Chapter 37

When Lu Menge came down from the back mountain, her steps were as light as if she were walking on clouds. Humming a tune whose name even she could no longer remember, she crossed the darkened sports field and pushed open the door to the teachers' apartments. Little White Tiger jumped down from her shoulder and curled up in 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 gave a soft howl and buried its face in its paws. It had crouched in a tree for hours tonight, accompanying her as she eavesdropped on two little brats confessing their feelings to each other. It was so sleepy that it could not even be bothered to wag its tail.

"Celebrate. Absolutely celebrate. Those two little brats finally got a clue—the Golden Dragon King and the Silver Dragon King laid all their secrets bare beneath that crooked-necked tree. The strategist has accomplished her mission and retired. If I don't get treated to a meal, that would be absurd." Lu Menge sat cross-legged on the 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 is it?"

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 the past 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 wear your training uniform. Put on something presentable."

This time, the other side was silent for a moment. Then Wu Changkong replied with one word. "Okay."

Lu Menge placed her phone beside her pillow, rolled over, and buried her face in it. She held it in for three seconds, but failed, laughing aloud. She had lived far too long, and the number of times she had invited someone to a meal could be counted on one hand. But this time was different—she was not doing it for work, not repaying a favor, and not acting for any reason that needed to be calculated. She was simply happy, happy enough that she wanted to share that happiness with the man who had accompanied her with a cold face 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, 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 stopped Long Hengxu in the hallway and asked whether Wu Changkong could eat spicy food. Long Hengxu had been carrying his tea mug to a meeting when she grabbed his sleeve and questioned him at length about Wu Changkong's dietary preferences, leaving him utterly bewildered. "Wu Changkong? He's been at Eastsea Academy for so many years. I've eaten with him dozens of times, and I've never seen him voluntarily pick up a chili pepper—Teacher Lu, wait, why are you asking this?" Lu Menge had smiled and patted his shoulder without answering. She merely said, "Thanks, Director Long," then drifted away on her high heels. Long Hengxu stood there holding his tea mug, feeling that something was off but unable to say what.

That was why there were no spicy dishes on the menu. But there was one dish he would probably like—sweet and sour pork. She had heard Tang Wulin mention that Wu Changkong occasionally ordered that dish separately from the cafeteria counter.

At exactly twelve, the private room door opened. Wu Changkong stood in the doorway, unusually not wearing his trademark white robe. Instead, he wore a dark gray shirt, its sleeves still rolled up to his elbows. Around his wrist was a very thin silver chain—the tassel from the Heavenfrost Sword. He never 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 paused on that 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 over the dishes that had already been served, but did not move his chopsticks. His gaze swept 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, yet together they shared one thing in common—not a single one was something he normally avoided. The braised ribs were sweet, the steamed sea bass was mild, the vegetables were fresh and light, and the sweet and sour pork seemed prepared specifically for his chopsticks. He raised his eyes to look at Lu Menge and fell silent for a moment.

"Director Long told you?"

"I asked him myself." Lu Menge lifted her thermos and watched his expression over its rim. "He said you never voluntarily pick up 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."

Wu Changkong picked up his chopsticks and took a piece of sweet and sour pork. The sauce coated it evenly, and the sweet-and-sour flavor 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 toward him. "Eat first. We'll talk after."

Wu Changkong glanced at her and did not press further. The two ate quietly. Wu Changkong took four pieces of braised rib, dug out a piece of the tenderest flesh from the belly of the sea bass, and placed it in her bowl. They divided the sweet and sour pork between them until none remained, and each drank two bowls of tomato egg-drop soup. Lu Menge noticed that he ate with a soldier's simplicity. He was not picky, he wasted nothing, and he sampled every dish, but the sweet and sour pork disappeared noticeably faster than the others.

Once the plates were empty and the soup bowls cleared, Lu Menge finally put down her chopsticks and folded her hands on the table. "Wulin and Gu Yue were on the back mountain last night—he confessed all his feelings to Gu Yue, and she accepted. It happened last night."

Wu Changkong paused for half a beat while wiping his mouth, then finished and folded his handkerchief onto 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 how her knee had indeed struck something when she climbed down from the tree last night. Then she raised her amber fox eyes, pride overflowing from her voice. "But it was worth it. Those two little brats—one's a hopelessly straight guy, and the other's a cold-faced dragon. I was prepared to keep being their strategist for another ten years—yet they confessed everything themselves. Tang Wulin is so dense it's infuriating. 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 watched her without speaking. Under the warm yellow light of the private room, her eyes shone like two pieces of amber, and her sheer joy was completely undisguised. He rarely saw that expression on her face—not her usual lazy, composed smile, but genuine happiness.

"When you put them both in my class back then," Wu Changkong said, his voice as steady as ever though his tone was slower than usual, "Gu Yue would not even step through the school gate. Tang Wulin's Blue Silver Grass was rated a 'useless martial soul' during the entrance assessment. Now, their martial souls can no longer be restrained even in Class Zero." He pushed the teacup half an inch closer to her, that half inch having taken him a long time to move in silence. "This meal doesn't count as you treating me. It counts as 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? Do 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 up, it's our family's business too. You pay for this meal, and I'll pay for the next one."

"No. Today's meal is on me." Wu Changkong had already placed several banknotes beneath the bill.

Lu Menge watched from across the table as he weighed the bill down with the money and did not argue. She had already learned not to argue with Wu Changkong over such things—the way he pressed down a bill was exactly like the way he pressed down a sword hilt: decisive, quiet, and not open to negotiation. But she pushed the teacup he had moved toward her back again, pressing a fingertip to its rim. "Then promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Take all your medicine on time from now on too. You missed Dr. Zhang's restorative medicine three times last month—don't think I don't know. I watch your medicine as seriously as I watch Wulin and Gu Yue's martial souls. You're Class Zero's lead instructor. If you collapse, I'll be left handling six little brats alone—I can't teach them to do handstands while holding shields the way you do."

Wu Changkong was silent for a moment. He looked at Lu Menge's finger resting on the edge of the teacup. That finger had placed countless prescriptions in his drawer and held down countless medical files for him outside Dr. Zhang's office. Now, it had pushed the teacup back half an inch for him before releasing it and withdrawing to rest beside her thermos.

"I still remember what you said outside the clinic before." 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 the treatment. You said we would continue, so I remembered it all along. The medicine has stopped now, but you can't miss yours."

Wu Changkong looked at the prescription she had once filled out in reverse, picked up the teacup again, and took a sip. "Okay. I won't miss any more. Next time, stand 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 closed softly behind them. Chants from Class Zero's students drifted over from the end of the hallway—afternoon combat practice was about to begin. Xie Xie's voice could vaguely be heard shouting, "I'm definitely going to win today!" while Zhang Yangzi seemed to reply, "Learn the basics first." Lu Menge stood on the steps and listened for a while, her white coat billowing in the wind as the cord of the thermos he had returned to her swayed gently at her waist. Wu Changkong stood to her right in his dark gray shirt, his posture perfectly straight.

"Wu Changkong."

"Mm."

"I invited you to lunch today not because I'm a strategist—and not because of Wulin and Gu Yue. I just wanted to have a meal with you. You stayed with me while I took medicine for three and a half years, put breakfast outside my dormitory door every day, and left the light on at the window at night. You did all of that for three and a half years, and you never said why."

Wu Changkong lowered his eyes slightly, then looked at her profile illuminated by sunlight. "There was no need for a reason. When it came to you—I never needed a reason. It was just that you always ran away before."

Lu Menge lowered her head and hid her face behind her 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 now. She stood beside him, with only half a thermos' distance between them.

"I won't run anymore. From now on, if you miss your medicine, I'll stand 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 take the combat classes when you're in meetings. But there's one thing I won't do." She raised her fox eyes, a very, very serious light in their amber pupils. "Whenever you helped me, you never said, 'I'm helping 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 hanging at his side moved slightly. Xie Xie was running over from the training ground to report in. Wu Changkong raised a hand and gestured for Xie Xie to wait, then turned to Lu Menge. "For the afternoon combat class, watch from the sidelines. Tonight—I'll treat you to a late-night snack."

Lu Menge held the prescription he had pushed back to her, then pushed it in front of him again. Before he could turn away, she folded it and tucked it into the pocket of her white coat. Tilting her head at him, she said, "Fine. Tonight, I want grilled fish—the new place on the back street. You can repay the late-night snack you owe me tonight."

Wu Changkong watched the prescription disappear back into her pocket. The corner of his lips twitched slightly, then he turned and strode toward the training ground. Lu Menge stood on the cafeteria steps, watching his figure stretch perfectly straight beneath the noon sun. She wondered whether she should tell him the truth tonight when they went for grilled fish. Gu Yue was the reincarnation of her old friend, Wulin's Golden Dragon King was something she had put into him, and her martial soul had never betrayed her. All those tragedies he had pitied for three and a half years—the locked dark room, the ice cave, wearing a skirt in temperatures below minus ten degrees—had all been fabricated by Gu Yue. She had deceived him for three and a half years, yet even after learning she had "delusions," he had still placed breakfast outside her dormitory door every day. What would happen if he learned the whole truth someday? She thought about it, then unscrewed her thermos and took a sip. Forget it. She would not tell him. His meager salary still had to support Class Zero.

She turned toward the training ground, then stopped after a few steps and looked back at the steps where they had just stood side by side. Ever since the night she stopped taking her medicine, he had added another habit to his nightly routine—slipping a newly dated physical assessment log into her mailbox so she could take it conveniently with breakfast the next morning. She removed the paper tucked into the gap of the mailbox, folded it neatly, placed it in her white coat pocket, and hurried after him.