“What are you doing?” a sharp voice suddenly rang out.

Mo Tingfeng turned around, frowning at the shocked woman. “Painting, obviously. Can’t you see?”

Chu Minghuan rolled her eyes. “Is that how you paint?”

“Then how should I do it?”

She pointed at the balcony floor.

He looked down but didn’t see what she meant.

“Can’t you see the little paint spots you’ve been dripping all over the floor?” she said with a sarcastic edge.

Oh, right! He stared at the conspicuous paint spots, momentarily dumbfounded.

“Don’t you know you’re supposed to lay down old newspapers or something when you paint? If paint gets on these tiles, how do you plan on cleaning it off?”

Clean it off? “I could probably just wipe it off with water, right?” he asked hopefully.

She gave him a look that screamed, *You wish.*

“Well, I could just replace all the tiles!” Annoyed by her disdainful attitude, he said it out of spite.

“You’re paying?”

“Yes, I’m paying.” The Mo family had plenty of money, after all.

Chu Minghuan’s face darkened, disliking his arrogant attitude. “I’m sorry, but what we need from you is *labor*, not money,” she sneered. “If every offender could just pay a fine, then what’s the point of the law?”

The word *offender* cut like a knife, and Mo Tingfeng glared at her, frustrated. After a long pause, he finally spoke with a similarly sarcastic tone.

“I thought the purpose of community service was to give people a chance to redeem themselves after making a mistake.”

She blinked. “That’s true.”

“Then why is Ms. Chu being so harsh on me? Aren’t social workers supposed to be patient and compassionate?”

“…?”

Was she in the wrong?

For days after, Chu Minghuan found herself reflecting on the question.

That day, they hadn’t parted on good terms. She went to the hardware store to buy some turpentine to help clean up the paint on the tiles, but he coldly refused her help, insisting it was his job and he would handle it.

All afternoon, without even stopping for lunch, he painted the windows and railings. Then he kneeled down and painstakingly used turpentine to scrub the paint spots off the tiles, making them shine.

She never expected someone of his background to actually be willing to do such tedious work.

By evening, he had finally cleaned everything up. The kids had come back from school and were curiously peeking at him on the balcony, giggling at the paint splatters on his clothes and face.

She thought he might get angry, but he silently endured it, maintaining a stoic expression.

Before he left, she asked the kids to say goodbye to “Uncle.”

“Just call me ‘Big Brother,’” he corrected, trying to keep a casual look of indifference.

She wanted to laugh, but when he glared at her, she quickly held it in.

And so they parted on a less-than-friendly note. The next day, he showed up at her office again. She told him he didn’t need to come every day and could work around his schedule, so they agreed he would come for three hours every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Sometimes, she asked him to help with moving furniture, sometimes to paint a newly rented apartment, sometimes to fix the plumbing or replace light bulbs, and once she even told him to unclog a blocked drainage ditch at the community’s perimeter. Although he agreed with a resigned sigh, she could tell from his expression that he thought she was giving him a hard time.

Was she giving him a hard time?

Sitting at her desk, sipping her coffee, Chu Minghuan seriously reflected on her recent interactions with him.

Fine, every time they met, they did bicker endlessly, so maybe they didn’t get along well.

But she didn’t think she was intentionally making things difficult. Every task she assigned him was perfectly reasonable! Just because he wasn’t used to manual labor, that didn’t mean she was abusing her authority, right?

She, Chu Minghuan, had always been fair in both life and work. So maybe her tone was occasionally sharp or sarcastic with him—but that was just because his arrogant attitude needed some tempering.

She wasn’t in the wrong… right?

“Minghuan! Minghuan!” A hand with brightly painted nails waved in front of her eyes.

She snapped back to reality. “Vicky, it’s you! Need something?”

“Can’t I just come to chat?” Vicky held a cup of herbal tea and elegantly pulled up a chair beside her. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been zoning out all day.”

“Nothing, I just finished a report and was taking a break.”

“Whose report?” Vicky leaned over to look at her computer screen. “Mo Tingfeng’s?”

“Yes.”

Vicky’s eyes lit up, and she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Tell me, how’s he doing lately? I bet it’s awful, right?”

“Not at all. I think he’s actually been pretty serious.”

“Him? Serious?” Vicky laughed loudly, full of sarcasm.

Women can be scary. Just because he once rejected her, it’s like she’s held a grudge ever since.

Chu Minghuan noted Vicky’s dismissive look and began to wonder if she was guilty of stereotyping him too.

“So, you’re putting in good words for him in the report?” Vicky pressed.

“Yes.”

“How could you!” Vicky looked extremely dissatisfied. “Have you forgotten how he treated you at the nightclub? He practically held you hostage! He almost strangled you!”

“It wasn’t that bad; I just had a little trouble breathing.”

“And you’re defending him?” Vicky paused, eyeing her suspiciously. “Minghuan, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for him too?”

Chu Minghuan started, then laughed. “No way!”