“Zhou Lang. Stop being ridiculous.”
“Am I being ridiculous?”
Ji Xiunian finally saw that she was doing it on purpose. “It’s barely morning. You came all this way just to play pranks?”
Zhou Lang’s eyes narrowed, her smile deepening. “You’re angry? That easy to tease? It was only a joke. You’re too serious, Professor Ji. Far too boring.”
Half of Ji Xiunian’s lip was still numb. She pressed it, uncomfortable. “I’ve been boring for more than a day or two. Only just finding out?”
“Mm.” Zhou Lang nodded. “Right. My appreciation of just how boring you are gets refreshed every single time.”
Ji Xiunian opened her laptop. “Was there anything else?”
Her face might as well have been stamped PLEASE LEAVE.
“Really angry?”
“…”
But Zhou Lang just smiled, good-natured. “Don’t be angry. If you’re truly angry, I’ll apologize and make amends, all right?”
“Zhou Lang.” Ji Xiunian said her name flatly. “Do you have nothing better to do?”
Zhou Lang actually nodded. “As it happens, no.”
Ji Xiunian: “…”
“All right.” Zhou Lang abruptly changed the subject, suddenly very serious. “Your earrings today are quite lovely. But I’ve always thought pearls suit you best.”
That was the second time she’d brought up the earrings. As if hinting at something.
Ji Xiunian looked at her, almost despite herself.
Those earrings had been the first formal gift Zhou Lang ever gave her—though, of course, the bag of bread brought back from abroad didn’t count.
Her birthday had been approaching, and Zhou Lang had poured herself into that gift: she’d learned to dive specifically for it, descended to the seabed to retrieve a pearl, drawn the design herself, and commissioned a craftsman to make the earrings.
She had wanted to give her something one of a kind. But in truth, that romantic, wholehearted heart was the only true one-of-a-kind treasure in the world.
Zhou Lang, however, didn’t continue. She moved past it smoothly. “All right, business. I came to remind you—the donated building is confirmed. Ribbon-cutting tomorrow. Be there on time.”
“So soon?” Ji Xiunian blinked. “Wasn’t the contract only settled a few days ago?”
Zhou Lang made an affirming sound, her voice carrying a youthful, reckless swagger. “When I want something done, everyone makes it their priority. Of course it was fast.”
“Thank you. For everything you’ve done for the college.”
“Oh.” Zhou Lang sounded distracted now. Suddenly she reached out. “Don’t move. You’ve got several strands of hair here.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just cleaning you up.” With that she withdrew her hand, brisk and clean, without a trace of lingering ambiguity. “I’m off to find my senior. Back to work.”
She strolled out in excellent spirits, lips curved, winding the two stray strands of hair around her fingertip—circle after circle after circle.
Teasing Ji Xiunian into a flustered blush really was tremendous fun.
Leaving Ning University, Zhou Lang went straight home.
After dinner she was about to return to her own apartment when Shen Shan stopped her. “Langlang. Mommy needs a word.”
Zhou Lang sat back down. “Go ahead.”
Shen Shan fixed her with a look. “I heard you got drunk last night and a woman took you home. Who is she?”
Zhou Lang: “No one. A colleague.”
“Am I overthinking? She’s my own daughter—don’t I know you? You’ve always been the most careful about such things. In all these years, who has ever been allowed near you? Confess, and confess properly. Are you cheating on Jiaru behind her back?”
“…”
Zhou Lang was stunned by the accusation. “You’re overthinking it.”
Shen Shan’s eyes went red in an instant. “How can you blame me for overthinking! You won’t live at home, you live apart from Jiaru, all alone in that tiny apartment of barely a hundred and twenty square meters, living like an ascetic monk. Are you doing this specifically to spite me?”
“Young working people these days share flats with roommates… My apartment is perfectly nice. It’s not half as dire as you make it sound.”
Her mother the Empress Dowager truly had no conception of the common struggle.
“Confess. Honestly.”
“Confess what, exactly?”
Zhou Lang lowered her head and said nothing for a while.
The contract marriage with Duan Jiaru—and the divorce—she had never told her parents.
Back then she had just gone abroad, hollowed out and despairing, and her parents had never once said a harsh word to her. Until one night, getting up for water, she overheard her father comforting her quietly weeping mother—he couldn’t stop worrying about her.
In that moment, she made up her mind and agreed to Duan Jiaru’s proposal of a marriage of convenience.
In her parents’ eyes, at least once she was married, they’d have one less thing to fret over.
She asked quietly, “I won’t cheat. But if Jiaru and I can’t make it work…”
Shen Shan dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “You child. In your thirties already, and still not settled one bit…”
Her attitude, it seemed, was not one of complete rejection after all.
Zhou Lang registered her mother’s stance but didn’t push her luck, deciding to give her a buffer period.
Just as she left the house, Duan Jiaru called.
“Jiaru. Something wrong?”
“President Zhou abandoned me alone in a conference room last time, and there’s been no follow-up since?”
“My apologies. Something urgent came up.”
“What kind of urgent thing?”
“Private.” Zhou Lang steered past it. “Next time I see you, I’ll bring you an exotic-leather Birkin as an apology.”
“President Zhou’s specialty is paying people off,” Duan Jiaru laughed. “Actually, I called to ask—the collaboration with your senior has been under negotiation for a while now, and he’s invited me to the building’s ribbon-cutting tomorrow.”
Zhou Lang made an affirming sound. “I know you’re busy, but do it for my sake. Please find the time, President Duan. It should only take half a day.”
“Fine. But could President Zhou spare the time the day after tomorrow for my family banquet?”
“What banquet?”
“My grandfather’s ninetieth birthday. Can you come?”
“All right. Understood.”
Duan Jiaru’s voice turned silken. “I knew it. When President Zhou needs a favor, that’s when you agree fastest. See you tomorrow, then.”
Zhou Lang had no interest in lingering. “See you tomorrow.”
Under Hao Shuyou’s energetic push and Leheng Group’s formidable efficiency, the site of the donated building was settled: right outside Ning University’s main gate, a five-minute walk from the Art College.
Zhou Lang paid with astonishing readiness. The day after the site was chosen, she bought the building outright, then saw to its renovation and fitting-out: the ground floor an exhibition hall for paintings, the second and third floors dance studios, the fourth and fifth floors for vocal instruction, with the upper floors left open for flexible use.
To mark the occasion, Hao Shuyou invited university leadership and held a formal completion ceremony, bringing in a host of luminaries from within the industry and beyond for the ribbon-cutting.
Ji Xiunian arrived early and stood in the crowd, her thoughts on the upcoming art exhibition.
Through the press of people she could see Zhou Lang’s back—upright, straight.
And beside her… Duan Jiaru.
Ji Xiunian hadn’t expected the woman to turn around just then, glance at her, and smile a friendly smile before turning back, leaning in to speak with Zhou Lang.
She suddenly felt certain: Duan Jiaru must know something.
Just as she herself knew of her existence.
The ceremony was formal and grand, and only began in earnest after the long round of speeches.
As the donor, Zhou Lang naturally had to speak. She was remarkably concise—a few sentences, and she stepped down.
Ji Xiunian stood not far away, and her eyes flicked over, entirely by accident, just in time to see Zhou Lang miss a step on the way down. Instinctively her hand rose—and just as quickly fell.
Duan Jiaru, standing beside her, reached out at once and caught her.
They were surrounded by people, yet Duan Jiaru held Zhou Lang’s hand, saying something with a smile, her eyes unable to hide their closeness. Then, perhaps mindful of the crowd, Zhou Lang stepped back, released her hand, said something else with a laugh, and nodded to her.
Ji Xiunian looked away.
Fang Xun was standing right beside her. Hers was a personality that loved a spectacle—one moment craning at the newly arrived luminaries, the next trading idle gossip. Of course she’d seen that little scene too, and felt the peculiar indignation of a shipper watching her ship sail with someone else. “Teacher Ji, look at President Duan, she really—”
She stopped mid-sentence, because she’d caught Ji Xiunian’s expression, and it could not, by any stretch, be called pleased.
Sensing she’d put her foot in it, Fang Xun hastily changed course. “Teacher Ji, shall we go up and see the new dance studios in a bit?”
Ji Xiunian nodded. “All right.”
Soon the speeches ended, and Hao Shuyou called everyone over for a group photo.
Ji Xiunian didn’t move to the front. She stood in the corner, expression cool.
“Professor Ji—”
Zhou Lang was at the very front, dead center, and had to search the crowd a while before spotting her. “Come here. Move up.”
Then she added, half joking, “You’re the vice dean now. How can you not show your face in the group photo? People might get the idea Professor Ji has a grudge against me.”
Fang Xun perked up instantly, shooing Ji Xiunian forward. “Go on, Teacher Ji, hurry! All these people watching—don’t make it awkward!”
Ji Xiunian pressed her lips together and moved up a few rows to the second. Zhou Lang still didn’t seem satisfied and insisted she keep shifting until she stood at the very center of the second row—directly behind Zhou Lang.
They stood so close that in the finished photograph, they looked like two people standing side by side.
Zhou Lang told the photographer he’d done a fine job, then murmured, low, “Remember to send an electronic copy to my assistant.”
After the photo, some teachers left; others lingered to take pictures of their own.
Fang Xun came to fetch Ji Xiunian. “Teacher Ji, shall we go up?”
Ji Xiunian didn’t look at the photo, didn’t take pictures with anyone. She nodded. “Let’s go up.”
The new dance studios occupied two full floors, spacious and bright, with separate studios for different dance styles and dedicated student practice rooms open around the clock. The studios were flooded with light, the fixtures offering both cool and warm tones, and the sound equipment was superb—truly, incomparably better than before.
In so short a time, Zhou Lang had seen to all of it—she had a way of surprising you with her earnestness and sense of responsibility.
Zhou Lang was speaking with the dance studio administrator. “The student practice rooms are open around the clock, but the class studios open only during scheduled hours.”
The administrator noted it down in a ledger. “Understood. Anything else I should watch for?”
“Ji—” Zhou Lang paused. “If Teacher Ji Xiunian comes, the studio opens strictly according to class times. Other teachers can have some leeway. Professor Ji may not. Do not let her run over, under any circumstances.”
The administrator privately concluded that Dean Zhou and Professor Ji were at odds, and asked nothing, only noting it down again. “Mm. Please go on.”
Zhou Lang thought for a moment. “Keep some ointment on hand. And a first aid kit. Dancers get hurt easily—lower back, neck. She… if students strain anything, they can come to you too.”
The administrator nodded, smiling. “Dean Zhou, you’re so kind. So thoughtful.”
Zhou Lang smiled back. “I’ll go have a look upstairs.”
She had barely reached the upper floor when a long, winding melody drifted down the corridor.
She followed the music to a studio door and ran right into Fang Xun coming out. “Fang Xun. Where are you off to?”
Fang Xun: “Good afternoon, Dean Zhou.”
“Who’s inside?”
Fang Xun was hurrying. “Teacher Ji. School finance suddenly called for me—I didn’t get a chance to tell her. Could you pass that along for me?”
Zhou Lang made an affirming sound. “Of course. Go.”
She stood outside the dance studio. She did not go in.
The music flowed slowly on; the lights poured down in silence. The woman standing in their glow moved with fluid, graceful steps, long hair loose on her shoulders, swaying naturally with each movement—elegant as an orchid, poised and unselfconscious.
The music stopped, and in that instant she walked straight into Ji Xiunian’s gaze.
Ji Xiunian hadn’t expected to find her at the door, and had no idea how long she’d been standing there. It took her a few seconds to collect herself and nod. “I was just testing the equipment.”
Zhou Lang: “The lighting and sound look good.”
“They really are excellent. You’ve worked hard, Dean Zhou.”
“It’s what I’m here for.”
Ji Xiunian switched off the sound system. “I should be going. Are you staying?”
Zhou Lang nodded. “I’ll look around a bit more. Oh—Fang Xun asked me to tell you she’s left already.”
“I see. Thank you.” Ji Xiunian was about to say something more when her gaze snagged on the collar of Zhou Lang’s coat.
—On it was half a lipstick print. Plum-colored.
Not the shade Zhou Lang was wearing today.
She stared for several seconds before pulling her eyes away. “I’ll be going.”
Zhou Lang watched her hurry off, murmuring to herself, “What’s the rush?”
She toured every studio, and on her way out caught, in the glass’s reflection, the lipstick mark on her white suit jacket. Who knew where she’d picked it up.
Her brow creased instinctively. She stripped the jacket off on the spot and dropped it in the trash.
Ji Xiunian took the stairs quickly and stood in the restroom for a while.
Of all people, Duan Jiaru walked in, freshening her makeup.
Duan Jiaru spoke first, smiling. “Professor Ji.”
Ji Xiunian’s smile was faint and reserved, but her gaze drifted downward, and she drifted with it. “President Duan.”
Duan Jiaru arched a brow. “Professor Ji? Something the matter?”
Ji Xiunian reined in her eyes, lashes lowering. “Nothing.”
She had seen it. Duan Jiaru’s lipstick was a deep, dusky plum.
Duan Jiaru was touching up her lipstick. “Professor Ji—no, forgive me, I should say Dean Ji now. With your poise and presence, would you be interested in appearing in an arts and culture program our company is producing?”
“Not interested. My apologies.”
Ji Xiunian blotted the water from her hands with a paper towel. “I’ll be going. Goodbye.”
A black Bentley was parked at the roadside.
The window was half down; the breeze was gentle.
Zhou Lang leaned against the door and suddenly saw someone step out of the building and stand at the curb.
This area was bad for hailing cabs. The figure stood there a long while before picking up her bag and walking slowly back the way she’d come.
Ji Xiunian was only just leaving?
Zhou Lang settled back, her gaze finding its anchor.
Mm… her home couldn’t be far from here.
The black Bentley crept forward at a crawl, following at a distance.
The gap was calibrated perfectly.
Not too close. Not too far.
That slender, tall figure moved sometimes through sunlight, sometimes through the shade of trees.
Strangely, Zhou Lang found herself sensing that Ji Xiunian was in a poor mood.
She followed the whole way like that.
At the Chuntang Road intersection she didn’t drive on, pulling over to rest for a moment—and there, of all people, was Ji Anyang.
Zhou Lang tapped the horn and lowered the window. “Anyang?”
He lit up at the sight of her. “Hi, big sis! What are you doing here?”
Zhou Lang smiled too. “Just saw a friend home. Where are you headed?”
“Calligraphy class downtown.”
“Right on my way. I’ll take you. Hop in.”
Ji Anyang moved to open the rear door, but Zhou Lang called to him. “Anyang. Sit up front.”
“Okay…” The boy was a little flustered, and sat in the passenger seat as stiffly as if posing for a portrait.
Zhou Lang paid it no mind, fishing out two boxes of candy from beside her. “Citrus or watermelon?”
“Watermelon, I guess.”
Ji Anyang took a piece of candy, feeling thoroughly treated like a child.
Strange. He hated nothing more than being treated like a kid—yet he didn’t mind it at all from Zhou Lang. If anything, it felt warm.
“Calligraphy class every Saturday?”
“Mm. I’ve been learning since I was little.” Ji Anyang peeled the wrapper; the sweetness of the watermelon candy spread quietly, and he relaxed a little. “I stopped for two years when my health was bad.”
“Then about that yacht trip—will you have time?”
“Yes! Absolutely!”
For once, Ji Anyang wasn’t restrained and solemn at all. His eyes were shining, brimming with anticipation.
Zhou Lang smiled and said good, then asked, as if in passing, “And the family you board with—do they keep tight reins on you?”
“Mm, there’s hardly anyone home. They don’t fuss over me.”
“Is it an uncle… or an aunt?”
“Mm… there’s no uncle.”
Zhou Lang took that to mean “aunt.” “She’s single, then?”
“Mm.” Ji Anyang nodded, his voice sinking. “That’s why I’ve always kind of wanted to live in the school dorms.”
Zhou Lang caught only that one “mm.”
—Ji Xiunian. Single.
“Why? Is she unkind to you?”
“No, she’s very good to me. I just feel like I’ve disrupted her life. You don’t know… we all hope someone will come along and take good care of her.”
Zhou Lang smiled and asked lightly, “Shall I set her up with someone, then?”
“Huh? Big sis, you want to play matchmaker?”
“If it’s needed, just tell me. I can help.”
Zhou Lang smiled. “Matchmaker, hmph…”
If she was going to be anything, it would be the bride.
