Courtship, biologically speaking, is all prep work before mating between sexes. Simply put, it’s chasing the opposite sex to reproduce and win mating rights.

Under civilization, humans romanticized this term. Shy glances behind school buildings at dusk. Heartfelt whispers beside luxury cars and flowers. Courtship methods vary wildly—from locker love notes to public flash mobs. The wilder the imagination, the crazier the scheme. Every single one oozes thick hormones, like baboons in heat, utterly lost in ecstasy.

Eh? So I, a barely-passing high schooler, accidentally proposed mating to Madame Lan? Her real age and identity unknown.

I was seriously summarizing—why such a lewd conclusion…?

Better rephrase: shameless me blurted a confession to a widow with kids, on pure impulse.

Were those few simple words too abrupt? Too casual? Would she resent me? Well, she politely refused, handling it smoothly—no trace of annoyance. Truly a queen-level mature beauty.

No, the key isn’t Madame’s unexpectedly gentle attitude—it’s the target! The target!

Courtship isn’t just about mating. It’s love. Countless lovers across time endlessly act out this sweet word—even old priests avoid it.

What is love? The dictionary says: intense attachment, closeness, yearning. Selfless, devoted, giving your all.

Selfless devotion sounds like unscientific magic, yet it fits. Madame Lan is the second woman in my life like this—someone I’d recklessly chase like a moth to flame.

But is this word that troubled countless poets really so simple? Madame Lan’s words carved a crack in my heart. From it sprang a huge question mark.

“You’re just chasing someone else’s shadow, aren’t you?”

Undoubtedly, I like that proud woman in the bookstore corner. Always calm, yet effortlessly in control. Just sitting near her brings endless satisfaction. It’s admiration. It’s longing.

But is this just an emotional crutch? Trying to find that awe-inspiring figure in another person—using her as a replacement. This is the question I’ve always dodged, too scared to face.

Can’t I forget that devil who shattered me and remolded me into someone else?

No matter how hard I carve each word into my mind, there’s no echo.

Faint light filtered through the blinds, illuminating my room. The old ceiling bore traces of time. A crack in the corner spread into a tiny spider web. And I was like an ant trapped in it, unable to escape.

I raised my right hand to cover my eyes. Mom once said these slender, dexterous hands were better for piano than boxing. But I chose the keyboard.

Have I never made a right choice in life? One wrong step leads to another. Total loss.

“The priest was right. Stuck. In. My. Ways. I really… haven’t changed at all. So I’ve never escaped the spider web.”

A bitter smile lifted my lips. What is this? Reaping what I sowed? Asking for trouble? Or should I, like a diligent stage actor with an ashen heart, sigh: “What is love, truly?”

In this moment, I should say: Truly, nothing escapes Madame.

The final answer is “omitted.” Like a fool flipping to the end of a workbook for textbook answers, only to see “omitted.” I can’t discern my own feelings. Or I’ve realized but refuse to admit. It’s an insult to myself. A desecration to Qin-jie.

But Madame doesn’t care. A kid’s petty worries can’t stir a ripple in her heart. She’s just like that Sorceress who always smiles calmly, anywhere, anytime—only more gentle and mature.

After a night of tossing and turning, I suddenly understood. I liked her so, so much. Even now, no regret. Even though she caused Dad’s heart attack, made Jiang Xiaoyu and Mom turn against each other—I still can’t hate her. That’s why today, I’m so infatuated with another her.

My resistance eased slightly. But complex emotions mixed with guilt arose. Next time, I must sincerely apologize to Madame…

“Am I doomed to never escape her shadow in this lifetime?”

I sighed softly. What question did Qin-jie want me to ponder? What about the old priest? Tossing in bed won’t make answers appear.

Without Jiang Xiaoyu in the morning, this slave has no purpose. I’m still not used to such wild imagination for so long. Humans really have a slave mentality (lol). At the third crow of the rooster, I mocked myself and finally fell asleep.

“Seriously, do you really love cross-dressing that much, you pervert!”