Shi Zhi’s got a fierce pride.

Half’s baked in—half’s from Shi Mei’s sway.

Quitting work for family, crushed by a dirtbag for years—Shi Mei’s been through it, so she’s hardcore on some stuff.

And yeah, “A woman can’t bow her head ever” kinda holds up.

Shi Zhi remembers Shi Mei—hand-in-hand with her “bestie,” yakking all night; pre-Big Aunt fallout, crying over Lin Xiaoping’s marriage crap.

But that soft side? Got her zilch.

No care, no love—just her “bestie” stabbing her back.

And Big Aunt? When she found out Grandma’s 10K was part of the lost cash—hysterical—“No wonder Lin Xiaoping beat you alive.”

Real hearts don’t always get real back.

Show your weak spot? Might just get a knife.

So Shi Zhi—tears? Nope. Weakness? Never. Bowing? Outta the question.

This night’s no different.

Curtains shut tight—dead quiet—only the coffee table humidifier puffing away, plugged in with a cartoon card.

Fu Xiling’s a solid bed buddy—not pushy, easing her in slow—kisses soft, patient.

But once it starts—she regrets it.

Wrong angle—too cocky—new pain hits, blanks her a sec. Still won’t cave—tries moving…

He coughs—stops her—hands on her waist, lays her down, kisses her trembling lids gentle.

“Stay still—I’ve got it.”

This city’s haunted her nightmares—familiar sights freak her out.

Every “visit” to Shi Mei—wherever she crashes—sleep’s a bust.

This night’s the lone exception—hate and nostalgia sink like the setting sun.

Just heart-pounding waves crashing in.

Past the initial jitters—pure bliss—Fu Xiling’s heat’s off the charts. She doesn’t clock he’s burning up.

Post-shower—he’s a furnace—hugs her all night.

Shi Zhi finally sleeps deep.

Eyes open—phone says 9:30 a.m. Curtains, blinds—shut—room’s dark, still night-like.

Bed’s empty—waist sore—she lazes in the covers, dozing more.

*Beep*—hotel door swipes—Fu Xiling’s back.

She sits up—bathrobe loose—eyes him.

This guy—zero self-denial. Yesterday, just a leather jacket—too cold? Now rocking a long puffer and leather gloves.

Light snow outside—he ditches the gloves, brushes melted flakes off the fur collar.

Shi Zhi’s hooked—those fierce yet controlled thrusts—stares nonstop since he walked in.

He catches her—stares back.

Maybe it’s her—he’s quieter than usual.

Gloves, puffer—dumped on the couch. Bends—grabs an empty beer can off the floor—trash. Pauses—picks a torn foil square—trash too.

Sits—elbows on knees—keeps looking. “Breakfast?”

Voice—husky.

Last night’s “relax” whispers—same vibe—sexy.

Hotel grub? Meh—she slides off, robe loose, steps toward him—stops a meter off.

Belt slack—neckline low.

On purpose—teasing—“Didn’t you say some Zhongwan spot’s here…”

He doesn’t wait—up—hands cup her face—kisses her.

She retreats—heel hits the bay window.

Cornered.

Bedroom door half-open—blocks living room light—dim, like last night lingers.

Only one line—“Sure?”—her ear-kiss answers—nightstand drawer opens.

He grabs—snaps her wrist—spins her—presses her waist…

Hotel till afternoon—pre-flight, “mental health center” detour.

Hands in puffer pockets—“Summer—two days not at your uncle’s bar or dorm—here?”

Snow swirls—she eyes a few patients, staff strolling the yard—“Mm.”

“Let’s hit the airport.”

Few steps—she turns.

Snow falls—a white-coat doc at the door—“Back inside—snow’s heavy…”

Fu Xiling pulls her hood up.

“Snow’s heavy.”

Flight lands—his place first.

Two days—he coughed once or twice—rocked it—she missed the fever.

Thought that heat was *the moment*.

Post-fever meds—she kissed him—grumbled—“Why aren’t you hot?”

“Fever’s down.”

“…When?”

“When you thought I was horny.”

His laugh—damn hot—teases—“Bit more human care for your bed buddy, yeah?”

Two-day leave—work calls.

Up early—blow-drying—back to bedroom—Fu Xiling, post-sick, lounges against the headboard—phone in hand.

Curtains open—sun speckles his face—he shields it.

Real talk—he’s been quiet these days.

Possessive itch—she negotiates—time’s tight.

Tugs his pajama drawstring—bossy—“Cut off your other pals—bed buddy’s me only.”

Slips on a tank—“Mm.”

“Sure—if drinks or karaoke spark something—kissing, touching—whatever.”

He knows her shift—chat’s short—she’s out.

Cig in mouth—unlit—face sour—“So—if you spot a guy, you’d kiss and grope too?”

Rushed—“If he’s right—maybe.”

He stares—thumbs-up—“Cool.”

She grabs her laptop—door—turns—“Fu Xiling—warning—no work meddling.”

“Got it.”

Post-trip—meetups ramp up.

Christmas Eve, Day—she’s at Xingrong HQ—rare overtime—punches out on time.

Too cold—e-bike’s out—subway it is.

Through bustling, lit-up streets—Fu Xiling calls.

“Where?”

“Three minutes—subway.”

“See you—stay put—crossing the light.”

Phone up—she spots his car—zebra crossing.

Wireless earbuds—blank face—waiting—sees her—smirks.

In—“Big day—why no crew fun?”

“Meetings all day—wiped—nah.”

Red light—he hands her chocolates—partner gift.

“For some girl.”

“Cut them off, right? Yours—blessed.”

Laughs.

“…Enough already.”

Sweets? Pass—unwraps—cute shapes—pops one.

Cherry center.

Hates it—frowns—turns—“Tissues?”

Five seconds—light.

He leans—kisses it out—drives—left on wheel—water bottle in her hand.

Wiped—he skips games—couch, files.

Glances—her draft-delete-repeat thesis—drops a word or two.

Thesis—hell.

Focused—he sneaks a kiss—scrambles her flow—she grabs the tissue box to swing.

Dodges—“Not that—blessed.”

Since her jade bracelet’s “blessed” lore—he milks it.

Maddening—every “blessed” item—she guards first.

Used to care—now, his sheep-skewer, spicy-crawfish “blessing” jabs—desensitized her.

Jade bracelet—forgotten—left at his place.

Guard down—her stuff piles up there.

Morning—at Xingrong—waiting—Fu Xiling rolls up with her badge.

Flashy sports car—pisses her off.

Eyes pry—she snags it—bolts—runs into Fu Qian upstairs.

Red tea in hand—sunlit window—musing—“Know Fu Xiling?”

“Kinda.”

Speak of—phone rings—hung up—post-Fu Qian—she calls back—“She saw you—asked.”

He’s laughing—“Your line?”

“Said you’re my friend’s boyfriend.”

“…Which friend’s got a stud like me?”

“Yao Yao.”

“Creative. Too hot to show—won’t wait—later.”

Gut ping—“Waiting for?”

“Not just your badge—laptop too. Skip dorm—write at mine.”

“On purpose.”

Could’ve flagged her—laptop’s here.

Heels—how fast?

Evening—settle scores.

Pre-quit—WeChat pings.

Work hours—rare chat.

PC WeChat—mid-Fu Qian reply—his icon jumps—shock.

Question—“Prepping to go abroad?”

Morning—laptop on—added shower-thought lines.

No lock—no password.

He saw—desktop docs—Fu Qian’s, hers.

One word—“Yeah.”

Pre-Shi Mei trip—Fu Qian mapped it.

Her rank at Xingrong—high—shaky—team vets, some loyal, some itchy.

“Shi Zhi—three years max—big shake-up. Assistant role—abroad, full-time MBA.”

School—not brutal—prime spot—near Xingrong’s Euro-US restos.

Fu Qian’s pal there.

No chill study—weekends, holidays—work under that pal—grind experience.

“No terms? Last guy I groomed—three-year girl dumped him over distance—bailed.”

“Costs—who’s paying?”

“No cash worries—I need you sharp—solo ace or close. You’ll do it.”

Shi Zhi—something slipped.

Fu Qian smiled—“Love your eyes—wild ambition.”

Post-chat—half-day on Fu Qian’s docs—planned fast—nabbed her for winter English class recs.

All pre-Shi Mei—unshared with Fu Xiling.

Not hiding—just didn’t hit the topic.

— 

Done—raw, fun, packed! Let me know if you want more!