In the first few days, whenever Luo Wei chatted with Lin Shuang, she’d bring up Zhou Zheng in roundabout ways.

[Lin Shuang, are you and Zhou Zheng close? What do you think of him as a person? I feel like he’s pretty polite.]

[Though he doesn’t seem to talk much, not much of a chatter.]

[Doesn’t he have a younger sister at home? Do you know about her?]

Luo Wei was a bit older than Lin Shuang; by her own account, she’d spent the past couple years busy with blind dates, her township job leaving her constantly overloaded with overtime, and with such a small dating pool to choose from, her personal life kept getting pushed back year after year.

In a small city like Beiquan, twenty-six was the watershed age for a woman’s marriage prospects.

Lin Shuang’s aunt had quieted down considerably lately, seeing that Lin Shuang had settled into running the tea shop steadily — whatever else you might say about it, it was at least a proper, respectable job — and that she was in touch with Zhou Zheng too. Whether or not anything came of it, at least she had a social circle now; with her good looks, finding someone suitable wouldn’t be hard.

Lin Shuang didn’t say much, only replying to Luo Wei with a single line.

[He seems like a decent person. Don’t know much else.]

A call came in on her phone — it was Mr. Polo Shirt. Lin Shuang picked up, her voice soft as water: “The shop’s been so busy, I hadn’t checked my phone at all — sorry. Are you done with work for the day?”

“Even if you’re busy, you should still spare a thought for me,” the man’s voice said, a bit sulky. “Did you like the flowers I sent?”

Mr. Polo Shirt had a standing order with a flower shop in Beiquan, sending a bouquet to Lin Shuang’s tea shop every morning. Today’s arrangement was sea-blue hydrangeas and wavy lisianthus paired with snow mountain roses — thoroughly luxurious.

“I love them.”

“When I have time, I’ll come to Beiquan to see you.”

“Director Zuo is so busy — has your schedule already booked out to next year?” Lin Shuang laughed coquettishly, looking down at the elegant heels on her feet.

They were the same pair of heels that had broken in the parking lot. Under the pretense of “repairing” them, Mr. Polo Shirt had had the brand’s store contact her and send her a new pair of the latest style.

“The company’s business really doesn’t allow me to get away right now.” He apologized gently.

The two of them chatted for a bit before Lin Shuang hung up.

Their contact frequency had gone from occasional chats to once a day, to several times a day — Mr. Polo Shirt thought of her more and more often.

Feelings between men and women were unpredictable; any relationship, in the end, becomes a kind of burden — like how a white rose eventually turns into a grain of rice stuck to a shirt, and a red rose into a smear of dried mosquito blood.

She had no expectations of the man.

Lin Shuang touched her lips, walked out of the tea shop, and smoked a cigarette in the shade of a tree.

A well-meaning man, seeing her, gently advised her: “School’s about to start… it’s probably best to avoid smoking near the school gate. It wouldn’t look good if students saw.”

Studies had shown that 80% of teenagers who smoked had been influenced by those around them, showing off their individuality in the name of being “cool.”

The way she held the cigarette in her hand, full of allure, could easily lead astray any restless teenage girl going through her rebellious phase.

Lin Shuang glanced toward the school gate, cigarette between her lips: “Is Teacher Zhou some kind of self-appointed international police officer? Minding this much business?”

Zhou Zheng also felt he’d overstepped a little, his expression carrying a hint of embarrassment, but he told the truth anyway: “Girls get curious — kids love to follow trends and imitate, thinking doing the same thing will make them look cool and stylish too.”

Would too?

That counted, in a roundabout way, as a compliment toward her.

Lin Shuang’s mood brightened considerably; she stubbed out the cigarette, grinning. “Duly noting the dean of discipline’s teachings — I’ll steer clear from now on.”

She tossed the cigarette butt into the trash can by the road. “Off work, Teacher Zhou?”

Zhou Zheng had spent the day organizing class materials and nodded. “Nothing much going on today, heading back early.”

His phone buzzed repeatedly with WeChat notifications in his pocket.

“How’s it going between you and Luo Wei, Teacher Zhou?” Lin Shuang asked with a smile.

“It’s fine…”

She fussed over things that weren’t really her business. “What do you think of Luo Wei as a person, Teacher Zhou?”

“Very lively and cheerful…”

Zhou Zheng felt his scalp prickle a little. Luo Wei’s catchphrase was “so amazing,” and every time she praised him, some nerve in Zhou Zheng’s body twitched.

Most men enjoyed a woman’s praise and admiration — the more compliments, the more they’d float up to cloud nine — but Zhou Zheng found something strange about it; he only felt awkward.

“That’s just her personality — being around her is really easy and pleasant, and she’s very warm-hearted. Back in school, she used to help me correct my mistake-collection book a lot — a lot of our classmates liked her.” Lin Shuang seemed to be hinting at something. “She really is a good person. She’s also going on blind dates lately, by the way, and she wants to go see a movie this weekend, but I can’t leave the shop…”

Lin Shuang said, smiling brightly, “If you like movies, Teacher Zhou, you could go with Luo Wei…”

Zhou Zheng’s expression stiffened, his tone flat. “I’ve got things to do this weekend too.”

Lin Shuang shrugged.

Zhou Zheng didn’t linger, said goodbye to her, and turned to walk off on his own.

Lin Shuang turned back and returned to the shop as well.

For several days after that, Lin Shuang didn’t see Zhou Zheng at all, and Luo Wei never asked her about him again either — the two of them must have gotten close on their own.

She passed the time, occasionally responding to Mr. Polo Shirt’s messages when she felt like it — flirting or being cold, entirely as the mood struck her.

Since it was still summer break, weekend afternoons around four or five o’clock were the tea shop’s busiest hours — not too hot, and not yet dinnertime. There was a city forest park near Beiquan High School that usually had activities on weekends, and a steady stream of people came by for milk tea.

The shop’s decor was bright, surrounded by flowers, cooled by air conditioning, with a movie playing — the place stood out among the surrounding shops. Though the space wasn’t large, passing young people liked to come in to take photos and chat. Lin Shuang and Nana were both busy at the counter.

Zhang Fan had gotten dead drunk that day standing in for the groom; Zhou Zheng and Xie Xiaomeng dragged him from the hotel into a taxi and got both him and Xie Xiaomeng home. The taxi looped back around, and passing Beiquan High School, Zhou Zheng, his mouth parched, called out: “Driver, pull over here.”

The tea shop had plenty of customers; the staff at the counter were busy. He pushed the door open and waited off to the side for a while.

Lin Shuang glanced his way when he came in, momentarily distracted.

Teacher Zhou was dressed unusually formally today — black suit trousers and leather shoes, a white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows with the top two buttons undone, revealing skin at his neck and a hint of collarbone.

She had once worked at a boutique and was sensitive to fabric and cut.

White shirts suited him better than blue ones — pure white or black, or low-saturation solid colors, fabric soft yet with a bit of edge to it.

Once the customers cleared out, Lin Shuang saw Zhou Zheng sitting in a chair against the wall, his cheeks flushed, staring blankly at the window like a fully grown gazelle daydreaming on the African savanna.

The kind of scene common in the animal world — a lion or leopard pouncing gracefully, the gazelle jolting awake and scattering in every direction.

Zhou Zheng turned his head, propped himself up on the table and stood, walking unsteadily toward her, licking his dry lips, his voice hoarse: “I’ll have a lemon black tea.”

Lin Shuang caught a faint whiff of alcohol on him. “Been drinking?”

“A colleague got married today.”

His hair had grown a bit longer, styled up with hair gel, a few flecks of glitter caught in the tips. The white shirt clung to his body, revealing a frame with a hint of lean muscle.

Lin Shuang recalled — he and Zhang Fan had gone to be best men for their colleague. “Is Teacher Zhang alright?”

Zhou Zheng nodded. “He got too drunk. I just took him home.”

Lin Shuang mixed him a glass of honey water, and seeing his eyes were still fairly clear, handed it to him. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

He drank most of it in one go, licking his glistening lips. “No, Zhang Fan took the hits for me. I have things to do at school tomorrow, can’t drink too much.”

“Go home and get some rest.”

He nodded, turned, and started to walk out — then suddenly thought of something, turned back, and walked a few steps toward her, his expression serious and earnest.

Lin Shuang watched him reach a hand into his suit trousers, fumbling around for a while before pulling out a black bow tie, then tucking it back in and switching to the other pocket, from which he pulled a flattened box of wedding candy, pouring out a few pieces and offering them to her.

“Wedding candy from a colleague — pretty good, want to try some?”

Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment; she gave a perfunctory smile and picked one out of his palm — the wrapper still warm from his body heat — unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth.

It was old-fashioned milk candy, the wrapper printed with a rooster, called “Cock-a-doodle-doo Milk Candy” — something she used to eat often as a kid.

“So sweet.” Lin Shuang’s eyes curved into a smile, dimples appearing.

Seeing her smile, he grinned back too, an open and hearty grin, revealing a hidden sharp canine tooth, his eyes bright with little sparks: “If you like it, you can have all of them.”

The wedding candies were all quite ordinary, plain packaging, but carefully chosen with a mix of different flavors — fruit candy, cotton candy, chocolate, sour plum candy, nougat, and even a sandwich cookie.

A little tipsy, almost childlike, he straightened the candies gathered in his palm and handed them to her one by one.

She didn’t actually like candy that much.

Lin Shuang watched his clumsy, earnest movements, and without refusing, opened her hand in front of him, as if compelled by something.

The candies transferred from his palm to hers, one by one.

His palm empty now, he pulled his hand back and nodded at her: “I’m heading off.”

“Go on then.” The music in the shop played on softly, her voice unusually gentle too.

Zhou Zheng left the tea shop, turned down two streets, and entered a low building, pulling out his keys to unlock the door.

The place was an old-style one-bedroom apartment, a large bedroom connected to a balcony, with a narrow kitchen and bathroom, and a small hall doubling as a dining area and storage space. The sun was shining onto the balcony at this hour, filling the room with warm golden light.

He washed his face in the bathroom, put away the best man’s outfit and bow tie he’d changed out of, let out a breath, and collapsed onto the bed.

Zhou Zheng always got sleepy after drinking; he’d pushed through from the toast at the banquet to hauling Zhang Fan home, and now, finally, his head felt dull and heavy.

He rolled over and reached for his phone, hazily tapping open that pinned conversation.

His WeChat username was simple: Zhou Z.

Lin Shuang received the first message from Zhou Zheng.

[Lin Shuang, do you know who I am?]

The man was drunk.

Lin Shuang unwrapped a piece of candy and popped the cotton candy into her mouth.

She typed her reply, head down.

[Zhou Zheng.]

He saw the reply and broke into a smile, lying back down and drifting off to sleep.