The next day, Lia Hart went to work as usual and greeted her coworkers.
Everyone looked up and fell dead silent.
...They saw that her once-flowing hair had been shaved into a buzz cut!
She looked less like a girl and more like a clean-cut young man—the kind that would put even the factory heartthrob Chase Miller to shame!
Mrs. Harper: "Xia, what happened to your hair?"
Lia Hart: "Mrs. Harper, please don't set me up with anyone anymore. As you can see, I even sold my hair. I really can't afford to date."
Mrs. Harper: "Oh. Oh."
With that, no one could keep spreading those sugar daddy rumors—the premise simply didn't hold, unless the sugar daddy was blind.
The gentle girl from before was gone, replaced by a stubborn buzz cut bobbing around the workshop. Several people felt a pang of conscience.
Push someone far enough, and even a rabbit will bite.
The news that Lia Hart had shaved her head over romantic troubles spread through the factory before the shift was even over. Chase Miller naturally found out too, and his unsavory infatuation only intensified...
The ones he'd dated before had all fallen into his hands easily. This time he'd hit an iron wall, which only made him more excited.
"Honey! Honey!"
A heavy impact came from behind—the sheer weight and momentum nearly knocked him off his feet!
It was Diana Shaw.
The moment Chase Miller saw who it was, a wildfire of irritation blazed in his chest. "I told you not to call me that outside—are you deaf?!"
"Oh."
Her voice deflated, her whole demeanor shrinking. Then, as if remembering something, she perked up again. "H-honey... Chase Miller, did you hear about Lia Hart? She shaved her head—she looks so ugly!"
*She's still prettier than you.*
Chase Miller gave a noncommittal grunt and said coldly, "Did you get paid? Weren't you supposed to support my business?"
"Huh? I did, but my mom just called me..."
"For your mom? Or for that deadbeat brother of yours?"
Diana Shaw's lips quivered as she dug an envelope from her bag. "Fine, but leave me a thousand—I still have to pay rent."
Chase Miller took the envelope and counted out most of it, leaving her only eight hundred.
In truth, he was maintaining this sort of "relationship" with two other girls at the factory—they just didn't know about each other. When the time came, he'd simply switch factories, block their numbers and WeChat, and vanish without a trace.
Seeing no one around, Diana Shaw clung affectionately to his arm, trying to get closer to her sweetheart.
But Chase Miller's brow furrowed.
Larger people tended to have body odor, and since he was sensitive to smells, he could barely tolerate her. He had no intention of touching her.
He still preferred the pale, slim, youthful type like Lia Hart—much more amusing to play with.
"Hey, Xiaoyan, do me a favor."
"What kind of favor?"
Chase Miller pulled the girl behind a flower bed. It was past shift change and the area was quiet. He lowered his voice, cajoling: "Help me get Lia Hart."
"What?!"
She yelped so loudly that he had to clamp a hand over her mouth. "Stupid! Do you think I actually like her?"
"Then what?"
"I like you best, of course. But your man needs to start a business, and your pocket change alone isn't enough—I need more investors."
Diana Shaw hesitated.
She liked Chase Miller, but she also knew that in this cutthroat city of Portland, the two of them had no future together. Now that her sweetheart wanted to build a career, she ought to support him no matter what.
But what exactly was she supposed to do?
Just the thought of it made her sick with jealousy. Those vile rumors about Lia Hart? She'd been the one spreading them, mouthful by mouthful, hoping the other girl would back off and stay away from her man.
And now she was supposed to hand her sweetheart over to another woman...
Seeing the girl's tearful, pleading expression, Chase Miller's face darkened. He flung the wad of bills directly into her face. "If you can't share, then let's break up! When I'm out there making money and doing business, how can I avoid women? There'll always be women around me!"
Why starting a business required having women, Diana Shaw couldn't fathom, but the word "breakup" struck her like a hammer. She burst into loud sobs.
"I'll do it, I'll do it, okay?"
Only then was Chase Miller satisfied. He picked up the filthy envelope again.
Of course he had no intention of actually throwing the money away—it was all theater to reinforce his aggrieved-sufferer persona.
Seeing Diana Shaw still shaken, he rested a hand on her head and stroked it. "Don't worry, I won't break up with you. But you need to understand your man."
"It's not easy for men out there trying to make something of themselves. You have to support me. Remember, this is all for our future..."
"Then... then what should I do?"
"Weren't you the one who started those rumors about Lia Hart? You almost ruined my chances." Chase Miller gave her a contemptuous sidelong glance. "What's wrong now—suddenly lost your touch?"
His tone was mocking, as though sneering at her hypocrisy.
Tears still on her face, Diana Shaw's gaze gradually went glassy, lost in thought.
Chase Miller didn't waste time waiting for her to scheme. He pocketed the money and left—he had other girlfriends to visit tonight and no patience to linger.
In this ghost of a place, tenderness and romance were nothing but traps.
They'd see how long Lia Hart could hold out.
June was peak production season, the whole factory was working overtime, and Lia Hart had been switched from day shift to night shift.
She didn't mind—night shift came with a premium, and a little extra money was always welcome.
There was just one problem. The night shift ran from ten at night to four in the morning—both clock-in and clock-out fell at the darkest hours. The old walk-up building had no motion-sensor lights, so she had to rely on her phone's flashlight to navigate the stairs, tiptoeing through the darkness with her heart in her throat.
The situation was already eerie enough, and Diana Shaw had to go and vividly recount a news story she'd just seen.
Word was, a violent fugitive was on the loose in Portland—a bloodthirsty killer responsible for multiple murders, last seen near several downtown residential neighborhoods. To add credibility, she rattled off the names of those neighborhoods one by one.
Lia Hart overheard a snippet, and among the names was her own neighborhood. Her blood ran cold.
"Are you serious?"
"Of course! Why would I make something like up? There's nothing in it for me!"
Within an afternoon, the news had spread through the entire factory. Many of the women lived in the building's basement rooms, and the revelation sent them into a panic. The line of girls requesting a transfer back to day shift stretched out the human resources door.
Lia Hart tried to switch too, but the foreman flatly refused, though he did toss in an extra $200 hazard bonus.
In twenty-odd years of living, this was the most scorching money she'd ever earned.
That night, she came home from the factory and pulled out her phone to light her way up the stairs as usual. But barely two flights up, the feeble white glow flickered out.
Crap... out of battery.
Her skin crawled. She could swear she heard a faint, intermittent sobbing in her ears, but when she strained to listen, she wondered if it was her imagination. Groping along the wall, she managed to climb another flight, only to hear vague footsteps behind her—and an unmistakable voice calling out.
"Xia..."
She nearly screamed. Legs trembling, she forced herself to turn around. In the darkness behind her stood a shadowy figure.
"It's me."
Lia Hart rapidly sifted through her memory to match the voice, her heart still racing. "Chase Miller?! You scared me to death!"
"I was worried about you, so I followed behind. You won't be mad, will you?"
The voice was gentle in the dark, and a strange feeling crept over her. "I'm not mad, but there's really no need—you know, I've already made it clear—"
He cut her off quickly. "I know. I'm just walking you home, nothing else."
"I heard your neighborhood's been unsafe lately. I'll just stand downstairs and watch until you get inside, then I'll leave. Okay?"
His retreat-made-advance tactic left her unable to voice a refusal.
Finally, after he'd walked her home for nearly half a month, rain or shine, on one drizzly night, Lia Hart gathered her courage and called out to him.
"Would you... like to come up for a glass of water?"
Chase Miller stood rooted to the spot, his heart hammering so hard it nearly burst from his chest!
Just as he'd been on the verge of giving up, she had finally softened. Was this weightless, stomach-dropping sensation—crashing to the bottom only to bounce back—the legendary feeling of love?
He accepted with alacrity.
But when Lia Hart invited him inside and served him...
It was truly just a glass of plain water.
Now Chase Miller sat in the middle of the living room, surveying his surroundings. The girl's apartment was simple—a few pieces of light wood furniture, alive with thriving green plants, neat and clean, cozy and comfortable.
While drinking his water, he watched her take out three incense sticks, light them, and insert them into the center of the burner.
???
A college student actually practicing feudal superstition?