Chapter One

All of Chu Tong’s understanding of men came from Shao Yihuai.

——“Night Pears Like Smoke,” by Erchuanchuan, November 2023

That year, winter arrived suddenly in the capital.

After an autumn rain, nighttime temperatures plunged below zero.

Saturday evening.

The wind howled down the streets, lifting the yellowed plane leaves along the sidewalks. Chu Tong wrapped her coat tighter around herself, arms folded, head bowed against the gusts. Her long, dark hair was whipped into disarray, strands plastered across her eyes, and she brushed them back behind her ear with a free hand.

It was just such a simple, unthinking gesture that drew the attention of a passerby who had just walked past her. Even with the lower half of her face hidden by a scarf, her fleeting beauty was enough to shock—bold, defined features, her eyes blurred at the corners by the wind.

Chu Tong hurried back to her dormitory. As she entered, the warmth inside pressed against her frozen ears. She took off her scarf and gloves, setting them on her desk.

It was a typical four-person dorm: desks below, bunks above.

The other three roommates were sprawled on their upper bunks, scrolling through their phones. When they heard the door, they glanced over but said nothing.

Chu Tong hung up her coat in the wardrobe, glanced around, pressed her lips together, and hesitantly asked, “...Have you all had dinner?”

Her voice was clear and gentle, soft but never cloying—perfect for a poetry recitation contest. In her freshman year, when several universities in the capital held such a competition, her counselor had specifically named her to participate. She did not disappoint, coming back with a first prize.

Tao Ge, who shared the same side of the room, opened her mouth to reply, but under the warning glances of the other two, she closed it with a complicated expression.

The small four-person room fell into an awkward silence.

She was ignored.

But Chu Tong seemed accustomed to it. Her lashes lowered just as her phone buzzed with a new message from Tao Ge:

“I’ve eaten.”

“Sorry, Tong Tong, I can’t afford to get into a fight with those two.”

Chu Tong replied:

“It’s fine, thank you, Tao Tao~”

Tao Ge was easygoing and hated to offend anyone. Seeing Chu Tong wasn’t bothered, she breathed a sigh of relief and switched chats, only to see that the three-person group for Room 202 had exploded with new messages:

"Ding Xue: Why is she so disgusting, always acting pitiful? Did you see the way she looked at us?"

"Ding Xue: Bet she was the same way when she seduced my boyfriend."

Even Tao Ge, gentle as she was, felt indignant for Chu Tong: a beauty like her would never be interested in your boyfriend! It was your rich-kid boyfriend who tried to harass her repeatedly and, failing that, tried to smear her reputation.

But she could only grumble internally; no matter how much she disliked it, she could only mute the group and refuse to join in slandering Chu Tong.

As for Chu Tong, she acted as if nothing had happened, heading to the bathroom for a shower.

Student welfare at A University was famously good. The cold had just set in, and the heating was already on. The dorm was toasty. After her shower, Chu Tong felt warm enough to wear only a light sleep dress. She stood at her wardrobe, towel-drying her hair.

Her hair was beautiful—thick, jet-black, parted so perfectly it seemed seamless. The ends, damp from the towel, brushed against her pale, luminous shoulders and arms—a striking beauty.

Tao Ge couldn’t help but lean over the edge of her bunk, sniffing playfully. “Tong Tong, did you change your shampoo? What’s that scent? It’s so nice.”

“It’s an aquatic scent, I think it’s called ‘Moonlight,’” Chu Tong replied with a smile. “My shampoo’s on the counter. Try it next time.”

“Thanks, Tong Tong.”

They chatted amiably for a bit, until Tao Ge, suddenly aware, glanced at Ding Xue’s expression. She saw Ding Xue, wary, hurriedly retracting her phone, as if she’d just been taking a picture.

Tao Ge didn’t think much of it. She looked down and happened to see Chu Tong bending into her wardrobe, revealing a flash of blindingly pale thigh.

Lively, sensual.

Perhaps sensing her gaze, Chu Tong turned and winked playfully, her expression lively and relaxed—showing no trace of being ostracized in this dorm.

In just the span of her shower, Chu Tong’s phone had filled with dozens of new messages and two missed calls.

All marked: Liu Hao.

Liu Hao, a finance student in the neighboring Management School, also in his sophomore year. He’d been studying in the US, but after some trouble there, his family brought him back to the capital to keep an eye on him. Not that it curbed his wild ways—since his return, he’d already dated several campus beauties, with only “the hardest to get”—Chu Tong—remaining.

He’d somehow gotten her number and had been bombarding her with calls and texts for days.

Chu Tong had ignored him before and intended to do so again, but as her gaze passed over his latest messages, she paused, puzzled:

"Still ignoring me?"

"I know a little secret about you."

Her brows knit as she typed back:

"What do you mean?"

He replied instantly:

"Well, you finally decided to reply."

"Come out with me and I’ll tell you in person."

Chu Tong held her breath, thinking. She was never late or absent, always ranked top three in exams, actively participated in competitions. Aside from her often-discussed beauty and the constant stream of admirers, she was the model student at A University. What “little secret” could he possibly have? Liu Hao was likely bluffing.

She tossed her phone onto the desk and thought no more of it.

The capital’s autumn and winter were dry. Growing up in a southern water town, Chu Tong struggled with the humidity always around thirty percent. Though not usually attentive to skincare, she now had to add a thick moisturizing mask to her nightly routine.

With the mask on, wrapped in a shawl, she curled up in her chair, picking up the half-read “Collected Works of Lü Bicheng,” and continued from her bookmark.

It was this week’s assignment—the class to be discussed next Wednesday.

She had just read a couple of lines when a voice behind her called out, clear and sharp: “So shabby.”

It was unmistakably Ding Xue, and clearly aimed at her.

Chu Tong glanced at herself—wearing a 28.9 yuan plaid shawl that doubled as a blanket, a big can of moisturizer for 39.9 yuan, a 15.9 yuan camisole sleep dress. There were plenty of “shabby” targets; she didn’t know which one Ding Xue referred to.

But if Ding Xue was determined, anything in this dorm could be called “shabby”—after all, as a city heiress, Ding Xue had a 60,000 yuan monthly allowance.

Chu Tong ignored her, just as her phone vibrated with a call. She was about to pick up when her chair was shoved from behind, and Ding Xue complained loudly, “You’re in my way, can’t you see?”

Chu Tong exhaled slowly, released her phone, stood up, and turned around.

Her voice was calm as she met Ding Xue’s eyes. “Isn’t this aisle wide enough for you?”

She usually ignored Ding Xue’s petty malice and sharp tongue—one, to avoid unnecessary trouble, since she couldn’t possibly win against someone with Ding Xue’s family and connections; two, because she didn’t want to waste energy on unimportant people.

But perhaps the cold wind had left her with a headache and less patience than usual.

Her retort stunned Ding Xue for a moment, then unleashed a barrage of even nastier words.

Growing impatient, Chu Tong lowered her gaze, glimpsing her still-buzzing phone screen. Seeing the caller ID, she ignored Ding Xue and answered, “Hello, Professor Chen.”

At that, Ding Xue fell silent immediately. She was the typical bully—cowardly in the face of authority.

“Xiao Chu, are you free to come to my house? I’m having trouble with that video again—the audio is out of sync, and I promised my followers I’d post it tomorrow,” came the lively, precise voice of an elderly woman.

“Of course,” Chu Tong checked the time. “I can be there in about forty minutes.”

She hung up and began to change clothes and pack her bag.

Just as she left, Ding Xue called after her, “Chu Tong, stop showing off. You’ll see how I deal with you.”

Professor Chen lived near the school, just five stops from the west gate by bus.

It was just after seven, with lights-out at eleven—plenty of time.

As luck would have it, the 368 bus arrived as she reached the stop. She found a seat near the back door and opened a video app to review Professor Chen’s past posts.

These days, it was common for university teachers to have their own video channels, offering public lectures in their fields. Professor Chen, nearly sixty and soon to retire, had joined the trend.

Chu Tong had been asked to fill in as video editor and assistant while her senior was on leave. The senior had diligently finished the next episode’s editing before leaving, but Professor Chen must have tinkered with the files and caused the issue.

Stepping off the bus, another biting wind stung her face.

Professor Chen’s children were all abroad and had bought her a new home in a high-end community, but she disliked the distance and still lived in the old neighborhood near the school.

Fortunately, her ground-floor apartment had its own small backyard—practical and convenient.

She often taught her graduate and doctoral students at home when her knee flared up. Chu Tong had heard much about the place but had never visited until now.

Rounding the corner, she spotted a sleek black Maybach parked outside—strikingly out of place in the old neighborhood. She couldn’t help but notice it.

As she approached, she glimpsed through the cracked driver’s window a well-dressed middle-aged man with a tablet, its screen softly aglow.

Chu Tong tightened her scarf and hurried inside, checking the apartment number before knocking.

A cheerful, plump woman opened the door. “You must be Chu, right? The professor’s in the study, come on in.”

Chu Tong hesitated in the entryway, smiling a little awkwardly. “Should I change my shoes?”

“No need, a bunch of students were in and out today anyway,” the woman said, gesturing. “Hang your scarf and coat there—it's warm inside, you’ll heat up soon.”

“Thank you.” Chu Tong complied, following the woman toward the study.

Through the foyer, the space opened into a large living room, with a screen at the far end separating the open study.

It was a classic old capital apartment—solid wood everywhere, from doors and windows to floors and bookshelves, all in what modern decorators called “liver red.” Yet the bright lighting and scattered books gave the place a sense of old-world charm, serene and inviting.

Behind the screen, Professor Chen, silver-haired and bespectacled, rose from her desk. “Chu, I’ll leave it to you. I’m hopeless with this.”

Chu Tong smiled reassuringly. “Let me take a look.”

She pulled over a chair, glanced at the computer, and quickly saw the issue. Looking up, she said, “Just need to adjust the audio track. It’ll take maybe ten minutes—I’ll run through it from the beginning.”

“Good, good,” Professor Chen said, her face relaxing. “Your senior had it all done, but I wanted to add the intro you recorded for me earlier, and must have messed something up.”

“Please, go rest. I’ll handle it.”

The housekeeper set a cup of hot tea by her hand. “Here, warm up with some tea.” She turned to Professor Chen. “Let’s go to your room, Professor, I’ll work on your knee.”

Professor Chen agreed and asked, “Where’s Mr. Shao?”

“He’s reading in the garden.”

“It’s so cold—let him come in.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring him some tea soon.”

With that, they withdrew to the bedroom.

The house fell silent, save for the faint scent of incense and the soft tapping of mouse and keyboard.

In about ten minutes, Chu Tong had the video sorted, intro added, audio synced, and scheduled for posting. Her tea was still warm; she sipped it, then rose and glanced toward the bedroom. Professor Chen was reclining as the housekeeper massaged her knee, the two speaking in low tones.

Chu Tong hesitated, not wanting to intrude, so she wandered back to the living room to wait.

It was Saturday. She’d taught in the morning, worked as a hostess at an event in the afternoon—on her feet all day. Now her calves ached faintly.

She found a round stool behind the sofa and sat, massaging her legs. The lighting here was dim, and she sensed a draft. Looking up, she saw the sliding glass door to the backyard slightly ajar.

The housekeeper must have left it open.

Chu Tong stood to close it, but as she neared, she noticed several lamps lit in the courtyard. In the center, someone was sitting in a wicker chair.

The yard was roofed with glass, fenced in by two-meter walls.

Beside the round table, beneath a standing lamp, a man sat, half his body illuminated.

Even from a distance, he radiated an air of luxury, like a vision from another dazzling world.

Unattainable.

Dressed in black, legs crossed, a book resting on one knee. He seemed deeply absorbed, one hand holding the pages, the other resting lightly against his lips. From this angle, she could only see his profile—sharp, handsome lines, though the details were obscured by the glass.

A black, semi-fitted turtleneck—thin, but elegant.

Long legs, broad shoulders—his physique alone exuded masculinity.

Footsteps sounded behind her, pulling Chu Tong back to herself. She stepped into the light of the living room.

The housekeeper approached quietly, smiling. “All done?”

Chu Tong nodded, about to say her goodbyes when the housekeeper continued toward the sliding door. “Wait a moment, I’ll fetch Mr. Shao.”

“Mr. Shao.”

“Mr. Shao?” The housekeeper’s voice faded as she spoke to the man. “The professor has gone to bed. Are you hungry…”

Their conversation drifted in, too distant to make out his words, but his voice was pleasing—low, magnetic, steady.

Then footsteps, drawing nearer.

Chu Tong stood where she was, suddenly nervous.

She clenched her index finger, bit her lip, an odd weightlessness overtaking her—after all, he was a stranger. Should she step aside and pretend not to exist, or meet his gaze and greet him politely?

Lost in these tangled thoughts, the footsteps drew near, and she instinctively looked up.

The man in the black sweater was very tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged, with a courteous, restrained smile, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his book.

Apparently surprised to find someone else inside, he turned to look at her.

Eyes dark as obsidian.

A refined, noble air; his features were those of a handsome Eastern man. Even at a distance of about two meters, she felt the powerful masculine presence he radiated.

Chu Tong had never seen a man like this—the allure of mature masculinity was palpable.

She almost forgot to breathe. Her mind blanked, recalling a line from Lü Bicheng:

“Unless one meets a heavenly being, the eyes will not be moved.”

A heavenly being—surely, that was what this was.