Winter Time Rendering

Zhang Shutong had always felt that he and Miss Gu were from two different worlds.

That feeling only intensified when he stepped into her bathroom.

’Why would someone’s bathroom be bigger than my own bedroom?’

The villa was Western-style, inside and out. The bathroom was decorated like a palace, with oil paintings even hanging on the walls.

He flicked on the crystal chandelier overhead. Soft light filtered through the petal-shaped shades, dappling the floor. It wasn’t harsh, just the kind of light that made you want to yawn.

The towel rack and faucet were both made of brass, without a single water spot on them. Clearly, the place was meticulously maintained.

The first thing that caught his eye was a built-in bathtub, situated right by the window. Since the villa was built on high ground, he imagined you could soak in the tub while admiring the lake below.

Of course, Zhang Shutong had no intention of taking a bath. He stepped into the adjacent shower stall. The hot water was gas-heated and came on almost instantly, unlike the solar heater at his own place, which always made him huddle to the side, holding the showerhead and waiting.

The shower door was frosted glass, which didn’t collect many droplets. Zhang Shutong liked frosted glass; it had the airiness of glass without sacrificing a sense of privacy. He closed his eyes in this small, hazy, warm space, letting the hot water cascade over him like a stream.

He was finally starting to feel warm.

It was as if to tell him that the freezing, rainy night was now far behind him.

His body had relaxed, but his mind hadn’t.

For instance, after his shower, he walked over to the mirror above the vanity and reluctantly picked up the hairdryer.

He usually used the device to dry out water-logged keyboards or damp clothes, but rarely on his own hair.

After a shower, he usually just gave his hair a quick toweling and let it air-dry. But this was a palace-like residence, and he was about to face its "princess." Zhang Shutong figured it was probably best not to have his hair dripping water with every step he took.

As his body warmed up, his stomach started to growl.

And so, the next thing he knew, he was sitting at the dining counter, eating.

I say dining counter, not dining table, because in Gu Qiuyan’s home, they were two very different things. He was currently sitting at the L-shaped counter of the open-plan kitchen. A row of pendant lights hung overhead, illuminating the bowl of noodle soup before him.

Song Nanshan had also showered and was now sitting on the living room sofa, watching TV with his own bowl of noodles. He showed no restraint at all; the sound of his slurping sometimes overpowered the television. A game was on, surprisingly. Zhang Shutong had no idea how Song had even found the channel.

If the situation allowed for it, Zhang Shutong had no doubt the man would have cracked open a beer.

Their arrival had made the vast, empty villa feel a little more lived-in. From the darkness outside came the soft patter of rain. Inside, it was warm, with lights shining brightly only where they were needed... It felt almost cozy.

The thought startled Zhang Shutong himself when it surfaced.

He wasn’t sure how he could feel cozy in such a solemn, palace-like place, but it was the truth. Was this better than his own place, where the TV was always playing Conan? He couldn’t even say for sure.

Although Song was really loud, even shouting his approval when something exciting happened, it was still slightly better than the shrieks of women discovering murder victims in Conan. Only slightly, though.

Zhang Shutong decided not to dwell on it. He lowered his head and took a sip of the broth. ’This seems like a proper stock, maybe simmered from duck,’ he thought. ’But where would they get duck broth this late at night? Do rich people just keep this stuff on hand?’

’In any case, it’s delicious.’

After such a perilous ordeal, being able to sit down and quietly savor a delicious bowl of noodle soup felt like a luxury. It wasn’t about the noodles or the broth, nor was it about the richness of the food. It was about being able to sit here, quietly, surrounded by warmth. The happiness blooming in his heart was like the tiny droplets of oil floating in the soup—small, yet endlessly proliferating.

The only problem was—someone seemed intent on disturbing Zhang Shutong as he savored this bowl of happiness.

But that someone was the owner of the villa, and he couldn’t very well ask her to leave.

Gu Qiuyan was sitting directly across from him. She was wrapped in a wine-red velvet robe that made her skin look even paler by contrast, and he could faintly see the delicate lines of her collarbones.

She had also just showered. Her dark, beautiful hair was still damp and fragrant. Her every movement held an unconscious allure, the mark of a young woman coming into her own.

Gu Qiuyan had casually swept her mid-length hair to one side, pinning her bangs up to reveal a smooth forehead. She was cupping her face in her hands, scrolling through her phone as if this specific spot at the counter had the best reception in the entire villa.

Zhang Shutong could have tolerated her just scrolling on her phone. But every so often, she would lift her eyes from the screen, glance his way, and curl her lip in a slight smile, as if she found his table manners amusingly crude. She probably thought she was being subtle, but he noticed every single time.

It was very unnerving.

But asking someone, "What are you doing here?" in their own home would be incredibly tactless. So, Zhang Shutong simply pretended he didn’t notice and buried his head in his noodles.

But while he was trying to avoid trouble, the young miss seemed intent on starting it. Just as Zhang Shutong lifted his bowl to drink the soup, she finally couldn’t hold back. She slapped her phone down—the crisp CLACK of the iPhone’s glass back against the marble countertop echoing in the quiet—and glared at him.

"Is eating all you know how to do?"

Zhang Shutong glanced at the TV. "I don’t watch sports." If Song had put something else on, he would have gone over and watched too.

As he spoke, he picked up the fried egg that lay atop the noodles and took a bite. The yolk was still runny—a testament to the skill of Gu Qiuyan’s housekeeper.

Zhang Shutong’s gaze shifted from the egg to Gu Qiuyan, only to find her staring at the egg as well. She was pouting, her face still cupped in one hand, which squished her small lips to one side.

"Aren’t you going to say anything?"

"The noodles are delicious. Thanks."

"...Don’t thank me. You can thank Aunt Wu!"

Despite her words, her gaze only grew fiercer, and each word she uttered was as sharp and deliberate as a heavy drop of rain.

Zhang Shutong knew she was just being difficult. He recognized the "don’t thank me" for the test it was and, demonstrating a high degree of emotional intelligence, replied, "No, I should still thank you."

To his surprise, Gu Qiuyan blinked her long lashes, then suddenly slumped onto the counter as if all the air had gone out of her. She mumbled:

"Geez, did getting caught in the rain do something to you...?"

"What?"

"You were already dumb enough. I think the rain just made you even dumber."

Zhang Shutong pursed his lips at her words. ’She actually thinks *I’m* the dumb one? Who was it that just ran out into the rain wearing slippers and pajamas, then?’

They looked at each other and blinked, each becoming more convinced that the other was the real fool.

"How did you know someone had come into the house?" Gu Qiuyan asked.

Zhang Shutong briefly shared his reasoning with her. If Qingyi had been there, his eyes would have been sparkling with excitement. Miss Gu, however, was clearly no detective fanatic. She listened intently, chiming in with questions now and then. But when Zhang Shutong finished recounting the most exciting part, she just pursed her lips and asked, "And then?" Zhang Shutong replied, "And then I sat down here to eat noodles." Gu Qiuyan rolled her eyes, as if what she wanted to hear was something entirely different.

But there was nothing to be done about it. Real-life deductions were never as dramatic as the ones on TV, and he wasn’t a professional detective. So, Zhang Shutong wisely dropped the subject and asked a different question:

"Do you always keep stock on hand at home?"

"You really think these noodles are that good?"

"The broth is nice."

"Aunt Wu’s a great cook. This duck has been simmering since the afternoon."

"Wait, this soup was from your dinner?"

"Yep," she said. "What else would it be? Of course it’s leftovers from dinner."

Gu Qiuyan explained, in a surprisingly good mood:

"I didn’t finish the soup in my bowl and was about to dump it, but then you showed up. Good thing it didn’t go to waste."

Zhang Shutong froze, his spoon halfway to his lips. Only then did she snort. "See? You really are an idiot. You fell for it so easily. Who would make noodles with the dregs from a bowl? There’s a whole other pot of it."

"Don’t forget to take some cold medicine later," she added.

"I don’t think I need to."

"No way. I say you take it, so you take it."

Zhang Shutong nodded. He was never stubborn about trivial things like this.

This was good, too. He didn’t ask Gu Qiuyan how she was feeling after everything that had happened that night.

And Gu Qiuyan never brought up whether she was feeling good or bad, either.

But as they chatted, Gu Qiuyan suddenly stood up, leaned in close to his head, and took a sniff. Zhang Shutong was caught completely off guard. By the time he reacted, she was already sitting back down, smiling like a delicate, blooming flower.

"I knew it! I was wondering why your hair looked unwashed. Did you use the conditioner instead of shampoo?"

"The red bottle?"

"Yes, that’s the conditioner. The blue bottle is the shampoo, you idiot."

"..."

"Your hair is so greasy now." Her whole body was shaking with laughter.

It was as if she’d witnessed something hilarious. Perhaps in the eyes of a Pokémon trainer, it was like seeing a Greninja wearing sunglasses.

’Your bathroom has five or six different bottles and jars,’ Zhang Shutong wanted to say. ’I couldn’t even read the brand names—is that French or something? I couldn’t be bothered to figure out which was which, so I just grabbed one that looked about right.’

He rubbed his hair, speechless, and decisively changed the subject.

Fortunately, Gu Qiuyan was a good listener. As long as he was the one talking, she would listen and nod, no matter the topic.

By now, the housekeeper had already retired to her room.

The man in the living room was focused on the game, though he had clearly perked up his ears to listen in.

The young man was eating his noodles, occasionally setting down his chopsticks to swallow before adding a few brief words to the conversation.

The girl was cupping her face in her hands, her legs swinging beneath the counter. She’d kicked off one of her slippers, revealing a bare foot.

Zhang Shutong felt like this bowl of noodles was endless.

It wasn’t a particularly large bowl, but for some reason, it felt like he would never finish it.

Just as he was finishing the last of his soup, he saw Song suddenly get to his feet, switch off the TV, and call out to them.

"I’m heading to bed! You two don’t stay up too late, now. We’ll all head out together in the morning."

Zhang Shutong and Gu Qiuyan both turned their heads at the same time and watched as the man shuffled off to his bedroom.

There were two guest rooms on the first floor. One was for the housekeeper, leaving the other for Song.

Which meant Zhang Shutong would have to sleep on the second floor.

Which was the young miss Gu’s domain.

Fate worked in mysterious ways. At school, they were seated together. Now, they were sleeping on the same floor.