Their cohabitation went smoothly. Regardless of anything else, given Zhou Zheng’s personality and his hands-on competence, Lin Shuang had at least achieved a life of complete ease—meals served, clothes handed to her.

She’d gotten along fine on her own before, of course, but with someone attentively taking care of her, she seemed to bloom even more vividly.

No money worries, no petty chores to deal with, love pouring in, meticulous care—and every day, the first thing she woke up to… the voice of BBC Daily News.

F**k…

Amid the incomprehensible English broadcast, Lin Shuang drifted into the kitchen, still half-asleep, resting her head against the man’s back, her hand slipping under the hem of his T-shirt to wander over the hard muscle beneath.

No particular reason—just that the bright morning light streaming through the window cut sharp shapes of brightness, the temperature and cool breeze of the morning were pleasant, and the exotic cadence of the English she couldn’t understand drifted past her ears—she suddenly found she liked this feeling of having someone beside her.

She guessed that as a child and teenager he must have been the type running wild across hills and fields, a good build from all that clambering about, kept far from junk food and screens; his adult physique maintained through daily jogging and ball games, disciplined and healthy.

Zhou Zheng was frying eggs.

Their breakfasts were simple—milk, bread, eggs, fruit, or else the noodles, fried dough sticks, and steamed buns from the breakfast place downstairs. Lunch and dinner depended on Zhou Zheng’s workload that day—cooked at home when there was time, eaten out when there wasn’t.

When it came to food, Lin Shuang really was low-maintenance—for the sake of keeping her figure, she habitually restrained herself, eating little or skipping meals, but with Zhou Zheng cooking, or out on a date, she never turned down good food, enjoying it happily.

“Let’s get you a white dress shirt,” she said, arms around his narrow waist. “You in a white shirt and dress pants making breakfast for me—that’d be perfect.”

There was no such thing as an apron in the house—Lin Shuang didn’t care for the kitchen atmosphere an apron created, and Zhou Zheng, efficient and unfussy in his work, had no use for one either.

A white shirt loosely rolled up to the elbows, the collar undone two buttons, revealing the jut of his Adam’s apple and collarbone, and further down, an unbroken expanse of chest…

That was no less sexy than an apron, if not more so.

Zhou Zheng’s hand stayed steady as he fried the eggs: “You have a thing for uniforms?”

Lin Shuang thought about it: “What woman doesn’t? Women are visual creatures—we’re suckers for a good-looking exterior.”

She turned the question back on him: “Do you have a uniform thing?”

“No, I only have a personal preference,” he said, expression unchanged, voice even. “Whatever you wear is my preference.”

Lin Shuang narrowed her eyes seductively, giving his waist a pinch. “What’s Teacher Zhou been reading lately? Sneaking in some more tutoring on the side?”

Compared to when she’d first met him, Zhou Zheng really had come a long way—the reserve and awkwardness were rarer now, replaced by an easy, unhurried composure, and every so often he’d even come out with a surprisingly smooth, sweet line.

He too felt his life had opened up—effort paying off, work going smoothly, finances gradually stabilizing, together with the woman he loved, both mind and body thoroughly at ease.

Zhou Zheng went a little red, pressing his lips together as he lied: “No.”

The love-lines playbook—a book he’d spotted in Zhang Fan’s office, Republican-Era Zhu Shenghao’s Love Letters, worth every steel-hearted straight man owning a copy of, studying by lamplight, memorizing cover to cover.

Zhou Zheng had borrowed it for a week—this, he could never let Lin Shuang find out about, not even if it killed him.

Lin Shuang, working her charms on him with practiced ease, had him a bit distracted as he stared at the pan, his body tensing, cheeks flushing.

The eggs started giving off a burnt smell.

She leaned in to whisper something in his ear.

Zhou Zheng’s throat went thick and hoarse, meek as a little wife: “I have class first period this morning.”

“Ten minutes—quick and satisfying,” she said, breath warm against him, voice thick with allure, dragging him off toward the bedroom.

Ten minutes? Zhou Zheng furrowed his brow inwardly.

Half an hour later, Zhou Zheng showered and headed off to work, thoroughly refreshed. Lin Shuang lazily drifted back to sleep.

Lin Shuang thought to herself that the simplest way to judge things was this: if a relationship that truly moved you started with physical compatibility, then once the day came when you tired of it, when you didn’t want it anymore—wasn’t that also the day it would end?

This round of dating was much lower-key than the last time—at least the gossip spread more slowly. Partly because Zhou Zheng had moved away from the area near school, and their activities were now concentrated around Fountain Plaza, out of the sight of the wider public; partly because Zhou Zheng went to the milk tea shop less often now—no longer a homeroom teacher, his time wasn’t as fragmented, and when he had things to do he stayed at school, and when he didn’t, he went home to do laundry and cook, earning renovation money.

Not many people at school knew about this—basically just Zhang Fan and a few others. This time around, Zhou Zheng’s attitude was somewhat ambiguous—neither confirming nor denying, staying composed, not letting anyone poke their nose in.

Still, sometimes after a game of ball at school, Zhou Zheng would treat his coworkers to milk tea, or stop by the shop with them to sit and chat when he had time.

Lin Shuang’s attitude toward him stayed fairly even in public too—if anything, she was warmer toward Zhang Fan and the others. But Nana and Kevin could always spot the signs—the two of them didn’t talk much, but there was an obvious rapport, and at the very least, the lemon black tea handed to Zhou Zheng was always mixed personally by the boss lady herself, generous with the ingredients.

Xie Xiaomeng occasionally tagged along with Zhang Fan and Zhou Zheng to the milk tea shop too; lately the atmosphere between her and Lin Shuang had been good—not especially warm on the surface, but she’d repeatedly complimented Lin Shuang’s clothes, shoes, and bags, and would discuss the taste and sweetness of new milk tea flavors, offering Lin Shuang some useful feedback.

At one point, Xie Xiaomeng even offered Lin Shuang a somewhat vague apology: “I used to be too quick to push my own opinions onto other people—that really wasn’t great of me, kind of tactless.”

Lin Shuang genuinely hadn’t expected Xie Xiaomeng to do such a one-eighty, and asked Zhou Zheng, half-amused: “Is Zhang Fan’s charm really that powerful? I feel like he’s remade Teacher Xie somehow—tempered her temper the way he did with me.”

Zhou Zheng just smiled and said nothing.

Lin Shuang went in for her final follow-up appointment on her shoulder—the fracture had fully healed—and she started going back to dance classes again.

This semester, Zhou Zheng’s evening study schedule had shifted, and Lin Shuang’s dance class times shifted along with it correspondingly.

She hadn’t attended class in several months and hadn’t seen Lanting in a long while either. She hadn’t expected that once her class schedule changed, she’d end up crossing paths with Lanting again.

The two of them hadn’t been in touch in ages; after class they greeted each other.

Lanting seemed much more lively and cheerful than before, her voice sweet and full of energy. Seeing Lin Shuang covered in sweat, she handed over a bottle of water, and the two chatted a bit about their respective dance classes.

The warmth wasn’t quite as close and thick as the year before, but at least they interacted with the ease of “acquaintances.”

Once they’d packed up and come out, Lin Shuang waited by the roadside for a cab; Lanting was waiting too.

“Waiting for someone, Teacher Lan?” Lin Shuang made small talk.

“Yeah,” Lanting said, pressing her lips together, a little shy, twisting her hands, her voice soft. “My boyfriend’s coming to pick me up.”

“Congratulations,” Lin Shuang said sincerely.

“I heard you and Zhou Zheng got back together—wishing you two happiness too,” Lanting said, gracious, smiling. “Everyone’s found their own happiness—it’s really nice.”

Xie Xiaomeng and Zhang Fan, Lin Shuang and Zhou Zheng, and now her and her new boyfriend—everyone had found new love; everything seemed to be moving in a wonderful direction.

“Yeah,” Lin Shuang echoed flatly.

Lanting’s phone rang; she answered, her voice turning sweet and gentle: “Just got out of class, I’ve got a friend with me. Don’t rush, drive slow, watch the traffic lights… yeah, I’ll wait… be careful…”

From the tone, the two of them were quite deep in love.

A little later… Lin Shuang saw a Jeep pull up in front of them, and a long-legged man in camo pants swung down out of it.

“Tingting—”

This guy… looked like… one of her exes.

The one she’d once described as “a wild boar that can’t handle fine dining.” That one.

Guo Yuan had actually come to pick up Lanting after class, planning to take his girlfriend out for a late-night snack. Seeing Lin Shuang standing there with Lanting, he froze for a moment too.

Lanting’s eyes lit up, smiling as she made introductions: “This is my boyfriend, Guo Yuan—he’s a veteran, works at the city’s armed forces department.” Then, beaming, “Ah-Yuan, this is my friend Lin Shuang—she runs a really popular milk tea shop next to Beiquan High. Their milk tea is amazing, we should stop by sometime.”

The ex-girlfriend and the current girlfriend… were friends.

Thunder crashed somewhere.

Lin Shuang looked at him, he looked at Lin Shuang; both wore polite, perfunctory smiles, exchanging nothing but a nod, neither exposing the other, both pretending not to know each other.

Lanting checked the time and suggested to Lin Shuang: “It’s getting late—I remember you live near Fountain Plaza, and we’re heading that way anyway. Let’s drop you off first.”

“No need,” Lin Shuang said quickly, waving her hands, smile stiff. “You two go ahead—my ride’s coming soon.”

Back in the day, Guo Yuan had made plenty of trips to Fountain Plaza too, picking Lin Shuang up and dropping her off from work.

Lanting wanted to drive her, Lin Shuang wouldn’t let her, and Guo Yuan, caught in between, didn’t dare say a word. Finally the cab arrived, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

After that day, Lin Shuang ran into Lanting a few more times after dance class, and each time she’d spot Guo Yuan’s big Jeep parked outside, waiting to take Lanting home.

Lanting seemed quite invested in Guo Yuan; the two of them were clearly in the honeymoon phase, constant calls and texts—a romance Lanting made no effort to hide in front of Lin Shuang. Once, while touching up her makeup in the restroom, Lanting even asked Lin Shuang about a lipstick shade, mentioning she had a date after dance class—the kind of scene Lin Shuang had lived through herself, Guo Yuan taking Lanting and a group of his buddies to a little tavern for a late-night snack.

Lanting didn’t find this style of dating boring at all—quite the opposite, she found it lively and fun, enjoyed listening to the guys joke around and bicker.

Lin Shuang, though, felt a bit uneasy. She’d met that group of Guo Yuan’s buddies plenty of times too—it was in full view of all of them that she’d once flirted with one of Guo Yuan’s friends, then kicked Guo Yuan to the curb on the spot.

Lanting… probably still had no idea that she and Guo Yuan had ever had that history.

Truly, talk about melodrama opening the door for more melodrama—thoroughly, thoroughly over the top.

Both women’s ex-boyfriends had become each other’s current boyfriends.

“Come pick me up from dance class tonight,” Lin Shuang called Zhou Zheng.

“What’s wrong?” Zhou Zheng had evening study that day, not finishing until ten—usually Lin Shuang didn’t reach out to him during class hours.

“Eight thirty. You have to come pick me up.”

Zhou Zheng hastily swapped an evening study shift with another teacher and rushed to the dance studio by eight thirty—right as he arrived, he happened to run into Lanting and Guo Yuan.

The four of them, eight eyes, all met at once.

Lin Shuang pressed her lips together, silently turning her head away.

Lanting blinked. Zhou Zheng froze on the spot. Guo Yuan scratched his head.