Fu Zheng · Conversa

This afternoon, you accompanied your best friend to pick out wedding shoes. She wasn't particularly tall, but her wedding dress had a massive, puffy train. After spinning around several times in front of the fitting mirror, she arrived at a rather grave conclusion: without high enough heels, wearing this dress would be a total waste. Besides, her fiancé-to-be was exceptionally tall. Whenever the two of them stood side by side, the height difference looked straight out of a deliberately scripted romantic trope. To save herself from a sore neck on her wedding day, she was determined to make up the difference in heel height. You leaned against the counter with your arms crossed, watching her try on pair after pair, until you finally couldn't help bursting into laughter. "It must be nice getting married—you even get to treat us to a personal stilt-walking routine." Holding onto the sales assistant's arm, your friend was struggling to maintain her balance on a pair of stiletto heels. Hearing your jab, she snapped her head toward you, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement, looking as if she wanted nothing more than to shove the heel right into your mouth. "How's your Fu Zheng doing lately?" She slipped off the shoe and shot you a saccharine, fake smile. "Wouldn't want him dropping dead from venom poisoning next time he kisses that sharp tongue of yours." Your shoulders shook with laughter, completely unfazed. "He won't die," you retorted languidly. "Fu Zheng is immune to all poisons." "Right, right, your precious Fu Zheng is immune to all poisons." Too tired to argue with you, she turned back to the shoe racks. "If you ask me, he's not immune—he's just too well-mannered to stoop to your level." "That's called being magnanimous." "That's called being pitiful." The two of you continued bickering as you followed the assistant further into the store. The assistant listened with an amused smile, patiently inquiring about her preferences for heel height, style, and comfort before pulling out several pairs of suitable wedding shoes for her to try. As you stood by enjoying the show, your phone suddenly vibrated in your hand. Fu Zheng's name flashed across the screen. You answered casually, but before you could even bring the phone to your ear and speak, your friend came rushing back from the fitting area with renewed excitement, dangling a pair of stilettos whose heel height bordered on defying human limits. "What do you think? Fifteen centimeters!" She thrust the shoes in front of your face, brimming with eagerness as though she had just discovered something life-altering. You took a look, your eyes widening slightly. "Fifteen centimeters?!" You almost wondered if you had misheard her. "There's no way in hell I could handle that. Ten centimeters already feels like my legs are about to snap after half an hour. You're something else." Hearing that, your friend grew instantly smug, waving the shoe before you while rambling on about how she was definitely going to outshine everyone on her wedding day. Amused by her antics, you laughed along. By the time you finally remembered you were on a call and glanced down at your screen, the call had already ended. You paused, slightly surprised. You thought you had heard a faint rustle on the other end just a moment ago, as if Fu Zheng had been about to say something. But your friend's exclamation had been so piercingly loud that you hadn't caught a thing. Glancing at the call log, you figured he might have gotten caught up with something urgent. Deciding not to call back right away, you simply sent him a quick text letting him know you were out with your friend and would be home late. After hitting send, you were dragged along by your friend to inspect several more pairs of shoes. As for the casual mention of "fifteen centimeters," you pushed it to the back of your mind in no time. You were completely oblivious to the fact that the man on the other end of the line had heard every single word. At ten o'clock that evening, you finally made it back home. After an entire afternoon of shoe-fitting, chatting, and pacing around the mall with your friend, exhaustion had long since settled in. When you opened the door, a warm yellow light filled the living room. Faint sounds of sizzling drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the familiar aroma of searing meat. Fu Zheng was in the kitchen. He wasn't wearing a shirt, only a dark apron tied around his waist. His broad, well-defined shoulders and back were bathed in the soft glow, the contours of his muscles shifting naturally with every slice of the knife and turn of the skillet. The apron strings tied neatly behind his back lent an unintentionally alluring edge to his casual, domestic appearance. Hearing the front door open, he turned his head to look at you. "You're back?" His tone was as natural as ever, carrying not a hint of anything out of the ordinary. "Hungry? I whipped up a late-night snack for you." He turned down the heat, plated the seared steak, and picked up the utensils on the counter. The table was already laid out with your favorites—small portions, evidently tailored so as not to overwhelm you, knowing you had come home late. You slipped off your shoes, walked over, and casually asked why he was making food so late. Fu Zheng merely replied that he guessed you would be back late, and that having a bite to eat before bed would do you good. As he spoke, he poured two glasses of wine. You sat down together to eat. He sat close beside you, a comfortable familiarity between you two, his knee occasionally brushing against yours without either of you pulling away. After dinner, feeling thoroughly satisfied, you got up to take a shower. Fu Zheng stayed behind to clear the table, washing and putting away the dishes before tidying up the kitchen. Only when everything was settled did he grab a fresh change of clothes and head to the smaller guest bathroom. By the time you emerged from your shower, he hadn't returned yet. So you crawled under the covers first, propping yourself against the pillows to scroll through your phone. Only the bedside lamp was on, the screen's light washing over your face. You were so engrossed that you barely registered the sound of the bathroom door opening. Not until the mattress beside you dipped slightly. Fu Zheng had finished showering. He wore a loosely draped bathrobe, tied casually at the waist with the lapels slightly parted to reveal a sculpted expanse of chest. His hair was still damp, a few stray locks falling across his forehead, replacing his daytime sharpness with a relaxed, post-shower ease. He climbed onto the bed from the other side, his gaze resting on you first. You were still looking down at your screen, muttering something under your breath, completely unaware that he had already closed in. Fu Zheng didn't say a word. The next second, your phone was smoothly plucked from your hands. "Hey—" You instinctively looked up, but before you could reach out to grab it back, Fu Zheng had already set the phone aside and leaned down over you. He didn't put his full weight on you; one hand braced beside your shoulder while the other slid around your waist, wrapping you firmly within his embrace. The collar of his bathrobe parted a fraction more with the movement, bringing his bare chest right into your line of sight. You had just stepped out of the bath, still wrapped in the fresh scent of body wash, while a light trace of steam and a clean, masculine scent lingered on him. You blinked, finally sensing that something was different about him tonight. "What are you doing? My phone—" Before you could finish, he dipped his head close to your ear. Warm breath brushed against your skin, his voice carrying a low, restrained chuckle that sounded almost gentle. "Fifteen... why couldn't you handle that?"