Much as Zhao Ying wanted to know what exactly the relationship was between Yang Ce and Wang Yanqiu, she could not bring herself to ask. If Yang Ce turned it around and asked how she knew, how could she explain? Surely she could not say she had spied on them—that would be far too embarrassing, as though she were some petty, jealous creature.

So Zhao Ying could only pretend not to know, and do her best to appear natural.

"Well, I was out shopping with a friend today and saw a little gift, so I bought it for you, and then I couldn't wait to bring it over." Yang Ce was thick-skinned to the bone, and said this without the faintest blush.

"A gift for me? I'm not Chen Shutang." Yet Zhao Ying's heart leapt with joy: while Yang Ce was out shopping, the first person he thought of when he saw something nice was her.

To be continued.

1001. What Was Meant to Come Had Finally Come

"Heh heh, Sister Ying, if you were willing, you could be Chen Shutang too." Yang Ce chuckled, and the implication in his words was plain enough for even a fool to catch.

Zhao Ying caught it, but she dared not be sure. Her face flushed red. "How could I ever be Chen Shutang? You're talking nonsense—I'm not a Transformer."

"Uh—" Yang Ce gave a dry little laugh, then said, "Sister Ying, you haven't eaten yet, have you? Let's find somewhere to get a bite first."

Zhao Ying gave a slight nod, her face burning a tender crimson. Under the moonlight, though, she was not too embarrassed—she supposed Yang Ce could not see the color of her face.

"Where shall we eat?" Zhao Ying asked in a small voice.

"I don't know either. But I hear bird flu's been pretty bad lately, and you never know if food from outside is clean. How about this, Sister Ying—we'll go to the supermarket, buy some things, and eat at your place?" Yang Ce said, wearing a look of the utmost seriousness.

Seeing how earnestly Yang Ce said it, Zhao Ying felt like laughing. Bird flu—just don't eat chicken or duck and you'll be fine. All that nonsense, when what you really want is for me to cook, and you dream up a whole pile of excuses for it. Still, she did not argue. "All right. But I'm not much of a cook, so don't complain later that it tastes bad."

"I've never been a picky eater, Sister Ying, you know that. Up I eat the delicacies of heaven, down I eat the street stalls, left I eat the school canteen, right I eat Sister Ying's kitchen." Yang Ce laughed heartily; seeing that Zhao Ying had agreed, he was delighted.

What Yang Ce wanted was a chance to be alone with Zhao Ying. A grand hotel or a little street-side restaurant would have none of that atmosphere.

"You—you're all talk." Zhao Ying was caught between laughter and tears at his words, and scolded him with a touch of feigned anger. "You were like this in high school too. Who knows how many girls' hearts you've swindled with that tongue of yours."

"Heh heh, and is Sister Ying one of the ones who got swindled?" Yang Ce said shamelessly. After all, the first rule of Yang Ce's way of life was to be thick-skinned.

At his words Zhao Ying's heart gave a violent shudder. Then she gave a little snort. "I don't fall for tricks that easily."

"Not easily—but it's still possible, isn't it?" Yang Ce would not let go of the little loophole in her words.

"Don't talk nonsense. I'm your teacher." Teased like this by Yang Ce, Zhao Ying's thoughts turned all at once to confusion, and even her words came out less smoothly than usual.

"My teacher, is that so?" Yang Ce put on a look of deep pondering and knit his brows.

At this senseless remark of Yang Ce's, Zhao Ying grew terribly nervous, not knowing what that "is that so" of his was supposed to mean.

"No, that's not right!" Yang Ce suddenly cried out, giving Zhao Ying such a fright that she could hardly bear it—this jumping out of his skin like that, her heart nearly failed her and stopped beating altogether.

"What's not right?" Zhao Ying asked, her voice trembling.

"You're my classmate now!" Yang Ce said, as though he had finally thought it through. "We're at the same school, so you're just my senior, that's all. No matter how you look at it, you don't count as my teacher."

"..." Zhao Ying was speechless. You thought about it all that time, and this is the profound truth you finally arrived at? And I thought you were mulling over something important—scared me half to death.

"So what did you mean just now, when you said you were my teacher?" Yang Ce asked in return.

"Nothing." Zhao Ying's heart had been churned into a hopeless tangle by Yang Ce; how could she still have the presence of mind to think? She gave an offhand shake of her head and a perfunctory reply.

Yang Ce was about to press further when the lovely mood was shattered by someone else.

"Honk, honk"—a car horn blared, followed by a grumbling, scolding voice: "You two—if you want to court, then court, but don't block the school gate. Move it!"

Yang Puqi looked up and saw that it was the school cafeteria's vegetable delivery truck trying to get through the gate, while he and Zhao Ying were standing right at the entrance, in its way.

Damn it, Yang Ce cursed inwardly. Of all the times to make a delivery, you had to pick this one. He pulled Zhao Ying aside, but the mood from moments before had been thoroughly ruined.

"Think you're big stuff just because you drive a vegetable truck," Yang Ce grumbled irritably.

Zhao Ying, meanwhile, had recovered her composure. Watching the truck recede into the distance, she laughed softly. "We were blocking their way. Of course they'd be annoyed."

"Come on, let's go get our own vegetables from the supermarket," Yang Yanzhou said.

Zhao Ying smiled and got into the car with Yan. Yang Ce started the engine and drove off toward the supermarket.

The little shops and corner groceries of the nineties had all been replaced by sprawling supermarkets—undeniably more convenient, with a far wider selection than the old general stores. What irritated Yang Yongjin, though, was that many of these supermarkets bore foreign brand names; the goods on the shelves were all domestically made, yet the profits flowed into foreigners' pockets.

So Yang Ce would rather go out of his way to shop at a domestic-brand supermarket. He parked in the lot, and he and Zhao Ying walked inside together.

"Cart or basket?" Zhao Ying hesitated at the entrance.

"Let's take a cart—we'll buy more," Yang Yongjin said, and without further discussion he pulled a shopping cart free.

"Why buy so much? We can't possibly eat it all," Zhao Ying said, puzzled.

"Then we'll eat it next time. From now on I'll just come mooch meals at your place all the time—after all, Wang Yanqiu's moved out, so it's just you there, and it'll be easy for the two of us to talk," Yang Hengye said.

The speaker meant nothing by it, but the listener took it to heart. At the mention of Wang Yanqiu, a heavy stone seemed to settle on Zhao Ying's chest; she felt wretched, and a little bitter, and all the words she had meant to say earlier died in her throat. She answered faintly, "Suit yourself."

"Ying-jie, what's wrong?" Yang Puqi froze, then abruptly realized he had just mentioned Wang Yanqiu. Regret flooded him at once. What a loose tongue he had—of all people to bring up, why Wang Yanqiu? Was he asking for trouble?

"Nothing's wrong with me." Zhao Ying felt she had let her composure slip, and quickly turned her head to give Yang Puqi a smile. "I was just thinking—if you come to eat every day, I'll be exhausted to death. Usually I just grab something quick and call it a meal."

"Heh, I didn't say every day—just once in a while." Seeing Zhao Ying back to normal, Yang Ce breathed a sigh of relief. "You can't just make do with whatever's on hand all the time; you've got to improve your meals now and then. Don't worry, I'll take this arduous task upon myself—I'll come over often, and that way you'll get to enjoy a proper feast too."