The dusk seeped in, within a certain residential area of City B.
"Mingyao, hurry up." Cascading raven hair sprawled across the bed, punctuated by the gruff pants of a man, and intermittent feminine coaxing in the flickering light.
The woman's undergarments lay scattered on the floor, crinkled and in tatters, evidently from a recent passionate encounter. Under the dim pinkish light, the woman’s skin appeared as smooth and soft as silk.
Above her hovered a similarly bare man, his gaze searing, "Isn't that what I'm doing—speeding up?"
A complicated intertwining, as if wishing to swallow the other whole.
A room curtained in a veil of seduction.
The silvery moonlight streamed onto the roof, and a drizzle flirted with the skies, illuminating various households.
A bright yellow taxi meandered its way through the crawling traffic, the gentle strains of soothing music flowing within the vehicle.
A girl in the backseat opened her eyes, her mouth brimming with glee.
She gently tapped her phone screen, a text message catching her attention, a notably flirtatious and sweet remark—Hubby.
“Baby, work trips can be tough. Rest up, take care of yourself. There's overtime at the company tonight; I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. Good night, I love you.”
She exited the text message, replaced with her phone's wallpaper: their selfie. He was grinning, warm and gallant, while she emanated a peach-like radiance.
Song Sheng was 22 this year. She graduated from Z university's journalism department a year ago, currently working in City C because of her mentor's relationship.
She's been dating Lin Mingyao for three years, who graduated from Z University's Business School a year before her and then returned to City B to take over his family business.
Tomorrow was Mingyao's 25th birthday. Although he didn't mention it in his text messages or calls, she remembered it clearly. It was their third anniversary together.
In order to surprise him, she immediately hopped on a plane right after concluding her interview. The draft was hastily put together without adequate time for rearrangement.
But the thought of him, Mingyao, coming home tomorrow morning and finding her, whom he hasn’t seen in months, with breakfast she meticulously prepared, the goofy yet touching expression he would wear, was enough to shatter her sweetness like a soft force.
Back in college, Qingwu once told her that once a girl falls in love, she turns into a river in springtime, wishing she could become part of him.
Song Sheng rolled down the car window, letting the long breeze of a summer night brush away the residual heat from her face.
A gentle rub at her brow, a hint of fatigue in her eyes.
Ever since Mingyao and Qingwu graduated, her life returned to the waveless state of freshman year. Most of her time was spent covering and sorting news, even her once beloved online games were set aside. Occasionally, she would sit in the teahouse next to the school, brew a pot of fragrant tea, and quietly absorb the scenery. It was also a kind of enjoyment.
"Miss, we are here," the driver announced.
After sitting in silence for a while, Song Sheng returned to her senses. Paid the taxi fare, got off the car, took out a spare key from her luggage, and entered the elevator.
This was the property Mingyao had bought after graduation, intended to be their future marital home.
Mingyao had another house elsewhere. This was merely a temporary residence for Song Sheng when she visited city B.
After getting off the plane, Song Sheng went out of her way to buy a fresh live fish from the market.
Back when the two were dating in college, her fish soup was his favorite; he could not stand to drink it from other places. The memory of him savoring the soup made her cheeks glow an unavoidable shade of red.
She unlocked and entered the door.
The lights in the living room emitted a warm glow, prompting a smile from Song Sheng.
White furniture, a fluffy carpet, a pair of slippers…
"Hmm?" Song Sheng furrowed her brows. The furniture in the room was arranged exactly as it was before she left, but why were these slippers scattered?
As her gaze shifted, she found a pair of red high heels conspicuously placed next to Lin Mingyao's shiny leather shoes.
Song Sheng vaguely recognized these shoes. They were a limited spring edition from SV. Her best friend, Ye Qingwu, had a pair too. She also loved them, but unfortunately, they were out of stock.
Did Mingyao bring guests back?
Song Sheng thought for a moment before muttering to herself, “Why am I thinking about this nonsense? He's at work.”
Maybe he secretly bought them because he knew she liked them and wanted to surprise her.
He had always had this habit. He even conspired with Qingwu not to tell her about such things.
With the mention of Ye Qingwu, Song Sheng's eyes took on a gentle curve.
It had been a long time since she had contacted this former college classmate and close friend.
Ye Qingwu, who graduated in the same year as Song Sheng, had been traveling around before relocating to City B last year.
During their last phone call, she mentioned that she had bumped into Mingyao and that they had dinner together. Song Sheng specifically reminded her to keep an eye on Mingyao, asking her not to let him flirt around.
Since she was now in City B herself, she naturally had to take Qingwu out for a meal to catch up on old times.
With that thought in mind, Song Sheng took off her shoes, retrieved some seafood specialties from her suitcase, and headed to the kitchen ready to show off her cooking skills.
However, just as she washed her hands and began to cook, a faint noise could be heard coming from the master bedroom not far away.
Looking in the direction of the sound, warm-colored light spilled out from the house.
Could it be that Lin Mingyao is really at home? Wasn't he supposed to be working overtime tonight?
Song Sheng hesitated slightly, feeling a few strands of chill rising in her heart.
A woman's intelligence can be manifested in many ways, but unfortunately, their stupidity is often of only one kind.
Among countless choices, they always stubbornly choose the most foolish method without any self-awareness.
