He leaned forward. His eyes glanced at me over his phone, then dropped back to the screen. In that glance there was surprise, and something like panic.



I didn't have time to appreciate his dawn-like features.



"Sir, do me a favor."



He didn't look up: "What favor?"



"Pretend to be my boyfriend. Ten minutes. Put on a show for the white BMW parked outside."



His gaze swept over the phone screen and out the window in the direction I'd pointed. The BMW was still by the roadside. Lin Yue and Zhao Yuwei were standing by the car door. Zhao Yuwei was raising a hand and pointing toward the café.



"Ex-boyfriend?"



"Mm. Lived in my place for three years without paying rent. Today he brought his new flame and broke up with me at the kindergarten gate."



He set the coffee cup down and stood up. The chair legs scraped against the tile with a sharp sound. Only now did I see his height-at least six feet, maybe more. Standing under the café's low pendant lights, the top of his head nearly touched the lampshade.



"Let's go."



"Where to?"



"Didn't you say put on a show? Go outside and perform. If we do it inside, the audience is across the street. They need to see clearly."



He walked out first. I followed. When we reached the door, he reached out and took my hand. His palm was warm. His fingers closed around mine with just the right amount of pressure-not loose, not tight-just enough for the person across the street to recognize at a glance that this was a couple.



In that instant, only one thought crossed my mind: this man's hand didn't look like it was holding a woman's hand for the first time.



Lin Yue saw me coming. He started to speak, his lips moved halfway, then his gaze landed on the hand holding mine, and he froze entirely.



He walked me right up to Lin Yue and stopped. He was a little over half a head taller than Lin Yue. When his gaze swept downward over Lin Yue's face, there was no extra expression-like looking at an expired product.



"You're the ex who didn't pay rent for three years?"



Lin Yue's Adam's apple rolled once. "Who are you?"



"Gu Lingfeng." His tone was about the same as a bus driver announcing a stop-no decoration whatsoever. "Her current boyfriend. You don't know me. That's fine. What matters is she just said forget the money, but I want it. Forty-nine thousand total. WeChat or Alipay?"



Zhao Yuwei tugged on Lin Yue's arm. "Let's go. Don't lower yourself to this kind of person."



Lin Yue didn't move. He looked at Gu Lingfeng. Gu Lingfeng just stood there. He didn't rush him, but he didn't look like he was about to back down, either.



Lin Yue pulled his phone out of his pocket and scanned the payment code.



Forty-nine thousand yuan exactly. Received.



Three years. Forty-nine thousand. Averaged out, sixteen thousand a year. Lin Yue, in my house you weren't even a high-paying tenant.



"The debt you owed her for three years-now it's clear." He gripped my hand and turned to walk away.



His pace wasn't fast, but I had to work to keep up. I hadn't quite recovered-a stranger I'd grabbed at random in a café, three minutes. From walking out the door to collecting the money, three minutes to settle the mess of three years.



Around the street corner, confirming no one was following, he stopped and let go of my hand.



"Thank you."



"Don't mention it. I don't charge for acting, but I have one condition."



He leaned his right shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, looking at me with a roguish smile.



"Someone like you can barely pass as my girlfriend. How about it? Three months. Help me deal with my family. Consider today's favor evened."



I stared at him for a long time, looking for a reason to refuse.



"Your grandfather? Pressuring you to marry? Why me of all people?"



"Everyone I brought home before, he investigated. The model-within three days he found out her contract was fake. The host-'Are you signed or temp staff?' The investment bank manager-the salary was real, but there was one lie in her resume. All of them-dug up within three days. You're a kindergarten teacher. Your resume is what it is. He won't find anything to dig up."



"Three months. Each gets what they need. Fake couple, no crossing boundaries. When it's up, we're even."



"What's the pay?"



"Teacher Su, you just said at the kindergarten gate that you didn't want the money." He pushed off from the wall and walked over.



So he had heard everything from beginning to end. Before I even walked over and sat across from him, he already knew what was happening outside.



"Name your price. Let's hear it." I said.



I never thought I'd one day be discussing salary with a man I'd known less than ten minutes, on the side of a road. But the person in front of me had helped me collect three years' worth of debt in three minutes. The efficiency with which he worked deserved a serious conversation.



"Price comes later."



"Deal."



He walked toward a car by the road, one hand digging into his pocket for the keys. Not a BMW. Not a Mercedes. It was a very old Passat. The paint had worn to a matte finish.



"Let me drive you home. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. To meet my grandfather."



"You drive this car?"



"What, not presentable enough?"



"Doesn't match the suit."



"The car is a friend's. The suit is rented." He opened the passenger door. "I usually ride an electric scooter."



He said this with a straight face. Didn't look like he was making it up.



I got in the car and fastened my seatbelt. When the suit cuff brushed the back of my hand, I caught a whiff of a very faint pine scent-not the kind from a department store counter. It was old. Settled.



The car was exceptionally clean. In the side pocket of the seat, a keychain was peeking out. I casually pulled it out to take a look.



It wasn't for a Passat. The logo on it-two overlapping Rs.



Rolls-Royce.



I gently tucked the key back into the pocket, as if nothing had happened.



"Teacher Su's eye for detail-if a kindergarten kid's water cup lid isn't screwed on tight, you'd probably be the first to notice."



I turned to look at him. The last ray of sunset, orange-red, slowly slid across his face.



That night, lying in my own bed, tossing and turning, there was only one thing on my mind.



A man in a tailored suit, driving an old Passat. Sitting alone in a café for who knows how long, two empty cups in front of him. A strange woman rushes to his table and says, "Sir, do me a favor," and without a second of hesitation, he gets up, takes her hand, and in three minutes collects forty-nine thousand yuan for her.



Then he tells her his suit is rented, the car is a friend's, he usually rides an electric scooter. But the key that fell out of the side pocket is a Rolls-Royce key.



Who is this man?



I picked up my phone and typed three characters into the search bar: Gu Lingfeng.