Many times, Zhou Mi believed her self-control and immunity regarding romantic matters were too weak, and she somewhat despised herself for it. Like that time when she started her first relationship because of a sudden confession, and now with Zhang Lian, whom she unilaterally believed had confirmed mutual feelings.

Did Zhang Lian truly like her?

She wasn’t very certain.

Did she like Zhang Lian?

Honestly, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure either. But she thought she probably did like him. Zhang Lian could give her definite heartbeats, whether good or bad, sweet or painful, happy or depressed. These feelings made her feel that she was still vibrant and flourishing in matters of love, with rich, layered nourishment, and Zhang Lian was indeed an excellent, well-rounded gardener.

So at the end of the first month after moving here, she defied her once earnestly promised “no contact, no deep involvement, decisive break after three months” and began living together with Zhang Lian.

Real cohabitation.

She moved into Zhang Lian’s master bedroom. From deep night until dawn, they would be like two perfectly fitting plants, intertwining in a parasitic or grafted manner, becoming each other’s nutrients and dew light.

All this was unknown to others; they had almost no interactions at the company during the day.

Rather than the very concrete and clear “lovers,” deep down Zhou Mi would still use the word “affair” to describe her current status with Zhang Lian.

It was an upgraded version of their past relationship, but not the cracked version.

But this didn’t affect her tireless enthusiasm for it.

The secretive underground relationship gave her more heart-pounding excitement.

She became more fond of sharing her status on WeChat Moments, trying to engage in as many blatant yet tacit conversations with her beloved as possible. Zhang Lian could always accurately determine which posts were visible only to him and which were public. Whenever this happened, he would privately message her and send her a like within a short time. Yes, just that very old-fashioned thumbs-up emoji that usually only appears in class or family group chats.

But Zhou Mi would still display a long, infatuated smile at it. Once, she channeled her inner actress, pretending to be clueless and replying: Boss, although it might be a bit presumptuous to ask, why do you keep harassing employees with random emojis?

That night, she paid the price, screaming repeatedly beneath him, experiencing what “real harassment” meant.

Sometimes she would also actively harass Zhang Lian, asking him about thorny work problems, like calling a perfectly programmed mechanical butler, codename Fabian.

Zhang Lian would provide guidance without exception, even when traveling or meeting clients, seriously editing replies and feedback, his words brimming with patience.

She loved every glance they exchanged across the completely transparent glass walls of the meeting room.

She loved notifying him in advance when getting water, then having her hand secretly squeezed by him as they passed each other behind the bar.

She loved his knuckle-distinct hand “casually” resting on the back of her chair when he found reasons to visit the client department area.

She loved creating “deliberate” encounters in the elevator, lowering her gaze in front of colleagues, then barely able to resist sitting on his lap once they got into the same car, having her spine painfully pressed against the steering wheel during his passionate kisses.

She loved every bouquet he ordered for her every few days. The entire department thought some mysterious gentleman was ardently admiring and pursuing her. Zhou Mi insisted to others that she bought them herself, but almost no one believed it, as the floral brand was expensive, and she probably couldn’t afford such consumption.

She loved curling up in his arms during holidays, watching the same movie, or reading the same book all afternoon. He would usually embrace her from behind, in an embedded, overlapping embrace. He was the unparalleled chair or cushion that perfectly matched her. Occasionally, she would twist at an awkward angle to look up at him, and his smile and kiss would fall together.

She loved blow-drying each other’s hair, loved having water fights while washing their faces, loved fearlessly spearing meat from his plate during meals, loved applying the metal-colored face mask he gave her, then stretching out her arms, spreading her fingers, beeping at him, saying: “I Am Iron Man.”

They were so tacitly in tune with each other.

Sometimes Zhou Mi would even feel that in their previous life, they were the same person, a full, aesthetically pleasing, almost flawless existence. But later he committed sins, and God split his soul in half, reincarnating them into a man and a woman. In this life, they became each other’s merit or tribulation. Some mysterious divine force pushed them back together, but the curse remained, making it difficult for them to be in the light of day.

During a deep night in the second month of their cohabitation, Zhou Mi once face-to-face told this fantastical story to Zhang Lian.

Zhang Lian faintly curved his lips: “Then how can the curse be broken?”

Zhou Mi thought for a while: “I don’t know either,” then mumbled: “When the three-month period is over and they separate, they can each return to the sunlight and continue living. That’s also a good ending.”

Zhang Lian’s smile diminished somewhat: “Then he’ll never be complete in this life.”

His reaction caused a dense pain in her heart: “Yes, so this is punishment. He’ll never be able to have a complete personality in this life.”

Zhang Lian suddenly corrected her: “Zhou Mi, your story is very romantic, but I might not be able to agree. I think I am complete, and you are complete too. More accurately, everyone is complete because they are unique.”

Zhou Mi denied: “I don’t feel that way. I think I have many flaws.”

“What flaws do you have?” Zhang Lian frowned slightly, as if greatly puzzled.

Zhou Mi stared with big eyes, recalling: “Many. You’ve mentioned them before.”

Zhang Lian said: “But those aren’t flaws; they’re patterns that add to your beauty. If you were that smooth, flawless, and perfect, I might not have been attracted to you.”

The desolation and sourness swept away, Zhou Mi broke into a grin, then moved her head, stating her viewpoint: “But I think I was attracted to your perfection initially, from the first day I met you. Maybe because I had some alcohol…”

Her demeanor seemed fully immersed in memories: “The bar lights were particularly dim that day, and you happened to be sitting in a patch of light, looking semi-transparent, absolutely divine. I had never seen anyone wear a white shirt so well, like a white whale in a deep-sea documentary, so serene, isolated from the world. I think many people felt the same as I did. I watched you secretly for a long time, and no one dared approach you except me with my bigger courage.”

Zhang Lian was pleased by her description, comparable to rainbow flattery for a celebrity idol. He laughed once, mercilessly exposing: “You were attracted to male beauty, weren’t you?”

“So what?” Zhou Mi was blocked for a moment, immediately transforming into a stuck record player, emitting cute, high-pitched provocations: “What, what, what, what, anyway I got to sleep with you, sleeping with you is winning, I…”

Before she could finish, he pressed her down.

When he finally released her, out of breath, Zhou Mi wiped her water-glossed lips with a flushed face: “What’s wrong with shutting people up at the slightest disagreement?”

Zhang Lian leaned back against the headboard, looking at her somewhat lazily: “One more mention of ‘divine’ and I’ll break my vows.”

“Eww—someone compliments you a bit, and you shamelessly accept it? Besides, that was just my first impression. Now…” Zhou Mi hummed twice.

Zhang Lian asked: “Now what?”

“Or-di-na-ry-mortal.” She pronounced each syllable heavily as she threw out this idiom.

Zhang Lian smiled indifferently: “That’s good. I don’t like people idealizing me.”

Zhou Mi blinked: “Why?”

Zhang Lian said, “Because I’m not perfect to begin with.”

Zhou Mi said, “But you also said you’re complete.”

Zhang Lian said, “Being complete doesn’t mean being perfect.”

Zhou Mi lay back down, pillowing her head on his chest, hands resting on her stomach, like a little otter floating with relaxed body and mind.

Zhang Lian casually stroked her soft black hair.

Zhou Mi looked up, suddenly curious: “What did you feel when you first saw me back then?”

Zhang Lian let out an intriguing, light laugh, quite subtle.

Zhou Mi was displeased: “Refuse to use ambiguous expressions to muddle through.”

Zhang Lian became somewhat more specific: “Very beautiful.”

Zhou Mi’s ears warmed hearing this, but she continued to be stubborn: “Aren’t you just as superficial as I?”

Zhang Lian said, “People’s first impressions of others are basically like that.”

Zhou Mi couldn’t refute: “And then?”

Zhang Lian, without hesitation, “The moment you started crying, I wanted to fulfill your every request.”

Zhou Mi’s heart convulsed like it had been splashed with fully sweetened milk tea: “Was it that dramatic?”

Zhang Lian: “Mmm.”

Zhou Mi frowned: “Did you have that thought because I look good?”

“Partly,” he continued, “More because your emotions were very moving.”

Zhou Mi’s thoughts bubbled like soda again: “But there are people like me everywhere in bars.”

Zhang Lian pinched her nose, staying there: “You have the thickest skin, insisting on coming to me.”

Zhou Mi held back, catching his hand with both of hers but not letting go, venting by pressing his palm like popping bubble wrap: “Oh, so you sit in that kind of sensuous place attracting butterflies and bees, and then blame others for rushing over?”

Zhang Lian’s face still held a smile, his tone light: “How did you break up with your boyfriend before? I remember you said that day he was the one who suggested it.”

Zhou Mi was slightly stunned, alert: “What’s this, starting to dig deep into my romantic history?”

Zhang Lian said, “You can see it that way.”

Zhou Mi decided not to embellish or conceal: “He said he couldn’t stand my personality, that I always liked to magnify any small matter, then go torment him, making him very tired. He felt he’d reached that critical point. And it was summer vacation then; I was still in Egret Island, his hometown. We had a big fight, very serious. He directly took me to the airport, and when I got home, I found all my contact information had been blocked.”

“To be honest, the breakup was unclear,” as she spoke, her expression gradually became restrained, becoming somewhat less vivid and genuine due to the dust of past events: “But maybe it was my own fault.”

She glanced at Zhang Lian, who had been watching her all along, her eyes slightly dimmed: “Before that, I always thought we would get married by graduation at the latest, because we had met each other’s parents in our junior year.”

Zhang Lian’s face remained calm, only saying: “I can tell you liked him a lot back then.”

Zhou Mi let out a self-mocking laugh: “Thanks to meeting you, most of my mind that night was filled with you. The best way to get over a breakup is to quickly fall for another man.”

Zhang Lian also curved his lips, not commenting.

Zhou Mi looked back: “Alright, the introduction to my romantic history is complete. Are you willing to talk about yours? Though I suggest breaking it up into one-week bedtime stories, otherwise we’ll be up all night today.”

Hearing this, Zhang Lian didn’t respond, only quietly looking at her for a good while with lowered eyes, until Zhou Mi’s goosebumps spread like crazy dominoes. Then he opened his lips: “Like you, I’ve only had one relationship experience.”

Zhou Mi’s eyes immediately widened like copper bells, her face full of disbelief: “Really?”

She asked: “Is it… the version I’ve heard?”

Zhang Lian asked: “What version?”

Zhou Mi didn’t name names, just disclosed the source of the gossip: “Just what others said when I first joined the company, about some second daughter of VET.”

Zhang Lian said, “It’s her.”

Zhou Mi made an “oh” sound, digesting this, unable to discern her own emotions for a moment, like chewing a piece of flavorless white rice. She could only joke: “You’re impressive, that’s VET after all.”

Zhang Lian smiled: “What’s special about VET?”

Zhou Mi said: “I can’t quite say, but being with that kind of girl must be more…” she selected appropriate words that wouldn’t demean herself: “fitting and reasonable than being with me?”

Zhang Lian said, “You are quite different from her.”

His frankness earned a fierce punch from Zhou Mi.

Zhang Lian rubbed his chest, coughing with a smile: “Did I say in what way you’re different, and you’re already silencing me?”

Zhou Mi turned her head away: “Don’t want to hear anymore.”

Zhang Lian held her right cheek, turning her little face back, forcing her to face him.

Zhang Lian said, “If you don’t want to hear, I won’t say anymore.”

Zhou Mi’s face puffed up like a little vinegar package, blowing the sour air toward her bangs: “Then keep it short and quick, just tell me the reason for breaking up.”

So Zhang Lian selectively stated: “Because I don’t…”

Zhou Mi suddenly sat up straight, interrupting with a raised voice: “I suddenly don’t want to hear it again!”

Zhang Lian quieted down.

Zhou Mi lowered her lashes, probably guessing what kind of answer he would give. She was already regretting her carelessness, mistakenly leading the topic toward a minefield. Fortunately, she stopped in time.

Zhou Mi’s chest rose very slightly but also extremely fearfully, and when her thick, beautiful eyebrows raised again, her pupils were already clear and bright, shining like little light bulbs: “Right now I just want to be held by you as I sleep.”

The air stagnated momentarily. Zhang Lian looked into her eyes, uttering a deep “Alright,” then pulled her back into his embrace.