Cheng Liao had always respected her own curiosity, so she tiptoed to the door, carefully opened it a crack, and peeked into the hallway. Linda was standing at the door next to hers, dressed in professional attire—a pink collar and a skirt that was just the right length, showing off her slender, fair calves.
Linda’s voice was gentle yet not overly sweet: “I’m sorry to bother you so late. Do you have time tomorrow?”
Sheng Jingchu’s response was as concise as ever: “I have plans tomorrow.”
Linda seemed to be momentarily caught off guard, pausing for half a second before continuing with a smile, “That’s our fault. We should have scheduled this earlier. I came by twice this afternoon, but you weren’t in… So, when would you be available?”
From Cheng Liao’s vantage point, she couldn’t see Sheng Jingchu’s expression, but he still had his hand on the door handle, as if ready to end the conversation at any moment.
“You can contact my assistant.”
With that, he closed the door.
Linda stood there for a moment, clearly unwilling to give up, before finally turning around and walking away.
The next morning, Cheng Liao got up early and headed to the first-floor restaurant to finalize Sheng Jingchu’s meal plan: millet porridge, pumpkin pancakes, a soft-boiled egg, and salted cucumbers.
Xiao Qi remotely monitored the entire process, commenting on everything from the porridge’s consistency to the color of the pumpkin pancakes, the doneness of the egg, and the size of the salted cucumbers. He ended with a sigh, “Our Mr. Sheng is really easy to take care of.”
Cheng Liao was amazed. “Let me tell you a story about the Princess and the Pea. Once upon a time, there was a princess who…”
Xiao Qi interrupted her, finally realizing what she was implying. “How dare you compare Mr. Sheng to a princess? You’re the real Princess and the Pea!”
Is there any princess as unfortunate as her? She felt more like a pea shooter.
After repeatedly reminding the service staff, Cheng Liao packed up her things and headed to Su Causeway.
Su Causeway Spring Dawn is one of the famous sights of West Lake.
Though Su Causeway remained the same, it wasn’t the best season to appreciate it. Summer in Hangzhou brought stifling heat, and the wind, heavy with humidity, felt like it was scorching her face. Cheng Liao wanted to find some shade but was worried that Cao Xihe wouldn’t be able to spot her if she did.
As she baked in the sun, feeling lightheaded, she finally spotted a familiar figure.
A simple white shirt, buttoned up to the very top, and features so meticulously drawn that it looked as if an artist had carefully sketched them. His eyelashes curved slightly, and when they fluttered in the bright light, they softened the coldness in his gaze, giving him a touch of languidness.
Cheng Liao greeted him, “What a coincidence!”
“It’s not,” he replied. “Cao asked me to come.”
Cheng Liao suddenly had a bad feeling. She called Cao Xihe.
On the other end, Cao Xihe made excuses, “Oh, I’m still tied up with something. I originally planned to tour West Lake with Senior Brother, but you two go ahead and explore. I’ll join you as soon as I’m done.”
Cheng Liao was almost certain that Cao Xihe wasn’t coming.
Since they were already there, it didn’t make sense to leave, so Cheng Liao tried to make conversation with Sheng Jingchu.
“Hangzhou has such beautiful scenery! The South of the Yangtze River is well-known for its landscapes. I’ve heard the Xixi Wetlands are fun to visit too. The schedule is pretty packed, but if you had more time, you could visit Tonglu, the hometown of Mao Dun, or go to Wuzhen, Shaoxing, or Zhoushan in Shanghai. There’s a mountain there with a nickname—‘The Buddhist Kingdom on the Sea.’”
“Putuo Mountain,” he said. “During the Later Liang Dynasty, a Japanese monk named Huie was returning from a pilgrimage to Mount Wutai with a statue of Guanyin. When he passed by Mount Meicen, a storm broke out. Huie believed Guanyin was manifesting her presence, unwilling to leave, so he built the ‘Guanyin Temple of Reluctance’ on the island. The Buddhist scriptures say Guanyin resides on ‘Potalaka,’ so Mount Meicen was renamed Mount Putuo.”
She continued the conversation, “They say the incense offerings are very effective. Speaking of which, there’s a small temple near our home that never had much incense traffic. The abbot came up with an idea—he printed a bunch of booklets filled with stories about the miraculous results of prayers and the blessings of devout worship. After that, more people started coming to burn incense and pray. But my grandmother saw through it right away.”
She mimicked her grandmother, slapping her thigh as she said, “If the incense offerings were really that effective, why doesn’t the abbot just pray for it? What’s the point of printing ads?”
Her lively imitation, complete with gestures and expressions, made Sheng Jingchu feel that she might have chosen the wrong career.
Standing around chatting eventually got boring, so Cheng Liao and Sheng Jingchu started walking along the willow-shaded path. She had done some homework beforehand, so while she wasn’t familiar with all of West Lake’s ten scenic spots, she knew there were places nearby like Orioles Singing in the Willows and Viewing Fish at Flower Harbor.
Although it wasn’t peak tourist season, the lakeshore was already crowded. Cheng Liao deliberately chose a less populated path, but as they followed the signs, they ended up veering off the main route.
Sheng Jingchu remained silent the entire way. If Cheng Liao didn’t speak, he wouldn’t initiate any conversation. Cheng Liao felt that walking in silence defeated the purpose of keeping him company, but she also found it stressful to keep up the small talk.
How could she tell if he was genuinely interested in the conversation or just being polite?
If only conversations were like QQ chats, where she could use stickers—she could throw in some cute ones when there was nothing to say.
As they continued walking, they passed by several scattered stalls selling tourist souvenirs, bodhi seeds, and carved walnuts. One stall was selling watermelon by the slice—the bright red flesh, with its plump seeds split open, revealed a section of white rind.
As they moved on, they came upon a bustling stall where a crowd had gathered to watch a game of Go.
Cheng Liao had seen stalls like this before, usually hosting chess games with prearranged positions. The rules were simple: if you could solve the puzzle, the stall owner would pay you; if not, you’d pay the owner.
Cheng Liao wasn’t interested, but when she turned around, Sheng Jingchu was already engrossed in the game.
Worried, Cheng Liao squeezed through the crowd and whispered, “These positions are all famous historical games. Generations have tried and failed to solve them—they’re designed to fleece people who know a little about Go but lack the smarts.”
He turned his head to look at her, intrigued by her last comment. “Know a little about Go but lack the smarts?”
With his middle finger on top and index finger below, he picked up a piece and placed it on the board.
Cheng Liao recognized it as the way professional Go players held their pieces. It was said that those who practiced Go for a long time would have marks on their middle and index fingers.
She discreetly observed Sheng Jingchu’s right hand. His fingers were long and straight, with no visible marks.
Sheng Jingchu explained to her, “This isn’t a puzzle from an old game; it’s a life-and-death problem.”
The stall owner stared at the board, momentarily stunned, then turned to discuss something with a man standing behind him in dialect. The stall owner then reset the board and laid out a new position.
Sheng Jingchu thought for a moment and began placing his pieces.
The stall owner’s expression darkened, and his voice grew louder. The man behind him also became agitated, speaking faster and faster. Finally, the man pushed the stall owner aside and set up a new position.
Sheng Jingchu picked up a black piece and placed it.
With a loud crash, the man flipped the board over. Cheng Liao, who had been on alert, quickly grabbed Sheng Jingchu.
“Oh no, run!”
Before Sheng Jingchu could react, Cheng Liao took his hand and started running. The wind whipped past their faces, bringing a hint of coolness to their ears.
Not knowing the way, Cheng Liao just ran toward the crowd, glancing back occasionally. Thankfully, it seemed no one was chasing them.
As they slowed down and finally stopped, Cheng Liao’s legs felt like they were filled with lead, and her heart was pounding so hard it almost burst out of her chest. Seeing Sheng Jingchu’s puzzled expression, she let go of his hand and, still out of breath, explained, “You… should thank… me,” she took a couple of deep breaths, “they… they were going… to beat you up.”
She gestured animatedly as she spoke, “One of them said, ‘This guy is way out of line, let’s teach him a lesson!’ and the other said, ‘I’ll give you the signal—when I flip the board, you jump him!’”
Sheng Jingchu laughed. His lips were thin—the kind that fortune tellers might describe as cold and unfeeling. Cheng Liao thought, that probably earned them that reputation because such lips are the most enticing. If they were plainer, they’d lose some of their allure.
He glanced at a nearby bubble tea shop and said, “It’s hot. How about I get you a drink?”
Cheng Liao nodded eagerly. “Can I pick whatever I want? I can, right? Then I want grass jelly! Make sure it’s cold!” She quickly caught up to him and added, “Cold, please!”
He ordered two drinks: one grass jelly for her and a lime juice for himself.
They found a shaded spot to sit. Cheng Liao scooped a big spoonful into her mouth, savoring the sweet yet slightly bitter taste. She liked the flavor of grass jelly—not particularly delicious but unique, much like herbal tea. The first time she drank it, she found it odd, but over time, she grew to appreciate the slightly charred herbal taste.
Sheng Jingchu held his cup without drinking. It wasn’t until she finished her grass jelly that he pushed the lime juice toward her.
“That one won’t quench your thirst.”
Cheng Liao asked, “Aren’t you going to drink it?”
As expected, she was sweating like a boiled cabbage, while Sheng Jingchu remained cool and composed.
He shook his head. “I don’t drink anything except coffee and tea.”
So, he bought it just for her.
A warm feeling spread in Cheng Liao’s heart as she took a sip. The lime juice was so sour it made her pucker up. She swirled the cup and asked curiously, “There’s no honey in this?”
“I asked them to add salt,” he explained. “After sweating a lot, you need to replenish sodium.”
She took another sip and indeed tasted a faint saltiness.
From this spot, they could see West Lake. The lotus leaves already covered the surface, though it wasn’t yet the season for them to be fully in bloom. A few blossoms, half-open and shy, peeked out here and there.
Cheng Liao started to chat, picking up on the scenery.
“My mom’s name was Xie Zhihe. My hometown is way up north on the map, where summers are too short for lotuses to survive. My dad once tried to grow some in our yard, but they froze to death before they could bloom. Back then, there was this lotus-flavored seasoning, and my mom pointed to the lotus on the package and told me, ‘That’s your mom’s name.’ That’s when I realized, oh, so a lotus is also called a ‘he’ in Chinese. She used to teach me poetry, and when we got to the line ‘Endless lotus leaves stretch to the sky, a different red under the sunlight,’ she’d tell me that when I grew up, she’d take me to Hangzhou to see a whole lake of lotus flowers.
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