Chapter 37

When Lu Menge came down from the back mountain, her steps were as light as if she were walking on clouds. She hummed a tune whose name even she could no longer remember, crossed the darkened athletic field, and pushed open the door to the faculty apartments. Little White Tiger jumped from her shoulder and curled into the cotton nest on the wicker chair, its tail dangling over the edge and swaying once.

"Little White, tell me—" Lu Menge set her thermos on the windowsill and stretched toward the moonlight outside. "Shouldn't I celebrate?"

Little White Tiger let out a soft roar and buried its face in its paws. It had spent several hours crouching in a tree that night, listening in as the two little brats confessed to each other. It was so sleepy that it could not even be bothered to wag its tail.

"Celebrate. We absolutely have to celebrate. The two little brats finally got a clue—Golden Dragon King and Silver Dragon King spilled all their secrets to each other beneath that crooked-necked tree. The strategist has accomplished her mission and retired. If someone doesn't treat her to a meal, that just wouldn't be right." Lu Menge sat cross-legged on her bed, pulled out her phone, and opened Wu Changkong's contact screen without the slightest hesitation.

"Are you free tomorrow at noon? I'm treating you to lunch."

Sent.

The reply came almost instantly. "What's the matter?"

Lu Menge's lips curled upward as her fingers flew across the screen. "Can't I treat you to a meal if there's nothing wrong? You've brought me breakfast every day for three years. What's wrong with me returning the favor once? Private room on the second floor of the cafeteria. Director Long said we can order separately—don't come in your training uniform. Wear something presentable."

This time, the other side fell silent for a moment. Then Wu Changkong replied with a single word. "Fine."

Lu Menge placed her phone face down beside her pillow, rolled over, and buried her face in it. She held it in for three seconds before failing and laughing aloud. She had lived far too long, yet the number of times she had treated someone to a meal could be counted on one hand. But this time was different—she was not doing it for work, to repay a favor, or for any reason that needed calculating. She was simply happy, so happy that she wanted to share it with the cold-faced man who had stayed by her side for three and a half years.

The next day at noon, Lu Menge arrived at the private room on the cafeteria's second floor half an hour early. She went through the menu from beginning to end and ordered steamed sea bass, braised pork ribs, stir-fried vegetables with garlic, and tomato egg-drop soup. Director Long had mentioned last time that the cafeteria had hired a new Sichuan chef. That afternoon, she had cornered Long Hengxu in the hallway and asked whether Wu Changkong could eat spicy food—Long Hengxu had been carrying a tea mug on his way to a meeting when she grabbed his sleeve and questioned him at length about Wu Changkong's dietary preferences, leaving him thoroughly bewildered. "Wu Changkong? He's been at Eastsea Academy for so many years, and I've eaten with him dozens of times. I've never seen him voluntarily pick up a chili pepper—Teacher Lu, wait, why are you asking this?" Lu Menge had patted his shoulder with a smile but given no answer. She only said, "Thanks, Director Long," then drifted away on her high heels. Long Hengxu stood there with his tea mug, feeling that something was off but unable to put his finger on it.

So there were no spicy dishes on the menu, but there was one he would probably like—sweet-and-sour pork tenderloin. She had heard Tang Wulin mention that Wu Changkong would occasionally order that dish by itself from the cafeteria counter.

At exactly twelve, the private room door opened. Wu Changkong stood in the doorway, unusually not wearing his signature white robe. Instead, he wore a dark gray shirt, its sleeves still rolled up to his elbows. A fine silver chain was tied around his wrist—the tassel of the Heavenfrost Sword. He never normally let it leave his side, but today he had untied it from the sword hilt and fastened it around his wrist. Lu Menge's gaze rested on the silver chain for a moment before returning to his face. Tilting her head, she smiled. "That shirt looks better than the white one—good choice. Come in and sit."

Wu Changkong sat across from her and glanced at the dishes already laid out on the table, but did not move his chopsticks. His gaze passed from the sweet-and-sour pork to the braised ribs, then to the steamed sea bass without a single chili pepper, before finally settling on the steaming bowl of tomato egg-drop soup. Every dish was a standard item on the cafeteria menu, but they had one thing in common—none was something he normally avoided. The braised ribs leaned sweet, the steamed bass was mild, the vegetables were light and refreshing, and the sweet-and-sour pork seemed prepared specifically for his chopsticks. He lifted his eyes to look at Lu Menge and fell silent for a moment.

"Director Long told you?"

"I asked him myself." Lu Menge raised her thermos and watched his expression over its rim. "He said you never voluntarily eat chili peppers. So I replaced the boiled fish with sweet-and-sour pork. Try it—the cafeteria's new Sichuan chef didn't get to show off for me after all."

Wu Changkong picked up his chopsticks and took a piece of sweet-and-sour pork. The sauce coated it evenly, and the balance of sour and sweet was just right. After chewing and swallowing, he set down his chopsticks and looked at her. "You asked me here because you had something to say."

Lu Menge pushed the ribs closer to him. "Eat first. We'll talk afterward."

Wu Changkong glanced at her but did not press further. The two quietly ate their meal. Wu Changkong took four pieces of braised ribs. From the tenderest part of the sea bass's belly, he picked out a piece and placed it in her bowl. They finished the sweet-and-sour pork between them, and each drank two bowls of tomato egg-drop soup. Lu Menge noticed that he ate with a soldier's straightforward efficiency. He was not picky and wasted nothing, taking a few bites from every dish, though the sweet-and-sour pork disappeared noticeably faster than the rest.

Only after the plates had been cleared and the soup bowls emptied did Lu Menge put down her chopsticks and fold her hands on the table. "Wulin and Gu Yue were on the back mountain last night—he told Gu Yue everything he felt, and she accepted. It happened last night."

Wu Changkong's motion of wiping his mouth paused for half a beat, then he finished and neatly folded his handkerchief on the table. "How did you know?"

"A strategist has to have firsthand intelligence. I crouched in that tree for ages—my legs went numb." She rubbed her thigh, remembering that she had indeed banged her knee while climbing down from the tree the previous night. Then she raised her amber fox eyes, unable to suppress the pride in her tone. "But it was worth it. Those two little brats—one's a hopelessly dense straight man, and the other's an icy-faced dragon. I was already prepared to keep being their strategist for another ten years—then they confessed everything on their own. Tang Wulin is dense enough to make anyone angry. I thought it would take at least a few more years before I heard him speak first. I didn't teach him for nothing."

Wu Changkong looked at her without speaking. Under the private room's warm yellow lighting, her eyes shone like twin pieces of amber, and her unguarded happiness was impossible to miss. He rarely saw that expression on her face—not her usual lazy, self-assured smile, but genuine joy.

"When you placed those two in my class back then," Wu Changkong said, his voice as steady as ever though slightly slower than usual, "Gu Yue had not even wanted to step through the school gates. Tang Wulin's Blue Silver Grass was rated a 'useless martial soul' during the entrance assessment. Now their martial souls can no longer be contained in Class Zero." He nudged the teacup closer to her by half an inch, an adjustment he had spent a long time making in silence. "This meal doesn't count as you treating me. It counts as the two of them treating you."

Lu Menge froze for a moment, then laughed and pushed back the teacup he had moved toward her. "Can't you just let me treat you properly for once? You have to put it on their tab. Fine, those two little brats got together. You're Class Zero's homeroom teacher, and I'm Class Zero's second instructor—rounding it off, it's our family's business too. You're treating this time. I'll treat next time."

"No. I'm paying for today." Wu Changkong had already tucked several bills beneath the receipt.

Lu Menge watched from across the table as he pressed the bills onto the receipt and did not argue. She had learned not to argue with Wu Changkong about such things—his motion of pinning down a receipt was exactly like the way he gripped a sword hilt: decisive, quiet, and beyond negotiation. But she pushed the teacup he had offered back to him, pressing a fingertip against its rim. "Then promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Take your medicine on time from now on. The restorative medicine Dr. Zhang prescribed for you—you missed it three times last month. Don't think I didn't know. I watch over your medicine as seriously as I watch over Wulin and Gu Yue's martial souls. You're Class Zero's first instructor. If you collapse, I'll be left alone with six little brats—I can't teach them to stand on their heads and hold shields like you do."

Wu Changkong was silent for a moment. He looked at Lu Menge's finger pressed against the edge of the teacup. That finger had slipped countless prescription slips into his drawer and held down countless medical files for him outside Dr. Zhang's office. Now it moved the teacup half an inch back toward him before releasing it and returning to her thermos.

"I still remember what you said outside the clinic." Lu Menge lifted her thermos and looked at him over a cup of tea. "You said that no matter what she said, we would continue treatment. You said we'd continue, so I remembered it all this time. The medication has stopped now, but you can't miss yours."

Wu Changkong looked at the prescription slip she had once filled out in reverse, then picked up the teacup again and took a sip. "Fine. I won't miss them again. Next time, stand right in front of me and watch—like Dr. Zhang made you swallow your medicine back then."

The two walked out of the cafeteria side by side, and the private room door softly closed behind them. Chants from Class Zero's students drifted from the end of the corridor—the afternoon combat lesson was about to begin. Xie Xie's voice could faintly be heard shouting, "We're definitely going to win today!" while Zhang Yangzi seemed to reply, "Get your basics down first." Lu Menge stood on the steps and listened for a while. The wind puffed up her white coat, and the cord of the thermos he had returned to her swayed gently at her waist. Wu Changkong stood at her right, wearing his dark gray shirt, his posture straight.

"Wu Changkong."

"Mm."

"I treated you to lunch today not because of being a strategist—and not because of Wulin and Gu Yue. I just wanted to have a meal with you. You spent three and a half years drinking medicine with me, leaving breakfast outside my dorm every day, and keeping the light on at the window at night. You did those things for three and a half years too, and never once told me why."

Wu Changkong lowered his gaze slightly, then looked at her profile lit by the sunlight. "There was no need for a reason. For you—I never needed one. It was just that you always ran away before."

Lu Menge lowered her head and hid her face behind the thermos. He had said it in the same tone he used to say, "Take your medicine," yet it was the most direct thing she had ever heard from him. She really had run away before—when he handed her his salary card, she ran; when he asked about her past, she ran; when he said, "You're not alone," she ran too. But she would not run anymore. Standing beside him, only half a thermos separated them.

"I won't run anymore. If you miss your medicine in the future, I'll stand right in front of you and watch you swallow it—just like you watched me take mine back then. I'll write the training plans you owe Class Zero, and I'll handle the combat lessons while you're in meetings. But there's one thing I won't do." She raised her fox eyes, a deeply earnest light in her amber pupils. "Whenever you helped me, you never said, 'I'll help you.' You said, 'You can do it.' I think you can too. You don't have to stand so straight all the time. When you're tired—you can lean on me."

Wu Changkong's fingers twitched slightly at his side. Xie Xie was running over from the training ground to report in. Wu Changkong raised a hand and gestured for him to wait, then turned to Lu Menge. "For this afternoon's combat lesson, watch from the sidelines. Tonight—I'm treating you to a late-night meal."

Holding the prescription slip he had pushed back to her and that she had now pushed before him again, Lu Menge folded it and tucked it into her white coat pocket before he could turn away. She tilted her head at him. "Fine. Tonight I want grilled fish—the new place on the back street. You can settle that late-night meal you owe me tonight."

Wu Changkong watched as the prescription slip was tucked back into her pocket. The corner of his mouth moved slightly before he turned and strode toward the training ground. Lu Menge stood on the cafeteria steps, watching his silhouette stretch straight beneath the midday sun. She wondered whether she should tell him the truth over grilled fish that night. Gu Yue was the reincarnation of her old friend, Wulin's Golden Dragon King was something she had implanted in him, and her martial soul had never betrayed her. The tragedies he had mourned for three and a half years—being locked in a dark room, the ice pit, wearing a dress in temperatures below minus ten degrees—had all been invented by Gu Yue. She had deceived him for three and a half years, yet even after learning she had "delusions," he still left breakfast at her dormitory door every day. What would he do if he ever learned the whole truth? She lowered her head, thought about it, then unscrewed her thermos and took a sip. Forget it. She would not tell him. His little salary still had to go toward raising Class Zero.

She turned toward the training ground, took a few steps, then stopped and looked back at the steps where they had stood side by side. Since the night she stopped taking her medicine, he had added one more habit to his nightly routine—slipping a newly dated physical assessment log into her mailbox so she could pick it up with breakfast the next morning. She took the sheet from the gap in the mailbox, folded it, tucked it into her white coat pocket, and hurried after him.