Tao Zhi suddenly felt that, truly, one must never underestimate life.

For instance, back in high school, she had thought that having her crush see her wearing ugly thermal pants would be the most despairing moment of her life. She hadn’t expected that seven years later, the same crush would see her walking a runway in lingerie.

And he even had to bring it up.

Tao Zhi looked at him expressionlessly and pointed toward the door. “Get out.”

Jiang Qihuai didn’t move. He lifted his eyes slightly, as if he was about to say something.

In an instant, Tao Zhi rushed to the doorway in two or three quick steps. She rose on tiptoe and pressed both hands over his eyes, leaning close to him.

“You didn’t see anything,” she threatened in a low voice. “You’re blind, got it?”

The warmth of the girl’s body pressed against him; with one layer of fabric missing, the contact felt even sharper. As she leaned forward, some soft gauze brushed against the skin between his thumb and forefinger.

The touch, paired with the vision from just moments ago, tugged again and again at his taut, fragile nerves.

Jiang Qihuai’s throat bobbed slightly, and he replied in a low voice, “Mm.”

Tao Zhi took a deep breath, her face burning from embarrassment. She kept her hands tightly over his eyes, terrified that even a sliver of light might slip through her fingers and let him see. “Then get out!”

Still covering his eyes, she turned him around by force and pushed him outward until she managed to shove him completely out of the bedroom.

As soon as Jiang Qihuai was pushed outside, the next second—“bang”—the door slammed shut behind him.

“…”

Jiang Qihuai leaned against the bedroom door, listening as the music inside came to a stop and the room fell quiet.

He lowered his eyes, sighed, and lifted a hand to rub his throbbing temples.

After washing his face, Jiang Qihuai went into the kitchen, washed some grapes from the refrigerator, and placed them neatly on a fruit plate. Then he looked again inside the fridge, took out some ingredients, and began simmering a pot of beef soup.

With the soup stewing on low heat, he glanced toward the bedroom door, decided to give Tao Zhi some time alone, then went downstairs to retrieve his laptop from the car. Sitting on the living room sofa, he started handling his work.

The rich aroma of beef gradually filled the air. By the time he finished, it was already noon, and the bedroom inside remained completely silent.

Jiang Qihuai looked up, closed his laptop, and set it aside. Then he stood and walked over.

He knocked on the bedroom door. “Zhizhi.”

No response.

He called her again, “Lunch is ready. Aren’t you hungry?”

Still no sound from within, only utter silence.

After waiting for five seconds, he said, “I’m coming in.”

This time, Tao Zhi’s muffled voice immediately came from inside. “Don’t come in.”

Jiang Qihuai ignored her and pressed down on the handle.

The door wasn’t locked. He pushed it open a crack, paused for a few seconds, and then walked in.

Tao Zhi was lying sprawled on the bed, completely covered from head to toe. The blanket stretched from her feet all the way to her head, leaving only a tiny tuft of black hair sticking out.

Jiang Qihuai raised his hand, gently tapped her on the top of her head with his fingertips, and said helplessly, “Tao Zhi.”

Tao Zhi, wrapped up in the blanket like a small animal, squirmed a little. Her fingers clutched the edge of the quilt and tugged it upward, pulling it over the tiny bit of hair still showing outside.

Jiang Qihuai grasped the corner of the blanket and slowly lifted it a little.

Half of Tao Zhi’s face, buried into the pillow, came into view.

She had already changed clothes—now wearing a soft, white, cotton short-sleeved home shirt. Both of her arms were tucked beneath her body, curling herself up into a tight ball.

She looked completely withdrawn.

Jiang Qihuai chuckled.

Hearing that, Tao Zhi still kept her face pressed into the pillow, refusing to look up. She wriggled unhappily under the blanket twice, then lifted her foot to kick him.

Jiang Qihuai caught her soft, pale foot in one hand, held her by the ankle, and tucked it back under the blanket. The corner of his lips lifted slightly. “What are you doing?”

“I’m shutting down,” Tao Zhi said, her voice muffled.

Holding back a laugh, Jiang Qihuai asked, “Why are you shutting down?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Tao Zhi muttered resentfully. “Don’t bother me. I want to be alone.”

“It’s not that big of a deal—” Jiang Qihuai began.

But Tao Zhi suddenly threw off the blanket, turned her face toward him, and cut him off angrily: “You still dare to say it! Why did you bring up my thermal pants!”

Jiang Qihuai: “…”

“That was so many years ago! So many years! And you still have to mention it!”

Tao Zhi truly felt mortified. The more she spoke, the more humiliated she felt; by the end, her eyes were turning red. “How was I supposed to know you were still at my place? I thought no one was home! I’d never worn it before, so I just wanted to try it on!”

Her lips trembled, and her voice caught in her throat in a spoiled, teary way. “And you even laughed at me. I’m already so embarrassed, and you’re still making fun of me.”

Jiang Qihuai was stunned.

He had never seen anyone feel so wronged simply out of embarrassment—so much that she almost made herself cry.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Jiang Qihuai spoke patiently. “What’s there to be embarrassed about? It was… pretty cute.”

As he said that, the image of Tao Zhi cheerfully posing alone in the room flashed in his mind. He couldn’t help it—he laughed again.

That completely set her off. Tao Zhi stuck both her feet out from under the blanket and kicked him. “You’re still laughing! You just want to see me make a fool of myself!”

Jiang Qihuai pressed his tongue lightly against the corner of his lips, stifling his laughter, letting her kick him. Then he reached out and gently held both her ankles. “How does that count as making a fool of yourself?”

“It just does,” Tao Zhi mumbled softly, aggrieved. “I’m throwing it away later. I’ll never wear it again for the rest of my life.”

“Why not wear it?” Jiang Qihuai’s fingers brushed lightly against her skin, the pads of his fingers grazing the smooth surface and bringing a faint shiver. “It looks really good on you.”

Tao Zhi couldn’t help shrinking her foot slightly, but couldn’t pull it free.

Jiang Qihuai held her by the ankle, his fingertips tracing the curve of her slender bone. His movements were slow and deliberate, his voice low. “From now on, wear it for me every day.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Jiang Qihuai didn’t go to the office that day. He stayed home with her the whole time. But he didn’t stay idle—after finally coaxing the little ancestor out of the bedroom for lunch, he kept working on his laptop.

Tao Zhi also imported the photos she had taken yesterday at the Singo studio. She had spent nearly the entire day there and had taken a mountain of photos. She went through them one by one, carefully selecting, then opened her editing software to start post-processing.

The whole afternoon passed that way—each of them doing their own thing. One leaned on the sofa; the other sat by the low table beside the floor-to-ceiling window.

The atmosphere was peaceful and quiet, perfectly in sync.

By a little past six, the silence was finally broken when Fu Xiling came home.

It was rare for her not to work overtime today. The digital lock on the security door beeped a few times before it opened, and the girl walked in first with a backpack on her shoulders. As she entered, she said, “Are you sure the food you cooked is actually edible? We’re not going to get poisoned, are we?”

“Who are you looking down on? How do you think I survived when I was abroad?” Ji Fan followed behind her, carrying two large plastic bags in each hand.

Inside the apartment, Tao Zhi and Jiang Qihuai turned their heads almost at the same time.

Ji Fan froze.

Fu Xiling: “Huh.”

Tao Zhi: “Huh.”

Fu Xiling: “Study God’s here.”

Tao Zhi pointed at the person behind her. “And what are you doing here?”

The moment Ji Fan saw Jiang Qihuai, his expression changed. Narrowing his eyes, he asked, “What are you doing at my sister’s place?”

Jiang Qihuai honestly couldn’t be bothered to respond to such childish provocation—it was like dealing with a three-year-old.

But after all these years, Ji Fan was still the only high school friend he kept in contact with, and he had been the one who told him so much about Tao Zhi. So Jiang Qihuai decided to play along.

Jiang Qihuai said calmly, “Then what are you doing at your sister’s place?”

Ji Fan snapped, “This is my sister’s house! Why can’t I come?”

Jiang Qihuai nodded, tilting his chin slightly toward the sofa. “Nothing. Go ahead and sit down.”

Ji Fan: “…”

What—was this your house or something??

Fu Xiling looked at Jiang Qihuai, then at Ji Fan, and finally at Tao Zhi.

Tao Zhi blinked at her.

Fu Xiling nodded knowingly, grabbed Ji Fan by the zipper of his jacket, and dragged him toward the kitchen. “Come on, the fish’s still in the bag.”

Dragged along, Ji Fan started unpacking the groceries one by one and then went to wash his hands at the sink.

Fu Xiling had already finished washing her hands and was untying a bundle of spinach. As she plucked the leaves into the basin, she asked quietly, “Why don’t you like Study God?”

Ji Fan lowered his head. “I don’t dislike him.”

Fu Xiling let out a soft “Oh,” then muttered, “Then why do you always act like a cat with its fur standing on end every time you see him and Zhizhi together?”

Ji Fan frowned. “That’s because he doesn’t deserve Zhizhi.”

Fu Xiling choked on her words, momentarily unsure how to respond.

After a pause, she said, “Then how come you seemed fine helping Zhizhi and Dr. Jiang go out to dinner?”

Ji Fan pulled the fish from the bag, replying nonchalantly, “Eating a few more meals won’t help. Zhizhi doesn’t like him anyway.”

But Jiang Qihuai—now that was different. She liked him.

Fu Xiling rolled her eyes. You seem to understand things pretty clearly for someone pretending otherwise.

“I also think Study God doesn’t deserve Zhizhi,” Fu Xiling agreed. “But still, he’s that so-called youngest investment director, and all these years he’s only ever liked Zhizhi. Plus he’s good at his job, earns a lot, looks good, and his height…”

Fu Xiling paused, lifted her head to look him over, and said slowly, “He’s just a little taller than you. Other than that, nothing special.”

Ji Fan: “…”

Ji Fan didn’t even know why, but after hearing Fu Xiling describe Jiang Qihuai like that, he disliked him even more.

Unfortunately, the man he’d just started to dislike even more walked into the kitchen right then, lowering his gaze as he unhurriedly rolled up his shirt sleeves. “I’ll do it. What are we making?”

Fu Xiling glanced at Ji Fan, set down the spinach in her hand, and told him a few dish names.

Jiang Qihuai’s eyes swept over the ingredients laid out on the counter, and he nodded.

Fu Xiling left the kitchen. Tao Zhi was curled up on the sofa with her phone. Hearing her come out, she looked up and waved her over.

Fu Xiling sat beside her, leaned forward to peek, and blinked. “What are you doing?”

On Tao Zhi’s phone was the screen for changing a WeChat name. Her fingertip tapped across the keyboard, entering characters one by one. After a bit of tinkering, she locked the screen.

Fu Xiling glanced at the phone—no case.

She pointed toward the kitchen. “Study God’s phone?”

Tao Zhi nodded seriously. “Did you see me take his phone just now?”

Fu Xiling shook her head solemnly. “Nope.”

When Ji Fan had lived abroad, he’d learned to cook. Tao Zhi had eaten his food a few times—the taste was barely passable—but next to Jiang Qihuai, he was clearly only fit to help.

The two men moved quickly. By the time Tao Zhi and Fu Xiling were only halfway through their variety show, still debating which pretty boy was more handsome, dinner was ready.

Tao Zhi shut off the tablet, hopped off the sofa, and bounced over to peek beside Jiang Qihuai. Five dishes and one soup—Coca-Cola chicken wings and steamed fish filled the biggest plates.

Everyone sat down. Tao Zhi, who’d been busy all afternoon, was already starving. Since they were all familiar with one another, there was no need for manners—she eagerly grabbed her chopsticks and picked up a chicken wing to gnaw on.

Halfway through, she suddenly remembered something. With a chicken wing still in her mouth, she looked up, reached with her chopsticks to pick another piece, and dropped it into Jiang Qihuai’s bowl.

“Try your own cooking,” she mumbled indistinctly.

Jiang Qihuai reached out and tapped her head lightly. “Swallow before talking.”

Ji Fan, sitting across from them, was forced to watch a full minute of their syrupy flirting. Rolling his eyes, he picked up his phone, took a photo of the table, opened WeChat, and posted a Moment.

Caption: My craftsmanship.

He completely erased Jiang Qihuai’s existence, taking full credit for the meal.

After posting, he refreshed his feed and scrolled down casually.

One post after another—until he froze at a certain one. He stared at the screen blankly for a full three minutes, then looked up at Jiang Qihuai with an expression like he’d just been struck by lightning.

“Bro, seriously? You’re like this now just because you’re dating someone?”

Jiang Qihuai calmly picked up the chicken wing Tao Zhi had given him, his gaze fixed on it, not even looking up. “Like what?”

“Like what?” Ji Fan laughed. Even if he wasn’t the sharpest, he knew Jiang Qihuai wouldn’t post that kind of thing—but that didn’t stop him from wanting to disgust him a little. “Why don’t you check your Moments yourself? You just posted it—don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten?”

Jiang Qihuai set down his chopsticks, picked up the phone beside him, opened WeChat, and tapped into Moments.

His WeChat was usually spotless—almost nothing on it—but now there was something noticeably different.

His username had been changed—four characters paired together, followed by a soft pink little peach emoji.

—Zhizhi Taotao 🍑

He tapped on the first post in Moments.

—love love! My girlfriend is the cutest in the whole world! ❤️❤️

Below was a selfie of Tao Zhi. The girl sat behind a computer, tilting her head and resting her chin on her hand as she looked toward the camera. Her long black hair was tied into two small buns like a doll’s, lips curved slightly upward, and her narrow eyes arched with a smile.

Posted an hour ago, it already had a flood of comments underneath:

【Li Shuangjiang】: ???

【Jiang Zhengxun】: ………?

【Zhao Mingqi】: What the hell??

【Wang Zhezi】: Congratulations, Teacher.

【Lin Suyan】: Huh???????

Following that were comments from his company colleagues—hesitant but polite congratulations to their boss, with a faint, almost imperceptible trace of fear.

Jiang Qihuai: “…”

Tao Zhi, chewing on a chicken wing, sat utterly still and silent, pretending nothing had happened. Her gaze wandered off to the side, but she couldn’t help sneaking glances at him from the corner of her eye, wanting to see how he’d react.

She watched as he sat beside her, head lowered, staring at the post—so wildly out of tune with his usual style—for at least a full minute in silence.

Then, his fingers moved. Calmly, he long-pressed on her selfie and saved it. Under her anxious, expectant gaze, he set it as his WeChat cover photo.

“…”

Tao Zhi: ?