Zhou Lang quickly recovered. “Hello. I’m Zhou Xiang’s older sister. How has Zhou Xiang been behaving lately?”
“Need you ask? Splendid!”
“Not splendid at all.”
Zhou Xiang’s jaw dropped.
Ji Anyang shot him a cold glance and recited, deadpan. “Monday, threw chalk at the math teacher’s back, got a dressing-down. Tuesday, talked during the weekly quiz, got a dressing-down from the proctor. Wednesday, was—”
“Stop, stop, stop, stop!”
Zhou Xiang couldn’t take any more. “Ji Anyang! Fine if you won’t help me, but snitching?!”
Ji Anyang: “Mm. You’re the one who insisted on grabbing my shirt. My mother ironed it so neatly.”
Zhou Xiang hopped with frustration. “You fussy neat-freak! Can’t your revenge wait a day?!”
But Zhou Lang burst out laughing—and only after laughing did she remember to look stern. Too late; Zhou Xiang read her too well, slinging an arm over her shoulder. “Come on, Sis, don’t be mad. I really didn’t do anything bad today. We were voting on need-based scholarships in class, and the teacher gave the spot to the class monitor, so I protested. Just a little.”
“Oh? How, exactly?”
“Well…”
Ji Anyang lowered his head, smiling too. “He drew a turtle, wrote ‘whoever plays favorites is a bastard,’ and stuck it on the teacher’s back.”
“Pfft—” Zhou Lang couldn’t hold it in, poking Zhou Xiang’s forehead with a finger. “You’ve got quite the repertoire.”
Zhou Xiang lifted his chin. “She felt guilty, that’s why! Said I’d be the death of her… And you, Ji Anyang, don’t you laugh either—the glue was yours!”
With the whole story clear, there was no need for an inquisition. Zhou Lang asked Ji Anyang, “Where do you live, Anyang? Let me give you a ride home.”
The youth declined politely. “Thank you, but no need. I’m going to the City Library to borrow books.”
Zhou Lang found his manner of speaking oddly familiar—a composure that didn’t belong to his age.
She thought nothing more of it. “Goodbye, then. Come visit sometime.”
After parting with Ji Anyang, Zhou Xiang climbed into the back seat. “Sis, I thought you were going to flay me alive today.”
“No manners at all,” Zhou Lang said, starting the car. “What would I even scold you for?”
“If you don’t scold me, it feels wrong…”
“I’m not that free. By the way—your deskmate seems a far sight better than that pack of cronies of yours.”
“I knew it. You adults all love bookworms like Ji Anyang, think they’re so well-behaved… Let me tell you, the ones who look obedient are the wildest underneath!”
“No. I just think he’s a polite child.”
Zhou Xiang opened his game, muttering, “Whatever. Everyone looks better to you than I do…”
Zhou Lang ignored his little grumbling.
The scenery slid backward outside the window.
The car pulled away from Mingchuan No. 1 High School.
Ji Xiunian had taken a week’s leave, her classes covered by other teachers.
The lumbar flare-up had been pure accident.
That day she’d walked home in the rain, and chasing Anyang, stepped into a puddle and wrenched her back hard. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, went on teaching and handling the Leheng handover as usual—and only when the searing pain struck mid-dance-class did she realize how careless she’d been.
Still, the medicated oil Zhou Lang brought worked remarkably well. Who knew whether the technique she spoke of had been learned specially from a doctor… It had her recovering fast.
Aside from that day’s overly ambiguous atmosphere, everything was fine.
Yet Ji Xiunian still chafed.
Chafed at herself for giving in. For agreeing to her.
Back from leave, she had just reached the college when the meeting room door opened and a crowd filed out, Zhou Lang and Hao Shuyou at the front. Seeing her, they stopped.
Zhou Lang’s tone was flat. “Professor Ji finally graces us. Everyone’s been waiting.”
Hao Shuyou patted her arm, signaling her to leave Ji Xiunian some face. “Professor Ji has been unwell. She was on sick leave.”
Zhou Lang: “Oh, true enough. Won’t take care of yourself—nothing to be done.”
This woman… knew perfectly well she had a back injury, and still insisted on teaching dance.
Ji Xiunian’s expression was mild. “No need to trouble yourself over me, Dean Zhou.”
Mockery seeped into Zhou Lang’s smile. “Who’s troubled? It’s just that the liaison work couldn’t find its person, and the budget revisions had no one to help. Annoying, that’s all.”
Hao Shuyou parted them. “All right. Teacher Ji, come to my office—some work matters.”
Ji Xiunian nodded and passed Zhou Lang without a word.
In the Dean’s office, Hao Shuyou poured her tea. “Sorry about that, Teacher Ji. My Little Junior Martial Sister’s temper really isn’t the best. No idea what got into her today… She doesn’t usually talk like that.”
Just not toward Ji Xiunian… never toward her.
Ji Xiunian sipped her tea. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
Hao Shuyou sensed the undercurrents between them, but other people’s private matters weren’t his to probe, so he turned to work: the budget sheet Ji Xiunian made still had issues; during her week out, Cen Yao had corrected them, and Zhou Lang hadn’t even quibbled.
When the work talk wound down, Ji Xiunian returned to her office—where, unexpectedly, Zhou Lang still was, head bowed.
Ji Xiunian knocked on the doorframe.
Only then did Zhou Lang look up.
“Thank you.”
“Hm?”
“That day. Your medicine…”
“Oh.” Zhou Lang smiled, her tone breezy. “My assistant happened to be looking for me—he advertises for his classmate every day, poor soul—so I did a good deed, bought a few bottles, and did Professor Ji a favor while I was at it. We’re colleagues; a small favor, hardly worth lifting a finger. Professor Ji isn’t reading anything into it, I hope?”
Ji Xiunian: “…Nothing into it.”
Of course… That day her mind had been a storm, yet Zhou Lang hadn’t shown a flicker of anything.
Perhaps applying her medicine that day really had been nothing more than a chance to watch her squirm.
No doubt it was exactly as she’d said: revenge, and toying.
An unnameable feeling rose in her—relief, or loss, she couldn’t tell. Ji Xiunian took out her phone. “How much was the medicine? I’ll transfer it.”
“Pocket change. Forget it. Need help applying it again? Last time was free, but this time there’s a charge. I’m expensive.”
“No need. Thank you.”
Ji Xiunian didn’t take the bait of her joke.
Zhou Lang tilted her head, smiling. “Professor Ji, how stingy. Last time you said you’d thank me and never did. So this time—how will you thank me?”
Ji Xiunian: “When I’m free… I’ll treat you to a meal.”
Zhou Lang held out her own phone. “Deal. No need to scan a payment code—scan my business card, add me on WeChat. I tried adding you before; you never accepted. Professor Ji puts on grand airs.”
Not long ago, she’d had Hao Shuyou pass along Ji Xiunian’s contact card—but her friend request had sunk like a stone, no response whatsoever.
Two or three weeks into the semester, and they still didn’t have each other’s contact information.
Ji Xiunian’s expression stayed cool and distant. “There’s no need. For work matters, email is sufficient.”
Zhou Lang scoffed. “Who invites someone to dinner by email? You just said you’d thank me—hardly sincere, is it?”
The point was fair. Ji Xiunian didn’t insist, and scanned the code to add her.
Zhou Lang glanced at the screen.
Friend request accepted.
Her profile picture was a stretch of blue sea, sunlight blazing, clouds white.
Zhou Lang pocketed the phone. “Knew it—Professor Ji hates owing favors more than anything. Remember: dinner. I have class now… See you.”
Talking as she walked out, she gave a self-mocking little smile.
This past half month… it had looked like she was pressing in step by step, but the initiative had been entirely in Ji Xiunian’s hands.
She rarely truly angered her, and never once ruffled her composure with all her flirting.
See—even all those bottles of medicine needed a fabricated excuse before she’d accept them.
—And all it bought was a WeChat contact.
After her morning classes, Ji Xiunian went to the faculty cafeteria for lunch. Yan Yisheng stood by the window, waving her over. “Here, here!”
The Ji Family and Yan Family were old family friends; the two had known each other for years.
Yan Yisheng was a professor at Ning University Geography College, off doing geological survey work in the northwest since the start of the year, back only last week. “Professor Ji, you busy celebrity—finally I see you.”
Ji Xiunian sat down. “Funny, I wonder who’s been busy. Eight, nine months without a word from you.”
“Can’t help it—no signal in the field half the time.”
“Anything interesting on the road?”
“There was. Recently I took a fancy to a model—a little puppy, skilled, too. Lasted two days. Too young.”
Ji Xiunian couldn’t help chiding her. “Yisheng, you’re not young anymore. Can’t you settle down?”
Yan Yisheng rolled her eyes. “Settle down? Have you? Your heart’s still parked a thousand miles away, isn’t it?”
Ji Xiunian’s smile dimmed. “Don’t talk nonsense.”
“Whoa, something’s off with you?”
“…She’s back.”
“She? Zhou Lang?!”
“Keep your voice down!”
Ji Xiunian was resigned. “What’s with that face?”
Yan Yisheng leaned in close. “So tell me—old house catching fire, one spark and whoosh? Old flames rekindled, dry wood and raging fire, tigers on the loose, earth-shattering passion!”
“All right, all right.” Ji Xiunian pushed her back. “Sit properly, you’re squishing me.”
“Well? Is there or isn’t there?”
“There isn’t.”
Yan Yisheng didn’t believe it. “Impossible. That’s not how the novels go. She really said nothing? Did nothing?”
Ji Xiunian: “What do you think?”
“Cough, cough. Like that meme online—she chases, she flees, and neither of them shall escape.”
“Pfft.” Ji Xiunian laughed despite herself. “What nonsense. No. She’s been fairly normal… occasionally strange.”
Like asking whether she liked green apples… like suddenly demanding to be treated to peaches.
“Not one line that crossed the line?”
“…”
Ji Xiunian thought about it.
Truthfully, “crossing the line” was hard to define.
Like that rainy night, when Zhou Lang’s fingertip had landed on her lips and asked—this, may I?
But she’d said soon after that it was a joke.
Less an old flame refusing to die… than an elaborate game at her expense.
At the thought, an unaccustomed gloom settled over her. “Nothing too far. Though—a few days ago, without thinking it through… I actually agreed to let her apply my medicine.”
But at the time, she truly hadn’t been able to refuse her.
She couldn’t reach the spot herself, and Fang Xun wouldn’t dare offend Zhou Lang.
Yan Yisheng’s jaw dropped. “Applied where?!”
One look at her expression and Ji Xiunian’s temper flared. “What are you imagining! My back and waist. My old injury.”
“Oh, that’s nothing, I thought…” Yan Yisheng looked entirely unbothered. “You’re so old-fashioned. You’re both women—what’s there to be nervous about, her rubbing on some medicine?”
Ji Xiunian shook her head.
She had asked the wrong person.
After all, in Yan Yisheng’s book, anything short of sleeping together didn’t count.
But… she and Zhou Lang had been apart all these years, each with their own life now.
There should be no more contact between them. None.
Yan Yisheng: “Come on, my ancestor. You’re just too bottled up. Live a little. I’m telling you—if that Zhou Lang dares cross the line and toy with you, go book a room and do her!”
Ji Xiunian choked. “D-do her?”
“Oh?” A voice drifted up lazily from behind. “Professor Ji, planning to do me how, exactly?”
