In the blink of an eye, another day had passed.

Word has it the police didn’t catch anyone. Fatty asked Turtle, “Should we teach Old Turtle Three a lesson?”
Turtle replied, “Let’s see how our luck goes.” Meaning there was no need to make a fuss—if he happened to cross paths with their group, they’d deal with it then.

Once the crowd dispersed, Zhang Pa returned home to get to work. Dance class was at four thirty in the afternoon, two hours away; he knew he couldn’t finish his task in time, but whatever he managed to get done was better than nothing.

He wrote until four, saved his document, grabbed his clothes, and left the house.

Liu Xiaomei was as beautiful as ever. Her outfit was simple, understated, yet she wore it with a youthful, radiant charm. Upon seeing her, Zhang Pa raised the plastic bag he was carrying: “I brought my clothes.”

Liu Xiaomei shook her head repeatedly. “How hard is your life, really? You can’t even bring yourself to buy a proper bag?”

Zhang Pa replied, “Swindlers, I ran into swindlers—they wouldn’t even give me a paper bag. I’ll go demand one tomorrow.”

Seeing his indignant expression, Liu Xiaomei laughed. “Why is your face so convincing when you’re telling lies?”

Zhang Pa was surprised. “I’m telling the truth.”

Liu Xiaomei chuckled twice, and together they made their way to the affiliated elementary school to teach dance, following the same route as last time.

On the road, Zhang Pa searched for conversation, while Liu Xiaomei answered all his questions, quickly explaining why she taught at the elementary school.

Money wasn’t the main reason. Some parents, knowing Liu Xiaomei had been assigned to the Conservatory, pulled strings and sought connections to get her to teach their children.

Liu Xiaomei was exceptional—she’d won four world-class dance awards, countless other prizes, and declined invitations from top international dance troupes. It was just like how she could have stayed in the capital, but insisted on coming back—ordinary people couldn’t fathom her reasons.

There’s a saying: life is a journey of chasing dreams. If you love dance, you should perform on grander stages for bigger audiences. Yet Liu Xiaomei rejected all of that.

She attended the Capital Dance Academy, won gold at a world-class youth dance competition, and was recruited by the top ballet theater in New York. She could have stayed in New York after graduation, but didn’t. After returning to China, she spent over a year in the capital—again, she could have stayed, but didn’t.

All her awards were earned while still a student. She’d studied dance for over ten years, and her family reserved a room just for her trophies. In her words: “When you’re in school, you take exams; those trophies are my grades. Once you graduate, there’s no need for exams—why keep competing?”

Teaching dance at the music school was, essentially, a waste of her talent. But Liu, the great beauty, didn’t care about salary or perks—she genuinely loved her job.

When parents approached her, Liu Xiaomei refused several times. But some people are truly resourceful—the dean of the Conservatory spoke to her, saying it was just tutoring, two classes a week, wouldn’t take much time...

For various reasons, Liu Xiaomei agreed to open a class.

Her course was two sessions a week, each two hours, charging five hundred per class. Each student paid her a thousand yuan weekly. Even so, she easily enrolled more than fifty students.

This was an elite, almost aristocratic class; to nurture certain relationships, the affiliated elementary school provided the classroom free of charge.

Both the Conservatory and the elementary school treasured Liu Xiaomei—after all, she was genuinely talented, with achievements as solid as gold.

The general public might not know her name, but in the capital’s dance circles, who didn’t?

After returning from the US, Liu Xiaomei held a year-long series of solo performances at the Capital Grand Theater, two shows a month, each one packed to the rafters. And you must understand, this girl was proud—every performance was a solo, yet audiences still flocked to see her.

From the capital to the provincial city, she returned with a halo.

Zhang Pa knew none of this; he only understood why she was teaching and that classes cost five hundred per session. He thought, “That’s pricey.”

They soon reached the classroom. As before, the hallway was full of parents, inside the classroom children played.

It wasn’t until they entered the teaching building that Zhang Pa remembered he hadn’t changed clothes. He told Liu Xiaomei, dashed into the restroom, changed quickly, and rushed into the classroom.

He was again the exception, entering the class where many parents didn’t know what was happening. Some resourceful parents called the elementary school principal, others contacted the Conservatory for information—was the age requirement relaxed?

Zhang Pa didn’t care what others thought; his time in the dance studio was light-hearted and joyful, surrounded by adorable children and the most beautiful teacher—a true blessing.

It felt like in the blink of an eye, class ended—for the children, that is. Zhang Pa had to stay for extra practice.

What was extra practice? Suffering.

Liu Xiaomei earnestly helped him stretch, pulling and pressing, as Zhang Pa fell from the blissful heavens to a blissful hell—painful, yes, but he also wanted to stay with Liu Xiaomei like this.

When all the children had left, Liu Xiaomei released Zhang Pa and invited him to dinner.

Zhang Pa said, “You teach me dance for free and invite me to dinner—I’ll feel guilty.”

“Keep a ledger, remember you owe me a lot. Save it up and pay me back all at once someday,” Liu Xiaomei said.

Zhang Pa shivered. “When lines like that appear on TV, it always means the protagonist has a story. Beauty, just how many stories do you have?”

Liu Xiaomei smiled. “Who doesn’t have a story? Don’t you?”

Zhang Pa thought for a moment. “Mine’s especially simple—four words: single till now.”

“Single till now? Aren’t you forty already?” Liu Xiaomei said.

Zhang Pa groaned. “Do I look that old?”

Liu Xiaomei laughed. “See? Men care about age too.”

“Only the dead don’t care,” Zhang Pa paused, then asked, “What’s your story?”

Liu Xiaomei said, “Guess.”

Zhang Pa said, “You’re so beautiful—I bet you’ve had trouble with creeps.”

Liu Xiaomei replied, “You put it so gently. Let me say it for you: you want to know if I’ve ever been kept by powerful men or rich businessmen, if I have a shameful past?”

Zhang Pa hurriedly shook his head. “No, no, no.”

Liu Xiaomei laughed softly. “Whether I have or not isn’t important. What matters is that you’re beside me now, isn’t it?”

Zhang Pa smiled wryly. “Teacher, when you put it that way, it means you have quite a past.”

Liu Xiaomei burst out laughing. “You think a beauty like me has to be entangled with men?”

“I don’t know,” Zhang Pa said. “I know of two top actresses—both have been kept.”

Liu Xiaomei was curious, “How do you know?”

Zhang Pa sighed. “Would you believe me if I said I saw it with my own eyes?”

Liu Xiaomei said she wouldn’t.

“That’s right then,” Zhang Pa said.

Liu Xiaomei called him a rascal and asked what he wanted to eat.

Zhang Pa said, “My treat.”

Liu Xiaomei grinned, “Hero Zhang, what are you treating me to?”

Zhang Pa answered loudly, “Steamed buns.”

So steamed buns it was. Liu Xiaomei seemed utterly unconcerned with what others thought, walking arm in arm with Zhang Pa, smiling—if anyone didn’t misunderstand, they’d be blind.

After eating, Liu Xiaomei said, “See me home.”

Zhang Pa agreed. But after a short while, he asked, “Wait, that’s not the right direction.”

Liu Xiaomei said, “You mean the dormitory; I mean home.”

“Ah?” Zhang Pa said, “Isn’t this a bit fast?”

Liu Xiaomei asked, “What’s too fast?”

“Meeting the parents—so soon? I’m not ready yet,” Zhang Pa said earnestly.

Liu Xiaomei laughed, “Want to marry me, huh? Dream on.”

“Of course I’m dreaming—I’m dreaming of Liu Xiaomei,” Zhang Pa replied seriously.

Liu Xiaomei said, “Oh dear, you’re quick to pick up the banter.” She shook her head. “Men who joke too much are too frivolous.”

“I was wrong,” Zhang Pa admitted.

Liu Xiaomei smiled. “But I like it.”

Zhang Pa groaned, “What do you actually like, then?”

Liu Xiaomei’s home was close, just two bus stops away. Zhang Pa carried her on his bicycle, quickly arriving. But Liu Xiaomei told him to wait downstairs—she still had to return to school.

Zhang Pa asked, “Why go back?”

“I have class tomorrow,” Liu Xiaomei replied.

“Then why come home?”

“My dad needed to see me about something,” Liu Xiaomei answered, as if it were obvious.

Zhang Pa nodded, then suddenly asked, “Will you marry me?”

A master’s move—always unexpected. Even Zhang Pa himself probably didn’t expect to ask such a question. Liu Xiaomei gave him a look, “Learn to sing first,” she said, and went upstairs.

Zhang Pa felt a headache coming on—learn to sing, learn guitar, learn to dance... Getting older, and starting over.

Liu Xiaomei stayed upstairs for over half an hour, then came down with a bag of food. Zhang Pa carried her back to school.

He took her all the way to the dormitory building. Liu Xiaomei handed him the food, “A reward for you. Goodbye,” and returned to her room.

Zhang Pa had no idea what his role really was—bodyguard? Student? Hired boyfriend...?

He still had unfinished updates to write tonight, so he pedaled home fast, only to hear loud television before he’d even reached his floor. Back in his room, sure enough, from next door came those familiar slapping sounds, and a woman’s laughter.

Zhang Pa went and knocked on the door. A woman inside asked who it was.

Zhang Pa didn’t answer—he kept knocking. A man’s voice asked who it was.

Still silent, Zhang Pa just knocked. The room went completely quiet. After a while, Old Turtle Three opened the door, bare-chested. Zhang Pa glanced inside, “Damn, prostitutes sure are open—two men, three women?”

Inside, Old Turtle Three and his companions, plus three girls; except for Old Turtle Three, none of the others were wearing clothes.

No sooner had Zhang Pa spoken than the three women’s expressions changed. One especially bold girl, naked, sprang up and pointed at him, cursing, “Your mother died, huh? Why are you so disgusting?”

Zhang Pa looked at Old Turtle Three. “If you can’t get them to shut up, get out.”

Old Turtle Three didn’t reply. His companion walked over and cursed, “Damn, whose zipper wasn’t up, letting you out?”

Zhang Pa smiled at Old Turtle Three, raised his hand, shoved Old Turtle Three against the wall, and kicked the naked young man, who crashed onto the mattress behind.

Zhang Pa said, “I don’t care if pimps and prostitutes play games, do whatever you like—but don’t disturb me. Remember that.”

“Damn, how can you be so arrogant—” the rest was a stream of curses from a girl who looked fairly pretty. She grabbed some clothes to cover herself and sat on the floor, swearing.

Zhang Pa said to Old Turtle Three, “Get her to shut up—I have no patience.”

From the moment the door opened, Old Turtle Three hadn’t spoken. He’d been living in the south for years, didn’t know Zhang Pa well, so after thinking for a moment, he asked, “Who are you?”