Ji Jiaheng felt the air leave his lungs. Does she actually think I like her?
He had known Su Li for less than twenty-four hours. In that time, he'd been black-out drunk, broken a leg, and ended up in a cast. It was the summer of his second year in his PhD program. He was supposed to submit his research progress to his supervisor before the semester started. He was already drowning in data; now, he was physically incapacitated. Asking Su Li to care for him was a perfectly rational domestic arrangement. Her suggestion made it sound like he was some kind of romantic con artist.
"Step into society, go into the field, and discover the real problems." Ji Jiaheng finally understood the weight of his professor's favorite mantra.
Watching Ji Jiaheng's face turn from flushed red to a pale, ghostly white, Su Li stifled a laugh. If he actually liked her, that would be even more ridiculous than the night before. She had to pivot. If the conversation kept revolving around "Su Li owes Ji Jiaheng," she would never win. To shift the focus of public opinion—or in this case, a private argument—one had to be willing to sacrifice a little bit of dignity.
Su Li had always been a master of being shamelessly self-centered. It was her survival mechanism.
Ji Jiaheng finally found his voice. "I need you to take care of me. What does that have to do with 'liking' you?"
"I don't know," Su Li teased, her voice dripping with mock suspicion. "Maybe you've been reading too many of those 'CEO and his tenant' web novels?"
"I wouldn't touch those with a ten-foot pole!" Ji Jiaheng looked genuinely scandalized.
"Oh? Then what do you read?" Su Li leaned in, feigning intense curiosity. "What does a Sociology PhD actually study?"
"The foundations are Max Weber, Émile Durkheim, Georg Simmel... If you want an introduction, start with Weber. He helps you understand the complexity of modern society—"
"So professional. A true scholar," Su Li interrupted, clapping her hands once.
Ji Jiaheng caught himself. "This isn't a book club. What you should be reading right now is the Civil Code."
Su Li blinked. "The what?"
"I've refused your financial settlement and instead requested that you provide the necessary care and daily nursing," Ji Jiaheng said, his voice regaining its academic chill. "If you refuse, I can sue for damages."
"It was just a conversation! Why are we bringing the law into this?" Su Li felt a pang of genuine panic. "You're a student. Where are you even going to get a lawyer?"
"I'm at Renda," he said, referring to the top law school in the country. "My campus is crawling with future lawyers. If you'd like, I can introduce you to a few."
Su Li's confidence deflated like a punctured tire. She looked at Ji Jiaheng—shirtless, wrapped in her pink rabbit-patterned duvet, leg in a cast, but speaking with the gravity of a supreme court justice. It was absurdly comical.
Before the law, even a genius liar was defenseless.
After a long silence, Su Li huffed. "Fine. I forgot you're the type to tell on people to the teacher." She spun on her heel and marched out of the bedroom. Even if she'd lost the negotiation, she refused to lose her posture.
Ji Jiaheng exhaled, a wave of relief washing over him. He'd secured his stay. Theoretically, he wasn't the type to hold a grudge against a woman, but this accident had added a strange ripple to his otherwise stagnant life. His leg was broken, but his mind felt strangely light.
He couldn't go home—his family didn't even know he was in the country. He'd come to Beijing under the radar, and his social circle was non-existent. It was summer break. Aside from clinging to Su Li, he was truly alone.
He surveyed the room. It was cozy and smelled of magnolias—the home of someone who actually cared about living. Su Li had a sharp tongue, but she hadn't abandoned him in the hallway. If she'd agreed to take him in, surely she'd take decent care of him.
He was being naive.
A knock sounded. Su Li entered carrying a bowl of Yangchun noodles, which she thudded onto the bedside table.
"Eat," she said curtly.
Ji Jiaheng looked down. It was a bowl of soy-sauce-colored broth and plain noodles. Not even a single scallion in sight. "That's it?"
"You've been throwing up all day. Plain starch is best for the stomach," Su Li said. "This is the standard in this house. If you're not satisfied, feel free to sue me."
That night, Ji Jiaheng took the bed, and Su Li squeezed onto the sofa. It was a tiny couch, mostly because she never had guests. She'd cut ties with her college classmates long ago, and since starting work, her only real "friend" was Tao Tao.
Su Li slept fitfully, half her body dangling off the cushions. She'd already arranged to stay at Tao Tao's place starting tomorrow—tonight was just a transition. But the thought of a man in the next room, even an incapacitated one, kept her on edge.
Then again, it was her fault. The gate-crashing, the shots, the tumble down the stairs... she'd basically broken a scholar. She owed him this.
Seeing the light still on under the bedroom door and hearing the faint clicking of a keyboard, Su Li got up and knocked.
"Are you decent?" she asked.
"What is it?" his voice drifted out.
"Why aren't you asleep?"
A pause. "If you're worried about your stuff, just come in," Ji Jiaheng said. "There's nothing in this apartment worth stealing. A thief would walk out of here empty-handed."
Su Li pushed the door open. Ji Jiaheng was wearing a pair of Hello Kitty pajamas she'd dug out of a drawer, hunched over his laptop. He looked better, but his brow was furrowed in stress.
"What exactly were you researching at the club yesterday?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Spatial production and consumption in everyday practices, using nightclubs as a case study," he said.
"Can you translate that into human language?"
"I'm studying how clubs make money," he replied, humbled by his current living situation.
"You need a PhD for that? It's obviously about men and women," Su Li blurted out.
Ji Jiaheng's fingers froze over the keys. Su Li's simple sentence had just hit the nail on the head: profit through highly gendered services. He looked at her, waiting for this "wild sociologist" to continue.
"Yesterday, I thought you were Weiwei's boyfriend," Su Li said. "Do you know why I could tell you weren't there to actually 'party'?"
He shook his head.
"The real players—if they have ten thousand yuan—they don't spend it all on a table. They spend five thousand renting a McLaren, three thousand on a designer outfit, one thousand on tips, and use the last thousand to buy a round of empty bottles for the table next to them just for show," Su Li explained. "In that world, it doesn't matter if you spend money. It matters that you look like someone who wants to spend money."
"Women get in for free because they are the commodity," she continued, her voice flat. "If a woman refuses to be a commodity, she has to buy her own drinks, which just feeds the club more money. The whole logic runs on the mutual attraction—and exploitation—between the sexes. It's a self-sustaining loop."
Ji Jiaheng stared at her, completely stunned. The conclusion he'd spent two months trying to articulate had just been summarized by Su Li in thirty seconds.