At that time, I wanted to create a headline.

Liu Xiaomei laughed, “Looks like we have something in common now.”

Zhang Pa asked, “What do we have in common?”

She replied, “I also like looking into your eyes. They’re so bright, unbelievably bright. Only people with pure hearts, people free of ill intentions and simple-minded in their thoughts, can have such clear, shining eyes.”

Zhang Pa shook his head, “That’s not scientific. There’s no scientific basis for what you’re saying.”

Liu Xiaomei grinned, “And what you just said has scientific backing? You said my eyes are especially bright, so I must be trustworthy?”

“Of course!” Zhang Pa said. “Anyone I like must be seen through my own understanding—who cares if it’s scientific or not?”

Liu Xiaomei laughed, “That’s a double standard.”

“Even if it’s an eightfold standard, it doesn’t stop me from believing in you,” Zhang Pa replied.

“Oh, you and your sweet talk—how is it that everything you say flatters me?” Liu Xiaomei said, “But I like it.”

Zhang Pa chuckled, “You could try it for yourself. Scientists say people with bright eyes have especially sweet mouths—they’re delicious.”

Liu Xiaomei laughed even harder, “I’m not falling for that.”

“I’m telling the truth.” Zhang Pa put on an exaggeratedly serious face.

Liu Xiaomei snatched the remote from his hand. “You’re not watching anyway.” She started flipping through the channels and added, “You should brace yourself. There may be some questioning soon.”

“More questions?” Zhang Pa said, “I was so nervous just now.”

“Who knows? Who can guess what my mom is thinking?” Liu Xiaomei replied.

Speaking of her mother, Zhang Pa said, “Your mom looks so young—she can’t be a day over forty, probably in her thirties.”

Liu Xiaomei laughed, “She had cosmetic surgery in the States and uses all sorts of beauty products. If she didn’t look young, that would be strange.”

“It doesn’t look like she’s had surgery,” Zhang Pa said.

“Of course not. My mom was already young and beautiful. A little touch-up only made her even more so.” Liu Xiaomei asked, “Which of my features do you think needs work? I could get it done too.”

“Sis, you’re already stunning—why would you need surgery?” Zhang Pa said. “Even if you wanted to, what could you possibly change to look better than you do now? Isn’t that making things difficult for the surgeon?”

Liu Xiaomei laughed, “You and your silver tongue—what if I really fall in love with you?”

“Do as you please, don’t hold back. Don’t worry about my feelings,” Zhang Pa replied with mock heroism.

She glanced at him, turned off the TV, and pulled him up. “I’ll play you a piece on the piano as a reward for your sweet words.”

They returned to the music room upstairs. Zhang Pa sat by the wall while Liu Xiaomei took her place at the piano. “I haven’t played in a week—let me warm up first.”

Her fingers danced lightly over the keys, searching for the right touch. After about five minutes, she announced, “Here we go.”

With that, exquisite music flowed from the piano. Zhang Pa didn’t know much about music, but he could tell it was beautiful—exceptionally so.

The piece lasted less than four minutes. When it ended, Liu Xiaomei rose and gave Zhang Pa a graceful bow.

He applauded enthusiastically. “Are you a pianist or a dancer? How are you so amazing at everything?”

Liu Xiaomei said, “Keep praising me. Your life’s mission is to compliment me, admire me, and love me. Any objections?”

“None whatsoever,” Zhang Pa replied. “You’re truly incredible.”

She chuckled, “Wait till you visit next time—I’ll dance for you. In a sexy ballet outfit—one that’s barely there.”

Zhang Pa said, “Why wait? How about today?”

She laughed, “You’re always so adorable! No, no, I need to keep my distance from you.” After a moment, she asked, “Have you been practicing the piano?”

“Last week, yes,” Zhang Pa answered.

“And your vocal exercises?” she pressed.

“I practice every day, but I can’t seem to find the right placement. I’m not even sure if my throat is open,” Zhang Pa replied.

“Let’s practice now.” Liu Xiaomei struck a key and began vocalizing.

Zhang Pa hurried over, stood straight, and started his exercises.

They practiced for half an hour before she said, “Keep practicing this way when you get home.”

Zhang Pa nodded earnestly, then joked, “I must be truly unique. Have you ever seen a future son-in-law practicing vocal drills on his first visit to the future mother-in-law’s house?”

Liu Xiaomei said, “Don’t flatter yourself! Who says you’re my future son-in-law? I haven’t even decided if I like you yet.”

Zhang Pa chuckled, “Alright, if you say so.” Then he whispered, “You told me to mention my calligraphy, but your mom never asked. Should I bring it up anyway?”

Liu Xiaomei thought for a moment. “It’s up to you.”

“I’ll mention it if she asks. If not, never mind,” Zhang Pa decided.

Just then, Aunt Liu called them downstairs for dinner. They hurried down.

The meal was simple but plentiful: four dishes and a soup—three vegetable dishes, a plate of stir-fried beef, and a bone broth.

As Zhang Pa sat down, Aunt Liu said, “You’re my daughter’s boyfriend, so we’re family here. No need for formalities. Why make a big spread and waste food, right?”

“Right,” Zhang Pa said. “I never waste food. If there’s leftovers at a restaurant, I always pack them up.”

“That’s a good habit,” Aunt Liu remarked. “Do you drink?”

“No, I don’t,” Zhang Pa replied.

“That’s good.” She served him some food. “Try my cooking.”

Aunt Liu’s hands were particularly beautiful—nothing like the hands of a middle-aged woman, but soft and delicate like those of a girl in her twenties.

Noticing her hands, Zhang Pa instinctively glanced at Liu Xiaomei’s—not to compare beauty, but to see which pair looked younger.

Liu Xiaomei asked, “What are you looking at?”

He smiled, “Do you always use bamboo chopsticks at home?”

Aunt Liu replied, “It’s eco-friendly. And these chopsticks were handmade by your Uncle Liu.”

“He made these?” Zhang Pa was surprised.

“Your Uncle Liu makes all kinds of things,” Aunt Liu said. “We made this entire set of tableware together. Isn’t it beautiful?”

From an aesthetic standpoint, it couldn’t match the polish of factory-made sets, but it had its own charm—a delicate, understated elegance in pale blue.

“How should I put it? It’s very cohesive and unified—a kind of classical beauty,” Zhang Pa said.

Classical beauty—meaning not gaudy, but full of character.

Aunt Liu was clearly pleased. “Very good, Xiao Zhang. You have a keen eye.”

Uncle Liu said, “Let’s eat.”

“I just don’t want to be the only one starting,” Zhang Pa replied.

So they began the meal. Aunt Liu’s cooking skills weren’t extraordinary, but all the ingredients were organic, prepared with little salt and oil—a healthy approach. The point of such a meal wasn’t the flavor, but the atmosphere.

Zhang Pa sampled each dish and praised, “It’s completely different from restaurant food—these dishes taste like themselves, not just seasoning.”

Aunt Liu was satisfied. “You really know how to say the right thing.”

Zhang Pa said, “Auntie, please don’t call me a kid. If we stand side by side, I probably look older than you. How can I be a kid?”

Aunt Liu hid a laugh behind her hand, then said to Uncle Liu, “You’re a man too—how come you’re not as eloquent?”

Uncle Liu said, “What do you mean I’m not? Didn’t I use to be, before we got married? I just don’t say it now.”

Zhang Pa quickly focused on his food, pretending not to have heard.

Just as Liu Xiaomei had warned, twenty minutes into the meal, Aunt Liu began her questioning. “Do you often have social events? As a homeroom teacher, parents must invite you out to dinner, right?”

“No social events, no parents inviting me. As for drinking, maybe once a week. I haven’t been drunk in four or five years. I always control my intake,” Zhang Pa answered.

“As long as you can control yourself, that’s good.” Aunt Liu asked with concern, “Do you smoke? We have several kinds of cigarettes at home—what brand do you like?”

“I don’t smoke. I never learned how,” Zhang Pa replied simply.

“That’s good.” Aunt Liu smiled and served him another piece of beef.

Liu Xiaomei added, “Not only doesn’t he smoke, he’s always busy—learning singing and dancing with me, studying guitar, working at the school, and running his own business. He doesn’t have time for anything else.”

In plain language, Zhang Pa’s time was packed—no time to get into trouble, or be unfaithful.

Aunt Liu was even more pleased. “Learning more things is wonderful. I’m still studying foreign languages with your Uncle Liu.” Speaking of Liu Xiaomei’s father, Aunt Liu’s face filled with pride. “Your Uncle Liu is incredibly talented—he speaks five languages, sings, plays guitar, takes photos, knows computers—he’s amazing.”

Zhang Pa silently admired them. This was true love indeed.

It was impressive—Liu Xiaomei was already grown, yet her parents’ relationship remained so affectionate. It was enviable.

“Let me tell you, your Uncle Liu is a national-level talent—he receives a special state allowance. You see how big our house is? Your uncle earned enough in a year to pay for it all at once,” Aunt Liu continued.

As Aunt Liu sang Uncle Liu’s praises, Zhang Pa glanced at Liu Xiaomei. What would I have to achieve for her to admire me the way Aunt Liu admires Uncle Liu?

Love is a lifelong affair—it’s not enough to let your true colors show after marriage. Even after marrying, you must keep improving, keep striving, and keep loving.

The meal was delightful. Aunt Liu found Zhang Pa considerate, polite, and, most importantly, attentive to Liu Xiaomei. She was very satisfied.

Though Zhang Pa wasn’t wealthy, Aunt Liu truly didn’t care about money. People always say rich girls shouldn’t marry poor boys because of inevitable conflicts and differences in upbringing. There’s some truth to that, but it overlooks the boy’s character and way of doing things. If so many issues erupt after marriage, perhaps it’s not about being a poor boy—it’s about marrying the wrong person, someone you never truly understood.

After all, it’s not just poor boys and rich girls who have conflicts or divorce—many so-called well-matched couples do too.

Aunt Liu wasn’t so narrow-minded. She knew the only way to truly know someone was through time. If Zhang Pa spent enough time around the family, even if he tried to hide his flaws, they would eventually surface. Those flaws are what truly determine whether a marriage can last.

After dinner, Zhang Pa offered to clear the table, but Aunt Liu said, “No need—we have an automatic dishwasher.”

An automatic dishwasher? Zhang Pa glanced into the kitchen. He’d never seen one in his life.