Chapter 22: "Jingjing… I’ll sleep in the guest room…"

Under Amy’s tight budgeting and Miss Jo’s product sponsorship, they managed to stay within their limit after sacrificing one room.

Jingjing carefully slid the bill into a clear plastic sleeve and placed it on the low cabinet—like a little victory trophy.

She was woken by Yu Tu’s phone call:
“Are you guys heading back?”

“I came back early—didn’t wait for the main group…”

“That gives us an extra day off.”

“Yay!”

Jingjing cheered: “Three days in a row, including the weekend—let’s go on a trip!”

“Oh, too late to book now…”

“Then let’s go shopping! I’ve been dying to pick out a new lamp. That desk light? Total lack of soul.”

“Hmm… maybe not…”

“How about eating at Old Shanghai? They just got a Michelin star.”

“Miss Jo, three ideas in a minute are great—but only if you’re actually awake first.”

“I’m almost off the subway. What do you feel like eating later?”

Stepping out of the station, a giant digital billboard lit up beside the skyscraper—her smiling face, glowing softly.
Yu Tu lowered his head, hiding the corner of his mouth.
Yeah. Thinking of you.

As she ate, Jo Dr. gave her a quiz:
“If Miss Jo wants to go out, morning options: Monet exhibition.”

“Too crowded tomorrow and the day after—afternoon movie, dinner at night…”

“No no no—I’ve changed my mind. You’ve been saying forever you wanted to take your teachers out for dinner. Ask them when they’re free—let’s treat them to that Michelin place.”

“Wait—you said you were eating salad for dinner?”

“I’m on vacation. My stomach’s my own boss now.”

“Oh, and I’ve got a gift for the teacher—something he’ll *love*.”

Jo had a knack for gifts—she always said it wasn’t about ideas, it was about sincerity.

Through her brand deal, she’d met the owner of Cloudy, who, inspired by Jingjing’s mention of the missing book her teacher had searched for years, launched a private custom-order service.

No mass marketing—just ultra-exclusive, tailored to rarefied audiences: artists, scientists, visionaries.

Jingjing felt proud. So high-end. So *elegant*.

That evening, the slim little booklet won over the old academic instantly:
“This is my teacher’s teacher. The wind tunnel lab—that’s what started me on this path in aerospace!”

Jingjing handed him a card with both hands:
“If you need anything else, just call Cloudy—they’ll find it for you.”

“Sorry—I signed you up without asking. Also added your wife’s name.”

“Little Jo,” the professor’s wife said, looking at the two of them.
“You’re such a good girl.”

“Oh, by the way—heard you’re doing amazing at Tsinghua. Old Li even treated Old Zhang to dinner just to celebrate.”

The professor chuckled, picking up the thread:
“The meal was secondary. The real win? He finally admitted—*I was right all along*. My judgment’s better than his. Hahahaha.”

Jo caught on fast. She subtly reached over, fingers brushing Yu Tu’s under the table—two hands swaying gently in the dark.

After dropping off the professors at their home, not far from the research institute, Jingjing practically threw herself into the passenger seat:
“Let’s go home!”

Yu Tu settled in, turned sideways.
“Which home?”

“You know exactly which one.”

Inside, Jo—now clearly more at ease—reached for the light switch.
Before she could flip it, arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her in. Her hand trembled—*click*—the light snapped on.

Yu Tu looked innocent. Or maybe guilty. Either way, he got another playful punch.
For heaven’s sake—when a celebrity’s around, curtains *must* be drawn first. Basic protocol.

They flung open the balcony doors and windows. Summer’s last breath stirred the palest pink sheer curtains—the heavy layer behind was charcoal gray.

A faint hint of blue. Jingjing had always thought the sky should look like that.

Yu Tu tried to step inside, but Jingjing held firm, tugging him back. Turned around—was she asking for a hug?

Not quite.

Was it a kiss?

Not quite.

Dr. Yu finally figured it out:
“Is this… everything?”

“Wow. Jingjing’s actually capable of being domestic. Really… *homebody material*.”

“Mmm… not quite. One more thing.”

“Okay. I’ll give it to you.”

“Still… missing one room.”

“For storage.”

They wandered through each space. Yu Tu took it all in.
This decor? Definitely art-world territory.

Now it was his turn. A multiple-choice question:
“Guess—what’s the biggest investment here?”

Which one?

He ran through the list in his head.
Refrigerator? Washer? Lamp? Bed? Small sofa?

Jingjing sighed—finally, too slow.
“Here. Here.”

She pulled him around to the desk.
“Ergonomic chair. Benefits: one, two, three… blah blah blah.”

“Amy negotiated the deal with the manufacturer—got us the discount.”

Yu Tu sat down, and Jingjing grilled him:
“Does the lumbar support work? Is the neck pillow just right?”

Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist, yanked her onto his lap. His breath brushed her cheek.
“Jingjing… it’s late. Stay here tonight.”

She stiffened slightly. The air around them froze.

Yu Tu unconsciously softened his breathing. His hand, resting lightly on her waist beneath her thin dress, loosened. He wanted to see her face—but her long hair blocked it.

The sheer curtain fluttered behind her, lifting just enough to brush the tip of her bunny slippers. Somewhere far away, a car passed by.

His eyes drifted—from the front door, to the dining table with its tiny bouquet, to the crooked footstool by the small sofa near the bookshelf.

To the desk, where a sleek designer box had appeared—something he recognized.

The chair cradled her perfectly—back support just right, elbow height ideal.

He pulled her closer.

“Jingjing… I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

She shifted. He lifted her hair gently behind her ear, revealing her downcast face, her soft, rosy ears. Gently, he cupped her chin, turning her toward him.

“It’s really too late. Tomorrow we’re supposed to go to the planetarium, remember? This place is close…”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Her lashes trembled.

“Jingjing… I’ll go back to my dorm. It’s just a few minutes.”

Then—suddenly—a single tear welled up on her eyelash. Shimmering. Swinging. About to fall.

Yu Tu leaned in—and kissed her. The tear landed right on his lips. Salty.

More tears spilled. Some fell. Others traced delicate paths down her porcelain cheeks.

He kissed one. Then rushed to catch the next.