Before I left the house, I had already prepared myself for the possibility that I wouldn’t be coming back that night.

I was fully expecting Han Che to try to keep me there, and I was mentally prepared to put up token resistance before staying anyway.

See? By now I knew all of this bastard’s tricks.

I wanted to tease him a little—watch him try to persuade me to stay without realizing I was letting him—and maybe stir up some of that lingering guilt he owed me.

Han Che came out of the shower humming, towel-drying his damp hair, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

He probably thought his pitiful act had successfully convinced me to stay. What he didn’t know was that I had only pretended I was leaving in the first place.

I crossed my legs and shot a glance at his annoyingly attractive calves before returning to my phone.

My classmates had been blowing up the group chat while we were skating, asking where I’d disappeared to. I was apologizing and laughing as I typed.

Han Che shot me a look.

“Who are you chatting with so happily?”

“Classmates.”

I was absorbed in my phone and completely missed the few seconds of silence that followed.

Then he asked,

“Are you and that thirty-three-year-old together now?”

“Not yet,” I answered honestly.

“How far have things gotten?”

He hopped onto the bed and naturally wrapped an arm around me.

The image of that shared bottle of water from earlier flashed into my mind.

I swallowed the memory and said,

“We kissed.”

Han Che propped up his head and stared at me without moving.

The look in his eyes was complicated.

I grew uncomfortable under his gaze.

“What?”

“Lin Wen,” he said, “you’re such a player.”

I froze.

The next second I exploded.

“Who are you calling a player?!”

“You kissed him and you’re still saying you’re not together.”

I frowned.

“Fine. Then we’re together.”

But arguing was a losing battle against Han Che.

He continued calmly,

“If you’re together with him, how are you still lying in bed with me?”

“You climbed onto the bed yourself!”

The room fell quiet again.

Today Han Che’s pauses between arguments were unusually long.

That was always a sign he was plotting something.

Sure enough, his fingertips started lightly scratching my arm.

Casually, he asked,

“So whose kissing is better? Mine or Thirty-Three’s?”

I stared at him silently.

Han Che looked perfectly serious.

“I’m just curious whether good kissing comes from experience or age.”

What kind of ridiculous question was that?

If I said Thirty-Three was better, he’d probably refuse to accept it and demand a rematch for scientific verification.

Absolutely not.

So I answered,

“Yours.”

I had underestimated his combat power.

Nodding thoughtfully, he said,

“See? That’s why I encourage you to date more. Once you date enough people, you’ll know what’s truly better.”

I laughed from sheer irritation and finally lost my patience.

I twisted around and started punching and kicking him.

This man had an endless supply of tricks. He was infuriating and hilarious at the same time.

He pulled me into his arms.

“Still, since you’re not even sure whether you’re together, then you’re not really together. Which means I don’t have to worry about getting beaten up.”

“You’ve actually been beaten up before?”

I finally understood why he was training in boxing.

“So that’s why you train.”

Han Che immediately corrected me.

“No. I just have principles. I don’t go after women who already belong to someone else.”

“Look at you, so principled. Maybe you’re not that terrible after all.”

I knew guys who loved flirting with girls who were already taken because they found it exciting.

“That’s right,” he said proudly.

“Even scumbags have their own code.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“And what exactly is your code?”

He lifted my hand and started counting on my fingers.

“One—mutual consent.”

He raised a second finger.

“Two—protection.”

The third finger started to bend, and he held it upright.

“Three—we’re both single.”

A fourth finger.

“Four—don’t get too emotionally invested.”

Then he spread all five fingers open.

“And finally: try not to hurt the girl too much if it can be avoided.”

When he finished, he slid his fingers between mine, intertwining our hands.

Then he asked,

“What about you? What’s your code?”

I frowned.

“How am I a player?”

He nodded as though something had just become clear.

“Got it. Your code has no heart, so you don’t think you’re a player.”

“I don’t have a heart?”

“People without hearts never realize they don’t have one.”

He studied me.

“You’ve dated so many people, but you’ve never really been heartbroken. Do you know why?”

“Because it was short.”

I meant the relationships.

Naturally, he interpreted it another way.

“Thanks for the compliment.”

I kicked him.

He pinned my legs down and finally became serious.

“Tell me. How short?”

Following his lead, I started making things up.

“Three centimeters?”

“That’s a disability.”

“Five?”

“Do you know the average size for Chinese men?”

I vaguely remembered seeing a forum post about it once.

“Ten centimeters?”

“Around twelve.”

My eyes lit up mischievously.

“What about you?”

“I have no idea.”

Pretending to be curious, he leaned toward my ear.

“Want to measure it for me?”

Before I could react, he burst out laughing at his own joke.

I was halfway through rolling my eyes before I started laughing too.

I punched him.

“You idiot.”

“What am I supposed to do? My jokes get worse whenever I’m around you.”

He buried his face against my shoulder, still laughing.

“If you didn’t have that face, your success rate with those tricks would be a lot lower.”

“Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”

We stayed like that for a while.

I could smell the faint scent of soap on him.

“By the way,” I said, “I almost never see you smoke.”

We’d spent plenty of time together, and I’d only ever seen him smoke once.

He laughed softly against my shoulder.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Then what was that the other day?”

“Posing.”

He mimed holding a cigarette and puffing dramatically.

“Doesn’t it look cool?”

Just how many things had this man learned for the sake of flirting?

“It looks ridiculous.”

I picked up my phone again.

He continued resting against me, asking about the people in my messages.

“Who’s that?”

“And him?”

I started explaining.

“This one is probably my first boyfriend.”

“That one might've been my first kiss.”

“Oh! And this fairy-profile-picture girl was our class president. Did you know she dated a famous actor in college?”

I was practically glowing with gossip.

I expected enthusiasm from him.

Instead, he pointed at someone who kept replying with endless “hahahahahaha” messages.

“Was this one also your ex-boyfriend?”

I thought about it.

Not in my contacts. No nickname.

“Probably not.”

I generally stayed on good terms with my exes. If I didn’t remember him, he probably wasn’t one.

Han Che sat up.

His face twisted in disbelief.

“Lin Wen.”

“What?”

“Do you realize how many uncertain words you just used?”

I tilted my head.

“What do you mean?”

“You said ‘probably my first boyfriend,’ ‘might've been my first kiss,’ and ‘probably not an ex-boyfriend.’”

Thinking about it, I had.

I defended myself.

“That was high school! It’s been years. Isn’t it normal to forget details?”

“Forget details?”

He looked horrified.

“They’re exes, not random strangers!”

“When I was a sophomore, I dated my desk partner. On our hundredth day together, we kissed. I still remember it!”

“My God.”

I covered my mouth.

“You waited one hundred days to kiss?”

“By one hundred days I’d already broken up!”

It was impossible to imagine Han Che ever being that innocent.

Something must have gone terribly wrong along the way.

“You’ve never had a relationship longer than a hundred days?”

“...No.”

At least not that I remembered.

Most boys at school had been stupid, broke, and awkward.

I’d been stupid, broke, and awkward too.

Han Che shook his head in disappointment.

After a long pause, he patted my head.

“Not bad.”

“What?”

“You’re perfect for this.”

“For what?”

“Having no heart.”

I frowned.

“So you really are calling me a player.”

“You think so too, huh?”

He grabbed my hand and smiled like someone who had finally gotten a confession.

“Kindred spirits.”

Annoyed, I lunged at him.

The tiny bed was barely large enough for two people.

The moment our bodies overlapped, the atmosphere shifted.

Every movement created friction.

His bathrobe had long since loosened during our wrestling.

If I lowered my head, I could glimpse the waistband of his underwear.

The danger of the situation was obvious.

Yet part of me wanted to test the boundaries of his promises.

Wasn’t that what playing with fire was?

I noticed his reaction but deliberately pretended not to.

My heart was racing wildly.

Putting on an innocent expression, I said sweetly,

“You’re talking nonsense.”

Desire flashed across Han Che’s face.

His breathing grew heavier.

He rolled us over and pinned me down, catching one of my legs before it could continue its supposedly accidental movements.

“Don’t move.”

I immediately froze.

“Okay.”

Bracing himself on either side of me, Han Che stared down at me while breathing hard.

I avoided eye contact.

My gaze wandered around until it landed on his Adam’s apple.

It rose and fell as if he were struggling with restraint.

Trying to tease him, I said,

“You kind of look like you’re about to do push-ups.”

Slowly, he lowered his head.

“Then can I do push-ups?”

I puffed out my cheeks innocently.

“The bed’s so soft. I’m not sure you can.”

Han Che stared at me as though trying to see straight through me.

Our breathing mingled.

My eyes narrowed slightly in challenge.

A knowing smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Then, still grinning, he started.

At first he moved slowly, testing the mattress.

Testing me.

Before long he found a rhythm.

His push-up form was excellent.

And apparently he could multitask very well.

He never kissed my lips.

Instead, every push-up brought a teasing brush somewhere around my ear.

My earlobe.

The shell of my ear.

The sensitive skin nearby.

Warm breaths and fleeting touches sent waves of goosebumps racing across my body.

It felt as though volcanoes were erupting.

As though earthquakes were splitting the ocean floor.

As though I had personally snapped every chain meant to restrain me.

At last I hesitated.

“Maybe we should—”

“I said I wouldn’t touch you.”

His voice came out rough and strained.

“And I keep my promises.”

Han Che probably performed more push-ups that night than he ever had in his life.

His arms were visibly shaking.

Meanwhile, I had melted into the mattress, boneless and weak.

I stuck out my tongue teasingly and traced a small circle in the air.

He paused.

His lips parted slightly.

For a moment it looked as though he was genuinely debating whether to give in.

A smile curled at the corner of my eyes as I waited.

But just like last time, he never crossed the line.

Bastard.

His movements became increasingly fierce.

The room blurred.

The white walls seemed to sway.

Then suddenly everything went still.

As though we had entered another world entirely.

Our clothes remained perfectly intact.

Yet we were both drenched with sweat as though we had stood in a downpour.

Near my ear, Han Che laughed hoarsely.

“Lin Wen…”

“This technique is incredible.”