Chapter 1: How Dare You Defy Me, Zhou Shuhe
In the late autumn of northern Beijing, as dusk fell, the road to the resort was lined with mountains covered in vibrant foliage. The world seemed slightly intoxicated by the hues of autumn, and the sound of leaves rustled under the wheels of the car.
As Shuhe pushed open the car door, a cool breeze brushed against her cheeks.
A light autumn rain began to fall, the droplets fine and delicate, like a curtain of jade. A maple leaf drifted down from a tree and landed on her apricot-colored cashmere coat.
Shuhe picked up the leaf, her eyelashes fluttering slightly as her thoughts swirled.
After their cold war, her boyfriend hadn’t spoken to her for a month.
[“Darling, no man can survive the seven-year itch.”]
[“[Picture] [Picture]”]
[“You know Anning better. Help me pick which of these lace lingerie sets looks better. I’ll wear it for him tonight.”]
[“Shuhe: Not wearing anything would look even better.”]
The seven-year itch.
Yes, this was the seventh year since she had met that indifferent man.
But they had only been dating for six months, and during that time, their arguments had been constant. The innocent, protective dynamic they had shared in high school was long gone.
Do men really change in the seventh year?
A gust of wind tugged at her scarf, pulling Shuhe back to the present. She grabbed an umbrella from the car and walked toward a private hot spring resort nestled in the mountains.
Pushing open the door, she was greeted by a serene and quiet atmosphere.
Shuhe made her way to the hot spring pool, glancing around but not finding the rebellious man she was looking for. Just as she was about to call him, a voice chimed in from behind:
“Mr. Fu is on the second floor.”
Shuhe headed to the second-floor viewing lounge.
The private resort was located deep in the mountains, and the air on the second floor was filled with the rich aroma of wine. Shuhe spotted Mr. Fu lounging on a sofa, a pampered Persian cat in his arms.
Surrounding him were several well-known young elites of Beijing, each with a cigarette between their fingers.
At Mr. Fu’s feet knelt a uniformed masseuse.
“Oh, Brother Fu, your girlfriend is here.”
All eyes turned to the woman standing at the staircase. The extravagant scene clashed starkly with Shuhe’s scholarly demeanor.
Tch, who wears so many layers to a hot spring?
Fu Hening remained indifferent, idly stroking the Persian cat’s head.
Shuhe walked over to him, giving him a chance to explain face-to-face:
“I sent you a message, but you didn’t reply. Were the photos she sent real? Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
Fu Hening remained unmoved.
Only when the cat in his arms lazily fell asleep did he finally lift his eyelids, glancing at her indifferently without a word.
It was then that Shuhe realized: this man had never explained himself to anyone.
It was always others who had to explain themselves to him.
The second floor had an open railing, and outside, the autumn rain began to intensify. A cool breeze swept through, but Shuhe’s expression remained calm.
“Alright, let’s break up, Mr. Fu. There’s no point in continuing this.”
Fu Hening extended his hand, and a waiter immediately handed him a cigarette, lighting it for him with a flick of a lighter.
He took a drag: “Jealous?”
“Sorry, I can’t stomach it. Just looking at your face makes me lose my appetite.”
Shuhe turned to leave.
But Fu Hening slowly exhaled a plume of smoke and signaled to the waiter, who promptly blocked her path.
Shuhe turned back: “What do you mean by this?”
The masseuse silently watched the drama unfold.
The Mr. Fu she served came from a prestigious family in Beijing, accustomed to a life of luxury. Since childhood, no one had dared to defy him—except, of course, Zhou Shuhe.
The rain cast a hazy glow over the lights, and the warm illumination fell on Shuhe, highlighting her gentle features and elegant demeanor. Her apricot coat accentuated her fair, delicate complexion.
Fu Hening took another drag of his cigarette.
They had been dating for six months, yet she refused to share a bed with him, blushing even at the thought of holding hands.
Once, they passed a stall selling red string bracelets. She insisted on sifting through a pile of cheap beads to find ones engraved with their names, then painstakingly wove them into a bracelet for him. She didn’t care how tacky it looked or whether he could wear it in public.
When he gifted her lingerie, she called him a p*****t.
“Don’t use breaking up as a threat,” Fu Hening said, tapping ash from his cigarette with an air of casual arrogance.
“It’s been a month of cold war. Have you figured out the answer to my question?”
“I have.”
“And the answer is?”
Shuhe’s tone was firm: “I won’t move in with you, and I won’t wear lingerie for you.”
“Why are you so stubborn? Ask anyone here—who dates for six months without sleeping together? I’m not a monk.”
“Because you’re a horndog.”
“...”
As Shuhe reached the staircase, the man’s voice turned icy: “You’ve got some nerve, Zhou Shuhe. If you take one step down those stairs today, it’s really over between us.”
