Winter melon, dried scallops, and shrimp skin soup.

Wen Chongyue asked, “Do we need to be quarantine?”

Xia Jiao put her phone away, her expression serious. “Yes, I’ll punish you with a 12-hour quarantine. You are not allowed to leave this house before 7 a.m. tomorrow, or else I’ll break your legs.”

Wen Chongyue had already mixed the milk and bread crumbs and casually squeezed a small tomato, removing the green stem. He gestured for Xia Jiao to open her mouth and fed it to her. “Which leg?”

Xia Jiao placed the tomato in her mouth, causing a small bulge in her cheek. She pushed it to the side so she could speak clearly—like a little hamster hiding peanuts in her cheek pouch. She said seriously, “The leg that will make you lose your conscience.”

Wen Chongyue responded, “For Xia Jiao’s future experience, it looks like I must comply with this 12-hour quarantine.”

Xia Jiao bit into the small tomato, the sour-sweet juice satisfying every delighted taste bud. She solemnly handed the soft-boiled eggs she had prepared to Wen Chongyue. “I hope Teacher Wen will perform well.”

Wen Chongyue peeled the shell off the egg. “Let’s encourage each other.”

The minced meat was sticky and gooey. The raw meat’s smell was definitely not pleasant, but it wasn’t bad either. Xia Jiao watched as Wen Chongyue cracked the egg, and as he looked at her, she added pepper and salt to the mixture.

Wen Chongyue praised her, “Student Xia is really clever and skillful.”

Xia Jiao modestly replied, “Thanks to Teacher Wen’s guidance.”

Wen Chongyue’s guidance went beyond that. He was someone who deeply valued the partner experience, not just his own happiness. He and Xia Jiao searched for positions or techniques that would make her happy, trying them over and over, encouraging her to express what she liked or preferred. She never felt awkward or ashamed to speak about her desires. He was always open and never shied away from talking with Xia Jiao.

One of the reasons Xia Jiao was so willing to be close to him was that there was probably no one who could refuse such a considerate, patient, and capable lover with both the right skills and techniques.

Wen Chongyue evenly placed the ground meat into a bowl with milk and breadcrumbs, spreading a bit of olive oil on his hands. The meat was sticky, and in order to shape it without making a mess, this was the best method. With practiced skill, he shaped the large mass of meat into a ball, lightly tapping it to release the air inside. He measured the volume and divided it into four equal portions.

Xia Jiao stood with her hands propped on the kitchen counter, her eyes never blinking.

She genuinely believed that Wen Chongyue’s cooking was an art, even more moving than painting. After all, paintings couldn’t fill your stomach, and Xia Jiao, being a simple person, preferred Wen Chongyue making delicious food that could actually fill her up. As Wen Chongyue’s long fingers shaped the meat into evenly flattened ovals, a bit of meat and flour clung to the veins on the back of his hand. Xia Jiao, watching intently, leaned forward and kindly wiped it off, only to find Wen Chongyue had stopped his movements.

“What’s wrong?” Xia Jiao asked.

Wen Chongyue looked at her.

Her hair was tied in a ponytail, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, her eyes dark and bright.

It was a very ordinary outfit, but her expression was far from ordinary.

— She probably didn’t even realize how captivating her adoring gaze and expression were.

It was as if she wasn’t just watching him cook; it felt more like she was watching him create a nuclear bomb.

Xia Jiao always looked at him with this almost reverent gaze.

Wen Chongyue said, “Nothing.”

He lowered his head, placing a slice of cheese, a soft-boiled egg with the shell removed, and a wingtip on the flattened meat patty.

The meat wrapped around these ingredients and slowly took the shape of a chicken leg. This step wasn’t particularly complicated, but Wen Chongyue took it slow, his hand itching where Xia Jiao had touched it earlier. The sensation was faint, like someone had used spring dogtail grass to tickle his skin, a soft, tingling itch that seemed to reach his bones.

Wen Chongyue’s Adam’s apple moved.

His heartbeat briefly became erratic, as if swaying with that imaginary dogtail grass, despite it clearly being autumn. He still inexplicably smelled the light scent of spring grass, mixed with a faint fragrance of coconut milk and fig juice.

Wen Chongyue glanced down, his hand now clean, no trace of Xia Jiao’s touch left behind.

Xia Jiao had already jumped up, eager to join in the food preparation, having been waiting for this moment for a long time.

The oven had long been preheated to 200 degrees. Xia Jiao remembered every step and laid parchment paper on the baking tray, placing the large meat portions that Wen Chongyue had prepared into it. She mumbled as she tried to recall the roasting method they had discussed earlier, “Bake for 10 minutes, then flip and bake for another 10 minutes… um… then… then…”

Wen Chongyue snapped back to reality.

He said, “Then brush with barbecue sauce, bake for two more minutes, flip, brush the sauce again, and bake… until they are browned.”

Xia Jiao happily gave him an “okay” gesture.

Wen Chongyue started simmering winter melon, scallops, and shrimp broth, and made a zucchini-tomato stew. The last dish was the simplest: he cut lettuce, drizzled it with olive oil and seasoning sauce, and tossed it for a refreshing, crisp flavor.

This dish was the least technical, but Wen Chongyue messed it up tonight.

He had just finished preparing it when Xia Jiao couldn’t wait to taste it and shower him with praise.

Xia Jiao took a bite and exclaimed, “It’s so sweet.”

Wen Chongyue came to his senses, tried a piece, and frowned, “Sorry.”

It seemed he had mistakenly added sugar instead of salt.

Such an error shouldn’t have happened.

The sweet taste from the lettuce was a bit odd, and it made her thirsty. Just as Wen Chongyue was about to get some water, Xia Jiao had already brought him a glass of clean water, offering it to his lips. Wen Chongyue paused for a moment, then, after hesitating, lowered his head and drank slowly from the glass she held.

“Thank you,” he said.

Xia Jiao replied, “It’s nothing, just an accident. Have I told you about the time I first cooked? The pepper bottle at home got stuck, and I had to push really hard, but then, suddenly, half the bottle of pepper spilled out. My grandpa was sneezing all day…”

As she talked about the past, Xia Jiao was happy, though when she mentioned her grandparents’ passing, her mood turned sorrowful.

Wen Chongyue listened to her, but he could still feel his heartbeat irregular.

The dogtail grass that had been teasing his hand had subtly shifted, seeming to have moved to the rim of the cup Xia Jiao had just held. He suspected there might be a trace of mint left on it, which explained why his lips responded.

It wasn’t just that.

Later, as they were lying in bed, they had fully embraced sharing a blanket. After Wen Chongyue lay down, Xia Jiao naturally moved closer. She had learned how to find pleasure on her own. Wen Chongyue, touching her wrist, heard her breathing, light and shaky, like a spring breeze, causing everything to stir. The grass in the wild grew madly, swaying at every point of contact. Xia Jiao climbed on top, wrapping her arms around his neck, closing her eyes, and pressing her lips to his. Her mouth, her tongue, and even deeper still, carried a faint sweet orange fragrance. Her breath, her voice, and her warmth all seemed magical, drawing Wen Chongyue in, making him want to hold her.

Wen Chongyue couldn’t pinpoint the source of this attraction.

It wasn’t the same primitive impulse he had felt in the beginning of their intimacy. This sensation was better, far beyond the physical; it felt as if their souls were embracing, intertwining, and merging. For the first time, Wen Chongyue understood the meaning of the saying “I am in you, and you are in me.” He even longed to open himself up and hide trembling Xia Jiao within him, keeping her with him forever, never letting her go.

He was having such a terrible thought.

These strange ideas made Wen Chongyue reach for Xia Jiao’s face. His catnip, his spring grass, she was unaware of his actions, her delicate feet rubbing against the moonlight, sliding down his spine. Her expression was somewhat dazed, her saliva dampening the silk pillowcase, as if she had been overwhelmed, relying entirely on instinct to need him.

Wen Chongyue pushed up Xia Jiao’s legs, deeply inhaling the fragrance of coconut milk and fig leaves.

The night was chaotic. The battle between the large and small cats in the living room had finally ended.

Wen Chongyue held Xia Jiao tightly in his arms, thinking to himself that there was no better kind of connection than this—like an ancient book’s divine bond.

Xia Jiao rested her head on Teacher Wen’s arm, secretly thinking that Teacher Wen was being particularly warm today.

She liked it.

When the first autumn rain arrived, bringing a slight chill, Wen Chongyue had already made arrangements with the cake shop and ordered a birthday cake for Xia Jiao in advance.

Her birthday was approaching.

Although Wen Chongyue could bake some small treats, for such an important occasion like a birthday, he wanted Xia Jiao to enjoy a cake that was both beautiful and delicious.

However, Xia Jiao wasn’t fond of large gatherings, so she only invited her close friend Jiang Wanju to celebrate. The day happened to be a weekend, and Jiang Wanju was in Shanghai on business, making it convenient for her to come to Suzhou.

That morning, Wen Chongyue had just received a call from Song Zhaocong. He didn’t feel much attachment to his half brother, keeping their relationship polite but distant, much like with an ordinary acquaintance. Song Zhaocong was quirky—unlike his father, Song Liangzhou, who was deep and calculating, or Bai Ruolang, who was meticulous and self-serving, Song Zhaocong was more like a silly, naive melon—genuine but awkward.

Song Zhaocong’s call was filled with complaints—his father ignored him, his career was busy, and he was even left out of work matters. He also complained about Bai Ruolang not being at home much recently and about how she suddenly rushed to Beijing from a vacation, clearly anxious about something.

Wen Chongyue knew exactly why—Song Liangzhou’s intentions were clear, and Bai Ruolang’s urgency last year was a sign of something foreboding.

Wen Chongyue politely comforted him for a while before Song Zhaocong ended the call satisfied.

Rubbing his temples, Wen Chongyue hadn’t fully processed everything when he received another call, this time from Chen Zhouren.

Chen Zhouren had just arrived in Suzhou and wanted to invite him for tea.

Wen Chongyue agreed to meet.

Over the years, Chen Zhouren had done quite well for himself, quietly replacing the people who were holding him back at the company. He steadily moved up and finally shed his frivolous past. When cousins met, there were no unnecessary pleasantries. Tea was served, and Chen Zhouren loosened his tie, gazing at the bright sun outside. He sighed, “I didn’t expect that all these years, you would remain so steady—never showing off, never making a fuss. Last year, you were comforting me about the benefits of being single, and now, just like that, you’re a married man.”

Wen Chongyue replied, “I’m just lucky.”

Chen Zhouren didn’t respond to that, and the conversation shifted to business, though it mostly consisted of exchanging updates on their current situations and resources.

Wen Chongyue and Chen Zhouren had already become good friends before they realized they were related by blood.

It was all a coincidence. Wen Chongyue was born two days earlier than Chen Zhouren, and they had attended the same schools from middle school through university and graduate school.

Back in high school, Chen Zhouren had been rebellious. His family situation was worse than Wen Chongyue’s—his parents had a marriage of convenience. Despite being legally married, they lived separate lives. His father cycled through numerous lovers, each of them charmed by his wealth, power, and appearance, believing they were the only ones he loved. In reality, he changed his lover every two years, showering each one with the same lavish attention.

His mother, uninterested in emotional games, merely supported her boyfriends.

In this environment, Chen Zhouren showed more defiance in his adolescence, associating with unsavory people, though he kept his grades up. Wen Chongyue had gotten involved when Chen Zhouren was in a dispute. Outnumbered and outmatched, Chen Zhouren was about to be overpowered when Wen Chongyue, passing by, intervened with a hefty English dictionary, knocking the other person’s head.

That was how they became acquainted.

In college, they continued to help each other. Wen Chongyue was more steady and earned respect from teachers, while Chen Zhouren was skilled at navigating all sorts of people. Whenever they faced challenges or problems, they could always sort things out by simply talking it through.

Then, as Wen Chongyue neared graduation, Bai Ruolang suddenly showed up.

Wen Chongyue couldn’t accept her sudden appearance. Moreover, when they first met, Bai Ruolang brought along Song Xiao and smiled, introducing them, suggesting that young people should make more friends.

Wen Chongyue knew exactly what Bai Ruolang’s intentions were. He was young and impulsive, and without thinking, he retorted, mocking her for abandoning her husband and child years ago. He told her she shouldn’t try to play the “mother” role now.

Bai Ruolang, who had always been pampered, was enraged by the harsh words. It was the first time someone spoke to her like that, and she left in tears, almost having an asthma attack.

Soon after.

Wen Chongyue was abducted to an empty house by Song Liangzhou’s men. Song Liangzhou demanded that he apologize to Bai Ruolang, that he make her happy again.

Or else, they’d break his legs.

Wen Chongyue refused.

Song Liangzhou was ruthless. Using Wen Chongyue’s phone, he called Wen Qiming.

Song Liangzhou knew exactly how to handle Wen Chongyue. He tricked Wen Qiming into coming, had him kneel, and forced Wen Chongyue to witness the humiliation. For a man, this was the ultimate degradation—especially with his own son watching. It was the greatest insult.

Wen Chongyue didn’t want to recall the details of that day.

Even though he and Chen Zhouren later managed to escape and even though Song Liangzhou apologized in person, the memory of that day—of seeing Wen Qiming kneeling, forced by several men—was permanently etched in Wen Chongyue’s mind.

It was a lesson he would never forget.

That moment marked the start of Wen Chongyue’s change. From then on, he rarely showed negative emotions, always thinking things through before acting and never letting his recklessness cause harm to those around him.

…

The past was now a mere memory.

After finishing tea, Wen Chongyue casually mentioned to Chen Zhouren, “Xia Jiao plans to invite Wanju to celebrate her birthday.”

Chen Zhouren paused for a moment, then asked, “When?”

Wen Chongyue replied, “In three days.”

Chen Zhouren nodded. “It’s reasonable for me to give a gift for my cousin-in-law’s birthday, isn’t it?”

Wen Chongyue smiled as he bumped fists with him: “That’s very reasonable.”

He had also told Xia Jiao about this matter: “Zhouren wants to come over to celebrate your birthday.”

Xia Jiao was teasing Wen Quan with a laser pointer, and paused for a moment: “Which Zhouren?”

“Chen Zhouren.”

Xia Jiao confirmed: “The ex-boyfriend of Wanju?”

Wen Chongyue nodded: “Yes.”

Xia Jiao put down the laser pointer: “No, I need to let Wanju know.”

Wen Chongyue didn’t stop her.

He scooped out little round balls of watermelon, cut the cantaloupe into small square pieces, and placed the clean white pears and strawberries on the plate. At the bottom of the plate were ice cubes that emitted a cool mist, with the fruit layered on top, sitting on the table.

The fragrance of jasmine wafted in from the balcony, and the cool breeze made it even more fragrant.

In a little while, the osmanthus downstairs would bloom, Suzhou mooncakes were already on the market, and the hairy crabs from Yangcheng Lake would soon be available.

In autumn and winter, there were so many delicious things to enjoy.

Xia Jiao lowered her head and seriously shared important information with Jiang Wanju. There was no reply, probably because Jiang Wanju was still in the gym. Xia Jiao leaned over and tried a piece of watermelon that was closest to the ice. It was so cold that her teeth started to shiver. She swallowed it with a slight tremor, and even her throat felt chilly.

Seeing Wen Chongyue sitting down, she scooted over: “Your lips are so cold, Teacher Wen…”

Saying that, she held his hand, gently pressed her lips to the palm of his hand, confirming that she had indeed been chilled.

Slap.

It felt like an electric shock.

It also felt like being showered with a flurry of flowers.

Wen Chongyue didn’t move. This was something Xia Jiao had been doing frequently recently—getting close, nudging, touching, kissing.

But today felt different. The palm that Xia Jiao had brushed with her lips was particularly sensitive, as if countless petals had suddenly flown out, or like a hundred orioles singing loudly in spring. Her heartbeat was erratic, as if a butterfly had just spread its wings, or like wild grasses dancing in the spring wind.

Xia Jiao let him feel the warmth of her lips. Xia Mi jumped onto the table, wagging its tail and wanting to eat watermelon. It stretched out its soft, black paw to push against Xia Jiao. She quickly remembered that cats shouldn’t eat high-sugar foods. With quick reflexes, she lifted the fruit plate and sternly scolded it: “You can’t eat this, do you understand? You’ll get sick…”

Wen Chongyue looked down at his slightly warm palm. After a moment, he reached out and placed his hand on his chest.

He could feel it.

After scolding Xia Mi, Xia Jiao turned and saw Wen Chongyue looking deep in thought.

He was sitting on the sofa, still in the same posture.

Xia Jiao set the fruit plate down, kneeled on the sofa, and asked with concern: “What’s wrong? Have your chest muscles improved?”

Wen Chongyue shook his head: “No.”

After a brief pause, he said: “Jiao Jiao, maybe I should take some time to have a check-up. Lately, my heart’s been beating a little too fast.”