The glass window at her back was cold. Fu Xiling hoisted her up by the hips with one arm, the other yanking off her heels.

They kissed hard, like they were daring each other to run out of air.

Shi Zhi remembered work and her thesis—pushed him off.

He paused, fingers teasing the hem of her shirt spilling out from her skirt.

Like he was hinting he knew she’d come straight from work, no break.

Fu Xiling dipped his head, muffling a laugh into her neck. “Let’s get you relaxed.”

Fresh off a kiss, she half-thought he was up to no good. As he carried her to the bathroom, she shot him a side-eye.

The bathroom was huge, steam swirling.

The tub gleamed—cleaned daily by the maid. Shi Zhi, all about efficiency, had only used the shower here, never the massage tub.

Fu Xiling set her on the edge. “When this place was built, a hotel nearby was renovating two floors. I had to sign off on supply lists—saw ‘massage tub’ on the luxe suite specs, checked it out during inspection. Thought it was cool.”

A few days later, he’d jetted off with friends to the brand’s flagship store, snagging the latest model.

“The sales guy said some athlete—can’t remember who—uses it for hydrotherapy after games. Tons of features. Give it a shot.”

Shi Zhi smirked. “Scamming rich suckers like you?”

“Maybe.”

She jabbed, but her feet ached from heels—she needed this. Unbuttoning her shirt, she spotted a yellow blob by the tub. “You need a duck toy for baths?”

“That’s a dog toy. Friend brought their pup over earlier this year, left it. Maid probably stashed it here.”

Shi Zhi shed her shirt, splashing warm water at him. “You let a dog bathe in this?”

He wiped his jaw with his tee. “Am I nuts?”

She was the only one soaking in the massage jets—he hit the shower next door.

Hair tied up loosely with her bracelet, she leaned back.

It was good—good enough she half-believed the athlete pitch. Glancing at the tub’s digital panel, she grabbed her phone to look it up.

Pricey. Hit her as hard as that living room projector.

Stepping out, she wrapped up in a robe, blow-drying her hair while dreaming big.

Maybe with some hustle, she could own one.

Fu Xiling came in, perched on the tub’s edge, peeking at her phone. “Like it? I’ll get you one when you renovate.”

“No need.”

She had plans—none tied to a guy’s handouts.

She didn’t lean on anyone.

With Fu Xiling, simpler was better—purely physical, ideally.

He’d just showered too, all fresh.

Shi Zhi tugged his robe tie, tried helping him out—botched it bad.

He raked back wet bangs, forehead vein popping, holding it together. “I’m showering again.”

She didn’t quit easy—stubborn as hell, frowning, refusing to admit her hands sucked, demanding another go.

He grabbed an iced soda, downed half. “Seriously, don’t.”

That stretch, he kept bringing her home. Physically, she got hooked—even called him to pick her up sometimes.

When she was in a good mood, they’d crash in the same bed.

Morning, he’d be propped up, helpless. “You study tai chi? Not a corner of this blanket’s mine.”

No clue how he did it, but Fu Xifeng stayed gone.

Only Yao Yao popped by the restaurant sometimes, yapping her aimless stories.

She’d asked, “Shi Zhi, I know you’re a star at B University. Ever think of switching internships? Restaurant work’s brutal—my aunt says standing in heels all day gives you varicose veins.”

Shi Zhi shook her head. “Not right now.”

Her work break came early December.

Three days before payday, Manager Liu called her in.

Said per HQ, she’d report to HR there tomorrow.

Shi Zhi knew it was Fu Qian’s move—likely her team.

First week at HQ, no Fu Qian sightings.

But delivering files, through the crystal-clear glass wall of Fu Qian’s office, she saw a familiar figure.

A guy with A4 papers, head down, flipping through.

Loose sweater, shirt collar peeking out, slouched against the desk, chatting with Fu Qian.

Angle hid his face.

But Shi Zhi knew—had to be Fu Xiling.

They’d made out hot and heavy in that bathroom;

Chased each other in the living room, toppling vases; battled it out kissing on the same bed.

She couldn’t mistake him.

That closeness only worked in private.

Out here, it soured.

Especially now.

Seeing him didn’t thrill her—it made her pause, walls up.

At Xingrong Group, her spot wasn’t great. Post-transfer, HR gave her no real role or tasks.

Her desk was in the core zone—Fu Qian’s “on-call” pick—but everyone else buzzed around while she wrote restaurant reflection reports.

Like a kid’s homework.

Maybe Fu Qian’s first-impression hunch was off—testing her, finding she didn’t fit.

Bosses were a puzzle.

Even if Shi Zhi saw no flaws in her work, she couldn’t tell if Fu Qian was pushing her out or testing her grit.

Early December always tanked her mood. Job uncertainty didn’t help—appetite worse than usual.

HQ’s cafeteria food was bland—low oil, low salt, health-nut style.

She picked at steamed broccoli and stir-fried yam, dropped her tray at the cleaning slot, and left.

Cafeteria was in Zone B. Crossing the glass bridge to Zone A, she saw Fu Xiling again.

Downstairs, exiting the revolving doors with Fu Qian.

Winter sharpened his style—long coat over a loose hoodie, all him.

Fu Qian’s new short hair screamed efficiency.

His broad shoulders and long legs next to her 1.8-meter aura somehow made her look dainty, almost delicate.

Colleagues zipped by; Fu Qian nodded at them.

Pigeons strutted by the fountain, pecking at crumbs.

They didn’t flinch much—Fu Xiling passed, and they just scurried a few steps.

He grinned, half-turned, talking to Fu Qian.

Shi Zhi remembered him saying he and Fu Qian weren’t close.

Sure, he’d followed that with, “If you’re hinting I could boost your career, I could flirt with Fu Zong next event.”

Bullshit she’d never buy.

But two days straight with Fu Qian?

They hadn’t talked—she’d told him she was swamped with her thesis, no interruptions.

Maybe he’d bring it up next time?

That night, she burned midnight oil on her paper.

Dreamed of Shi Mei.

Same end-of-life look—cheeks sunken, eyes hollow, wild stare, hospital gown, fixated on Shi Zhi, chanting: A woman can’t bow her head, ever.

She woke, booked a train ticket.

Needed a break—planned to confront Fu Qian. At her desk, Fu Qian’s assistant beat her to it. “Fu Zong wants you in her office.”

Fu Qian was misting a mini potted plant with a sprayer.

“Shi Zhi, I didn’t pick wrong.”

They talked all morning, nailing her next three years’ work path.

But the timing nagged her.

Was Fu Xiling behind these breaks?

Before leaving, she asked, “Fu Zong, I need two days off.”

“Heard you never took breaks at the restaurant—traded rest for overtime pay. Why rest now?”

Shi Zhi pulled out Shi Mei’s death certificate. “Mom’s memorial.”

That night, Fu Xiling asked her out.

Not straight home—first a restaurant, fancy creative dishes.

She was off, listless. He teased, “Meeting me isn’t just for that—gotta eat, right?”

She was waiting for Fu Qian talk.

Dinner ended, back at his place—no word on those HQ visits.

Shi Mei’s memorial soured her temper and patience, and she couldn’t rein it in. At the玄關, she blurted, “Fu Xiling, I got promoted.”

HeDressedHe picked up something off—tone turning serious. “Congrats. But why this vibe?”

“You’d know why, wouldn’t you?”

He clocked her suspicion—if it wasn’t about her, she wouldn’t look at him like that.

His mood tanked too.

He’d explained this before—since when did he owe anyone answers?

“You read Shen Jia like a book—why half-ass it with me…”

Cut off.

He knew he’d fucked up.

Her face shifted—grabbing her coat, she bolted. He called after her, no response, no glance back.

Half a minute later, he chased downstairs, temper flaring—she was gone.

Shen Jia’s name was that untouchable, huh?!