After the Monday morning meeting, I plunged into what felt like an endless cycle of revising design drafts. The clients were practically like an illness—just hearing the phone ring was enough to make me sick, and sometimes I pretended I hadn't heard it at all.

I'd love to say I'm a packaging designer, but the truth is that with less than a year of experience, my official title is much humbler: junior packaging design assistant, mainly responsible for packaging updates and related work.

This industry demands limitless imagination like an artist's, but it also requires you to endure hardship and humble yourself like a laborer.

At 8:58 a.m., two minutes before the stock market opened, Zhang Duo sent me a meme. In broad daylight, with my rational mind fully online, I immediately searched him up on LinkedIn. His name, age, and profession all checked out, so only then did I reply:

〚 Good morning! 〛

By the time I finished revising my designs, Han Che had finally woken up. He'd been swamped the previous week, so he'd taken Monday off and texted me asking what I wanted for dinner.

Yes, sometime after midnight, I'd agreed to keep staying at his place. My excuse was that I couldn't leave before properly giving him a thank-you gift.

At that point, I honestly couldn't tell whether he wanted me to stay more, or whether I wanted to stay more.

I told him that Zhang Duo had started chatting with me. Han Che replied much later:

〚 Just finished working out. Sweated like crazy! Feels great! 〛

〚 If you want to have some fun, go ahead. Just don't give any sincere feelings to men you meet in bars. 〛

My sincere feelings had long ago been exhausted by the personality gap between people's online and real-life selves. There wasn't much left to give.

〚 What about you? 〛 I asked.

The moment I sent it, I regretted it.

But he replied instantly:

〚 We're different, of course. 〛

I pressed further:

〚 How are we different? 〛

〚 We're teacher and student... friends... and lovers. 〛

Han Che was still Han Che. The way he used those ellipses was practically literary genius.

During our chat, Zhang Duo brought up my "cousin" Han Che several times. He complimented Han Che's shoulders and arms and asked what he did for a living.

I told him Han Che had studied engineering and spent most of his time on construction sites.

〚 No wonder, 〛

Zhang Duo said.

〚 People like me stare at market charts and write reports all day. It's terrible for your health. Your cousin's job is actually pretty good. 〛

For the record, I'm not a pacifist. Nor am I particularly enlightened.

If possible, I'd much rather have these two men fight over me than admire each other.

So I tossed the conversation back at him:

〚 Working in finance sounds pretty exciting. 〛

It was deliberately suggestive.

I would never have said something like that face-to-face, but behind a screen, certain naughty thoughts became bold. Sure enough, men seemed to love this kind of humor. Even while the stock market fluctuated wildly, he multitasked effortlessly and replied at lightning speed.

Han Che came straight from the gym to pick me up after work.

I nervously slipped away from my coworkers, sneaking out a side entrance and taking a detour.

Seeing me act suspicious, he immediately exposed me:

"Afraid your coworkers will ask questions because I'm too handsome?"

"I have a lot of single coworkers," I said while fixing my hair in the mirror. "I need to blend in among them as a commoner."

He thought for a moment.

"So you're saying you're not single?"

"...I am! What I mean is that I need to maintain the righteous indignation of a woman immune to men."

Female friendships required balance. If your romantic resources were too good, it was easy to become isolated. As a lonely outsider in a new city, I had to carefully cultivate my social circle.

"Oops. Learned something new."

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Before leaving work, I had carefully touched up my makeup.

Well, mostly my foundation and lipstick.

Combined with my white trench coat, I looked ethereal enough to shoot a fashion spread in front of the company logo.

When Han Che looked at my face a little longer than usual, my vanity blossomed.

Before I got out of the car, he glanced at me again.

"You've rounded out after just two days? No way."

I rolled my eyes dramatically.

"Nothing good ever comes out of your mouth."

"Oh? Can that stock trader spit out ivory?"

I puffed my cheeks.

"At least he thinks I'm beautiful."

"Well, you are beautiful," Han Che said. "I've never said you aren't. I just said that sometimes you're not my type."

Then he launched into one of his lectures again.

"Your beauty is defined by yourself. Only when you're firm in your own standards can you find someone who meets them. If you're constantly swayed by other people's tastes and preferences, you'll never discover who you really are."

Thirty-year-old men who spent too much time on Zhihu really loved giving life advice.

His words poked holes straight through my emotional defenses.

At twenty-two, desperate for attention, I wasn't interested in hearing any of it.

But Han Che kept going.

"Besides, that stock guy complimenting your looks definitely has an ulterior motive. Men are extremely self-important creatures. If they don't want something, all they'll talk about is their own success. And they'll naturally assume women's beauty exists as a tribute to how awesome they are."

"Aren't you a man too?" I shot back.

"I am. But I'm a self-aware man."

Criticizing his own gender while praising himself.

Typical male ego.

I glared at him.

"Then what's his motive?"

A sharp gleam flashed in Han Che's eyes as he enunciated each word:

"To. Sleep. With. You."

"I don't believe you!"

"Then tell me, Miss Beautiful, what do you think his motive is?"

Something stirred in my chest.

The answer was obvious.

But I couldn't quite bring myself to say it.

It was such a normal possibility, yet in the eyes of a playboy like Han Che, it was twisted into a joke.

He looked at me teasingly.

"What? You think he wants to date you?"

I froze.

I knew that skillfully managing romance and emotions was a technical craft that required experience.

But at my age, I couldn't completely abandon fairy tales.

Some part of me still believed I was destined to be Snow White.

Cinderella fitting perfectly in the glass slipper and having a prince looking for me.

The sleeping beauty waiting for a prince's kiss.

Or the sweet, innocent girl who could reform a rogue.

We made a bet.

The moment I agreed, I already knew my odds of winning were slim.

By the time I arrived at Swindlers', it was already 8:30 p.m.

I'd barely managed to drag myself there after forcing down a cup of coffee.

On the mezzanine bar level, Zhang Duo sat near the same spot Han Che had occupied the previous night, waving enthusiastically when he saw me.

He was dressed more casually today.

Ironically, I was the one who looked overdressed.

"Two nights in a row at a bar," he said with a smile. "Can a newcomer handle that?"

He offered to order whiskey, but I declined and said I could only manage one cocktail. Rubbing my temples, I deliberately looked tired.

We chatted for over an hour.

The topics were random and unimportant.

Bars were noisy places. Men and women naturally sat closer together than they would in cafés or restaurants. The atmosphere was built for flirtation.

Han Che's argument that Zhang Duo wasn't a genuinely decent guy was simple:

A serious date wouldn't happen in a bar.

Maybe it was because I wasn't drinking much.

Maybe it was because Han Che's prediction hung over my head like a blade.

Either way, I couldn't get into the mood.

So when Zhang Duo invited me onto the dance floor, I agreed.

Almost immediately, Han Che sent me a message:

〚 Next! Body touch! 〛

Like I was some tool being used to test male desire.

And when Zhang Duo's hand lightly settled on my waist in rhythm with the music, I genuinely frowned.

His hand wasn't roaming.

But his probing fingertips and increasingly direct gaze carried unmistakable intent.

He leaned close to speak into my ear.

His lips brushed my ear accidentally.

He was waiting for a signal.

I could easily imagine where things would lead if I lowered my guard.

None of it surprised me.

In a place like this, there was no need to be prudish.

And his behavior wasn't especially excessive.

The problem was simply that my personal scale for romantic progression wasn't calibrated the same way as men who frequented nightlife scenes.

A car horn sounded.

Zhang Duo lowered his rear window and waved at me.

I walked away, then turned back and knocked on the window.

"Thank you."

He rubbed his forehead, looking exhausted. The sharpness in his hawk-like eyes had softened.

"For what?"

"Thanks for the drinks."

I gave him my sweetest smile and watched his car disappear into the night.

A Cadillac so shiny it reflected the streetlights rolled up beside me.

Han Che looked toward the road where Zhang Duo had vanished and shook his head.

"Finance guys really aren't as honest as us engineers. Two dates and he was already trying to get you into bed."

"He wasn't!" I protested.

Han Che smirked.

"You know whether he was or not. You're twenty-two, not twelve."

I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, crossing my arms defensively.

At the second red light, I suddenly asked:

"Before you became a playboy, what kind of girls did you like?"

He considered it.

"The reason I became a playboy was because I didn't know what kind of girls I liked."

I pictured him lounging among countless women.

"So... all of them?"

"Girls are wonderful," he said. "I genuinely want to try every type. Even if I can't have the whole meal, getting a taste is nice."

"What are you, treating girls like you’re eating at an all-you-can-eat buffet?"

The car fell quiet for a moment.

Then he suddenly asked:

"Hungry?"

We'd had French teppanyaki for dinner because I'd specifically requested something expensive.

But the fancy food wasn't filling at all.

Lots of presentation.

Great atmosphere.

Tiny portions.

I nodded eagerly.

"After drinking, my stomach started hurting the moment the alcohol hit. It feels like I drank on an empty stomach."

Even though I'd eaten earlier.

Han Che immediately perked up.

"Let's go get late-night food!"

Streetlights poured through the window, illuminating half the car.

I opened my eyes and met his gaze in the darkness.

He looked genuinely excited.

I frowned and sighed dramatically.

"But my face is getting rounder."

"Who said that?"

He slammed on the brakes, grabbed my cheeks, and kneaded them.

"You're practically skin and bones."

I lifted my chin.

"Then tell me I'm beautiful."

I wanted to take advantage of the moment and trick him into giving me a compliment.

"You’re beautiful!" he said. "You're the most unique seasoning I've tasted in years."

My nose twitched.

"...What flavor?"

"How about this?" he said.

"I'll mix up a sample and let you taste it."