Before bed, Cen Jin went to check on Li Wu. The study door was tightly closed, and the guest room was empty—he was still studying.

She stopped outside the study and knocked twice on the door.

Soon, it was opened from within.

Their eyes met, and Cen Jin asked: “Still doing homework?”

Li Wu paused: “Mm.”

“So much?” Cen Jin glanced at the clock hanging high on the bookshelf: “It’s already midnight—do you stay up this late at school too?”

Li Wu also turned to look at the time: “I’ve finished the teacher’s assignments, I’m doing something else.”

Cen Jin felt a mix of emotions, unsure whether to feel proud or concerned: “Should I order you some late-night snacks?”

Li Wu shook his head: “No need, dinner was very filling.”

“Alright, there’s milk and bread in the fridge if you get hungry,” Cen Jin instructed: “I’m going to rest first. Sleep in tomorrow—I’ll wake you up.”

Li Wu didn’t refuse, quietly nodding once.

Cen Jin turned to leave, closing the door behind her.

Li Wu felt relieved as he walked back to the desk.

The relief came because he still wasn’t comfortable interacting with her.

This was the first time he’d seen Cen Jin in this state. Usually, she wore makeup, presenting an elegant face full of distance, but just now, she was bare-faced, her lips almost colorless, her eyes calm and gentle. He couldn’t tell whether this version of her was better or worse, whether she had faded or gained a pure girlish quality, but what was certain was that she had a visible, straightforward vulnerability—a vulnerability that felt unfamiliar yet drew people closer.

He wanted to say more to her, tell her to get some rest too, or that he could wake up by himself—words of care to spare her the trouble.

But in the end, he didn’t say anything.

If he had, she probably wouldn’t wake him tomorrow.

For some reason, he felt shame in revealing his expectations—expectations of getting more of her attention during their limited time together.

Li Wu sat in place, rubbing his face hard with both hands, then stared at the wall for a while.

Several cool-toned oil paintings hung there, one of them a grassland that seemed to flow with movement.

His emotions fluctuated with it, and suddenly he couldn’t do anything anymore. He simply put away his lecture notes and returned to the bedroom.

—

The next day, Li Wu woke very early. He had never been one to oversleep—back when he was studying in Nongxi, he would wake up before four every day.

When the mountains were still dark and silent, he would already have cooked rice for his grandfather. Li Wu would eat some himself, and put the rest in a stainless steel lunch box, leaving it by his grandfather’s bedside for the old man’s lunch.

This biological clock continues to this day. At school, he also opened his eyes very early.

Afraid of disturbing his roommates by getting up, he would lie flat in bed, staring at the ceiling in mutual disgust until his roommates’ alarms went off at six-thirty.

It was the same now, except the object of his staring contest had become the chandelier in Cen Jin’s home.

After who knows how long, a sliver of light filtered through the window gap. Watching that light grow warmer and brighter, there was movement outside the door, sometimes near, sometimes far, as if someone was walking back and forth. He held his breath to listen, waiting for a long time, but still didn’t hear the expected knock.

Time’s dimension stretched out, flowing unusually slowly.

Li Wu couldn’t stand it anymore. He picked up his phone from the bedside, and just as he glanced at the time, the screen suddenly went black as a call came in.

Seeing the name, he answered at lightning speed.

There was a second of silence on the other end, then a question without hesitation: “Were you playing on your phone?”

Li Wu’s brain short-circuited for a moment, denying: “No.”

“Then how did you answer so quickly?” The woman took on a parental tone: “You’re awake but hiding in your room playing on your phone instead of getting up?”

“…”

Li Wu was at a loss to defend himself, having to strenuously prove his innocence: “I was just checking the time.”

The other end was half-skeptical: “Would you mind letting me see your phone?”

“I don’t mind.” Li Wu got out of bed and quickly walked out of the room.

Cen Jin was in the kitchen fiddling with her new coffee machine—a semi-automatic one with a vintage look, more sophisticated than her previous capsule machine, but also more challenging to use.

The kitchen was open-plan, filling the entire living room with rich aromas. As soon as Li Wu came out, it was as if he’d stepped into a coffee cup.

Hearing the door, Cen Jin paused in frothing milk and turned slightly to observe the youth. His face showed no trace of sleepiness—he must have been awake for ages.

Cen Jin looked away, pursed her lips, then pulled out a wet wipe and leisurely cleaned her hands: “Where’s the phone?”

Li Wu placed the phone on the counter, his attitude calm and sincere.

Cen Jin picked it up, checked the home screen, and then looked through the browsing history. There were none of the mobile games or messy entertainment sites she had suspected.

If she had to nitpick, it would be those searches about “Real Madrid.”

Cen Jin was somewhat surprised, asking: “Why search Real Madrid?”

Li Wu stood with his hands at his sides: “Classmates keep asking.”

Only then did Cen Jin remember the pattern on that jacket—it did indeed contain related information. She looked back: “It was my oversight, I only thought about how it looked, didn’t notice the clothes…”

She stopped, her gaze halting at his shoulders: “Why are you just wearing a T-shirt? Aren’t you cold?”

Li Wu blinked, pausing for a second at her abrupt change of topic.

“Go put on your jacket.” Cen Jin set the phone back on the counter.

Li Wu ran back to his room, quickly put on his hoodie, and returned to her side, moving nimbly like a well-trained hunting dog.

Cen Jin poured a cup of coffee into a petite cup decorated with light blue birds and flowers.

She held the cup in one hand and the phone in the other, offering both to Li Wu.

Just as Li Wu raised his arm, she pulled back, asking vigilantly: “You’re not allergic to caffeine, are you?”

Li Wu’s hands caught air: “I don’t know.”

“Never mind,” Cen Jin handed them back to him, muttering to herself: “Someone has to be the first to try.”

She instructed: “Take these to the dining table, I’ll be there shortly.”

Li Wu looked down at the phone, then at the steaming coffee, confirming he had somehow passed inspection.

He put the phone back in his pocket and turned to leave.

Cen Jin glanced at his back and quickly called out: “Wait.”

Li Wu gathered himself to turn around when he felt a slight tug at his neck.

“Don’t move.” The woman’s tone was slightly urgent, and he froze as if petrified.

“Your hood is backward,” Perhaps from dressing too quickly, the youth’s hoodie was still bunched up at the back of his head, though he was completely unaware. Cen Jin reached out to adjust it back to normal, then said neutrally: “There.”

She let go and continued pouring her coffee.

Li Wu stood frozen for a moment, then hurried away with his head down. She had only simply touched his hood, but his ears felt like they were about to catch fire.

Li Wu absently savored the coffee she had made—it was slightly bitter but rich. His first time tasting such a thing, he particularly cherished it, sipping in small mouthfuls.

Soon after, Cen Jin brought over two plates of homemade Western breakfast. Worried Li Wu wouldn’t be used to knife and fork, she specifically brought chopsticks for him.

She sat down and lowered her eyes to cut the freshly fried toast in front of her, speaking at an unhurried pace: “What were you doing lying in bed after waking up?”

Li Wu’s hand holding the chopsticks paused: “…Just lying there.”

“Doing nothing?” She was surprised.

“Mm.”

“Why not get up and read?”

“Mm.”

Cen Jin couldn’t help but smile—whenever she asked questions, Li Wu automatically turned into an emotionless human answer machine. Who knew if he had silently rebelled hundreds or thousands of times in his heart?

Cen Jin coughed to hide her amusement, swallowing a small piece of bread: “What time did you sleep last night?”

“Shortly after you left.”

“That’s good,” Her face inexplicably brightened: “There’s no need to stay up until midnight. Study should balance work and rest—you’ll have more energy to study when you’re well-rested.”

“Mm.”

“How’s the coffee?” She noticed his cup was half empty.

Li Wu said: “Good.”

Cen Jin took a sip herself, self-evaluating: “Not bad.”

She asked again: “What time is evening self-study?”

Li Wu said: “Six-thirty.”

Cen Jin considered for a moment: “I’ll take you back to school at four.”

“Okay.”

…

By the time breakfast was finished, it was nearly noon.

Sunlight flooded the house, sweeping the entire room in peaceful drowsiness.

Li Wu returned to the study to review, while Cen Jin curled up on the sofa with a blanket, playing on her phone with the sound muted—not even daring to use speakers. With a student in the house, she couldn’t act freely, her activity space was probably reduced by half, and most exhaustively, she had to set a good example, and couldn’t give the child the wrong impression.

It was incredible that she was willingly making such sacrifices.

At least he would only stay until four.

Thinking this, Cen Jin felt somewhat hopeful again—once Li Wu left, she could do as she pleased and return to herself.

Around one o’clock, Cen Jin ordered a meal set and brought it to the study, not even going in but passing it to Li Wu from the doorway, like a prison visit.

Who could have imagined that this child, who lived in a little dirt hole a year ago, would become the day’s master of her study?

Closing the door, Cen Jin sighed and slowly shuffled back to the sofa.

She checked the time, lay down with her hand as a pillow, and let out a slow sigh.

People shouldn’t be idle—idleness leads to wandering thoughts. In this moment of spacing out, Cen Jin’s hand unconsciously opened the company WeChat group and began reading through every word Wu Fu had said these past two days.

It was all work-related, mixed with some interesting banter.

He was always so at ease, like a fish in water. Back in the university’s external relations department, he had single-handedly secured many sponsorships. When others asked about his secret, he would smile and say he sold his looks, but no one had ever seen him in a relationship, jokingly calling him an emotionless central air conditioner.

Cen Jin became the only exception.

So when he pulled her over to announce their relationship to the department members, everyone was surprised, chiding him for keeping it so hidden.

Wasn’t it true? Even she hadn’t realized—had he liked her that much?

Then why could he stop loving her so suddenly?

Cen Jin might never find the answer. Because of this relationship, she had willingly been his subordinate for six years, fading beneath his brilliance, her thoughts and talents all willing offerings in service to him.

At least in twenty-some days, she could completely break free from Wu Fu. Oh, she almost forgot—resignation alone couldn’t bring true liberation and freedom, she still carried this marriage that existed in name only.

Thinking of this, Cen Jin opened her contacts and called Wu Fu, attempting to cut through the mess quickly.

Avoidance is shameful and useless, only dragging one down until spirit and willpower are exhausted.

Cen Jin made three intermittent calls, but the man’s line was always busy.

It seemed he had already blocked her. Desolation and irony poured down on her head. Ending the call, Cen Jin laughed emotionlessly and immediately typed in the company group:

@Wu Fu, when are we handling the divorce procedures? If you don’t dare answer calls, how will you make me your ex-wife?

After hitting send, Cen Jin particularly satisfyingly kicked off the blanket tangled around her legs. Her posture was like a butterfly, finally breaking free from its suffocating cocoon.