Zhang Shutong had always felt that he and Miss Gu belonged to two different worlds.
Walking into her family's bathroom only intensified this feeling.
Why was someone's bathroom bigger than his own bedroom?
This villa was Western-style both inside and out, and the bathroom was decorated like a palace, with oil paintings hanging on the walls.
He switched on the crystal chandelier overhead, and soft light filtered through the petal-shaped lampshades, scattering in fragments across the floor—not glaring at all, only making one want to yawn.
The towel racks, faucets, and other fixtures were all made of brass, without a single water stain on them. Clearly they were diligently maintained.
The first thing that caught his eye was a built-in bathtub positioned right against the window. Her family's villa was built on high ground, so presumably one could enjoy the view of the lake below while soaking.
Zhang Shutong naturally didn't plan to take a bath, but instead walked into the adjacent shower room. The hot water was gas-heated and came quickly, unlike the solar water heater at home where you always had to grip the showerhead and dodge to the side for a good while.
The glass was frosted glass, which didn't accumulate water droplets. Zhang Shutong liked frosted glass—it had the lightness of glass without losing the sense of security. He closed his eyes in this small, hazy, warm space, letting the hot water flow over his entire body like a stream.
His body was finally warming up.
As if telling him that freezing rain night had gone far away.
His body had relaxed, but his heart hadn't.
For instance, when he finished his shower and walked to the mirror at the washstand, he very insincerely picked up the hair dryer beside it.
He usually used this thing to dry water-damaged keyboards or insufficiently dried clothes, but rarely to dry his hair.
After washing his hair, he'd normally just towel it until half-dry, leaving the rest to air-dry naturally. But this was in a palace-like building, and he'd be meeting the princess of the palace shortly. Zhang Shutong figured it would be better not to have water droplets dripping from his hair with every step.
Once his body warmed up, his stomach began to feel hungry.
So next came sitting at the dining counter to eat.
He said dining counter rather than dining table because in Gu Qiumian's house, these really were two different things. He was now sitting at the L-shaped counter in the open kitchen, with a row of hanging light fixtures overhead illuminating the bowl of noodle soup before him.
Song Nanshan had also finished his shower and was sitting on the sofa in the center of the living room watching TV, likewise holding a bowl of noodles. He seemed completely at ease—the sound of him slurping noodles sometimes drowned out the television, which was actually showing a ball game. Who knows how Old Song had managed to find it.
If conditions allowed, Zhang Shutong had no doubt he would crack open a beer.
Their arrival had livened up this empty villa a bit. Outside the windows came the fragmentary sound of rain in the darkness, while inside was warm, with lights bright only where they needed to be... it felt somewhat cozy.
—Zhang Shutong startled himself when this thought arose.
He didn't know how he could feel cozy in this palace-like solemn place, but such was the fact. Which was better—this or that home with nothing but Conan playing? Even he couldn't say for sure.
Although Old Song was really quite loud, sometimes calling out "Nice!" when he got excited, it was still better than the screams of women discovering murder scenes in Conan. Though only marginally better.
So Zhang Shutong stopped dwelling on the question. He lowered his head and tried the noodle soup. It seemed to be rich broth, like something boiled from an old duck. But where would you find duck broth at this late hour? Did wealthy families keep this on hand?
In any case, it tasted quite good.
After a thrilling operation, being able to sit quietly and savor a delicious bowl of noodle soup was a luxury. The noodles didn't matter, the rich broth didn't matter—it wasn't about whether the food was extravagant or simple, but that you could sit here quietly with warmth all around. The happiness in your heart was like the oil floating in the noodle soup—very small, yet endlessly growing.
The only problem was—someone kept wanting to disturb Zhang Shutong's appreciation of this bowl of happiness.
But that person was the owner of this villa, so he couldn't politely ask her to leave.
Gu Qiumian sat directly across from him. The girl was wrapped in a wine-red velvet robe, which made her skin appear even more white and fair. You could faintly see her delicate collarbone. She had just finished bathing too, water vapor and fragrance wafting from her jet-black hair. Every movement unconsciously revealed a charming grace—she was becoming a mature young woman.
Gu Qiumian had casually gathered her medium-length hair to one side, her bangs swept up to reveal a smooth forehead. She was cupping her face while scrolling through her phone, as if this dining counter had the best signal in the entire villa.
If she was just scrolling her phone, Zhang Shutong could still tolerate it. But from time to time she'd shift her gaze from the screen to glance over here, occasionally curving her lips downward, as if his eating manner was unsightly. She probably thought she was hiding it well, but Zhang Shutong had noticed it all.
It made one very uncomfortable.
But asking "What are you doing sitting here?" in someone else's home seemed pretty clueless, so Zhang Shutong simply pretended not to notice and buried his head in eating noodles.
But while he didn't want to stir up trouble, Miss Gu seemed intent on picking a fight. As Zhang Shutong lifted his bowl to drink the soup, he saw her finally unable to restrain herself. She slapped down her phone—the iPhone's glass backing and the marble countertop made a crisp contact—and the young woman glared at him with wide eyes:
"All you know how to do is eat noodles?"
Zhang Shutong glanced at the TV. "I don't watch ball games." If Old Song had put on something else, he would have gone over to watch.
Speaking of which, he picked up the fried egg arranged on top of the noodles. He took a bite—it was still soft-yolked, demonstrating how skilled the Gu family's housekeeper was.
After looking at the fried egg, Zhang Shutong looked at Gu Qiumian, only to find that Gu Qiumian was also looking at the fried egg. She was pouting, and because one hand was cupping her face, her delicate lips were also squeezed crooked:
"Don't you want to say something?"
"The noodles are very good, thanks."
"...Don't thank me, thank Auntie Wu!"
Though she said this, her eyes became even fiercer, enunciating each word, her voice like bean-sized raindrops hitting the ground.
Zhang Shutong knew she was a bit tsundere—she only said "no need to thank" with her mouth, so he very tactfully said no, I still need to thank you.
Who knew that upon hearing this, Gu Qiumian would blink her thick eyelashes and suddenly deflate, lying on the table and muttering:
"Aiya, did you get too much rain or something..."
"What?"
"Already stupid to begin with, I think the rain made you even stupider."
Hearing this, Zhang Shutong pursed his lips. This person actually thought he was stupid. Then who was it that rushed into the rain wearing slippers and pajamas just now?
They looked at each other and blinked, each increasingly convinced the other was the truly stupid one.
"How did you know someone broke into my house?" Gu Qiumian asked again.
Zhang Shutong briefly shared his reasoning with her. If Qingyi were here, he'd definitely listen with shining eyes, but Miss Gu was clearly not a mystery fanatic. She listened quite seriously though, interjecting with questions from time to time. But when Zhang Shutong finished the most exciting part, she instead pursed her lips and asked, "Then what?" Zhang Shutong said then I sat here eating noodles. Gu Qiumian rolled her eyes, as if what she wanted to hear wasn't just this.
But there was nothing to be done—reasoning in reality would never be as exciting as on TV, and he wasn't a professional detective either. So Zhang Shutong tactfully shut his mouth and changed the subject:
"Does your family always keep rich broth on hand?"
"You think these noodles are really good?"
"The soup is good."
"Auntie Wu's cooking is excellent. This duck has been simmering since this afternoon."
"Wait, this soup was your dinner?"
"Yep." She said, "Otherwise what? Of course it's leftover from dinner."
Gu Qiumian explained in a good mood:
"I didn't finish what was in my bowl, was going to throw it out, but then you came, so it didn't go to waste."
Zhang Shutong had just stopped drinking the soup when she snorted and said, "See, you really are stupid. You fell for that. Who uses the little bit of soup from their bowl to make noodles? There's still a whole pot."
"Don't forget to take cold medicine later," she added.
"That's not necessary."
"No, I say you need to take it, so you take it."
Zhang Shutong nodded. He never got stubborn about such small matters.
This was fine. He didn't ask Gu Qiumian how she felt after so many things happened tonight.
And Gu Qiumian never brought it up proactively, never said whether she felt good or bad.
However, as they chatted, Gu Qiumian suddenly stood up and sniffed near his head. Zhang Shutong was caught off guard, but she had already sat back down, laughing like a delicate flower:
"I was wondering why you looked like you hadn't washed your hair. Did you use the conditioner by mistake?"
"The red bottle?"
"Right, that's conditioner. The blue bottle is shampoo, dummy."
"..."
"Your hair is so oily now." Her body shook with laughter.
As if she'd seen something hilarious. Perhaps in a trainer's eyes, it was a Squirtle putting on sunglasses.
Zhang Shutong really wanted to say that there were five or six bottles and jars arranged in her bathroom, with brand names he couldn't understand—were they in French or what? He was too lazy to figure out which was which and just grabbed one that looked right.
He rubbed his hair somewhat speechlessly and decisively skipped this topic.
Fortunately, Gu Qiumian was a good listener. As long as he spoke, no matter what he said, she would always listen and nod.
By this time the housekeeper had already returned to her room.
The man not far away focused intently on the ball game, though secretly pricking up his ears.
The boy was eating noodles, sometimes putting down his chopsticks, waiting to swallow the food in his mouth before briefly saying a few words.
The girl cupped her face with both hands, swinging her legs under the counter. One slipper had been kicked off, exposing her foot.
Zhang Shutong felt this bowl of noodles was really quite a lot.
It clearly wasn't a very large bowl, yet it gave the feeling of being endless.
Right about when he'd drunk the last bit of soup, he saw Old Song suddenly stand up, turn off the TV, and shout to the two of them:
"I'm going to bed first. Don't chat too late, you two. We'll leave together tomorrow."
Zhang Shutong himself and Gu Qiumian herself simultaneously turned their heads, watching the man shuffle back to the bedroom.
There were two guest rooms on the first floor. One was given to the housekeeper, and Old Song slept in the remaining one.
So Zhang Shutong had no choice but to sleep on the second floor.
That was precisely Miss Gu's territory.
Fate was wondrous. When they were at school, they sat together. When sleeping, they also slept on the same floor.