Chapter 9

The real estate agent failed to get through on the phone. With a grim expression, he kept dialing while trying to explain to Xie Zhailing behind him, "The landlord just decided to sell this property, so we don't have the keys yet. Let me try calling again. Don't worry, the offer you've made is one the owner will definitely accept."

"Who said I decided to sell my house?" Tu Qin asked from the stairwell.

The three men turned around in unison.

The first to recognize her was the handsome man. He was visibly stunned, followed by the guy with the green dreadlocks—oh wait, he didn't have dreadlocks or a ponytail anymore. His hair was cut short and dyed in an indescribable color. For simplicity, Tu Qin decided to keep calling him "Green Dreadlocks."

Green Dreadlocks first widened his eyes, then gaped, pointing at her as if he had seen a ghost. He stammered a few "ah"s and "oh"s, but before he could finish whatever he wanted to say, the handsome one yanked him back.

The agent remained in his calling posture, staring at her in astonishment.

"Who told you that I decided to sell my house?" Tu Qin asked, looking at the agent.

Even though they had met twice before and both encounters had been friendly, the moment it involved her house—her sanctuary—Tu Qin immediately went into defensive mode.

"You..." The agent was clearly confused. He paused for a moment before saying, "Are you the landlord of this property?"

Tu Qin crossed her arms and looked at him, countering, "You're the agent, and you don't know?"

Green Dreadlocks fixed his wide eyes on the agent, glared for a second, then looked back at Tu Qin.

"...The person who called me was a man..." The agent's forehead was starting to sweat. He looked down at the documents in his hand and repeated, "Building 5, Unit 3, Room 203, Xingfu Residential Complex. There's no mistake."

"A man?" Tu Qin paused, frowning. "What did he say?"

"He said he needed money urgently and wanted to sell..." Before the agent could finish, the call he had been dialing finally connected, and he hurriedly said, "Hello?"

At the moment the agent mentioned it was a man, Tu Qin had briefly worried it was her father trying to sell the place to force her back home. Her father had been pressuring her to return lately, claiming he kept her room ready. For a split second, she thought her own father had lost his mind and intended to make her homeless to coerce her. People who write fiction often have minds prone to dramatic, soap-opera-like scenarios.

But once the agent mentioned the urgent need for money, Tu Qin knew it couldn't be her father. He ran a decent business, wasn't short on cash, and having once lived in poverty, he was superstitious and particularly averse to being called poor—let alone claiming it himself.

So, it was a mistake.

The agent evidently realized it too, as he kept confirming the address with the person on the other end. The voice leaking from the phone was indeed a man's, loud and speaking Mandarin with a thick, unrecognizable accent that made communication difficult.

The other three men remained silent.

The situation was incredibly awkward. After the agent hung up, looking rather green, it became even more so. It was indeed a mistake; everyone heard the man on the phone shout the address at the end: "Xinghu Residential Complex, Building 5, Unit 3, Room 203." The man had even specifically clarified, "Xing like 'happy' (xing), Hu like 'Hubei' (hu)."

Tu Qin glanced at Yao Lingling, who was struggling to suppress her laughter on the other end of the video call, and looked silently at the agent.

The agent switched the phone to his other hand, wiped the sweat from his palm onto his suit, and smiled at Tu Qin. "Are you interested in selling? Mr. Xie’s offer is very generous. Xingfu Residential Complex is a low-rise walk-up without an elevator; I don't think the price will be any higher than this in the coming years."

It’s truly not easy being a corporate slave. Tu Qin felt a pang of sympathy, but replied coldly, "Not selling."

The agent switched hands again, wiped his sweaty palms on his suit, and pulled out a business card. "This is my card. I'm in charge of this sector. If you have any buying, selling, or leasing needs, feel free to contact me."

Tu Qin didn't make things difficult for him and took the card.

"Sorry for the trouble." Maintaining his professionalism, the agent prepared to lead Xie Zhailing and the others downstairs.

"Wait..." Tu Qin hesitated before speaking. "Are you the ones who bought the other three apartments on this floor?"

Xie Zhailing stopped and looked at her. "Yes."

To prove it, he casually opened the door to the unit next to hers with a key. Tu Qin caught a glimpse inside; it was still an unfinished shell. So they were indeed the neighbors.

"Have you joined the residential community group?" Tu Qin asked. "They're doing natural gas pipeline renovations lately. The gas company staff came by a few times but couldn't find you."

"If you're in the group, ask the property management for the gas company's contact number. If you're not, go to the property management office on the second floor of Building 1 when you leave the complex to join. Most neighborhood announcements are made there."

Tu Qin finished, pressed her fingerprint to open her door, and went inside. She grabbed a few envelopes from the entryway, stepped back out, closed the door, and said to Xie Zhailing, "These are the letters for your units. The red one is a notice from the gas company; it should have their phone number on it."

Since the unit next door was always empty, mail would be stuffed into the door frame. Tu Qin, worried about thieves scouting the place, usually collected the mail and cleared away any flyers. Fortunately, there wasn't much mail, maybe five or six pieces a year—just utility bills or notices.

Xie Zhailing took the letters and thanked her. His tone and expression were quite earnest, and Tu Qin returned a sincere smile.

The atmosphere remained strangely awkward. Jin Kui, who had been silent until now, suddenly blurted out, "If you want to sell, just come to us directly. You’ll save on the agent's commission, and we already have standard contracts ready. We've gone through the process three times now."

Xie Zhailing: "..."

"Hey, hey, hey." The agent, Xiao Lu, turned beet red. Losing his professional composure, he said with a bitter face, "You can't say that. Platform supervision is there to avoid a lot of risks."

Tu Qin: "...I'm not selling."

Jin Kui: "What if?"

Tu Qin looked at Jin Kui: "There is no 'what if'."

Jin Kui: "..."

"Let's go." Xie Zhailing tapped Jin Kui on the shoulder, cutting him off and pushing him toward the stairwell. He knew what Jin Kui was going to say next. This reckless guy, having been shut down twice, was bound to get agitated and likely resort to threats.

Sure enough, even though he was interrupted, Jin Kui muttered, "If you don't sell, I'll just renovate this place for a year and drive you crazy with the noise."

He said it quietly, but Xie Zhailing, standing right next to him, heard it and shot him a sidelong glance. Jin Kui shut his mouth. Just as the stairwell door closed, he was about to make another snide remark but was startled by the mountain of packages piled up at the landing. His eyes widened. "What is all this?"

It was a mountain of parcels, resembling the massive shipments their studio received every quarter.

"Sorry, sorry." Tu Qin pushed open the stairwell door, squeezed between the three men, and nudged her trolley further aside. She held a wooden board against the wall to give them room to pass.

The packages on the trolley were piled half as high as a person, yet they were stacked skillfully and secured with rope; despite her maneuvering, nothing slid off.

In such a situation, it would have been natural for someone to offer to help her move the items up. In fact, Xie Zhailing had reached out, intending to help her push the trolley up the stairs. But he knew, in that split second, he had hesitated.

It was highly abnormal.

For someone he had met three times in just a few months, someone who had left a good impression each time, and who happened to live in 203—this strange coincidence—his first instinct was to shy away.

He knew his excuse about Jin Kui's assessment was just that—an excuse. He found her attractive, and he found her personality captivating. Today, she was wearing a fitted black down jacket that looked comfortable yet slightly formal, her shoulder-length hair tied in a simple ponytail, making her look fresh and sharp. He even wanted to ask about the scar on her chin.

Everything about this felt abnormal, which made him want to pull away.

So, he grabbed the trolley piled half as high as a person, hoisted it up in one go, placed it at the landing on the second floor, nodded to her, and walked away.

The load was heavy. He hadn't lifted anything that heavy in a while, and the trolley had cut his finger, so he shoved his hand into his down jacket pocket as he left. He knew he didn't have to help; the wooden board she was holding was clearly a ramp for the stairs. He had met her three times, and each time, what seemed like a major inconvenience was something she handled perfectly on her own.

She was the type of person who could live perfectly well on her own, a trait he admired.

***

"Wow." Once Tu Qin pushed the trolley to her door, Yao Lingling, who had been on a video call the whole time, let out a sigh.

Tu Qin knew what she was sighing about and hummed in agreement.

"That's the enemy of the Liu family from Liu Lingxu's funeral, right?" Yao Lingling was already at her hotel, wearing a facial mask, her aching foot propped up on a coffee table. "I remember his cauliflower ears."

"What?" Tu Qin thought she had misheard.

"Ears," Yao Lingling pointed to her own. "Didn't you notice? He has 'judo ears'—the contours are flattened."

Tu Qin: "Ah, I didn't notice."

"Where were you looking then?" Yao Lingling asked, curious. "His ears are quite noticeable from the side."

"Below his collarbone," Tu Qin shrugged. "It's winter, so he's bundled up now, but the first time I saw him, his shirt collar was pulled open, and there was a black line, like a loose thread, just below his collarbone."

It looked like a tattoo, but who would get a loose thread tattooed on their body? It even captured the texture of a frayed thread.

"Still, how does a potter have judo ears?" Yao Lingling started gossiping.

"I don't know." Tu Qin bent down to scrape the text off the shipping labels, opened the boxes, folded them, and put them aside. She took the items out, unwrapped them, and placed them in a basket at the entryway. The process was tedious, but she didn't show a hint of impatience.

Yao Lingling frowned as she watched her pull out one tiny glass bottle after another, sighing. "If it weren't for you, I'd have no idea there were so many different types of glass bottles in the world."

Limited-edition bottles for mineral water and sodas, perfume vials, handmade bottles, zodiac bottles, and even inexplicable bottles from game merchandise. Tu Qin had an entire room in her apartment filled with cabinets for storing glass bottles.

"I waited a year for this one. When it went live, I beat out ninety-something other people with my speed." Tu Qin held up a blue-purple glass bottle in front of the camera, her tone full of satisfaction.

"Wow," Yao Lingling clapped half-heartedly.

Tu Qin placed her phone in a stand and continued unwrapping her precious bottles. Yao Lingling watched quietly for a while before saying, "Babe, what's wrong with you?"

This man, whom she had met three times, was a goldmine of gossip, yet Tu Qin hadn't mentioned a single word about him.

"Hmm?" Tu Qin looked up at the camera, hesitated, and said aimlessly, "He cut his hand. I saw bloodstains on the edge of the paper pad under the trolley."

Yao Lingling didn't say anything.

Tu Qin put down the bottle she was holding and sighed.

"It's been three times, and I haven't dared to ask his name," Tu Qin said to the camera. "He's the kind of person I would definitely fall for, but the kind of person whose name I absolutely dare not ask."

She knew her own taste well. The man was exactly her type, even down to his hair—coarse, black, and slightly wavy. If she asked his name, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from having further interactions—WeChat messages, chatting, dinners, and so on.

And having "further interactions" meant an inevitable end.

She had initially thought he was just a random acquaintance. The most extreme thing she had done was search for "pottery studio owner who gets fevers often."

But he turned out to be the crazy, wealthy person who had bought three apartments on her floor. An inescapable neighbor.

And he was a good person, too. He could have easily forced her out by rotating renovations or renting to weirdos, but he had only offered a higher price. When she refused, he didn't push.

Three meetings, and every impression was good. Gentlemanly, polite, intelligent, and mindful of boundaries.

Sapiosexuality (or rather, her specific brand of limerence) was a miserable thing. Once she saw someone she might fall for, she already knew the ending. If the person was too perfectly aligned with her aesthetic, she would decisively prevent herself from getting close.

"It's fine," Yao Lingling comforted her. "Didn't he disappear after buying the place? He probably won't be around much."

"Yeah," Tu Qin bent down to unwrap another bottle.

That was likely the case. After all, he had never asked for her name either.

But the bloodstains on the trolley were still bothering her. It felt as if something of hers had been inadvertently marked. Even if she threw away that piece of paper and cleaned the trolley, she couldn't stop thinking about it.