A Sweeter Reunion

How Far Can a Good Mood Take You?

Cheng You’an washed her hands several more times after returning, yet the sticky sensation still clung to her skin.

Slumping over her desk in defeat, she couldn’t fathom how things had spiralled to this point.

Half a month ago, her grandfather had haltingly confessed that she had a fiancé—one bound to her since infancy.

The revelation struck like a thunderclap.

How had such a match come to be?

According to her grandfather, he and Jiang Ping’s grandfather had been wartime comrades. Grandpa Jiang had lost a leg shielding him from artillery fire, a life-saving debt that sealed a pact of marriage between the next generation.

But both men had fathered sons, so the vow fell to their grandchildren.

It happened that the Jiangs bore a grandson and the Chengs a granddaughter—a perfect alignment of fate.

As years slipped by and distance widened between the two families, the childhood betrothal went unmentioned.

“Then why has it been unearthed now?” Couldn’t it simply continue to be ignored?

“Word has it that the Jiang boy is fine in every way but one—his grades are abysmal. His parents heard you’ve consistently ranked among the top three in your year and sent our family a plea for help.”

“Couldn’t they just hire a tutor?”

“Over a dozen have tried. None succeeded.”

Cheng You’an drew a sharp breath. A modern-day A-dou, was he?

Her grandfather patted her shoulder gently, investing her with solemn duty: “As the saying goes, a father’s debt is repaid by his child. So, my dear granddaughter, this debt of gratitude—I entrust it to you.”

And so her summer vacation had barely begun before she was bundled off to the Jiang household.

Her role there was clear in her own mind: Jiang Ping’s tutor.

Senior year would start come September—time was brutally short.

So the moment she arrived, she inquired of Auntie Jiang about his final exam results.

“What did he score in Math?”

“Twenty-five.”

Cheng You’an’s eyes widened: “Did he only do the multiple-choice questions?”

Slouching nearby, Jiang Ping’s mouth twisted into a sardonic line.

“And his total score?”

“One hundred and eighteen.”

Cheng You’an inhaled sharply again. Out of a possible seven hundred and fifty, he had scraped together this pittance. Earnestly, hopefully, she asked, “Did he miss four of the exams?”

Jiang Ping answered by kicking back his chair and storming upstairs.

Only later did Cheng You’an learn the full story: Jiang Ping had always wanted to learn to drive, so his father had promised him a spot at a driving school if he placed within the top thousand in the year-end exams.

Wencheng No.1 High had a total sophomore class of one thousand and fifty-eight students.

Jiang Ping, who habitually turned in blank papers, had this time dutifully completed every single exam.

While Jiang Ping decided she had been mocking him and unilaterally declared a cold war, Cheng You’an began to worry over her stay with the Jiangs.

She had assumed he was at least an average student; the discovery that he was dead last left her reeling. Where could she even begin to tutor?

Cheng You’an still remembered that afternoon with piercing clarity. She had knocked and entered to find him finishing a game. He slid one side of his headphones off and cast her a sidelong glance; the lurid light of the screen played across his face, lending his sharp features an almost decadent allure.

“Do you know how many people have boasted they’d succeed before me, only to slink off in defeat?”

Cheng You’an hummed in acknowledgment: “Eighteen.”

Jiang Ping raised an eyebrow, vaguely startled: “Done your homework?”

Cheng You’an nodded: “Know the enemy and know yourself, and you can fight a hundred battles without peril.”

“Are you serious?” Jiang Ping did not believe she could be this well-intentioned.

Cheng You’an nodded again: “Your Jiang family owes my Cheng family a great kindness. I have to help you.”

The words were utterly sincere, yet to Jiang Ping’s ears, they grated.

Since when did he need anyone’s help?

He gave a derisive snort, ignored her, replaced his headphones, and launched back into combat—keys and mouse clicking in furious tandem. Only after five rounds, when he leaned back to stretch, did he notice she hadn’t left.

Jiang Ping narrowed his eyes: “So eager to help me?”

Cheng You’an’s legs ached from standing. Had he not turned around just as her resolve began to crumble, she might already have slipped away.

“Yes.”

“Fine. As long as you agree to one condition, I’ll do the test.”

“What?”

“Let me feel your t**s and rub your cunt.”

Cheng You’an’s whole face flooded crimson.

She wanted him to take a practice test so she could assess his level; he wanted to grope her t**s and finger her.

Perhaps she had just discovered the source of his academic struggles.

Before stepping out, Shao Pei smiled and gently stroked the crown of Cheng You’an’s head. The hair was impossibly soft to the touch. The more she looked at this well-behaved girl, the fonder she felt. If only she had a daughter like this.

“Being cooped up at home all day isn’t healthy. I’ll have Jiang Ping take you out.”

Since that day, Cheng You’an’s skin had crawled at the mere mention of his name. Just as she was preparing to politely decline, using homework as an excuse, Shao Pei pressed a bank card into her hand.

“Pocket money for you. The PIN is your lunar birthday. Don’t feel you have to economize for Auntie’s sake.”

“Auntie, there’s no need…”

Shao Pei’s phone rang. She put it to her ear, waved at Cheng You’an with a smile, slipped on her high heels, and headed out the door.

The bank card still lay in her palm.

Cheng You’an felt troubled.

Before she’d come, not only had her parents given her spending money, but her grandfather had also stuffed a generous sum into her hands. Beyond stationery, she had hardly any use for it.

She would return it when Auntie came back.

She retreated to her room and resumed her test drills. By the time she finished three sets of English listening exercises, dusk was falling. She pulled off her headphones and was massaging her sore wrists when the door shuddered under urgent pounding.

Startled, she rose to open it. Jiang Ping stood outside, his face thunderous. “Are you a pig? I called and called and you didn’t answer.”

At fault, Cheng You’an offered a small defense: “I was doing listening practice. I couldn’t hear.”

Jiang Ping’s gaze slid past her shoulder to the headphones on the desk. Certain she hadn’t meant to ignore him, the simmering irritation in his eyes receded. He jerked his chin. “Get changed.”

The topic had veered too abruptly for her. “Do… do what?”

Jiang Ping gave a cold laugh. “Your future mother-in-law called. She wants me to take this bookworm out to have some fun.”

Cheng You’an flinched under his glare, wounded. “Could you not be so harsh? I can just stay home.”

He’d been gaming the whole night through, only to be woken from a shallow sleep. How far could a good mood take you?

Jiang Ping couldn’t be bothered to argue. “You’ve got five minutes. I’ll be downstairs.” He spun around and descended.

After a moment’s hesitation, Cheng You’an resigned herself to changing.

Summers in Wencheng were sweltering. Even in the early evening, the temperature hovered near forty degrees.

The instant she stepped outside, a wave of heat struck her. Before she’d taken more than a few steps, fine beads of sweat dotted the tip of her nose.

They waited by the roadside for five minutes. Jiang Ping’s ride-hailing car hadn’t arrived. Drowsy and irritable, he canceled the order outright and hauled Cheng You’an onto a nearby bus.

The bus was packed; no seats remained. The two of them edged toward a window and stood.

Air conditioning flooded the vehicle, the cool draft washing away the clinging heat. Both exhaled in relief.

Jiang Ping leaned against a pole and pulled out his phone to play a quick game.

Cheng You’an stood quietly for a while, the tinkling music of falling blocks drifting past her ears. She glanced over—it was Tetris. She had seen classmates play it before.

Jiang Ping cleared two lines at once. A card was pushed into his line of sight, bearing ten English words written squarely in black ink.

He shot Cheng You’an a look, his unsmiling eyes plainly asking: what new mischief is this?

“I checked the route. It’s half an hour. You could use the time to memorize vocabulary.”

Cheng You’an’s well-meaning suggestion landed on Jiang Ping’s ears like a poor joke. He pushed the flashcard back. “Classmate Cheng, has no one ever taught you that reading in a moving vehicle damages eyesight?”

“But playing games on your phone also hurts your eyes. Choose the lesser of two evils. And memorizing words will help with your English.”

The game chimed GAME OVER. Jiang Ping quit, shoved the phone into his pocket. “Fine. I won’t play.”

He folded his arms, rested his head against the window glass, and feigned sleep, his whole body radiating a cold, forbidding stillness.

The card went unaccepted. Cheng You’an regretfully retrieved it.

Just then, the bus pulled to a stop, and a swarm of passengers pushed aboard. An elderly woman rammed into Cheng You’an, knocking her off balance toward the glass window—when a hand reached out and caught her.