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Chapter 11

The First Official Date.

The next day, just before 2 PM, Chu Zhixia put down her books and was already waiting at the door.

Her heart was beating a bit fast. She had told the housekeeper that from now on, Shen Qingshi could come straight up.

Finally, the doorbell rang. Chu Zhixia smoothed her hair, took out a small mirror she always carried, took a deep breath, and opened the security door.

Even though she was prepared, she was still stunned by the man outside.

Dr. Shen was unbearably handsome today.

He was wearing a slim-fitting black mandarin-collar shirt, with subtle dark patterns at the shoulders and neck, antique dark silver cufflinks engraved with restrained yet intricate designs, giving an especially cold and cool impression. He paired it with matching slim black trousers that hugged his long, straight legs.

Broad shoulders, slim waist, and a cold, clear-eyed face.

She felt her breath catch. She had always thought he looked best in white—clean and warm to the bone—but black was just as stunning, making him look handsome, aloof, and aristocratic.

Her hands didn’t know where to rest for a moment. She grabbed the door handle, only after a while recovering, hurriedly inviting him in.

Shen Qingshi said, “This is for you.”

“What?” Chu Zhixia was so distracted by that face that could captivate the world, she didn’t notice he had one hand behind his back. Surprised, she accepted the bouquet he brought.

Maybe out of upbringing and manners, and because this was a fairly formal invitation (a date?), Shen Qingshi didn’t come empty-handed.

Chu Zhixia’s breath heated up as she accepted it.

—It was a small bunch of pale purple wisteria flowers.

Wrapped in simple white card paper, the fluffy clusters bloomed dreamily in purple, with the branches and leaves pruned artistically.

Very elegant and very high-class.

“How did you know I like wisteria—” Chu Zhixia’s voice softened. She suddenly recalled the perfume he wore that day and felt touched—he remembered.

Seeing her delight, Shen Qingshi relaxed a little; the corners of his thin lips lifted in a barely noticeable small curve. “Glad you like it.”

“Of course I do! I love it! Thank you!” Chu Zhixia bent her head to smell them. It was exactly the scent she loved, delicate and elegant—not overwhelmingly flowery or artificial.

After staring for a while, she suddenly realized he was still standing by the door, so she quickly stepped aside to let him in and even brought him slippers. “Please come in.”

“What is this?”

Shen Qingshi changed his shoes and stood, looking toward the living room, pausing slightly.

Chu Zhixia carefully placed the bouquet by the window, reluctant to unwrap it. She then walked closer and said, “This is why I invited you—I want you to look. There are lots of different instruments here.”

She pointed to each one—she had slowly moved them all from different rooms into the living room that morning.

There was an electric keyboard, guitar, erhu, pipa, and the upright wooden-grain Steinway piano already placed in the corner.

Shen Qingshi looked on faintly, not sure what she intended.

“Listen, I’ll explain—” Chu Zhixia invited him to sit on the sofa, pulled off the velvet piano cover on the side, moved the piano bench out, sat down facing him, and slowly explained: “Our retest is split into two days. The first day is the professional skill test, like a written exam for other majors, worth 100 points, consisting of three parts: vocal music, physical movement, and two monologues.”

She glanced at Shen Qingshi, worried he might lose patience, but saw him lean back on the sofa quietly, legs crossed, calmly watching and listening.

Chu Zhixia breathed a little easier and continued: “The second day is the interview, also 100 points: self-introduction, oral English listening and speaking—which is 80 points total—and finally a small extra test worth 20 points. The extra test is special—you can do any talent display, like crosstalk, magic tricks; some people have even done nunchaku. But the note said it’s best to do a musical instrument since there’s a piano in the classroom. Others you bring yourself.”

Shen Qingshi nodded slightly, sipped his tea, and understood what she meant.

“You want me to help you choose what to perform?”

“Yes, yes!!”

Chu Zhixia put her hands on the piano bench sides and looked seriously at him. “Because the extra test is pretty freeform and I’m an art student, I feel like everyone chooses the usual stuff. So I want you to help me decide.”

Shen Qingshi replied faintly and asked after some thought, “What else are you performing?”

Chu Zhixia was excited: “Want me to perform everything for you?”

Shen Qingshi: “…No need.”

Chu Zhixia tilted her head, thinking it over. It would be embarrassing to perform in front of him, and the living room was messy, not the right atmosphere.

“Well, I’ll just tell you briefly. For vocal music, it’s ‘Small Town Story.’ I’m average at singing, so probably an average score. For physical movement, definitely dance—there’s a pro choreographer, so it’ll be better.”

“Mm.”

She spoke nervously, clutching a corner of the piano bench. “For the monologues, I picked two: the English one is Blanche from A Streetcar Named Desire; the Chinese one is Yuchun from Snowstorm Night Returner.”

After saying this, she saw Shen Qingshi raise his eyes in slight surprise; his gaze deepened.

He really understood drama.

“What’s wrong?” Chu Zhixia played with her hair and said, “I thought it would be interesting to show contrast. Did you think I’d only play roles like Milandolina, the Lady of the Camellias, or Chen Bailu?”

“No.” He hesitated slightly, then quietly said, “They suit you well.”

“…”

She didn’t quite know how to reply.

Blanche is a Southern lady with strong desires, loneliness, decadence, and a sense of brokenness; Yuchun is a concubine toyed with by the powerful who awakens after falling in love with a kindred performer.

Originally, she chose roles like Milandolina, the beautiful independent shopkeeper, or the social butterfly that matched her old image.

But for some reason, she later chose to reveal the real self—that inner fear she faced—rather than just roles that seemed fitting.

“My point is,” Shen Qingshi leaned back on the sofa, looked steadily at her, and said warmly, “I’m looking forward to your performance. It’ll be a surprise.”

That’s who she was—like Milandolina: charming, clever, democratic-minded, and independent; like Chen Bailu, clear-headed and intelligent amid social finesse.

But also like Blanche, whose youth and beauty have faded, having lost her privileged family and status, with strong and real desires; or Yuchun, who transitions from being a male-gazed ‘other’ toy to a self-aware woman. The contrast made her more captivating and profound.

“Hmph.”

Chu Zhixia said softly, her heart sweeter than receiving the flowers.

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It turned out someone truly understood her.

Understood her fears, understood her inner heart.

“Then after I finish the exam, if there’s a chance to perform, will you come watch?” Obviously not today—the living room was messy, and this kind of drama is best truly performed on stage. It touches the heart directly.

She stood up from the piano bench and sat down beside him, wanting to be a little closer.

“Sure,” Shen Qingshi said, “I’ll definitely come.”

“Dr. Shen, you’re the best.” If it weren’t for the important things she had today, Chu Zhixia almost wanted to just hug him by the waist. She took a sip of the hot tea on the table, then asked, “So, what instrument do you think I should play for the extra test?”

She curved her lips and looked at his cold, jade-like profile. After building up to this moment, she finally revealed her true purpose today, her voice a little stiff: “How about I play them all for you, and you help me choose? Okay?”

She’d let the vocal and monologue parts go for now. What she really wanted was to dance for him—but dancing was best with music and atmosphere, preferably in a rehearsal room. Yet she always felt—Shen Qingshi might not come for that.

So, performing on an instrument would be best.

She could do her makeup well, change into a pretty dress, and show him.

“Okay.” Shen Qingshi lowered his eyelids, showing no particular emotion.

“Then wait for me to change!!!” Chu Zhixia, seeing her plan worked, immediately went to change clothes.

Shen Qingshi sat quietly and patiently on the sofa, picked up the tea on the table and sipped. He gently put it down, adjusted the neat black cuff of his shirt, then gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window, his expression somewhat dark and unclear.

Before long, Chu Zhixia returned, wearing a dress suitable for playing piano.

It was a deep blue floor-length gown, shimmering as if studded with countless stars. But on her, the light came not just from the dress.

Thin straps, a low neckline.

Chu Zhixia had chosen something simple: Wildflower, a very sorrowful piece, but she played it with feeling and emotion.

When she finished, the room was silent. She turned her face slightly and softly asked, “Dr. Shen, do you play piano?”

“I only learned violin, and—”

He didn’t continue.

“Oh.” Later, Chu Zhixia found out he was being modest. Though a hobby, he didn’t just stop at “liking American dramas.”

“Then I’ll change again.” Seeing his calm expression and lack of reaction to her dress—with its low neckline and a high slit on the side for which she had chosen black stockings and lace gloves underneath—she changed again.

“Zhixia.”

Chu Zhixia’s hand froze at the wardrobe door, her fingertips tingling—it was the first time she’d heard him call her that.

Strictly speaking, it was the first time he had called her at all.

His voice was pleasant, like cold raindrops falling drip by drip on her heart… stirring ripples.

“Hmm?”

She turned her face. Her back showed just a few delicate straps, bare and smooth, her slender shoulder blades visible.

Pale, almost glowing, trembling slightly in the light.

Shen Qingshi lowered his eyelids and said, “You don’t need to change.”

She was tall, usually just slender and graceful, maybe somewhat full-bodied. Now he could see she was very thin, probably from the exams—just a fragile, slender young woman.

She bore some bruises from daily training.

A subtle wave of indescribable pity rose in Shen Qingshi’s heart.

“I think that’s very suitable.” He wanted her to rest soon.

“Huh? What?” Chu Zhixia felt his tenderness—so gentle, it could melt her heart.

She followed his gaze toward the corner of the room.

Chu Zhixia: !!!

Next moment, her vision darkened in disbelief: “Are you talking about the erhu?!”