One week later, Jin Wenyi contacted Jin Zhao.

Jin Zhao’s mother’s marital property back then included one factory building and one shop.

Jin Wenhui belonged to that early wave of people who went into business. He left the system and opened a small processing factory, doing OEM work for clothing accessories, and together with Jin Zhao’s mother bought a factory building. In the first few years after starting out, business was poor, and Jin Zhao’s mother did not resign from her position within the system. In Jin Zhao’s memory, when she was little, they lived in housing allocated by her mother’s work unit. It was only several years later that Jin Wenhui’s business gradually picked up, but at the same time, that was also when her mother fell ill.

Later, after her mother passed away, Jin Wenhui took her and moved into the apartment they lived in afterward, which was also the only property Jin Zhao could guess to be marital property. As for the rest, she did not know.

She did not know what Jin Wenyi had said to her grandparents, but her grandparents soon confirmed that aside from that apartment, there was also another shop. As for Jin Wenhui’s company, in recent years it had long been insolvent, so there was no question of shares. However, the original factory building did have property rights, and several years ago, after Lin Yao gave birth to a son, it had been transferred into Lin Yao’s name.

The factory building and shop from the startup period were both small, and their locations were not good either, not as valuable as residential property, but with these two added together, eight million was enough.

Jin Zhao contacted a lawyer and asked the lawyer to go directly to Jin Wenyi to collect the materials.

Jin Wenyi thought that Jin Zhao was ultimately unwilling to see her again. Over the phone, her tone could not hide her sense of loss, and she choked up as she said, “Lingling, I’m sorry.”

Jin Zhao said frankly, “I definitely have resentment in my heart, but I don’t resent you.”

After all, this matter had nothing to do with Jin Wenyi. She could have stayed out of it completely and kept herself clean, yet she still stepped into this muddy water. Spending money and effort, she ended up offending people on all sides.

Jin Wenyi—she just had people she could not let go of. She could not let go of her grandparents and Jin Wenhui.

Just like how Jin Zhao also could not let go of her.

Although admitting this was embarrassing—after all, she ranked very far down in Jin Wenyi’s heart—she still could not bring herself to be cold toward this aunt who had, countless times in the past, offered timely help when she was in dire need.

Jin Zhao explained, “I’ve been preparing for my wedding lately, so I’ve been a bit busy.”

Jin Wenyi froze. “A wedding?”

Her tone was a little dazed, then she quickly asked, “When?”

Jin Zhao smiled. “July, probably. The exact date isn’t set yet.”

Her birthday, or July ninth.

Meng Yanxi was still hesitating.

Jin Zhao had never known that he could hesitate like this. He had always been decisive, but when it came to the wedding date, one moment he wanted it on her birthday, the next he wanted it on July ninth.

At first, Jin Zhao couldn’t remember what was special about July ninth. He even sulked badly over it. He didn’t give her the cold shoulder—Meng Yanxi never did things that harmed others without benefiting himself—he just worked her harder in bed.

He was already stunningly beautiful, and when he was emotionally stirred, he was even more beautiful, like a demon.

Under the bright white lights, Jin Zhao stared at him absentmindedly, and at a certain moment, inspiration struck, and she suddenly remembered—July ninth was the day in their second year of high school when summer vacation started, the day they went to West Mountain together.

Meng Yanxi finally let her off and didn’t go for another round.

He bent down and kissed her tenderly, fingers interlaced with hers. “Mm, it was the day of our first date.”

Jin Zhao felt that his interpretation was a bit outrageous, but she had just gone through that moment, her body still trembling nonstop, and she didn’t dare provoke him at this time—otherwise this man would once again give it his all and never stop.

In truth, how was that their first date? Wasn’t it just classmates going out for barbecue together? Even though they didn’t end up eating it. And back then there were also Si Tian, Lu Jingyue, Luo Heng, and Cao Bo.

Meng Yanxi’s damp fingers hooked under her chin, kissing her in a lingering, unbroken way. “It was also the day I first confessed to you.”

Jin Zhao’s eyelashes fluttered lightly.

She took the initiative to hold him.

Under her fingertips was the man’s taut, powerful musculature—hard, still scorching hot.

Her heart was scorching hot too. Their skin pressed together, they held each other and kissed deeply.

Later, Jin Zhao made the decision for him. “Let it be July ninth.”

All along, she had felt that her birthday wasn’t anything special, just an ordinary day—it was only Meng Yanxi who had placed it in such an important position.

July ninth was perfect. Ten years ago, it was the first time he confessed to her. Back then, she hadn’t understood. But how lucky—she hadn’t missed it after all.

After the wedding date was set, it was time to prepare for the wedding. Jin Zhao wasn’t particularly busy. She had a rather go-with-the-flow personality; in this regard, Meng Yanxi was practically her polar opposite.

She had thought that once the date was set, Meng Yanxi would return to normal. That was not the case—he became even more unhinged.

From major things like venue decoration to minor things like the tableware and flower petals to be used that day, he wanted to personally handle everything, fretting over it all and asking for her opinion.

Watching him bustling about with such fervor, Jin Zhao felt dazed, as if she were looking at an inexperienced young boy, anticipating a certain day with particular intensity—unrestrained, radiant with youthful spirit, eager to let the whole world know.

The court proceedings went unexpectedly smoothly. In early May, the verdict came down.

After the day she met Feng Chao together with Jin Wenyi and Zhao Xu, Jin Zhao never appeared again. In the end, it was the lawyer who went to collect the judgment, and who then delivered it to Feng Chao on Jin Zhao’s behalf.

Feng Chao would go collect the debt from Lin Yao himself.

It was said that Lin Yao indeed refused to repay the money, just as Jin Zhao had expected. Even the court’s compulsory enforcement was ineffective. Feng Chao’s side had difficulty getting the money, and there were several clashes between the two sides. But that no longer had anything to do with her. On her end, the Jin family’s troubles were, at this point, completely resolved.

Even though that money rightfully included a share for her as well, she had long since been unwilling to be dragged into that endless drain of energy. She treated it as money paid to sever the seventeen years of upbringing and care.

After May Day, Jin Zhao returned to campus.

She was currently on maternity leave and technically had no work, but last month she had just had a paper accepted in an SSCI Q1 journal.

Although Sui University was not considered a particularly prestigious school, it had always placed great importance on research, and its rewards for faculty with strong research ability were generous.

In the college group chat, the leadership publicly commended her, along with a bonus of 20,000 yuan.

The department chair’s intention was for her to find time to give a research training talk for other young faculty members, on how to choose topics, write papers, and prepare project grant applications.

Meng Yanxi was overly enthusiastic about the wedding preparations, so she didn’t need to get involved. The little dumpling was also gradually growing up—he truly was a little angel, making her laugh every day, rarely crying or fussing, very easy to care for.

The matters of the Jin family had also been resolved. It felt as if a massive stone that had weighed on her heart year after year had turned to ash. She felt an indescribable lightness, and finally scheduled it for the second Wednesday evening after May Day.

She was young, still a lecturer, and her audience would be colleagues, so of course she was embarrassed to call it a lecture, saying only that it was an internal exchange. Even so, the college still arranged a medium-sized lecture hall for her. That evening, not only young teachers from her own department came, but also teachers and students from other departments. Anyone who would come to listen to research training was at least a graduate student; most were doctoral candidates.

Jin Zhao spent an hour and a half carefully explaining how to choose topics, how to write, and how to revise afterward.

As for the Dao and the techniques, at her level she wasn’t able to speak grandly about macro concepts, so she shared her own experiences in writing papers and applying for projects from the perspective of technique, staying grounded and practical—down to how to write each section and what reviewers hoped to see. It was a very concrete sharing.

It ended at nine o’clock. Colleagues came up to greet her, and several teachers added her on WeChat.

Jin Zhao noticed a slender figure at the back of the crowd, standing hesitantly in the shadows of the rear rows, looking like a student. Thinking that the other party might be too embarrassed to squeeze in among a group of teachers to come over and exchange pleasantries with her, after it ended, Jin Zhao deliberately walked toward him.

She was always approachable with students, just like those very good teachers she had encountered in her own student days. She smiled and walked toward the person, but when she saw his face clearly, she stopped in her tracks.

Ji Haoxuan actually hadn’t changed much—still the same as back then, thin and tall, wearing a thin T-shirt, glasses on his face, a book held in his arms, looking gentle and without sharp edges.

It was as if it were still ten years ago, when they were deskmates, before any conflict had happened.

“Jin Zhao, long time no see.” Ji Haoxuan smiled and greeted her.

Ten years had passed, and they had both grown up. Things that once felt earth-shattering—looking back now—were like dust in the sunlight, carrying a calm sense of thinness.

A smile at a reunion, and past grudges melt away.

Jin Zhao also smiled politely. “Why are you here? Are you teaching here as well?”

Ji Haoxuan said, “No, I’m doing my doctorate.”

Years had gone by, and when the former high-school deskmates met again, she had become a teacher, and he a student. In her hands were SSCI papers and national projects, while he was still wracking his brains over an ordinary journal article.

It was actually a bit embarrassing to say, but Ji Haoxuan’s state of mind had become much more open over these years. “I’m a bit weak in research. My advisor said there was a research training talk tonight, given by a very impressive new teacher from the School of Foreign Languages—she’s been at the university for less than two years and already secured a national project, published three SSCI papers, one of which is a Q1 journal. So I came to take a look. I didn’t expect it to be you.”

Jin Zhao smiled, not really knowing what to say.

“Jin Zhao, you’re really outstanding,” Ji Haoxuan said sincerely.

“Thank you.”

It seemed that there was nothing more to say after that. Jin Zhao pointed toward the outside, preparing to leave.

Ji Haoxuan called out to stop her. “Jin Zhao, I’m sorry.”

Jin Zhao stopped her steps.

Ji Haoxuan looked at her and said in a low voice, “What happened back then—it was my fault, and my mom’s. We wronged you.”

Meng Yanxi was at home playing with the little dumpling. A driver came to pick up Jin Zhao.

When she got home, the little dumpling was already asleep.

A human infant of four or five months—fair and chubby, at the softest stage. Long eyelashes rested beneath his eyes, his two little hands clenched into fists and raised to either side, sleeping soundly.

Jin Zhao’s heart softened all at once. She bent down and, without thinking, kissed his little cheek.

Meng Yanxi came out of the bathroom after showering and hugged her from behind.

“Teacher Lingling is so outstanding—how about exchanging a little with me tonight too?” He kissed her earlobe intimately, his tone ambiguous.

Meng Yanxi understood her—he knew exactly how to make it hardest for her to resist, and he deliberately tempted her like this.

Jin Zhao was kissed into a flustered haze and barely reminded him, “I just got back and haven’t showered yet.”

Meng Yanxi said, “Shower together.”

Jin Zhao said, “Didn’t you just finish showering?”

“Then I’ll shower again.”

The man carried her into the bathroom.

Jin Zhao said, “The little dumpling is still here…”

Meng Yanxi said, “It’s fine. The little guy played enough tonight, he won’t be woken up.”

Jin Zhao laughed. “Didn’t you play with him too? Aren’t you tired?”

Meng Yanxi pulled open the bath towel and, under the shower, lightly bit her lip, looking like a demon. “I saved my strength, only want to play with you.”

…

Jin Zhao ate too well that night. Later, she slept very deeply, and only woke up in the morning when she heard the little dumpling’s babbling sounds teasing her awake.

After waking, she fed the baby and played with him, and only checked her phone close to noon.

Her WeChat friend requests had exploded—forty-four new requests in total.

The glaring red number made Jin Zhao think for a moment that she had gone viral.

But that wasn’t likely. What she had shared last night was solid content, but to teachers with even a bit of research experience, it wasn’t anything new. It was more that the leadership wanted to use her mid-tier journal acceptance as a pretext to motivate young faculty to get competitive.

Sure enough, when she clicked in, all the requests were from the same person.

A fourth-year student retaking courses. He had taken her class last year, and she didn’t even know his name. She didn’t know whether he had gotten her contact information from teachers or students who attended the lecture last night, but starting from 12:14 a.m., he had kept sending friend requests nonstop.

At first it seemed as though he thought she was deliberately pretending to sleep and ignoring him—every few minutes, another request popped up—until after two in the morning did it finally stop. Then after 10:40 this morning, it started again.

A total of forty-four friend requests.

The messages themselves were incoherent.

Jin Zhao roughly scanned them. Over and over, he was saying that he hadn’t expected to fail a course in his fourth year, begging her to go to the academic affairs office to correct his grade, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to graduate.