Zhao Chiyun’s seldom-used desk sat by the window, in a great spot facing a street with little traffic. Paulownia leaves shaded half the asphalt road.
The sunlight was blinding, so Gan Xun pulled down the blackout curtains.
On the desk were teaching materials, pens, ink, paper, and inkstone, along with some of the students’ works.
Zhao Chiyun used a custom work log from the Book Garden, with a plain black cover and thick pages. Gan Xun flipped through a couple of pages casually.
Zhao Chiyun wrote with a fountain pen. Her hard-pen calligraphy looked relatively less fluid, but it was still quite good—much improved from when she first arrived.
The notes simply recorded some teaching content, points of attention, and the students’ personal information along with their family situations.
Cui Can finished a call with a parent and stood nearby watching. She said Zhao Chiyun had a photographic memory and didn’t write these things down because she couldn’t remember them. Instead, many students had shared personal details—like their interests or their parents’ occupations—that Zhao Chiyun didn’t understand.
She couldn’t always respond to everything with calm silence.
So she wrote them down and occasionally looked them up to do her homework.
No wonder Gan Xun kept getting hit with all sorts of random questions.
“Such great teacher ethics.”
“She said it’s not just for the students. These are just topics she’s collecting for her own knowledge expansion in modern society.”
Cui Can tried to recite the long string of original words.
Such a profound topic—even this made Gan Xun jealous. She asked irritably, “Why does she talk to you about everything?”
Cui Can shrugged. “Isn’t this just daily life? So what do you two talk about when you’re together?”
Gan Xun turned stingy again. “No comment.”
“No one really wants to hear it anyway.”
Cui Can pulled up a chair and sat nearby, opening her collection of guides. “The summer classes end in a couple days. I’m planning to go on vacation.”
“Tang Lv with you?”
“Yeah, the case she’s handling has wrapped up too.”
With nothing better to do, Cui Can shared some elite gossip she’d heard from her pillow talk partner—rumors that were making the rounds lately about the Luo Family, Mirror City’s rich merchants.
“Luo Hexing was diagnosed with a serious illness last year. At first, the news was tightly sealed, but once he started obsessing over burning incense and worshiping Buddha, word spread like wildfire.
“The Luo Family donated a huge sum in incense money to the temple. Luo Hexing himself, dragging his sick body, even brought his wife there in person once a month, climbing the mountain and staying to eat vegetarian meals.”
Whether it was the Luo Corporation or Luo Hexing himself, whom Gan Xun had only seen in the news, they were all too far removed from her life for her to care much.
She just keenly picked up on his desperate clinging to faith. “People get more dependent on beliefs when they’re in despair.”
It wasn’t her place to empathize.
But in the face of health and fate, money and status weren’t miracle cures.
Cui Can leaned on the desk and scooted closer, whispering, “The key part is this year—maybe early summer—they ran into a girl while eating vegetarian meals at the temple. They say she looked eighty percent like their beloved daughter who died ten years ago, and she was exactly the age their daughter would have been.”
Now Gan Xun found the story interesting. She leaned in too, giving Cui Can her full attention.
Cui Can described it vividly, as if she were there. “The couple wept with joy, thinking Buddha had shown mercy and given them some warmth in their old age. So they recognized her as an adopted daughter and brought her home.”
Gan Xun felt like she’d watched a movie.
“That adopted daughter got the wealthy heiress script. Looks like burning incense really brings good luck. But did her real parents agree to letting her be taken home?”
“Seems like she was an orphan, no parents. Who knows the details—we’re not privy. Anyway, she’s great at coaxing her adoptive parents. They say she’s stunningly beautiful, smart as a whip, and has a lot of say in the Luo Family. She might even get a share of the inheritance later.”
Gan Xun sighed. “What great luck.”
Then she added, “It reminds me of our County Princess—just the opposite. That girl had happiness knocking at her door and got a wealthy family identity, while Zhao Chiyun had misfortune crash down and got demoted to a commoner in another time-space.”
Cui Can pressed her lips together tight, her face twisting slightly. “So tragic. Not sure why you make it sound hilarious.”
Gan Xun gave a wry smile, then heard Cui Can ask, “Do you think she can ever go back? I feel like…”
The office door suddenly opened.
Lan Xiaoxi and another art teacher pushed the door open and walked in. They saw Gan Xun and Cui Can leaning close together, paused in surprise, then laughed.
Lan Xiaoxi greeted Gan Xun. “Here to keep Teacher Zhao company at work.”
The other art teacher teased, “Teacher Zhao needs protection now when she goes out. She’s too popular.”
Gan Xun was baffled. “I just heard that parent tell Chiyun she’s a big celebrity now. So what’s that about exactly?”
Cui Can looked puzzled. “Didn’t I send it to you?”
Gan Xun had been busy lately, too busy to keep up with anything but Zhao Chiyun, so she thought she’d missed the message. “Which one?”
Cui Can rolled her eyes at her. “So your calm is just because you have no idea.”
Lan Xiaoxi explained, “A little while ago during the promotional video shoot, they filmed teachers giving lessons in several classrooms. But that promotional video blew up because of Teacher Zhao’s segment. Plus, some people—students or parents, not sure—posted life photos of Teacher Zhao in the comments.”
Gan Xun’s expression shifted slightly.
Lan Xiaoxi quickly reassured her. “We checked them out. No direct face shots, just side profiles and backs, but it still sparked more comments. Lately, almost everyone inquiring about the adult calligraphy classes is asking about her. So everyone’s teasing that Teacher Zhao’s become an internet sensation.”
“Get ready mentally. Things might be a bit troublesome for a while.”
It turned out to be Cui Lan Book Garden’s promotional video—Cui Can had sent it to the group chat, and Gan Xun had watched it.
She’d paid special attention to Zhao Chiyun’s part. On camera, Zhao Chiyun teaching couldn’t be simply called beautiful; every gesture was elegant and poised.
Gan Xun had even dipped into the comments back then. Maybe because it was fresh, most were about the Book Garden. After that, she hadn’t checked again and had no idea it’d blown up like this.
Gan Xun relayed the whole story to Zhao Chiyun.
By then, Zhao Chiyun had gotten home from work. She asked, “What kind of trouble?”
“There’s an idiom for it—praise and criticism mixed. More people liking you means more who don’t, and some might stare at you uncomfortably.”
“Praise and criticism half each.”
Zhao Chiyun smiled tolerantly.
She added, “Got it. How the outside world judges isn’t up to me. It’s the times, it’s fate. Don’t worry about it.”
“If the Book Garden gets more students because of this, Cui Can should give me a cut.”
Gan Xun: “…”
Gan Xun scooted closer to her on the sofa, resting her chin on Zhao Chiyun’s shoulder and sniffing at her neck.
Zhao Chiyun hadn’t showered yet after coming home from outside, so she felt a bit self-conscious, thinking Gan Xun sniffing her was pervy.
She leaned back, puzzled and annoyed. “What are you sniffing? Do I smell or something?”
“You do.”
“You’re making it up.”
“Has a bit of a money stink.”
Zhao Chiyun rolled her eyes at her, sat back properly, and said primly, “A gentleman loves wealth. What’s wrong with that?”
In the past, she had no real concept of money. She knew it mattered but thought it endless and inexhaustible, never sparing it a thought.
Now that she’d entered the world, even if she was slow on the uptake, she knew how hard-earned money was. Plenty of people were even more strapped than Gan Xun.
And there was something satisfying about earning it herself.
The joy of payday wasn’t any less than the pleasures of her former lavish indulgences.
Gan Xun tapped into the promotional video Cui Can had sent. This time, the comments were livelier than anything this account had ever posted before.
The top-liked ones were all about Zhao Chiyun.
As Gan Xun scrolled, she felt a mix of crisis and pride. “It’s like getting scouted by a talent agent. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew. Besides, the video was to promote the Book Garden. More comments like that are putting the cart before the horse—not worth mentioning.”
Gan Xun saw photos others had taken of Zhao Chiyun: writing at her desk, chatting and laughing, sitting alone to rest. Even blurry ones trailed a touch of beauty.
Her heart beat faster. Possessing a treasure invites trouble. The thought that Zhao Chiyun, seen by so many people, “belonged” to her brought an overwhelming mix of thrill and panic.
“Everyone’s totally enchanted by the County Princess.”
Zhao Chiyun scoffed. “Superficial. How can you know a person just from their skin?”
She took no pride in it. Flaunting her looks wasn’t her way.
Gan Xun told her, “Yeah, they’re all superficial. Only I love your inner qualities.”
She paused, and Zhao Chiyun looked at her quietly.
Then, lightly but without room for argument, she said, “Gan Xun, you’re full of shit.”
“!”
Gan Xun’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Then she flushed and burst out laughing. “You’re a County Princess, Teacher Zhao—how can you say something so crude!”
Zhao Chiyun felt a bit embarrassed after saying it, but she stood her ground. “Learned it from you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never said stuff like that to your face.” Gan Xun denied it.
“I heard you curse Cui Can like that.”
Gan Xun thought back—yeah, it wasn’t impossible. Everyone had their verbal tics in daily life; she never paid attention.
But words from Zhao Chiyun’s mouth always carried an ancient, inky elegance. Suddenly dropping something so down-to-earth shocked her so much she forgot it was a retort.
It wasn’t until bath time that she remembered and chased after Zhao Chiyun. “You don’t think I like you just for your face, do you?”
Zhao Chiyun came out of the kitchen holding a water cup. “Not entirely.”
That was more like it.
Zhao Chiyun turned. “Your body too.”
“!”
Gan Xun covered her startling lips with a hand. From the laughter spilling from Zhao Chiyun’s eyes, she could tell Zhao Chiyun was deliberately teasing her.
Gan Xun covered her eyes next, watching the smile shift to her lips.
With a charm and allure absent from those comment photos, she no longer seemed like a figure from a painting. She was vibrant, radiant, intoxicating.
Her lips were pink and moist, utterly kissable.
Gan Xun couldn’t help but kiss her.
Behind Zhao Chiyun was the tightly shut bedroom door. Gan Xun slowly pinned her in her arms, claiming her breath—from gentle to unhinged, urgent like the second before a cosmic explosion.
Zhao Chiyun quickly couldn’t keep up, her mouth going numb from the stirring, her legs going weak, her hands unsteady. Half the water from the cup spilled during the kiss, soaking both her legs and Gan Xun’s.
Soon she couldn’t hold out, whimpering as she turned her head away from Gan Xun’s still-insatiable lips.
Panting, she said, “I have no strength left. The cup—the water spilled.”
Only then did Gan Xun notice. She took the porcelain cup from Zhao Chiyun’s hand and saw her water-soaked hand and fair wrist, along with her own wet legs.
Unable to help herself, she grasped Zhao Chiyun’s damp hand.
She looked up into Zhao Chiyun’s slightly flushed face. Her eyes were misty like steamed up, carrying a seductive charm she didn’t usually show.
The outer corners of her eyes hooked back, tracing an arc like deep affection.
Zhao Chiyun lifted the gripped hand and brushed her damp finger backs against Gan Xun’s cheek, asking softly, “You like the inner qualities but not my face?”
“You’re staring so intently.”
