The next morning, Li Sui was greeted by a steaming pot of wontons.
Familiarity breeds comfort—this time, she didn’t hesitate to serve herself a large bowl.
Compared to the nine-yuan-ninety version from six years ago, these were infinitely more delicious.
Though satisfied, Li Sui’s heart was tangled in knots.
She knew how to cook, but after her grandfather passed away, she’d grown too lazy to bother. At first, Zhou Zhiyu had likely worried about her, so Aunt Zhang delivered meals daily. Later, cooking for one felt tedious, takeout became increasingly convenient, and she adopted the mindset that food was just sustenance—as long as it wasn’t fatal, it was fine.
But now, eating these warm wontons, a sense of "repaying a debt" surged to its peak.
So that evening, Li Sui closed shop early and wandered the supermarket, ready to showcase her culinary skills—one high-quality meal to repay his recent gestures.
The problem? She had no idea what Zhou Jinghuai liked to eat.
After some hesitation, she called Aunt Zhang, who recalled after a moment that he didn’t have strong preferences—except for one aversion: seafood.
But that day, he’d made seafood congee and eaten it himself.
Baffled, Li Sui ultimately bought ingredients based on Aunt Zhang’s recommendations. Pushing her cart toward the self-checkout, she glanced at the discount section out of curiosity.
Her eyes landed on a pair of promotional slippers.
It suddenly struck her: Zhou Jinghuai had been padding around the living room barefoot these past few days.
Sure, she’d casually offered to buy him a pair, but that had just been politeness. Still, if he was staying long-term, couldn’t he bother to get his own?
Useless man.
Li Sui pushed her cart past the display—then stopped abruptly. Two seconds later, she backtracked.
Fine. Considering he hadn’t been entirely insufferable lately.
But were these 19.9-yuan slippers too cheap?
She’d seen the ones Zhou Zhiyu bought for the old house—luxurious compared to these dull, mud-colored things that looked dug out of a field.
Then again, if he changed his mind and left Fuchuan soon, wouldn’t expensive slippers be a waste?
Hotels use disposables, after all.
She grabbed a pair. The nearby saleswoman pounced. "Miss! It’s 29.9 for two! Much better deal!"
"I don’t need two," Li Sui declined politely.
"Oh, these won’t expire! Even after a year or two, they’ll still be good. An extra pair for just 10 yuan—what a steal, right?"
Li Sui paused. That did make sense.
And her own worn-out slippers were due for retirement.
"Alright, I’ll take two."
"Great!" The woman cheerfully tossed another pair into her cart.
Back home, she removed the tags and stuffed the slippers into the shoe cabinet. To ensure he’d notice, she left one pair—size large—by the entrance.
After storing the unused groceries, Li Sui grabbed two tomatoes, ready to whip up a fragrant tomato beef brisket.
Soon, the rich aroma wafted from the kitchen to the foyer.
When Zhou Jinghuai stepped inside, he paused—both at the smell and the slippers on the floor.
His polished black dress shoes joined her white canvas sneakers in the cabinet, neatly aligned.
He slipped on the slippers. The soles were stiff, as if frozen in Antarctica for three days.
But no matter.
In high spirits, Zhou Jinghuai leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching her bustle about.
"What’re you up to?"
The beef brisket was simmering. Li Sui glanced back mid-task, then fetched two more potatoes from the fridge.
"Stir-fried shredded potatoes."
She washed and peeled them deftly, but without a grater, she hesitated when picking up the knife.
Back when she used to cook, her grandfather would always assist—especially with tasks like shredding potatoes, which he’d take over to protect her from cutting herself.
But now...
Thinking of him no longer brought the bone-deep agony of three months ago, but the pain still prickled like needles, dense and relentless.
Just as her nose tingled, a teasing voice cut in: "Planning to replace our table legs?"
Li Sui looked down. Four potato strips, each nearly as thick as a pinky, lay pitifully on the cutting board.
The gloomy memories scattered instantly. She brandished the knife. "Know why I cut them so thick? Because a boar like you can’t handle fine grains."
Still, she carefully split the first "table leg" in two.
Moments later, cool fingers brushed her hand—and the knife was in his grip before she could blink.
Under his blade, the "table leg" became six even shreds.
Humiliating. Li Sui gritted her teeth.
"It’s burning," Zhou Jinghuai said suddenly.
"What?"
"Your tomato brisket."
"Ah!" She yelped, rushing to scoop the dish into a bowl.
When she turned, Zhou Jinghuai had finished the potato—each shred uniform, a chef’s precision.
Finally, she voiced her confusion: "Weren’t you swamped these past months? Since when did you pick up cooking?"
His hands stilled briefly. "More skills never hurt."
She didn’t press further, washing the wok for the next dish.
As the oil heated, Zhou Jinghuai asked casually, "You bought the slippers by the door?"
Without turning, she poured oil into the wok. "Nope."
"Then where’d they come from?"
"How should I know? Maybe a rat dragged them in."
"Ah." He set the shredded potatoes beside her, chuckling. "Tell it to bring pajamas next time. I’m out of clean ones."
Li Sui: "..."
They say phones eavesdrop on conversations—Li Sui soon witnessed this firsthand.
Leaning on her worktable, she idly scrolled through videos when a livestream popped up: a host enthusiastically promoting a men’s silk pajama set.
Price: 999 yuan.
Her relationship with Zhou Jinghuai wasn’t nearly intimate enough to justify that.
She swiped past, only to land on a news clip:
[So Romantic! Man Apologizes with 999 Roses as Crowd Cheers for Forgiveness!]
Onscreen, a man knelt on a heart-shaped bed of roses, bouquet in hand, shouting, "Please forgive me!"
Bystanders chanted in unison: "Forgive him! Forgive him!"
Yet the girl in frame took a step back, her smile absent, body tense with discomfort.
Li Sui didn’t know how it ended, but in that moment, she felt no romance—only dread.
Everyone ignored the backstory, only caring about seeing the happy ending they envisioned in their hearts. The guy was happy, the audience was happy—it seemed no one cared whether the girl was happy or not.
As she swiped the video away, Li Sui was reminded of Zhou Jinghuai, the poor soul she had dragged into marriage.
As if reading her mind, a message from Zhou Jinghuai popped up on her phone:
["If you don’t buy the pajamas, it’s fine. I can just blow-dry the wet ones and wear them."]
…Whatever.
"I can’t just owe him," she muttered to herself.
A little past nine, Li Sui locked her door and took a step to the side, entering the empty qipao shop.
"Xuanxuan-jie!" she called out weakly toward the fabric curtain.
"Coming."
A pale right hand lifted the curtain, revealing a bright, smiling face.
Zhao Yixuan wore an elegant green qipao with delicate magnolia embroidery along the side. She picked up a wooden hairpin and casually twisted her loose chestnut curls into a bun at the back of her head.
"You’re closing early again?" she asked, sounding envious.
The market’s operating hours were from noon to 10 p.m., and diligent shop owners usually stayed open the full ten hours.
But Li Sui was the slacker among them.
She either worked from noon to evening or from evening to night, with flexible days off—living entirely by her whims.
"Fewer hours open means fewer hours of electricity wasted," Li Sui said, leaning on the counter as she casually plucked a complimentary mint candy from the dish nearby.
Peeling off the wrapper, she asked, "Do you sell men’s pajamas here?"
"Girl, this is a qipao shop," Zhao Yixuan said, tapping the promotional flyer on the counter. Then, her eyebrows shot up in sudden intrigue. "Wait—did you get a boyfriend?"
"Uh," Li Sui hesitated. "No, my cousin’s coming to stay for a while."
"Tch." Zhao Yixuan pointed at the DIY T-shirt shop across the way. "Try there. A T-shirt can double as pajamas, right?"
"Alright, I’ll check it out." Li Sui waved at Zhao Yixuan and, after confirming her bank balance, headed straight for the T-shirt shop.
The owner was young, probably in his early twenties. With no customers in sight, he lounged lazily on a rocking chair, playing mobile poker.
Recognizing her as the owner of the sugar painting stall, he gave her a nod and greeted her. "Closing early again?"
"…" Just how deeply was her slacker reputation ingrained in people’s minds?
She smiled and nodded. "How long would it take to make a DIY T-shirt?"
"Super fast. Half an hour, tops."
"Then get me one."
The owner rummaged through the racks. "What size?"
"Height… probably over 185 cm. Weight…" Li Sui actually had no idea, so she just said, "Model proportions."
"…"
The owner’s gaze held a silent judgment—something along the lines of "I’ve never seen someone so shameless"—but he didn’t comment. Finding a plain white T-shirt in the right size, he asked, "Any custom design?"
Li Sui leaned on the counter, flipping through the pattern catalog. When she spotted one particular design, her eyes lit up with mischief.
"This one," she pointed.
The owner, clearly used to such requests, wasn’t fazed. Soon, he handed her the finished product.
Pleased, Li Sui took it home.
Zhou Jinghuai seemed about to shower when she told him she’d bought him pajamas. He paused, waiting.
Li Sui pulled the T-shirt from the bag and shook it out proudly—
A plain white long-sleeved tee, with a single bold black character printed across the chest:
Prisoner.
"Look! Prison-chic!"
To her surprise, Zhou Jinghuai remained completely unruffled. He even nodded in approval. "Creative."
Boring.
Li Sui rolled her eyes and tossed the pajamas at him.
They both went to shower.
Li Sui, as usual, slipped into her own pajamas—a set featuring Officer Judy Hopps. When she stepped out and saw Zhou Jinghuai lounging shamelessly in the living room in his "prisoner" outfit, she fought to keep a straight face, but failed repeatedly.
Then the doorbell distracted her.
Who would come at this hour?
Li Sui shot Zhou Jinghuai a questioning look, but he seemed entirely unbothered, as if expecting it.
"My assistant."
As he stood, she whispered, "Should I hide?"
"No need. He won’t come in."
"Okay." She stayed put, munching on chips without a care.
At the door, Song Jie stared at his boss’s prisoner attire, baffled. "Boss, what’s with the…?"
Zhou Jinghuai stepped aside to take the suitcase from him.
In that split second, the assistant caught sight of the girl sitting cross-legged on the sofa. Too far to see clearly, especially with her head turned.
Song Jie’s eyes widened in realization. Leaning in, he whispered, "No wonder you rushed back to China the second you heard Fu Chuan was expecting thunderstorms—didn’t even pack properly. So it was to be with your girlfriend?"
When Zhou Jinghuai neither confirmed nor denied it, Song Jie stole another glance. This time, he noticed the girl’s Officer Judy pajamas. He gave a thumbs-up. "Matching outfits! Boss, you’ve got style."
This time, his voice carried.
Though Li Sui didn’t catch everything, she definitely heard "matching outfits."
Suddenly, the chips in her mouth lost their flavor.
Her pupils flickered. She looked at Zhou Jinghuai’s shirt, then down at her own.
Her brain short-circuited.
?
Since when did "matching outfits" mean East-meets-West chaos?
