Chapter 3

Ji Xiunian’s mind involuntarily followed those words for a few seconds before she cut herself off hard.

Zhou Lang fastened the second-to-last button, her collar falling slightly open to reveal a slender snow-white neck. “Dean Hao gave me the titles of Honorary Vice Dean and Visiting Professor, and assigned me courses too. Space is tight in the college—most professors share offices. He said you had a spare desk here, Professor Ji, so I’ll be working with you for now.”

Ji Xiunian’s brows drew together.

Right on cue, Hao Shuyou knocked and came in. “Good morning, you two. Teacher Ji, for the Western Art History course, you’ll still teach the music and dance portions, and Zhou Lang will handle the painting. Oh—and next semester the college moves to the new building, and every professor will get a private office. Zhou Lang, bear with it for now.”

Hao Shuyou had been parachuted into Ning University’s Art College with no familiarity with its administrative environment or interpersonal history—least of all all the old, dusty grudges.

Zhou Lang didn’t bother explaining; she had simply chosen this office from the several he’d offered.

She nodded. “It’s no trouble. Senior Martial Brother, go tend to your work.”

So he was her Senior Martial Brother—fellow disciples under the same master.

Ji Xiunian met Hao Shuyou’s gaze and nodded slowly. “Understood, Dean Hao.”

“Then I’m off. Teacher Ji, when you have time, show Zhou Lang around campus. She’s my Little Junior Martial Sister—hasn’t been back in the country for ages, and she graduated from Ning University too. The campus has changed a lot these past few years; it might feel unfamiliar. Take her around when you get a chance.”

Hao Shuyou gave a few more smiling instructions and pulled the office door shut behind him from outside, sealing the two of them into their own little world.

Ji Xiunian knew she couldn’t stay. Picking up the documents from her desk, she said, “I’m leaving, Dean Zhou.”

Zhou Lang’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Professor Ji, the course the Dean just mentioned—your course materials. May I see them?”

Ji Xiunian found a USB drive in her drawer and handed it over. “The Western Art History folder. All the teaching slides are in there.”

Zhou Lang took the drive, her fingertips skimming across her palm. “Thank you.”

Ji Xiunian withdrew her hand, her fingers slowly curling in.

She turned to leave—and was called back.

“Professor Ji, the Dean just said you’re to show me around campus.”

“I have class in the dance studio this morning. Dean Zhou, please make yourself at home.”

Zhou Lang’s brows lifted in sudden understanding. “I haven’t seen the dance studio yet. And the Dean and I were just discussing the expansion plans—why don’t you take me over for a look, Professor Ji?”

Her expression was serene, her tone even, as if the two of them were merely new colleagues handling work matters together.

The emotions that had briefly slipped loose yesterday had long since been buried, sealed beneath a thick suit of armor—flawless, impenetrable, unreadable.

Even the curve of her lips seemed carefully designed.

Ji Xiunian had no grounds left to refuse her.

Ning University was steeped in history—grey brick and white tile, quaint and beautiful.

The campus was planted with ginkgo trees and tall, dense camphors, the roads straight and broad. It was time for morning classes; students strolled in twos and threes with light steps.

They walked the whole way in silence.

Zhou Lang watched the young faces passing by, her tone casual. “Professor Ji, after all these years, why are you still teaching?”

Wasn’t abandoning her precisely so she could enter the system and climb to a high position?

Ji Xiunian looked down at the camphor leaves scattered on the path. “No particular reason.”

Zhou Lang was clearly dissatisfied with the perfunctory answer, but she asked nothing more.

They walked the rest of the way to the dance studio in silence.

Ji Xiunian’s class had begun as a small general-elective course, practicing with a few familiar students; then the onlookers multiplied. If the building’s security hadn’t started turning away unregistered students, the crowds would have burst the dance studio at the seams.

Though “sneaking into a class” wasn’t quite the whole story.

Plenty of students came purely to see a beauty. Professor Ji of Ning University’s Art College had been the school’s famous great beauty back in her own student days—gentle and refined, orchid-graced, with a spring-breeze smile for everyone.

And Professor Ji dancing was devastatingly beautiful. The figure, the poise—she was many people’s ideal.

Students who genuinely wanted to learn and students who came to feast their eyes were mixed half and half, making her classes especially lively.

“I’ll go change. Class is starting.”

“Go ahead, Professor Ji. I’ll look around.”

Ji Xiunian said nothing more and turned away.

Zhou Lang made a circuit. Aside from Ji Xiunian’s classical dance course, the other dance studios had students learning folk and modern dance—a sparse dozen or so standing scattered, strikingly deserted next to the packed room.

Zhou Lang walked back.

She looked up at the ceiling and chandelier, listened to the sound system’s output, and raised a thoughtful brow, arriving at a conclusion: the Art College was rather short on money.

Ji Xiunian’s class had already begun.

Even Zhou Lang hadn’t expected it to be this popular—more students had streamed in just now. The not-large dance studio was crowded, students occasionally treading on each other’s toes.

She stood in one corner, her gaze cutting through the crowd to land squarely on the woman at the very front.

Today Ji Xiunian was teaching Chinese classical dance.

She wore a classical Chinese dance dress, its craftsmanship exquisite, only somewhat old.

The woman stood motionless at the front, the tassels at her sleeves hanging naturally, her slender waist cinched to a hand’s span, her back tall and willowy, her presence serene.

The music began. As she rose on tiptoe and turned, the ribbons of her dress, hanging quiet a moment before, lifted and unfurled through the air with airy grace, and the sleeves embroidered with intricate patterns came alive.

Under the falling light, the dress’s owner—slender-waisted, full-bosomed as a ripe peach, her figure light and lovely—was like a flying apsara from the Dunhuang murals, elegance steeped in classical charm.

The young girls who’d come for the eye candy watched that beautiful dancing, eyes shining.

Zhou Lang watched her too.

Through the break, her gaze never left her—never left that bosom full as a ripe peach. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her throat bobbing.

Suddenly she rather… craved a peach.

She drifted into a daze.

Right—back then she had loved honey peaches, and Ji Xiunian had known it. Sometimes, when Ji Xiunian’s class ended first, she would come find her, always bringing honey peaches.

Her lapse lasted only an instant.

She saw a girl in a red dance dress walk to the window and strike up a conversation with Ji Xiunian.

A young girl brimming with youthful energy.

High ponytail, oval face, pointed chin, a pair of beautiful large eyes full of life—now sparkling with sly, playful mischief, seemingly asking about a dance move, but more like friends chatting.

They were talking. Not only Zhou Lang noticed; the other students noticed too, casting glances of envy or jealousy their way.

Most students knew Ji Xiunian always smiled when she spoke with people—but that was plainly habit born of good upbringing. She guided students through dance moves with great patience, gentle with everyone, her voice soft and calm.

Someone whispered, “Why is Jiang Yue clinging to Teacher Ji again? She’s not her only teacher.”

“She’s not like this every day. What can you do about it… Honestly, it’s just because Teacher Ji has a nice temperament.”

“I think Teacher Ji genuinely likes her.”

“Hey… do you know who that is at the very back? She’s gorgeous, and so elegant—different style from Professor Ji, but both beautiful!”

“Oh… that’s Dean Zhou. Newly hired by the Art College.”

“Jiang. Yue.”

Zhou Lang read the name aloud in a low voice and smiled with amusement.

Ji Xiunian, mid-conversation with the student, turned her head and met her gaze directly. Seeing her slightly knitted brows, she froze for a beat.

When had Zhou Lang come over? She hadn’t noticed.

Had keeping her waiting too long displeased her?

She couldn’t read her attitude.

After all, after so many years, they were… strangers to each other now.

Ji Xiunian said to Jiang Yue, “Go on back. I have things to attend to.”

She pushed through the glass door and stood in the corridor, watching Zhou Lang.

Zhou Lang pressed her lips together and followed her out.

Before either could speak, Jiang Yue came out with her bag. “Teacher Ji, something urgent just came up—I have to go. I’ll ask you about that question another day.”

Ji Xiunian nodded. “All right. We’ll be in touch.”

Jiang Yue took a few steps, then stopped and turned back. “Teacher Ji, I saw you’d finished your water, so I left you a bottle. It’s on the windowsill.”

Ji Xiunian thanked her; Jiang Yue blushed a little sheepishly and said a few more words.

By the time Ji Xiunian had said her goodbyes to the students and turned around, Zhou Lang had vanished. A glance into the classroom revealed her drinking from that bottle on the windowsill. Catching her gaze, Zhou Lang walked out. “Professor Ji, you don’t mind?”

Ji Xiunian was neither angry nor smiling, her expression perfectly calm. “If Dean Zhou would like water, there’s hot water in the teachers’ lounge.”

“No need. I’m not thirsty anymore.”

Zhou Lang suppressed the irritation in her chest. “Oh, right—Professor Ji, when did your tastes change? Since when do you like green apples?”

Ji Xiunian was baffled. “What green apples?”

Zhou Lang arched a brow. Just as expected—Ji Xiunian was as dense as ever.

Exactly the same as before.

“Take a guess.”

“Forget it.”

Zhou Lang smiled, eyes narrowing.

Say it? Say that this person of hers was so fond of flirting all over the place?

Her gaze dropped to that spot full as a peach, her tone strange. “Perfect. I can’t be bothered to say it anyway.”

“I’m off.”

Zhou Lang waved a hand, and as she walked, tossed the bottle—one sip drunk—into the trash.

Spell it out?

As if. She would never let her know.

“Oh, right,” she stopped after a few steps and looked back. “Next time, treat me to peaches.”

Zhou Lang had barely left Ning University and was waiting at a red light when her phone rang. She stared at the screen for a few seconds before answering. “Jiaru. What is it?”

A woman’s gentle voice came through. “Mom asks whether you’ve been very busy lately—we haven’t been home for dinner in ages.”

Zhou Lang’s brows knit faintly, her tone remaining even. “Mm. A bit busy recently.”

“Are you free tonight? Come home for dinner?”

Zhou Lang rubbed the space between her brows, impatience on her face though her voice stayed warm and courteous. “I’m sorry, the company has things to handle tonight. When I find time in a few days, I’ll let you know.”

The other party said a few more things; she listened in silence.

After a moment, she said goodbye, tossed the phone aside carelessly, and ended the call.