Lin Shuang posted a job listing on a local employment website looking for a tea shop clerk — six days on, one day off. The base pay wasn’t high, but the hours were flexible: clock in at ten in the morning, out at seven in the evening, with the busiest work hours concentrated around the two school-dismissal periods at noon and in the afternoon.
After a few days of interviews, she finally hired a young woman with red-dyed hair named Nana as a clerk.
As the new employee got up to speed, the first things she learned were cleaning, memorizing recipes, and boiling ingredients. Lin Shuang let her take over those tasks while she managed the register at the counter. There were also some tutoring centers and art studios around Beiquan High School, and after being open for a while, the tea shop had gradually built up a small customer base.
During summer break, male students often came back to school to play basketball on the court.
One day, after a group finished playing, they noticed the newly opened tea shop across from the school and went in, drenched in sweat, to buy milk tea.
Pushing open the door, they found the shop pleasantly air-conditioned, the spotlights bright, and the young owner sitting at the counter reading a magazine — her hair color bold, her features striking, her skin translucent, her whole person practically glowing.
The group of sweaty boys froze in the doorway, momentarily stunned, not daring to step forward.
“Welcome.” Lin Shuang set down her fashion magazine and greeted the customers with a smile.
“What would you all like to drink? There’s a trial-opening discount.”
To a group of teenage boys, she was almost dangerously beautiful. A few of them timidly placed their orders and scurried out with their milk teas, only recovering once they were back under the blazing sun.
“Damn, that owner is way too gorgeous, I couldn’t even talk I was so shocked.”
“Was that a real person? Real person? Or was that a hallucination?”
“Hey, should we go ask for her WeChat?”
Zhou Zheng was playing ball with a few colleagues; during a break, he tilted his head back under a shade tree and drank half a bottle of mineral water in one go. Overhearing the boys talking as they passed, Zhang Fan elbowed Zhou Zheng and winked. “That tea shop across from school, called ‘Changliu Mountain’ — I heard the owner is really pretty.”
Zhang Fan was the PE teacher; he used to share a teacher’s dorm room with Zhou Zheng before buying a place and moving out, and the two of them had always gotten along well.
“Is that so?” Zhou Zheng’s forehead gleamed with sweat; he lifted the hem of his shirt and wiped his face.
“Want to go take a look together? Hey, Zhou Zheng, don’t walk off!”
Zhou Zheng swung the ball and leapt for a dunk, then twisted around and tossed it to Zhang Fan. “Not looking. Let’s play.”
At the shop door, a “ding-dong” sounded.
Customers came in — two men and three women. Lin Shuang recognized Zhou Zheng among them and figured they must all be teachers from Beiquan High School.
She had always assumed teachers spent their summers traveling or resting at home; only after opening this tea shop did she learn teachers had duty shifts, training sessions, and meetings too — not entirely idle after all.
Xie Xiaomeng’s gaze locked onto Lin Shuang, looking her carefully up and down.
It was Zhang Fan who was treating everyone to milk tea, saying the newly opened shop outside the school was good and that the owner was pretty too — and he specifically emphasized in front of Xie Xiaomeng: “I heard she’s even prettier than our own goddess Xiaomeng.”
Xie Xiaomeng had graduated with an English degree and had taught at Beiquan High School for two years. She was the prettiest, most fashionable among the female teachers at the school, and had a proud, high-standards personality of her own — something of a school “untouchable beauty.”
The shop’s work uniforms hadn’t arrived yet, so for the sake of working comfortably, Lin Shuang had her hair up in a bun tied with ribbon, wearing a simple long T-shirt cinched at the waist to show off her narrow waistline.
It was the striking, glamorous kind of beauty.
“Boss, your tea shop is really pretty,” Zhang Fan said casually, leaning on the counter in front of Lin Shuang.
“Thanks.” Lin Shuang smiled.
The female teachers were all looking over the shop’s decor. Xie Xiaomeng placed her order: “Boss, what would you recommend?”
“It’s hot today, why not go with something fruit and ice cream based — there’s a 20% off promotion this week, go ahead and pick the priciest one.”
The owner spoke pretty bluntly.
“I’ll have the berry milkshake, then.” Xie Xiaomeng turned around, and the other female teachers each ordered their own drinks. Zhang Fan ordered an iced tea too.
“Teacher Zhou, and you?”
“A lemon black tea.” It was the same drink Lin Shuang had asked him to try last time; he’d found it good and remembered the name.
On the projector wall inside, an old film was playing — Marilyn Monroe in a dress, dancing a tap number, plenty to hold customers’ attention while they waited.
Zhou Zheng paid for the tea; he’d lost a bet to Zhang Fan.
Zhou Zheng hadn’t brought his wallet, so he pulled up his payment QR code on his phone at the register. Lin Shuang finished entering the order and looked up, glancing sideways at him, brow arching. She quietly extended a slender white finger and lightly touched the tip of it to his phone screen, pressing the phone down and pushing away the scanning frame, her expression smiling, her red lips parting silently: “My treat.”
Zhou Zheng froze for a moment, shook his head, and pushed the phone back toward her again.
Lin Shuang lifted the corners of her eyes, her thin brows slanting rakishly, her crystal-studded nails tapping “tap tap” against his phone screen with a “you’re not listening to me” look on her face. With her other hand she gave the register a sharp “pat” and turned to go mix the toppings.
Off to the side, Xie Xiaomeng and a few others were discussing a colleague’s wedding at the end of the month — after school started they’d get busy, and many teachers’ weddings were scheduled on weekends during the summer and winter breaks. One of the female teachers asked, “Zhou Zheng, did Teacher Song invite you to his wedding? Are you going?”
“Of course he’s going — Zhou Zheng and I are both his best men,” Zhang Fan said cheerfully. “You two aren’t the bridesmaids, are you?”
“Zhou Zheng’s a best man again? Last winter break he was a best man and had to fend off drinks for the groom — he slept a whole day afterward.”
Zhou Zheng put away his phone and turned. “This time it’s Zhang Fan’s turn to drink. I’m not drinking.”
The teas were finished and capped up one by one. Before leaving, Zhang Fan grinned and asked Lin Shuang, “Could we add you on WeChat, boss? So next time we order, we can let you know ahead of time.”
Lin Shuang declined with a smile. “Sorry, we haven’t set up WeChat ordering yet for the shop. If you want delivery, you can call the shop directly — we’re also applying to join a delivery platform, so you’ll be able to order through that eventually.”
Zhang Fan scratched his head. “Alright then.”
The group filed out of the tea shop one by one.
A car had just pulled up along the road. A man in a dress shirt stepped out of the driver’s seat, a bouquet of roses in hand, and looked up to take in the tea shop in front of him.
The man was tall with long legs, handsome in appearance, nodding and smiling at Xie Xiaomeng’s group as he passed by.
The female teachers all froze for a second as the man brushed past them and pulled open the tea shop’s door.
“What are you doing here?” they heard the shop owner’s voice, tinged with pleasant surprise.
Zhou Zheng looked back over his shoulder. Lin Shuang came out from behind the counter, smiling as she went to greet the visitor.
The female teachers murmured amongst themselves. “So handsome.”
“Is that the owner’s boyfriend?”
“My god, a handsome man and a beautiful woman — what a treat for the eyes.”
Zhang Fan’s gaze followed forward; he clicked his tongue and nudged Zhou Zheng. “That car’s worth over seven hundred thousand — if we didn’t eat or drink for ten years, would our salaries even add up to that?”
Mr. Polo Shirt was wearing a business shirt today — soft white fabric with a sharp, well-structured cut and a strong sheen, making him look tall and imposing.
Lin Shuang still thought he looked better in a black polo shirt.
The white dress shirt had too much of a “uniform” feel to it; paired with his build, it inevitably came off a bit like he was deliberately showing off.
Zhou Zheng’s expression stayed calm. He carried his milk tea back to the office, packed up his lesson materials, and left the school. Passing by the tea shop, the seven-hundred-thousand-yuan car was already gone, and Lin Shuang wasn’t in the shop — only the red-haired clerk sat at the counter playing on her phone.
What Mr. Polo Shirt had brought were red roses he’d casually picked up at a flower shop. Lin Shuang cradled the flowers and thanked him: “I never used to like roses — I always thought they were tacky. But now, receiving flowers, I actually feel happy. I don’t know if it’s me who’s grown tacky, or the flowers that got prettier.”
“Maybe you’ve finally come to understand roses?”
“Not really.” Lin Shuang sighed, thinking it over seriously. “I think it’s because I used to see too many of the dirty kind at home, sprinkled with gold dust, stuck in vases — fake ones. Oh, and those cheesy phone stickers too, remember? The screen would pop up with a cutout rose bordered by a sparkling ring, along with big colorful text saying, ‘Good morning, friends and family.'”
Lin Shuang shrugged. “Now those fake flowers and stickers have basically gone extinct, and every rose I see these days is clean and beautiful.”
The man laughed so hard he doubled over.
Lin Shuang went home and changed into a black dress, its flouncy hem revealing a pair of slim, smooth legs, paired with black satin high heels — a perfect match for Mr. Polo Shirt’s outfit.
It wasn’t too late yet, so Lin Shuang took him to a local specialty restaurant for dinner.
Beiquan had a local specialty dish nicknamed “vegetable roll,” also called “jade wrap” — a mung bean wrapper rolled paper-thin like cicada wings, wrapping several colorful ingredients inside; diners rolled it themselves. The mung bean wrapper was made fresh in the kitchen, still warm and soft when served, and the waitstaff would remind diners to eat it while it was hot.
Mr. Polo Shirt was quite taken with the dish. Lin Shuang explained it to him with flowery language, washed her hands, and, with slender fingers holding the ingredients, personally rolled one for him.
He watched with obvious enjoyment from the side.
“Is Director Zuo here on a business trip to Beiquan?”
“Just passing through.” He was actually on a business trip in the province and had made a detour to spend an extra day in Beiquan.
“Last time you left, you said you’d take me to dinner.”
“I thought Director Zuo was just being polite. Turns out you keep your word.” Lin Shuang smiled sweetly.
The meal was thoroughly enjoyable for both of them.
The restaurant was next to a shopping mall, and Mr. Polo Shirt suggested they walk around. “I came in a rush and didn’t bring you a gift.”
The implication was clear — he wanted her to pick out anything she liked, and he’d pay.
Lin Shuang’s face lit up with delight, and she happily agreed, pausing at a cosmetics counter, fingertip touching her own lips with a smile: “I forgot to bring lipstick out with me — I just ate it all off at dinner.”
She quickly picked out a lipstick, turned her back to him, and looked down into the mirror as she applied it, the color spreading over her lips little by little. Then she pressed her lips together and turned back to ask him, with a faint smile, “Do I look good?”
The lights at the counter were very bright; her eyes were richly made-up, her irises clear, starlight seeming to dance on the tips of her lashes, her nose faintly rosy, and below it, her lips full and vivid.
Those lovely lips pressed together lightly, the corners curling into a playful arc, revealing a rice-grain-sized dimple on her cheek.
The world-weary Mr. Polo Shirt felt his heart skip a sudden beat.
The lipstick wasn’t expensive — a mass-market brand. The mall’s card reader was a bit sticky, unable to fully capture the satisfying flourish of swiping a card.
The two of them left the mall; outside, aunties and uncles were dancing in the square, plenty of onlookers gathered around. The two of them cut through the crowd, and Mr. Polo Shirt took the opportunity to hold Lin Shuang’s hand.
Her fingers were long and soft, the rhinestones on her nails smooth, obediently resting in the man’s palm now. Mr. Polo Shirt squeezed her soft, supple hand, unable to help himself, and shifted his grip to intertwine their fingers.
The parking lot road wasn’t very even, and Lin Shuang, in her three-inch heels, walked carefully. Suddenly her foot caught, her body swayed, and Mr. Polo Shirt’s hand slid down to catch her waist just in time.
Her heel had caught in a gap between the paving tiles; her pale, delicate toes tiptoed as she leaned half-collapsed into his arms, still remembering to thank him: “Thank goodness, lucky you caught me.”
“Careful.” The man looked down at the person in his arms.
The parking lot lighting was dim, the atmosphere and the angle just right; Mr. Polo Shirt leaned in for a kiss. Lin Shuang tilted slightly to the side, and his kiss just barely grazed her tender cheek.
Lin Shuang held onto his shoulder and let out a soft laugh.
“Not allowed?” the man asked, voice low and mellow, fingertips brushing her cheek.
She kept her brilliant smile. “I’m wearing lip gloss, it smudges too easily.”
Lin Shuang rubbed her fingertips against his shirt, eyes narrowing. “And besides, this kind of shirt fabric can only be dry-cleaned — lipstick stains are a nightmare to get out.”
For the first time, Mr. Polo Shirt came out with a cheesy, poetic line: “Maybe the shirt would like the color of the lipstick too.”
She laughed so hard she could barely stand, bending down to fix her shoe. “Director Zuo could submit poetry, become a literary poet.”
Her heel had bent out of shape. The two of them had originally planned to go sit at a bar, but Lin Shuang had to apologize: “I’ll have to trouble you to take me home instead.”
“Maybe I could get you a new pair of heels from the mall.”
Lin Shuang declined. “There’s a saying — when a man gives a woman shoes, it means separation and farewell.” Her gaze was wistful as she looked up at him. “I don’t want you giving me shoes.”
“You’re leaving early tomorrow morning too — you should head back to the hotel and rest properly.”
She insisted on going home. Mr. Polo Shirt, though not without disappointment, kept his gentlemanly composure. “Alright then.”
That night, Lin Shuang’s name in his phone changed from “Miss Lin” to “Shuangshuang.”
The next morning, Mr. Polo Shirt came to the tea shop to say goodbye to Lin Shuang.
Lin Shuang leaned toward the car window to chat with him quietly as they said their farewells. Mr. Polo Shirt spoke with lingering affection: “See you next time.”
“See you again.” Her tone was gentle. “Thank you for today’s white roses.”
The man’s eyes shone with reluctance to leave. Lin Shuang, understanding, tilted her head down slightly, offering a small treat.
He pressed a light kiss to Lin Shuang’s cheek.
Lin Shuang stepped back, standing gracefully with a smile on her face, watching the car start up and drive away.
Her gaze drifted back, and she noticed the shade trees across the street, thick and green, and beneath them a young man standing quietly, watching her.
“Hey, Teacher Zhou.”
Zhou Zheng walked toward her carrying a printing shop bag, his tone gentle, even carrying a faint trace of a smile as he watched the direction the car had disappeared in: “Your boyfriend?”
Lin Shuang smiled without answering.
Her gaze landed on the bag. “What’s that you’re carrying, Teacher Zhou?”
“This… you mentioned wanting the exam papers last time, so I reorganized them. Come take a look.”