The cashmere sweater was soft and pliant against the skin, a thin layer pressed close to her body.

The man’s fingers would sometimes sink deeply through the cashmere, sometimes slide downward, tracing along her slender waistline.

The last time they were this intimate had been half a month ago, the night he moved.

Of course, that night had gone much further than this moment.

But just like after having truly tasted fine wine and delicacies, it was hard to be satisfied with merely a superficial taste—Meng Yanxi was the same.

Long fingers instinctively hooked the hem of her clothes; the rough pads of his fingers carried a scalding heat as they brushed against her body.

Warm, soft skin—so smooth.

Jin Zhao couldn’t help but shiver.

In that instant, the same seductive, fragrant scene surfaced in both their minds.

A dim night, a soft bed, two bodies stripped of all restraints, indulging in wanton friction, heavy breaths mingling with a sheen of sweat.

Meng Yanxi immediately stopped himself, drawing his fingers back without a sound.

The cashmere sweater fell back into place.

After that, he only properly held her waist through her clothes; even at the height of desire, he merely tightened his palm, letting his fingers sink deeply into her skin.

Suddenly, a burst of applause seemed to come from a very distant place, continuous and unending.

Jin Zhao’s consciousness gradually returned.

Meng Yanxi also slowly eased the force of his kisses.

The applause in the lecture hall came to a complete stop. The two people who had been clinging together separated briefly, yet not completely.

Jin Zhao was like someone whose bones had been pulled out, her whole body soft and weak. Her back leaned against the wall, her waist firmly supported by his hand. In front of her, his body pressed heavily against hers; his forehead rested against hers too, as if he wished to meld into her completely. Both their breaths were heavy and unsteady, tangled together.

Meng Yanxi’s pitch-black eyes stared straight at her.

His gaze silently carried longing, as if it could spark an uncontrollable blaze.

After holding each other’s gaze for a while, his fingers pinched her chin again. He leaned down slightly, pressing closer, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth once more.

“Ten days,” he said hoarsely.

Jin Zhao’s mind was hazy at this moment, her eyes hazy as well.

“What?” she asked softly.

Meng Yanxi said, “Ten days since we last saw each other.”

Jin Zhao froze for a moment.

Meng Yanxi’s math was really good, she thought—no wonder he’d gotten a perfect score on the college entrance exam.

“Did you miss me?” He kissed the corner of her mouth, pulled back slightly, then kissed it again.

Jin Zhao’s hand gripped the corner of his clothes, tightening.

She didn’t make a sound, only looked at him—looked at him with infatuation.

Whether Meng Yanxi understood or not, perhaps he didn’t. He persistently changed the way he asked: “Have you dreamed of me?”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Ever since personally experiencing the contents of his dreams, she was no longer able to look directly at the word “dream.”

“Hmm?”

She still refused to speak. Meng Yanxi had always thought himself a man of few words, yet in front of her he was like a chatterbox. That contrast made him dissatisfied enough to bite her lip lightly.

It had great elasticity. He got interested again, happily nibbling without getting tired of it. As he nibbled, his tongue slipped in once more.

After all, this was still on campus. Just a few meters away were more than two thousand people—leaders and students—talking about life and ideals, discussing bright and upright topics. Yet she had secretly slipped out to hide here and be intimate with him. Jin Zhao inexplicably felt a sense of moral transgression. Afraid he would get rough again, she lightly turned her head to dodge and said, “I generally don’t have that kind of dream about you.”

Meng Yanxi wasn’t annoyed. With a half-smile, he asked, “Then what kind of dreams do you usually have? Tell me.”

Jin Zhao thought for a moment and said honestly, “I used to dream about winning one million. The most recent time I dreamed I won thirty million.”

Meng Yanxi: “……”

He was flirting with her, and she was talking to him about getting rich.

“How come your dreams even come with self-improvement?” he let out a soft laugh.

Jin Zhao took it as praise. “Mm, it’s just pretty satisfying.”

Meng Yanxi said meaningfully, “Thirty million isn’t that much. My dream is still more satisfying.”

Jin Zhao: “……” Enough.

She felt offended.

Economically—and also, physically and mentally—offended.

And he still wouldn’t let it go, pressing on with the question: “So you’ve really never dreamed of me even once?”

How could she not have dreamed of him? Especially after experiencing that night, after his forceful, deep exploration like that.

She had originally been quite ascetic. These past years she had focused single-mindedly on studying and making money. Occasionally she did dream of him, but the content was all very pure. Most scenes were still on a high school campus—desks, books, dust floating in sunlight… But after that night, it was completely different. Every kind of stimulating scene appeared. Put simply, the content of her dreams suddenly went from a campus story to adults-only.

If dreams also had to be censored, then her dreams would definitely never pass.

But she couldn’t say she dreamed of him!

Otherwise she didn’t even dare imagine how smug he would be.

“No,” Jin Zhao stubbornly denied.

Meng Yanxi was genuinely hurt.

“Can’t you try dreaming of me just once?”

Jin Zhao laughed. “Is that something I can control?”

Meng Yanxi stared at her fixedly, then suddenly nodded. “Got it. I’m not important in your heart. I’m not even as important as thirty million.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

If it really came down to choosing one out of the two, then he was clearly challenging human nature.

Meng Yanxi spoke as if negotiating. “How about this—you try dreaming of me. For every dream, I’ll give you one million. Thirty times and you’ll earn thirty million. I can even pay a deposit first.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Alright then—here, she wasn’t enough.

His money outranked human nature.

Jin Zhao didn’t continue tangling with him over this topic. She took the initiative to hug his waist, her head nestling affectionately against his chest.

“Meng Yanxi, thank you,” she murmured softly.

Meng Yanxi said, “For the deposit? Or the thirty million?”

Jin Zhao shook her head.

She didn’t speak, not knowing where to begin.

She wanted to talk about that single-parent growth fund, but it seemed to be more than just that fund—it was all the love he had poured out over the years, never spoken aloud, yet fervent and all-encompassing.

Or perhaps, it was simply him.

Simply him—appearing.

She had never imagined that someone as ordinary as her could one day encounter such a grand, shattering heartbeat.

She drew her arms in, holding him tightly, leaning into him to draw warmth from his body.

Some students came out to use the restroom, passing by together outside.

Their voices came from afar, drew near, then faded away again.

Jin Zhao kept holding onto him, not letting go, as if certain they wouldn’t come in—or that even if they were seen, it didn’t matter.

She was just liking someone, liking someone with bone-deep devotion.

They discussed whether Meng Yanxi or Lu Jingyue was more handsome, who was richer, then sighed over how such wealth was forever out of reach in this lifetime, and finally talked about their own monthly living expenses.

Three thousand. Five thousand.

In her heart, Jin Zhao envied all children who grew up wrapped in love.

And perhaps the meaning of the single-parent growth fund lay precisely in this: even if it could not replace what was missing, it would at least do its best to let them have a little less of what they longed for but could not obtain.

Just like that girl had said—it wasn’t merely financial assistance, but a precise support offered after truly understanding all their hardships, like a god.

Meng Yanxi quickly understood this as well. What he felt was only regret, and heartache.

Regret that he hadn’t been able to let her see it when she needed it most.

The weather in England was so cold. In those years, how much suffering had she endured alone?

How much suffering must one endure before being moved to tears with gratitude over Jin Wenyi’s tiny, utterly insignificant bit of help, repaying it tenfold like a gushing spring?

Perhaps what he said was too cold. After all, Jin Wenyi really had helped her—when he himself had been unable to offer timely aid, Jin Wenyi had done so. But in his view, those negligible bits of financial assistance from Jin Wenyi were, rather than love, more like alms given out of pity—born of compassion, something everyone possesses.

True love can never be impeccably balanced on both sides. It would always stand with her without hesitation, even if it meant becoming the enemy of the entire world. Nor would it, upon learning that Jin Wenhui was coming to visit, impatiently rush to send her away.

But he also understood—judge by actions, not intentions. And even if one judged by intentions, it was still nothing more than ordinary human nature, not really something to be criticized.

Only, what Jin Zhao repaid was her entire sincerity—unreserved, wholehearted sincerity. Seen this way, she was deeply heartbreaking.

After Zhuang Yu told him that Jin Zhao had run into Jin Wenhui and his wife just as she was leaving the hospital, he stood by the window for a long time.

He was not the kind of person who indulged in “what if” suppositions; he never dwelled on the past. Yet that afternoon, he kept thinking—if only they hadn’t separated back then, if only she had known someone was walking alongside her.

Then she wouldn’t have felt indebted, wouldn’t have had to so cautiously repay this debt of gratitude.

“Come to my place tonight?” He kissed her earlobe through her hair.

Jin Zhao’s face immediately flushed with heat.

Meng Yanxi knew she had misunderstood and explained, “I turned the study into a bedroom. There are two rooms now.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Him explaining was actually worse.

Who knew what Meng Yanxi was even explaining.

The study in the beginning had been his ulterior motive—deliberately, schemingly leaving only one room. He just hadn’t expected things to progress too quickly, as if he had scared her, so he changed the study back into a bedroom overnight.

He felt like he was dating as if he were a clown, running around busy, not even knowing what he was busy with.

Jin Zhao was quiet for a few seconds, then said softly with a red face, “No need to change it.”

Her voice was too low for Meng Yanxi to hear clearly. He lowered his head and asked again, “What?”

The same words—Jin Zhao was already too embarrassed to say them again.

“It’ll be very late when it ends,” she said.

Meng Yanxi said, “I know. You go over first and wait for me. The door lock password is your birthday.”

Jin Zhao almost admired his problem-solving ability, though that wasn’t the point.

Jin Zhao looked up at him. “What I mean is, tomorrow is the postgraduate entrance exam. I’ve been assigned to proctor, and I have to be there before seven. I’m afraid of being late, so I’ve already set three alarms. Being late for proctoring a major exam is a very serious teaching accident—there’ll be a school-wide notice of criticism, and for three years you won’t be able to apply for professional titles or be evaluated for excellence.”

Meng Yanxi: “……”

Every single time he flirted with his girlfriend, she would earnestly steer the conversation toward prosperity and making money.

“Can’t you just not go? Find someone to switch with you?” He let out an amused, light chuckle.

Jin Zhao said honestly, “Nobody wants to go, but only those over fifty or who are pregnant can opt out.”

Meng Yanxi fell silent. After a while, he said, “Do you need help? I can help.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Help with what?

How?

Jin Zhao didn’t know whether the help he meant was the kind she was thinking of. After all, he had already led her astray, and her thoughts were far from pure now.

She tried her best to appear calm and said seriously, “It’s too late anyway. I have to proctor tomorrow.”

Meng Yanxi said, “Isn’t there still next year?”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Alright—so that really was what he meant.

Even though she knew he was just sharp-tongued, always teasing her whenever he had the chance, enjoying watching her blush and lose her composure, she still couldn’t help cursing him silently in her heart.

What a bad man.