"Zishan, if you were a student, would you like such an open software?" Lu Yang asked.
Mu Zishan stopped and said, "Uh! I kind of understand what you mean. The internet should have everything. As for the privacy issues you mentioned, I don't think they're a big deal. Of course, it might be hard for people in China to accept Zhuo Qiang's idea."
Zhuo Qiang was delighted: "I told you so. Modern society needs some passion, and the same goes for schools. As long as we give them a platform, sparks of love can be seen everywhere."
"Your passion is all on women."
She had to stop the situation from getting serious: "Lu Yang, you're a perfectionist in love, and Zhuo Qiang, you're a non-marriageist." She waved her hand, "Why bother arguing?"
The two looked at each other and sat at opposite ends of the table.
"Then what is your ideology?" Zhuo Qiang suddenly turned his attention to her.
“I’m a liberal.”
As for how they finally resolved the conflict, she didn't know. She only knew that the next morning, the two of them took the finished software to school.
She received a call from her British neighbor, who wanted her to be his tour guide. His car was parked outside the courtyard, and he got in and joked, "Eating, drinking, and having fun are the same everywhere."
"At least you know it better than me."
"If we were in Chongqing, I could still take you on a tour, but I can't be your tour guide here."
"Then let's go to Chongqing."
Mu Zishan looked at him. This guy was really interesting. She thought he was joking, but she didn't expect them to actually arrive at the airport, get on a private plane, and soon see Chongqing.
She was casual and didn't care about this last-minute decision. She sent a message to Wang Yao, saying that she had arrived in Chongqing. He didn't hesitate and followed her to Wang Yao's home, where they saw the lovely child and had an authentic hot pot meal.
Eating in Chongqing is more casual. At least you don’t have to stick to a specific time. As long as you want, you can eat from noon to night.
They had this meal for a long time. Wang Yao's parents were very enthusiastic and cooked their best Sichuan dishes for them, and added a few bottles of Shancheng beer. She was already having a great time.
Before the sun set, she took him to Hongyadong and saw the scenery of the two rivers. Afterwards, they returned home, but before returning home, she knew why this person decided to come to Chongqing.
"This bridge is still there!" They passed a bridge and the arch below was still fresh in his memory.
"In Chongqing, besides the hot pot that is not easily changed, the bridges are the only thing that matters."
"You saved me here when we were little." He said suddenly, and the two of them stopped.
She didn't know his name yet, but she told her her name at the Ruier Days Hotel: "Are you that little boy?" She suddenly laughed and said, "No wonder, no wonder you came to Chongqing."
"Do you remember me?" he asked, standing by the bridge. "We were very young back then."
"What's your name?" She scratched her head.
"Ouyang Yusheng, it was raining at that time."
“What a coincidence!”
A dark cloud floated in the sky, like a crying girl, always watery. He approached her, put his coat on her, and approached her eyes, nose, and lips. He couldn't help but touch them.
A subtle hormone burned within Mu Zishan. The image of Zhuo Qiang and the woman kissing in the living room, which she had stumbled upon, flashed through her mind, and something in her heart began to burn. The rain intensified, soaking them all.
The house she hadn't returned to for a long time was still relatively clean, but it felt a little weird with only the two of them in it. After taking a shower, she found a bottle of red wine in the storage room, and even the sound of clinking glasses seemed to be filled with sparks.
In Chongqing, she was willing to let her hair get wet. The lights were so dim that she could only see his outline.
"Then when did you know?" Her hand unconsciously climbed up his fingers.
"When I was in England," he said, knowing that the woman across from him was burning with anger, but he withdrew his hand, "I also know this address."
"My package? My brother always loved to send me things from home." He attracted her like a magnet, or at least seduced her with his appearance. She wondered if he was half European and had very long eyelashes.
"Maybe," her foot circled around his calf, and he stood up, looked around the room, and continued, "I asked the company for a month." At least no one would disturb him in this month.
She smiled seductively. A man's charm wasn't necessarily inferior to a woman's, especially the man before her. His slender fingers hooked around the bed curtains, swishing together. He was wearing Mu Zibai's bathrobe, and she was completely defenseless. "Looks like I have to be your tour guide!" She had learned a lot in England: with men, the slightest intimacy is enough to make them surrender completely. She walked over, face to face with him, looking down from above. His hand, which was holding the belt around his waist, was tightly grasped.
"You are not at a disadvantage." The moment she let go of her hand, he pulled her into his arms. It must be said that he was violent.
The room was filled with incense, and although it was still raining outside, it felt like the entire seasons had passed inside. His breathing fell on her face, and their noses kept bumping against each other. She closed her eyes, and her forehead was covered with sweat.
"Is this what you mean by not being at a disadvantage?" He touched the red stain on the quilt and looked at it with interest, while she had gradually fallen asleep.
She was a lit torch, constantly burning. She brought him to a villa left over from the Republican era, with its green bricks and tiles, mahogany furniture, and a unique Republican style. The sycamore, yellow horn, and banyan trees high above stood like soldiers on guard. She had loved this place since she was a child, for its majesty and mystery.
A piano from the last century exuded elegance. She couldn't play, but she admired those who could. The melodious sound of the piano keys slipped from Ouyang Yusheng's fingertips. She loved watching those slender fingers dance across the black and white keys. Alcohol was the perfect medium for rendering, and the mellow fragrance emanating from her lips was enough to captivate anyone.
She stroked his fluttering fingers, as if trying to catch the notes that slipped away. "Your fingers are so long." She followed his hand upwards, touching the tip of his nose, and the piano stopped. She smiled and walked upstairs. Soon, she changed into a cheongsam and tied her hair up, looking like a lady straight out of a Republican-era photo. She stood before him. "Does it look good?"
Ouyang Yusheng took a look and couldn't help but say that Chinese women wearing cheongsams had a unique feel, making their figures look even more beautiful. He now understood why Xu Zhimo, who lived in Cambridge, was so fond of Lin Huiyin. The beauty of China was fully reflected in women wearing cheongsams. He touched her thin lips and looked into her eyes affectionately: "Very beautiful!"
"I'll take you to see a place." She took his hand and walked upstairs.
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