Lin Shuang went early to Miao Cai’s wedding.

Although she wasn’t a bridesmaid, she showed up in her capacity as a close friend, spending the early morning in Miao Cai’s room keeping her company while she got ready for makeup, helping to build up the atmosphere and prepare to prank the groomsmen who’d come to fetch the bride.

Local weddings were elaborate and drawn-out, and with the addition of the currently popular wedding-teasing routines, the morning’s bride-snatching game finally ended, the newlyweds served tea and toasted with wine, and friends from both the bride’s and groom’s sides crowded into Miao Cai’s home, chatting and drinking tea.

One of the groomsmen came over, his phone lit up with WeChat, and asked Lin Shuang, “Is this beautiful lady single?”

“Not single.” She smiled faintly. “My boyfriend’s waiting for me outside.”

“So the flower already has an owner.” The man awkwardly withdrew his phone.

It was still early — the newlyweds still had to go to the groom’s parents’ house to complete the formalities, then circle back to the hotel to start the wedding banquet. Lin Shuang wasn’t going to Zhao Feng’s house to join the commotion; she saw Miao Cai off in the wedding car and planned to head straight to the hotel to drink the wedding wine.

Zhou Zheng came to pick her up.

She wore no makeup today, just a touch of pale lipstick, and had on the dress Miao Cai had prepared for her close-friend group for photos — the hem fluttering, sweet and flowing.

“Do I look good?” She raised her brows and asked him, smiling charmingly.

“You look good.” He picked off a sequin and a petal that had fallen onto her hair.

“Let me change out of this first, then we’ll go to the hotel together.”

She came out after changing — a grey trench coat and an apricot-colored knit dress, with a somewhat gentle, understated style, quite different from her usual bright, showy look.

Lin Shuang looped her arm through Zhou Zheng’s, and the two of them walked to the hotel.

The wind was a little cold. Zhou Zheng tucked her slightly cool hand into his own pocket, and their fingers laced tightly together.

“It’s pretty warm in here.”

It was hard to say whether it was his hand that was soft, or the coat that was warm.

There were already guests at the hotel, including some of Lin Shuang’s old middle school classmates. Lin Shuang had attended a neighborhood school for middle school, and the bonds with those classmates ran much deeper than the busier high school years. Everyone gathered together, greeting each other, and she introduced him with easy confidence: “This is my boyfriend, Zhou Zheng, a teacher at Beiquan High School.”

“Oh my.” Someone looked Zhou Zheng over — the man was dressed plainly, with a calm, steady bearing. “A teacher, not bad — managing to win over our school beauty.”

Zhou Zheng smiled modestly, said a polite “not at all,” and held Lin Shuang’s hand, his expression composed, staying within his bounds, not saying much more than necessary.

When taking photos with the newlyweds, Miao Cai met Zhou Zheng for the first time and was delighted, quietly asking Lin Shuang, “Where did you find this boyfriend? So fast.”

“We knew each other from a blind date before, only recently got together,” Lin Shuang admitted honestly.

“He looks pretty good.”

There wasn’t time to talk more just then. Lin Shuang affectionately pulled Zhou Zheng along: “Let’s go take photos together.”

“Okay.”

He held Lin Shuang’s hand, and in front of the welcome flower stand, the two of them left behind their first photo together.

The wedding banquet had performances and various lucky-draw interactive segments — the atmosphere was lively. Both Zhou Zheng and Lin Shuang drew small red envelopes. The program was so packed that the wedding wine drinking dragged on past two in the afternoon without breaking up; in the afternoon the guests’ base of operations shifted to the newlyweds’ new home for the housewarming, followed immediately by the groom’s family’s evening farewell banquet for guests.

By the time the wedding banquet finally ended, the lights of the city had already come on. Miao Cai had changed outfits five times that day, a display rivaling a fashion show. Lin Shuang had mainly followed the makeup artist around all day tending to Miao Cai’s clothes and makeup, and by the end she was thoroughly exhausted too.

At the close, Miao Cai thoughtfully handed out generous parting gifts as a token of thanks.

Lin Shuang had also been running around all day, had drunk a few cups of wine, and had pushed through from noon to night. By now she was so drowsy she could barely keep her eyes open, dozing off in the taxi.

She rested her head on Zhou Zheng’s shoulder, her arm around his waist, silently closing her eyes.

Zhou Zheng sat up straight, catching the faint fragrance from her hair, stroking her shoulder over and over. “Get a good rest when we’re back.”

“I want something to drink.” She opened her eyes and pressed her dry lips together — she’d only had a few cups of wine and water all day.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Apple soup, maybe. I’m feeling kind of nostalgic for it.”

“Do I have apples at home? I’ll make it for you.”

“There’s nothing in my kitchen, just an electric kettle.” Her tone carried an odd trace of grievance, her long lashes fluttering. “Let’s go to your place.”

Zhou Zheng’s hand, mid-caress, stilled.

“What, afraid I’ll take advantage of you?” Lin Shuang couldn’t hold back her laughter. “Teacher Zhou, you know perfectly well I’m just teasing you. Come on, do you really think, in the state I’m in today, I’m in any shape to do something naughty?”

Zhou Zheng rubbed his nose.

Lin Shuang raised her arm, held up two fingers in front of him, wiggled them, and grinned mischievously. “Here comes the wolf, here comes the wolf, the wolf’s coming to eat the sheep.”

Zhou Zheng caught hold of her fingers. “I just think you’ve been running around all day — you must be exhausted.”

She leaned against his shoulder and said softly, “Zhou Zheng, I really do like your place.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s so clean. How can a man’s home be that clean? There should be all sorts of mysterious things hidden away in the corners.”

Zhou Zheng laughed lightly. “Maybe so.”

“So can I drink apple soup made by my boyfriend tonight?” Her gaze went soft. “My first boyfriend who knows how to make soup.”

She said the words “boyfriend” with a tone that carried a soft, lingering fondness.

Zhou Zheng couldn’t help himself, resting his chin on top of her head. “Of course you can. Drink as much as you like.”

The taxi turned around and headed to Zhou Zheng’s place. He stopped at the fruit shop downstairs and bought a few kinds of fruit.

The lighting at home was warm, and the weather wasn’t too cold. Zhou Zheng busied himself alone in the kitchen while Lin Shuang curled up on the sofa, picking up a book left on the armrest and flipping through it idly out of boredom.

Half an hour later, he brought over a bowl of rich, generously stocked apple soup. Lin Shuang glanced at it. “What all is in it?”

Apple, Asian pear, fig, goji berries, and carrot — the man of the house had simmered it with care.

She sat cross-legged on the sofa, took the bowl eagerly, tasted it, and her tone turned delighted.

“Even better than last time.”

The book left on the sofa had clearly been flipped through many times by its owner, densely covered in notes. Zhou Zheng was about to put it away when Lin Shuang asked him, “You seem to really like this book — there’s so much writing in it.”

“A textbook from my university days, on probability theory. It’s actually quite interesting, very readable — I often pick it up to flip through.” He held it in his hands and turned a couple of pages too.

Lin Shuang raised an eyebrow. “Quite interesting?”

A page full of formula derivations — where was the interest in that?

Zhou Zheng settled onto the sofa, spread the book open on his knees, and propped his chin up to chat with her. “The probability of events and random variables, methods of variance analysis — every concept has…”

Lin Shuang tapped her spoon against the rim of the bowl, cutting him off. “Teacher Zhou, say something I can actually understand.”

“Then let me tell you something fun.” He thought for a moment. “In rock-paper-scissors, which gesture has the best odds of winning?”

“…Scissors?”

“According to probability statistics, based on human physiological and psychological tendencies, generally speaking, people throw rock the most often, so paper has the best odds of winning — though the craftier players will throw scissors.”

Lin Shuang muttered, “What on earth…”

“There’s also a famous birthday paradox — in a gathering of just twenty-three people, there’s a fifty percent chance of two people sharing the same birthday. If you get to fifty people, the probability of two people sharing a birthday is ninety-seven percent.”

“…” Lin Shuang felt like she couldn’t quite digest all this, holding her bowl and asking him with a blank expression, “Anything else?”

Zhou Zheng told her a few more fun probability theory tidbits. Lin Shuang finished her apple soup, set the bowl on the table, stretched lazily, and leaned against the sofa to ask him, “Teacher Zhou, then work it out — what’s the probability that I stay over at my boyfriend’s place tonight?”

Zhou Zheng’s tone caught for a moment.

She slid down from the sofa cushion, sliding into his arms, covering her face with her arm, letting out a long string of yawns, her eyes misty with tears. “It’s so late, I’m tired — are you planning to take me home?”

“Then I guess you’ll have to carry me downstairs,” she mumbled softly. “My legs ache, I can’t walk anymore.”

Zhou Zheng stroked her soft hair.

Lin Shuang curled up like a beautiful long-haired cat, eyes open, perfectly still.

What Zhou Zheng was thinking was: was it appropriate for her to stay over tonight?

But deep down, he wanted her to stay by his side.

There was a new toothbrush and towel at home. When Lin Shuang came out of the shower, Zhou Zheng had just finished changing to fresh bedsheets and covers.

In the bathroom there was only a plain bar of soap — thank goodness Miao Cai’s parting gift had included an entire travel set of girlish-style bath and skincare products.

“Zhou Zheng, is there a hair dryer?” She had washed her hair hastily, and it was still dripping.

Zhou Zheng found the hair dryer for her, wrapped a towel around her and helped dry her hair, then lifted the covers. “Get some sleep.”

The double bed was fairly spacious, with grey-striped bedding — clean and comfortable enough.

Lin Shuang burrowed easily into the covers, touching a patch of warmth — there was a hot water bottle by her hand.

He sat on the edge of the bed, tucked the covers around her, and, with great tenderness, smoothed the corners of the blanket in for her.

Both of their expressions had turned particularly… gentle and proper.

“The blanket’s kind of heavy.” Lin Shuang’s eyes rolled, and she shook the covers a bit — the blanket carried a dry, robust smell, like it had just been sunned a couple of days ago.

“My grandmother made this cotton quilt herself, stitched with cotton freshly harvested last year.” He scratched his cheek. “It is a bit heavy — you’ll get used to sleeping under it.”

“How old is your grandmother?” She propped her cheek up to chat with him.

“Seventy-five this year.”

Lin Shuang nodded. “Is she in good health? You work in the city — does anyone take care of her at home?”

“She’s doing all right, just a bit farsighted — can’t see too well once it gets dark.” He sat and chatted with her. “My second uncle’s family lives right next door, just a wall apart. Normally my second uncle and aunt look after my grandmother — I go back once every two weeks, bring some things home, spend time with her.”

“Your village.” Lin Shuang waved her fingers — she’d grown up in the city and knew nothing about rural life. “What’s it like? What are the houses like? Are they all built together?”

“It’s just a small village tucked in a mountain hollow, only a few dozen households. There’s an ancestral hall in the middle of the village, with homes scattered around it — the houses are all these small square buildings typical of the countryside, two or three stories, with the households packed fairly close together. In front of the houses are vegetable plots and fields, and behind them are forested hills. There aren’t many young people in the village, mostly the elderly — it’s usually very quiet, only groups of free-range chickens wandering about. It gets a bit livelier on weekends when the young people come back.”

Lin Shuang had never had this kind of experience. She thought about the picture he’d painted and found it quite grounded — down to earth, in other words.

When had she ever had anything to do with “earth”?

Lin Shuang realized the conversation was drifting off-topic, shut down her imagination, and ended that line of talk.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“School starts tomorrow — I need to sort out some materials.” He turned off the main light, switched on the desk lamp, turned it away, his back to her. “Go ahead and sleep.”

The feel of the cotton quilt was completely different from a down comforter — there was a kind of airtight, enveloping sense of protection to it. Lin Shuang had had an exhausting day, and the moment her head touched the pillow, her eyes closed and she fell asleep quickly.

Zhou Zheng sat at his desk, flipping through his materials.

In the middle of the night, Lin Shuang heard a sound and stirred groggily awake once.

The desk lamp had been set on the floor, twisted to give a very dim light. Zhou Zheng was curled up on the sofa, a blanket over his knees, his laptop open, tapping quietly at the keys, the screen’s faint glow lighting his face.

She glanced at her phone — it was already two in the morning.

“Zhou Zheng, aren’t you going to sleep?”

He looked up, his fingers pausing over the keys. “Almost done.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No.” She rolled over to face him. “I usually wake up in the middle of the night.”

“I’ll keep it quiet — go back to sleep.”

Lin Shuang poked her head out from under the covers and let out a soft snort of laughter. “Zhou Zheng, are you secretly terrified, too scared to come to bed, worried I’ll devour you whole, pick you apart bone by bone?”

“There’s still a bit of material I haven’t finished — I’ll be done soon.” He straightened up seriously. “I’ve been putting this off for days, it’s due at school soon.”

She yawned. “I already have a thorough understanding of your self-control by now. Tonight is purely for sleeping, nothing else — you can rest easy, my chaste and desireless boyfriend.”

She bit down hard and clear on the words “boyfriend,” making them weighty.

Zhou Zheng laughed too. “Understood. Go to sleep.”

“If you end up sitting on that sofa the whole night, I’ll just have to mock you for it — overcorrecting, Teacher Zhou.”

She rolled over lightly and drifted off, her head pillowed on her arm.

Zhou Zheng held out until past three, loosened his stiff shoulders, went to shower in the bathroom, came back and checked the time, and set his alarm for seven in the morning.

He sat propped on the edge of the bed for a while, and in the early morning light watched Lin Shuang curled up into a little nest, her sleeping posture adorable, her sleeping face sweet.

Perhaps it had gotten too warm under the covers — she had kicked the hot water bottle out, and it now lay tossed at the corner of the bed.

Girlfriend.

Three perfect, sweet words.

Zhou Zheng lifted the covers, meaning to close his eyes for a bit.

After staying up too long, the body develops a slight sense of unease, a floating, insubstantial feeling suspended in midair, nerves growing restless — but once that adjustment period passed, one would sleep very soundly.

A warm, smooth body pressed up against him, nestling against his arm. Zhou Zheng, half-asleep, liked that silky touch, and drowsily pulled her close.

At six in the morning, in the morning light, Lin Shuang quietly studied his sleeping face.

The bone structure of the man’s face sat somewhere between sharp and soft, well-proportioned, right in that perfect middle ground — his features were indeed proper and upstanding, not so handsome as to be dazzling, but he had his own kind of good looks.

He wore a matching set of cotton plaid pajamas, washed to a faded softness, the fabric very gentle, the round wooden buttons pressing lightly against her arm.

Her kiss landed first on his chin, brushing lightly, an itch that was almost imperceptible, on and off, refusing to go away, disturbing his peaceful dream.

Lin Shuang’s arms wrapped around his waist, slipping in beneath the hem of his pajama top; her hand touched his bare skin — it was smooth, with a slight resilient give, carrying the faint scent of soap, his body temperature warm.

In his sleep, Zhou Zheng furrowed his brow, and consciousness returned the moment Lin Shuang’s hand pressed against his chest. He blinked awake groggily, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

He saw a pair of clear almond eyes studying him, red lips curved in a smile, a hint of mischief in her expression.

Zhou Zheng belatedly realized — warm fragrant softness filled his arms. Lin Shuang’s body was exquisitely shaped, and his own hand was curved around her smooth shoulders and back; the knit dress she’d worn to sleep had already come off, leaving only a thin camisole slip, a large expanse of snow-white skin pressed against him.

Deep down he felt a sticky, clinging restlessness, something that couldn’t rise up and couldn’t be suppressed either.

“Did I wake you up?” Lin Shuang murmured gently.

“No.” Zhou Zheng’s voice was thick, husky, and he blinked his sore eyes.

“It’s already light out — what time did you go to sleep last night?”

“Forgot.”

“Good morning, my boyfriend.” Lin Shuang pecked his lips.

Her two hands wandered contentedly inside his pajama top; the man’s chest was broad, with just the right firmness — touching it felt like silk wrapped around stone, wonderful to the touch, faintly hot. She liked this temperature and texture.

The buttonholes on the pajamas were loose, and Lin Shuang’s movements had already worked several of his buttons open in succession, revealing a thin stretch of muscle. She pressed closer, both arms burrowing entirely inside his top, as if seeking warmth — more like playing, really — winding her hands around his shoulders.

The proper, dignified plaid pajamas were entirely pried open by her mischievous hands, the collar slipping off his shoulder, revealing the whole expanse of his chest and stomach, the skin tone slightly deep, the lines smooth and flowing.

The contrast between their two skin tones and textures was striking; the image carried a certain suggestive quality.

Lin Shuang pressed her whole body against him, and the heat of his skin made her eyes narrow.

Zhou Zheng’s mind snapped fully awake, and he shrank back slightly.

“Zhou Zheng…”

She blinked her large, innocent eyes and brought her lips closer, calling his name low and lingering. “Kiss me.”

Zhou Zheng’s heart raced in a chaotic jumble, and he sensed something was off, but his mind was sluggish, too lazy to sort through the confusion. He couldn’t get a word out; he wrapped his arms around her waist and, going along easily, lowered his head to kiss her.

Their lips met, pressing together, with a faint suggestion of sucking and teasing.

She bit at his lips, her soft tongue slipping past into his mouth, twining with his, teasing, coaxing, leading him to play and wander within her mouth.

Above all else was the kiss — every time they kissed, every kiss was joyful; and it wasn’t just the kissing — even chatting, even eye contact, all of it felt like a longed-for happiness.

Zhou Zheng could never resist that kind of happiness.

“Shuangshuang…” His voice sounded like an incantation, his breathing ragged and disordered, burning up like fire.

“You like this, don’t you?” The corner of her mouth curled up as she watched his expression, agitated and tense.

Zhou Zheng wanted to stop, wanted even more to indulge, swallowing again and again, his breath heavy, his deep dark eyes fixed on her.

She watched his expression, vulnerable, as if he could barely contain himself, and, breathing softly like an orchid, leaned in to whisper something in his ear.

Zhou Zheng’s eyes flickered, as if seized by something; the man’s burning kiss came crashing down, landing in a chaotic jumble on her cheek, like a control panel gone haywire.

The morning light illuminated his expression, fragile and stubborn at once — the glow of desire.

“Do you have anything?”

The words jolted him back to his senses. Zhou Zheng came to, arching his shoulders and back, unbearably tense and vulnerable: “There’s nothing at home…”

Lin Shuang raised an eyebrow, reached over to the edge of the bed to fish through her purse, and sure enough dug one out from a deep inner pocket, tearing it open and handing it to him. “This.”

He held the small rubber wrapper, feeling defeated and dejected, his expression hesitant as he looked at her.

“We’ve already gotten this far, and now you want to call a halt?”

A few seconds later, his cheeks flushed red, and he lowered his head in defeat, covering his face with his hand.

Lin Shuang had already guessed at something. Watching his expression, she leaned in and pulled his hand away, laughing softly. “Is it over?”

“First time?”

There was a wet glimmer in his eyes — whether tears, or sweat, or shame, or regret, she couldn’t tell — as he dodged her gaze, evasive.

Lin Shuang laughed, a light giggling sound.

Watching his tense expression, she couldn’t help but kiss his lips.

His lips were very soft, damp, with a strange sort of fragility to them.

“Zhou Zheng, all that talk earlier… so grand and proper — really you just didn’t dare face it, didn’t dare touch me, is that it?” She narrowed her eyes, smiling wickedly. “Afraid I’d find you lacking?”

Zhou Zheng clenched his jaw and said nothing.

“I really thought Teacher Zhou was some paragon of virtue, unmoved even with a woman in his lap, a true gentleman.” She tossed her long hair, drawling out the words. “So it turns out…”

His jawline was clenched tight, his face flushed deep red, and he turned his face away, refusing to look at her.

Lin Shuang laughed softly and leaned in to kiss him again, clingy, kissing his sweat-damp temple. “Zhou Zheng, you’re so cute.”

He was like a dripping-wet animal; she was like a clingy old scoundrel.

Zhou Zheng gritted his teeth, rolled over and got up, grabbing his pajamas and heading to the bathroom.

The sound of water came from the bathroom. After a while he came out from his shower, fully dressed, and sat down dejectedly on the sofa.

Lin Shuang had already gotten dressed and burrowed back into bed, asking him lazily, “Want to sleep a little more?”

It wasn’t early anymore. He shook his head. “I’m going to school.”

Lin Shuang finally felt satisfied, her goal accomplished, and hugged the covers, intending to doze off again.

He hesitated, hangdog and pitiful, offering up a good-morning kiss. “Shuangshuang.”