*Ding dong~*

The doorbell chimed.

Lu Huai was about to stand when a figure darted past his eyes.

“I’ll go, I’ll go~”

Su Xiangrong jogged lightly toward the door. Her earlier cool, flashy rapper vibe had vanished completely—she seemed… genuine.

Truth was, Su Xiangrong was just hungry. What ill intent could she possibly have?

She fetched Lu Huai’s takeout from the door and set it squarely on the coffee table.

Calling her a “mature woman”… yeah, that was a bit hasty.

She only carried the *aesthetic* of one. In truth, her current demeanor—her manner of speaking—still felt subtly naive.

Of course, this was just Lu Huai’s impression. He wasn’t arrogant enough to claim he could read a girl he’d known barely an hour.

Still, among the women he knew, who had that mature-woman potential? Besides Xu Zhixi… maybe only Lin Ruoxing.

Why was he even thinking this?

Obvious. Lu Huai was a steadfast fan of mature women.

Probably age-related. When you’re young, you crave poised, magnetic women. Get older? Maybe you swing the other way… toward younger girls.

But seriously—alchemists? *Die.*

Thanks to Su Xiangrong’s surprise arrival, Lu Huai was stuck with takeout too. Honestly, after days of Yan Ningning’s home-cooked dinners, even “amazing” takeout felt dull.

Adapting too easily really was a flaw…

Su Xiangrong unzipped the bag, neatly arranged every container on the table, and popped each lid open. She even placed Lu Huai’s portion right before him.

“Thanks…”

The boy murmured politely.

She sat beside him. Dishes centered on the table, their shoulders nearly brushed.

When she settled, her hip grazed Lu Huai’s thigh.

Her denim shorts were short—but not *that* short. Still, the contact made Lu Huai instinctively shift away.

Not pleasure. Pure, reflexive tension.

Su Xiangrong noticed. Glanced at him.

“What a cute little boy.”

“…Huh?”

Lu Huai blinked. Had he misheard? Words like that… easy to misread. He craved sincerity, yet hated ambiguous teasing.

“Ah, sorry. Did I cause you trouble?”

Not *that* line. Clearly just a fleeting thought—a spur-of-the-moment quip.

“…It’s fine.”

Lu Huai understood her apology. His quick forgiveness just made him feel spineless.

They ate. Su Xiangrong chatted effortlessly between bites.

“Guess I’m being too familiar? I joke like this with friends. Forgot this is our first meeting.”

“…Really, it’s nothing.”

Lu Huai’s voice was soft. Yep. He officially disliked takeout now.

Chopsticks resting on her lips, Su Xiangrong tilted her head.

“So… your little girlfriend? Should I apologize?”

Turning, Lu Huai caught the tattoo on her arm—a feather, whispering of freedom.

“You…” He trailed off, cheeks warm.

She watched him. He jerked his gaze away.

Like Ning Caichen from *A Chinese Ghost Story*—timid, cautious, perpetually on the verge of enchantment. (Not that he resembled Leslie Cheung. *She* felt like the beautiful ghost.)

“What about me?”

“You…”

“C’mon, I’m chill. Say anything—just don’t insult me. Or I’ll drop a diss track. Hehehe~”

Her playful tone coaxed a tiny, reluctant smile from him.

It worked. Lu Huai whispered, barely audible:

“You… apologize a lot.”

Su Xiangrong blinked. Thought.

“Not *like* apologizing. I *was* wrong. Own your mistakes. Stand tall when punished. That’s real. We rappers keep it authentic!”

Hard to picture this young woman spitting bars on stage.

(Not that he’d ask.)

Lu Huai admired that boldness. No wonder her rapper identity surprised him—performing publicly was his personal nightmare.

Silence settled. Lu Huai wouldn’t steer conversation. Curiosity about her life flickered… then died.

She was just a tenant. Chasing dreams. None of it tied to this apartment, this landlord.

And he? Shouldn’t fantasize about women like her.

To many, “female rapper” screamed chaos. Tattoos reinforced the stereotype.

Lu Huai hated snap judgments… but impressions stuck.

He knew no girl was perfectly pure—yet still dreamed of meeting *the one*.

After eating, Su Xiangrong cleared the table without prompting.

Lu Huai felt awkward. Not the act itself—but doing it beside a stranger.

Her faint, mysterious perfume drifted close.

His teenage body reacted. Naturally. Unavoidably.

*Please let tomorrow’s underwear be clean…*

“So tired… Shower time.”

Su Xiangrong stretched, curves briefly silhouetted, then gathered her things toward the bathroom.

“Wait…”

Lu Huai blurted it out.

She paused, eyes crinkling. “Hm? Join me, little brother Lu Huai?”

He ducked his head, flustered.

“No… Just… remember your things…”

A gentle nudge: *Don’t leave personal items behind.*

But “underwear”? “Personal items”? Too nerve-wracking to say.

Su Xiangrong giggled. “Right—you’re at *that* age. Sounds suspiciously like a hint. Should I leave a ‘surprise’ as a welcome gift?”

“…Don’t.”

*Is she insane?! Please don’t actually do that!! No weird fetishes, thank you!!*

He glanced up—met her mischievous grin.

Teasing. Of course.

Seeing his panic satisfied her.

“Hehe~ Don’t be so shy. Timid boys miss chances. I’ll stop. Showering now.”

Only when the bathroom door clicked shut did Lu Huai exhale.

Peeping? He knew that was perverted-movie nonsense. He wouldn’t… *mostly* wouldn’t… dwell on it.

But now—

Phone out. WeChat open. Yan Ningning’s avatar tapped. Typing…

Deleted.

Opened a food app.

Closed it.

Water rushed in the bathroom. His pulse raced. Was it the sound? Or the worry?

He stood. Keys in hand. Stepped into the night.

Glanced at the closed door across the hall.

Walked downstairs.

Stood in the stairwell shadows, watching stars, passing strangers. Hiding.

(Being spotted would be awful.)

Minutes blurred. Sat on the flowerbed. Stood again. A lost soul at midnight.

Then—phone rang. Unknown number. An e-scooter screeched to a halt.

Lu Huai waved his phone.

“Your takeout?”

“Yes…”

He took the bag. Climbed back up.

At his floor, he sighed.

Nervous? Yes. But guilt and worry ran deeper.

He faced *her* door. Not his.

Hesitated.

Hand raised. Frozen.

Phone out. No message sent.

Sweat beaded on his brow. What was he even doing?

A kind, gentle, ordinary boy. Waiting. Always waiting.

He sighed. Held his breath. Raised his knuckles—

*Click.*

The door swung open.

Heart hammering, Lu Huai spun away. *Don’t be seen!*

But—

“Hm? Lu Huai?”

Her voice, right behind him.

He froze, clutching the takeout to his chest like a shield.

“Why’re you here so late?”

Her steps neared.

No escape. He turned.

“Nothing… Just checking if you’d eaten…”

Words died.

Eyes locked. Both noticed it at once.

Two voices, perfectly synced:

“Uh…?”

“Eh…?”

Yan Ningning saw the takeout bag.

Lu Huai saw the insulated food container in her hands.

A winding path. Not straight. Not planned.

And just like that…

They reunited.

The lonely fish had finally swum past the Ice Age.