In autumn, Lin Shuang’s tonsils became inflamed.

Probably from eating too much spicy hotpot — Zhou Zheng’s demonstration class had won a provincial award, a friend had praised the clothes she’d sewn herself, and Zhang Fan and Xie Xiaomeng had treated everyone to a celebration dinner after meeting each other’s parents, plus family gatherings on top of that — after eating like this day after day, one morning she woke up to find her throat so swollen and sore she couldn’t speak.

Feeling unwell made Lin Shuang unbearably irritable. Zhou Zheng went to the pharmacy and bought her anti-inflammatory medicine and throat lozenges, made her a bowl of lung-clearing, fire-reducing soup every morning and evening, and brewed her cooling herbal medicine as well.

Who would have thought the illness just wouldn’t get better.

Then one day, Zhou Zheng caught her by accident, hiding in the kitchen smoking a cigarette.

Smoking during a bout of tonsillitis brought a burning kind of pain — Lin Shuang smoked that cigarette with the bitterness of someone nursing a deep grudge — but she did have a bit of a nicotine craving. Not much, just two or three a day at least, and the more uncomfortable she felt these days, the itchier her hands got.

Zhou Zheng’s expression turned incredibly grim, his posture stern, brows furrowed, eyes cold, as he demanded, “What are you doing?”

He had the exact air of a dean of students catching a delinquent student sneaking around doing something bad.

Seeing him like that, she felt strangely guilty for some reason, licked her dry lips, touched her sweet-and-metallic-tasting throat, and said hoarsely in a small voice, “This is my first one today, I’ve only had two puffs.”

“Why hasn’t your throat gotten better? How long has it been inflamed?” His brow furrowed into a deep crease, stern for once. “What did the doctor say? No smoking — nicotine irritates the tonsils, makes the congestion worse and aggravates the inflammation. Do you even want your throat to heal? Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It does!” she said, her face full of misery. “It hurts!”

With such a beautiful face, she really didn’t want to end up with a hoarse duck-quack of a voice.

“While we’re at it, quit smoking for good.” Zhou Zheng took the cigarette from her hand and stubbed it out. “Eighty percent of lung cancer cases are caused by smoking. Nicotine speeds up aging and blood clotting. If you can’t resist it now, your craving will only get stronger later, and the damage to your body will only get worse.”

He said it with finality: “You’re quitting.”

Lin Shuang wanted to argue back, but with her throat dry and burning she couldn’t manage it. Zhou Zheng’s expression left no room for negotiation at all. Full of resentment and worry, she said flatly, “Fine.”

Zhou Zheng was a man of his word — he confiscated her cigarette pack and lighter, and took away the ashtray at home too.

As for how to quit, Zhou Zheng had done his research. He bought several big bags of throat lozenges, and some snacks to chew on.

The key point: don’t let her mouth stop moving.

The first few days were fine — Lin Shuang’s throat really did hurt, so she took her medicine, drank her soup, crunched away at her candy, drank plenty of water, ate fruit, and gritted her teeth and endured it.

Once her throat wasn’t so sore anymore and she felt a bit more comfortable, her nicotine craving flared up and she started struggling to hold out. She switched her throat lozenges for lollipops, popping one in her mouth whenever she wanted to smoke, and when she really couldn’t take it, she’d smack her lips a couple times, take a couple “puffs,” hold the lollipop, and blow out a breath.

Lin Shuang scratched and fidgeted, holding out.

Eating too much candy left her mouth sticky and aching, the tip of her tongue all bitter, and her mood turned sour again.

Finding more things to do to distract herself, she managed to bear the craving through the day, but by the time she was lying in bed at night, having endured a whole day already, she’d truly reached her limit. She scrolled her phone, listless and dispirited.

Zhou Zheng leaned against the bed reading a book, patting her lightly, comfortingly, over and over.

Having endured the unendurable, with nothing left to endure, Lin Shuang’s irritation turned to biting. She bit the arm Zhou Zheng had draped in front of her, biting the culprit responsible for all this, leaving row after row of tooth marks on his arm.

Like teething, it wasn’t exactly painful, but Zhou Zheng’s gaze, still lingering on his book, flicked up with raised brows, glancing sideways at her.

Lin Shuang glared at him, and seeing him getting annoyed, released her jaw and lunged to bite his face instead.

He puckered his lips slightly to meet her.

In the end their four lips pressed together; he pulled her close, his soft lips cool, moist, and smooth — her mouth still carried that sour-bitter taste, and she tasted the flavor of his mouth, instinctively drawing it in with a sip.

It felt great — cool and refreshing, quite comfortable.

That kiss eventually sank into sweet, tender activity in bed.

Lin Shuang lazily savored the aftertaste of that kiss, satisfied, and fell asleep.

The next morning when she got up, the urge to smoke rose in her chest again. She grabbed Zhou Zheng as he was heading out the door and gave him a deep French kiss. Once her heart rate slowed back down, Lin Shuang felt refreshed and clear-headed, entering a state of blissful satisfaction, and pushed Zhou Zheng out the door.

“You’re going to be late for work, hurry up and go.”

Zhou Zheng was a bit dazed, not quite sure what had just happened.

Coincidentally the following days were the weekend, and they were both home — she was cutting fabric in her studio, he was working in the study. Lin Shuang thought of something, and as a trial, kept nibbling on Zhou Zheng from time to time, kissing him until his face flushed red, then smacking her own lips in satisfaction and turning away with a flourish.

At night he fell asleep first; she lay in his arms scrolling her phone. Half-asleep, half-awake, a tongue slipped in, sucking at the tip of his, and just as he woke and tried to respond in kind, Lin Shuang exhaled a light breath, looking every bit like someone who’d just finished a post-coital cigarette.

“It’s fine, go back to sleep.” Lin Shuang rubbed his fluffy head.

In the middle of the night, Lin Shuang did it again — half-asleep, she came over and kissed him, sucked once on his lips, then drifted back to sleep, still half-conscious.

Fully awake now, Zhou Zheng lay staring at the ceiling.

So she’d turned him into her smoking-cessation tool?

“It’s pretty good, actually — this method is safe, no side effects, and it strengthens marital affection too.” Lin Shuang pinched his chin lightly, savoring the aftertaste. “Teacher Zhou’s lips really are delicious.”

For a while after that, whenever Lin Shuang’s nicotine craving hit, she’d grab Zhou Zheng and do exactly that — sucking, licking. At home it didn’t matter, the two of them could fool around however they liked. Sometimes when they were out and the timing was awkward, Lin Shuang would either drag him into the car, or hide in a corner, or hurriedly, when no one was looking, take an addicted couple of sips at his lips.

Zhou Zheng had no idea how his face kept ending up so red.

He couldn’t say exactly what felt off, but something definitely did.

He thought about stopping her, but somehow, there didn’t seem to be any real need to stop her.

Lin Shuang smoothly and successfully quit smoking.

Zhou Zheng endured a stretch of time that was both blissful and agonizing.