We ended up going to Haidilao.

A split hotpot with two broths. Han Che ordered ten dishes, all heavy-flavored: duck intestines, pig brain, beef tripe...

After tasting the steak he cooked, I never would have guessed he ate Chinese food with such reckless enthusiasm.

It was also my first time seeing someone mix two separate dipping sauces for hotpot—one for meat, one for vegetables.

The spicy red broth and rich clear broth boiled continuously, filling the air with steam. Hunger made every aroma irresistible. Combined with the fact that it was nearly midnight, it carried the thrilling feeling of breaking a rule.

Our conversation bounced back and forth between dating and food.

Han Che was lonely.

He said the lifespan of a playboy was short, usually ending around twenty-eight.

That part didn't matter. Going after women alone or partying with friends while going after women amounted to the same thing.

The real misery came when he wanted late-night snacks or wanted to try a new restaurant and couldn't find anyone to go with him.

"Aren't all those girls available to keep you company?" I asked.

Couldn't he just invite some girl he'd been chatting with online? Fresh, exciting, and pleasant to look at.

Honestly, I'd been so thoroughly brainwashed by his approach to dating that I was starting to accept it unconsciously.

"Eating should be comfortable," Han Che said.

He cooked a slice of tripe, dipped it in the spicy broth, and placed it into my meat sauce bowl.

"When you're eating great food, if you're simultaneously wracking your brain for conversation topics and trying to keep your lies straight, it's exhausting. No matter how delicious the food is, the experience loses some flavor. No matter how beautiful the woman is, some of her charm disappears too."

I mocked him.

"I thought lying was instinctive for people like you."

Like using chopsticks—something built into your DNA.

"It's a skill tree, not an instinct," he said, taking a sip of cola. "And it requires practice."

Then he added:

"Just like how I'm convinced that stock guy has definitely hidden something from you while building up his image as a successful man."

My chopsticks froze midair.

"Why?"

Han Che looked certain.

"Every piece of information he's given you has been carefully selected. Every detail is designed to hit exactly the kind of girl you are."

"What if he's really just that impressive?"

Zhang Duo had plenty of masculine confidence. He clearly wasn't some innocent nice guy.

But I honestly couldn't see him as particularly bad.

Flirting, exchanging contact information, dating, physical contact—this was the standard progression of many relationships.

At most, Zhang Duo was moving things along faster than usual.

If Han Che wanted me to believe I'd been deceived, I wasn't buying it.

"Excellent men aren't extinct," Han Che replied.

He added vegetables to the clear broth. Once they were cooked, he scooped them out, drained the soup, and placed them into the vegetable sauce bowl he'd prepared for me.

"Try the vegetables."

Then he continued.

"What I'm saying is that he may genuinely be impressive. But there are definitely omissions or lies mixed in there to help achieve the goal of getting you into bed faster. Because perfection is the strongest aphrodisiac for marriage-minded women."

"What lies?" I asked. "His name, age, and job are all real."

To me, the true master of deception was someone who used a fake name almost identical to their real one.

No matter what tricks Zhang Duo had, he'd never surpass Han Che in that department.

"You'll have to discover that yourself."

He smiled approvingly.

"Little sister, isn't that your specialty?"

I stared.

"My specialty?"

Han Che laughed.

"You're the first person who ever exposed me."

I froze.

"Although that might be because you happened to find my Zhihu account."

"No one else ever found it?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Never."

Girls are too naïve.

People needed to make better use of search engines.

I shrugged.

"Then your lie simply wasn't perfect."

Men generally had lower privacy awareness than women.

Every website I used had a different username.

There were too many cute, artistic nicknames to choose from.

How could anyone possibly use the same ID everywhere?

"Telling a successful lie isn't easy," Han Che said.

I dipped lettuce into sauce and muttered:

"I think it's pretty easy."

After all, I'd already told several lies to Zhang Duo effortlessly.

Without missing a beat, Han Che explained:

"First of all, lies aren't created from nothing. That's a common misunderstanding women have about men's lies."

"They're always built on partial truths."

"Otherwise, over time, there's nothing to anchor your memory to, and eventually the liar can't keep the story straight."

"This isn't a novel or TV drama where a team of writers can carefully construct a believable character."

"We're ordinary people with ordinary jobs. It's easy to get exposed."

"So half of what I told you was a lie. The other half was true."

"You mean Zhang Duo does the same thing?"

Seeing my disbelief, he shook his head.

"I'm not saying all men will lie to you."

"But any man who quickly creates feelings of affection and a sense of perfection should be treated with caution."

"I know, I know," I said impatiently.

He was systematically dismantling my faith in successful men.

"I'm not saying he's some unforgivable villain."

Han Che's tone softened.

"I just want you to understand that with certain kinds of people, you need a playful mindset."

"Know what they want."

"Know where your boundaries are."

"That way, flirting can be enjoyable without creating unnecessary complications."

He paused.

"The reason so many women become devastated after being deceived is because their expectations are vastly different from reality."

"If you don't set the bar so high from the beginning, you'll suffer a lot less."

Steam rose between us.

I sat silently digesting his words.

For a long time, I stared into his eyes, getting lost in those dark obsidian pupils.

Apparently, midnight wasn't the ideal time for processing life lessons.

That night I couldn't sleep.

Han Che's words and Zhang Duo's actions replayed endlessly in my mind.

My young heart drifted somewhere between dreams and wakefulness.

Before bed, I messaged my roommate asking if the dog had returned.

It was so late that she didn't reply until morning.

〚 No. 〛

〚 And when are you coming back? 〛

I figured I didn't need to explain why I was staying elsewhere. She could probably guess.

So I told her a few more days.

Honestly, if I had to sit around watching them search for the missing dog, I'd probably suffocate from guilt.

The next morning, while brushing my teeth, I was browsing local listings for Golden Retrievers online.

Suddenly, Han Che appeared at the bathroom door.

His hair was a complete mess.

Without saying a word, he kicked the door open, walked straight over, buried his face in my neck, wrapped his arms around me—and started pressing against me.

At first I didn't understand what was happening.

Then realization hit.

I screamed and practically jumped onto the toilet seat, kicking wildly.

"Han Che! Are you insane?!"

His master bedroom had its own bathroom, so I'd assumed this one was for guests.

It was early.

I was half asleep.

I'd completely forgotten about his condition.

Han Che leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

His breathing was uneven.

I stayed frozen in place.

Toothpaste foam dripped from the corner of my mouth.

After a few moments, he suddenly marched into the shower, turned on the cold water, and let it pour over himself.

His messy hair flattened immediately.

The cold water traced over his athletic upper body.

About ten seconds later, his breathing finally settled.

He slid down the wall beneath the showerhead and sat there dejectedly.

His voice came out hoarse.

"Sorry. I scared you."

I stared at him for a moment, then quietly finished brushing my teeth.

He remained where he was.

Eventually he switched the water from cold to hot.

Steam instantly filled the bathroom.

I turned on the ventilation fan.

"Aren't you getting ready for work?"

"Not recovered yet."

I couldn't help laughing.

"Are you surprised it still works?"

"Please. My hormone levels are completely normal."

Since I didn't seem angry, he visibly relaxed.

"It's just the performance that's unreliable."

I stood before the mirror applying makeup.

My brain gradually caught up with what had happened.

"Then why are you still standing there? The problem's over. Hurry up and get ready for work."

He remained under the water.

The streams outlined every line of his body.

I glanced over.

Twice.

Okay, maybe ten times.

"Do you know what post-nut clarity is?" he asked suddenly.

How would I know?

"No. But I do know your hair's getting long."

Every morning it exploded into chaos.

A perfectly handsome man somehow woke up looking like a wandering monk.

Living together really shattered fantasies.

He pushed his damp hair back from his face and looked at me.

"Really?"

I swallowed.

Then nodded silently.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

At noon, Zhang Duo called me.

In front of my coworkers' curious stares, I answered with the seriousness of someone speaking to their parents.

"Braised pork, vegetables, and shredded pork soup."

He laughed softly.

His cello-like voice grew even deeper.

"Sounds pretty average. Want to improve the menu tonight?"

What surprised me was that he never mentioned the previous night's invitation to spend the night together—or my rejection.

Instead of relief, I felt strangely guilty.

After hanging up, I slipped into the break room and called Han Che.

The background noise on his end was loud—lots of men shouting and joking around.

He didn't answer immediately.

The noise gradually faded.

A door closed.

Then he spoke.

"Miss me?"

I rolled my eyes.

Then sighed.

"You'll have to get your haircut by yourself tonight."

Han Che was far too quick to understand.

His voice immediately sharpened.

"You're ditching me for a lying man?"

"He's not a liar!"

I protested.

"I'm just going to dinner..."

Then inspiration struck.

"...and maybe investigate whether he has any flaws."

Excellent.

A perfect excuse that didn't make me look like I was abandoning friends for romance.

This time it wasn't a bar.

It was a Western restaurant.

Throughout the evening, Zhang Duo was the perfect gentleman.

The warmth and attentiveness he showed were different from his earlier flirtation.

In fact, they didn't quite match his sharp, intimidating appearance.

I kept reminding myself to stay rational.

But halfway through dinner, I'd already been thoroughly charmed.

He talked about his investments.

He asked how I liked the restaurant.

Then casually mentioned that he'd considered opening a similar one himself someday—a small, elegant, reservation-only establishment.

Suddenly he no longer felt like a highly paid employee.

He felt like a future entrepreneur.

Without realizing it, I even adjusted my posture beneath the table, sitting more gracefully.

I admit it.

When dinner ended and he simply drove me home without making another invitation, I felt a brief flash of disappointment.

Even if he had invited me somewhere afterward, I would have refused.

But because he didn't ask at all, my heart began fluctuating between hope and uncertainty.

After his car disappeared from sight, I hailed a taxi and headed to Han Che's place.

The moment I opened the door—

I froze.

Startled.