the top suite, with champagne and candles already on standby, and even rose petals scattered across the bed.

The kiss began the moment the door closed. The man’s lips were scorching hot, his hand sliding over the hem of her skirt — he’d been kept dangling by Lin Shuang, longing for her for months on end, and now, burning with impatience, he could hardly wait to unwrap his gift.

Lin Shuang narrowed her eyes and kicked off her heels as he swept her up in his arms.

Meat slow-cooked over a low flame turns out the most fragrant — greasy or not, in bed there was no need for a man to say anything at all.

Mr. Polo Shirt was practiced in the art; he opened with a long, French kiss, and a few minutes later Lin Shuang, smiling, pushed his shoulder back, only reluctantly ending the deep kiss.

Lin Shuang rarely swore, but in that moment, in her mind, she flipped herself off. Damn it all.