Chapter Eight: The Luxury of "Ordinary"

Wang Meifeng’s farcical “surprise attack” was like a stone tossed into a lake: after stirring up a few ripples, it quickly sank back into stillness. Life seemed to have returned to the path Zhao Chen had carefully pressed smooth, warm creases and all.

Yu Ling remained busy carrying out the “Starsea Project,” sharing a sense of accomplishment with mounting pressure. Yet whenever she returned to that “home,” she was always greeted by perfectly adjusted lighting, the soothingly faint scent of cedar, and the busy figure in the kitchen, wearing a little whale apron.

The one-year agreement had become increasingly faint in Yu Ling’s heart. In its place was a deepening dependence and a sense of security she could not put into words. Zhao Chen was like a silent barrier, quietly shielding her from the storms outside—whether the overt and covert attacks of the workplace or the bullying harassment of outrageous relatives.

She began to grow accustomed to his presence, to his scent. She even began looking forward to pushing open the door after work each day and seeing him lean out from the kitchen in his apron, smiling as he said, “You’re back? Wash your hands and come eat.”

The secret suspicion she harbored about Zhao Chen’s true identity was repeatedly worn down by that gentle, everyday routine, like a frog slowly boiled in warm water. It appeared and vanished by turns, no longer as sharp as it had been at the beginning.

Only occasionally, when she happened to glimpse the edges of documents on his desk bearing complicated English abbreviations, or saw another bottle of extravagantly expensive wine brought by one of his “friends,” its label completely beyond her comprehension, would that tiny uneasiness rise like a bubble from the bottom of the water with a soft gurgle—only to be quickly pressed back down by the steaming warmth of the life before her.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning.

For once, Yu Ling had not worked overtime. She slept until she woke naturally. Dressed in comfortable home clothes, she shuffled toward the bathroom in a pair of fluffy gray slippers, still bleary-eyed. The mirror reflected a face glowing with the healthy flush of someone well rested. She turned on the faucet, scooped up a handful of cool water, and splashed it over her face. Her muddled mind cleared at once.

Out of habit, she reached for the shampoo in the corner of the sink. It came in an extremely minimalist frosted-white bottle, without a single ostentatious design, only a line of tiny gold-embossed English letters printed near the bottom: Oribe. Yu Ling knew little about skincare and haircare brands; she usually bought whatever was available on supermarket shelves.

Zhao Chen had put this shampoo out on the day she moved in, saying that it had been “left behind by the landlord, so there’s no need to waste it.” It was indeed excellent. The lather was fine and abundant, leaving her hair smooth and full, with an elegant woody-floral fragrance that lingered for a long time. It was far superior to the bottles costing only a few dozen yuan that she had used before.

She dispensed a pump into her palm, worked it into a rich foam, and spread it through her hair. A refreshing fragrance drifted through the humid mist. Closing her eyes, she savored the comfort of the foam enveloping her hair, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the bottle’s extraordinary frosted surface.

A thought flashed through her mind without warning: Hadn’t she heard the particularly image-conscious vice president mention this brand once? Wasn’t it supposedly the favorite of Hollywood stars, and outrageously expensive?

She shook her head and tossed the thought aside. It had been left behind by the landlord, hadn’t it? Perhaps the previous occupant simply liked luxury.

She continued humming a tune completely off-key, rinsed away the foam, and picked up the matching bottle of conditioner beside it. It was another minimalist frosted-white bottle, marked with the same gold letters. The conditioner was smooth as silk, and its moisturizing effect was astonishing.

After washing her hair, she felt refreshed. Yu Ling picked up her toothbrush and squeezed on some toothpaste. The tube was made of heavy metal, entirely matte black, with only a fine silver trim around the end. It had no logo at all. She remembered Zhao Chen saying that it was “an internal trial product developed by a friend’s company. It works well, so I brought some home.”

The toothpaste had a peculiar flavor: fresh mint blended with a faint hint of ginger. After brushing, her mouth felt exceptionally clean and refreshed, without the bitterness or cloying sweetness that ordinary toothpaste often left behind.

Yu Ling bared her teeth at the mirror. Seeing how bright and white they looked, she felt quite pleased. After drying her face, she habitually opened the cabinet beneath the sink to look for her moisturizer. She was nearly out and remembered putting a spare jar in there the last time.

Inside, several rows of bottles and jars had been arranged with perfect precision. In the most prominent position were several familiar frosted-white bottles—large refill containers of shampoo and conditioner. Beside them stood a row of skincare products Yu Ling had never heard of, their packaging so understatedly luxurious that it was almost shocking.

Curious, she picked up a dark blue glass bottle. Its lines were fluid, and its weight gave it a substantial presence. Intricate yet restrained patterns had been engraved on the cap. The label was minimalist, bearing only a few gold-embossed English letters: La Mer.

Beside it stood another white bottle of equally impressive quality, its label reading La Prairie. There were also several smaller, exquisitely shaped ceramic jars, bearing the elegant script of Sisley or Valmont.

Yu Ling: “!!!”

She was not particularly interested in luxury goods, but she had heard these names often enough—in fashion magazines and while passing the intimidating counters of high-end department stores. They were all exorbitantly expensive brands favored by wealthy women. The price of a single small bottle of serum could easily cover her food expenses for an entire month.

Her hand trembled, and she nearly dropped the heavy La Mer bottle. Her heart began pounding.

Left behind by the landlord? An internal trial product from a friend’s company?

Could those excuses have been any more perfunctory? What landlord was that rich? What friend’s company handed out La Prairie as a trial product?

This was clearly an entire top-tier beauty counter brought home.

Yu Ling took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She carefully returned the bottle to its place as though she were handling a fragile, ticking time bomb. Her eyes swept over the other items in the cabinet: elegantly shaped scented candles, whose brands she did not recognize but whose fragrances were impossibly refined; beautifully packaged mouthwash; and even several boxes marked with French words that appeared to be… bath salts?

How was this a bathroom storage cabinet?

It was plainly a miniature luxury dressing table—fully equipped, no less.

An overwhelming sense of absurdity and an intense urge to investigate seized Yu Ling all at once. She closed the cabinet door and hurried out of the bathroom as though fleeing a crime scene, her thoughts in complete turmoil.