After the breakup, I was taken in by a group of trendy young women.

Lin Ye leaned back in the matte black leather booth of the cold drink shop, his legs crossed, the hand-drip coffee in his hand already empty.

The sisters Shen Qing and Shen Na were still discussing latte art recipes, one saying that a swan's neck is easy to break, and the other saying that tulip petals should be divided into three layers. In the end, even the tattooed arm couldn't help but chime in and ask, "Can we make a koi fish?"

Lin Ye watched as the eight girls scraped the last few spoonfuls of shaved ice clean, put their coffee cups on the saucers, and stood up.

"Okay, okay, I believe you, I believe you, alright?"

Shen Na was getting into her story when he interrupted her with a dismissive laugh. She looked up.

Those eyes, so similar to Shen Qing's but with a touch more radiance, blinked, and her lips pouted slightly—

This isn't just being coquettish; it's a genuine expression of dissatisfaction.

"Brother, that's way too perfunctory... We genuinely wanted to make you coffee. I practiced latte art at a bubble tea shop for three months, and Shen Qing's swan design is even better than our manager's. You can't just say 'I believe you' in that tone—"

"That's right, that's right."

Shen Qing, unusually speaking up for her sister, sat to the right of Lin Ye, still holding the bowl of snow mountain shaved ice that had mostly melted.

Her black hair slid down from her shoulders, covering half of her face, but the small, aggrieved curve of her lips was clearly visible.

Lin Ye watched as one sister questioned him with a bright and generous demeanor, while the other quietly and gently echoed her. He couldn't help but chuckle.

He took the cigarette from his mouth and placed it on the table, making a gesture of surrender with his hands: "Okay, okay, I really believe you. You two are top-notch latte art enthusiasts. Shen Qing can do the swan, Shen Na can do the tulip, and you can even do the koi fish arm tattoo—the problem is, where in my lousy company do you have a break room for your skills?"

The man with the tattooed arm was scraping the last bit of matcha shaved ice from the bottom of his bowl when he heard this. He looked up, his tongue flashing between his lips: "Dude, your company doesn't even have a break room? What do you usually drink?"

"A water dispenser. It's the one by the toilet door, and you have to carry the water bottle yourself to change it."

Lin Ye spoke these words in a calm tone, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.

Huatui chimed in from the side, his tone full of precise disdain: "Putting a water dispenser by the toilet door? That's so rude."

"So if you're going to make me coffee, you first need to have a decent place."

Lin Ye reached out and put the unlit cigarette back in his mouth. When he thought of the company, the first person that popped into his mind was Wang Xiaoying.

This woman is usually quite refined.

She always wore a well-tailored suit at the office and often boasted about making coffee at home.

"These coffee beans were brought back from Ethiopia by a friend."

"The key to hand-rinsing is the water temperature; 88 degrees Celsius is ideal."

"You people who drink instant coffee have no idea what coffee is."

Lin Ye used to think these words were just showing off.

But now he is sitting next to two girls who can do latte art, one can do the swan latte and the other can do the tulip latte.

Wang Xiaoying's family definitely has a full set of equipment.

A grinder, a pour-over kettle, a temperature-controlled electric kettle, a latte art pitcher, and maybe even a semi-automatic espresso machine.

Lin Ye took his phone out of his pocket and opened Wang Xiaoying's WeChat.

The last chat history was from this morning when he sent the message, "I'm giving you my dedication, I need to rest." Scrolling up, there were more than a dozen voice messages she sent, none of which he opened.

He hovered his thumb above the screen for half a second, then pressed the voice button.

"Wang Xiaoying, send me your home address."

His tone wasn't one of negotiation or request; it was a command—exactly the same tone he used when he yelled at her in the mall corridor today.

After sending the message, he put his phone on the table, picked up the glass of ice water that Shen Qing hadn't finished drinking, and took a sip.

Three seconds.

The phone screen lit up.

A location message popped up next to Wang Xiaoying's profile picture, followed by the text: "This is my home address [location]".

Then another message popped up: "Withdraw".

Then another message popped up: "Are you coming to my house?"

Then it was withdrawn.

Then another message popped up: "When will you arrive?"

Then it was withdrawn.

Lin Ye looked at the system notification on the screen that "the other party has retracted a message" and the corners of his mouth curved slightly.

He stood up from his booth in the ice cream shop, put his phone back in his pocket, and waved to the eight girls who were still discussing latte art recipes: "Come on, I'll take you guys to try it out."

"Where to?"

The blond guy was the first to jump up from the booth, and the honey-brown twin ponytails swayed twice in response.

"Wang Xiaoying's house. Her house has a complete set of coffee equipment."

After Lin Ye finished speaking, he had already walked to the entrance of the cold drink shop.

The tattooed arm, with a cigarette dangling from its mouth, stood there stunned for a while. Then it turned and exchanged a glance with the tattooed legs. Their eyes went from confusion to sudden understanding, and finally settled on a look of admiration that said, "That was too cool."

The tattooed man took the cigarette out of his mouth and shoved it into the ashtray: "Going to the boss's house to mooch off the coffee machine, bro, you're really something else."

Wang Xiaoying lives in a high-end apartment complex in the east of the city, about a 20-minute taxi ride from the mall.

The nine people were divided into three cars: Lin Ye, Shen Qing, and Shen Na shared one car; the tattooed man with yellow hair shared one car; and the green-haired, pink-haired man with bangs and carrying Wangcai shared one car.

When the taxi stopped at the entrance of the residential area, the security guard peeked out of the guard booth and saw nine young people filing out of the three cars—a man wearing an Oxford shirt and eight girls with brightly colored hair carrying large and small shopping bags—looking as if they had swallowed a live frog.

Visitor registration.

The security guard pushed the registration book over.

Lin Ye signed his name on it and wrote down Wang Xiaoying's room number.

The security guard glanced down at the register, then looked up at the eight girls behind him. His Adam's apple bobbed several times, but in the end, he didn't ask anything and pressed the button to open the gate.

As the elevator ascended to the eighteenth floor, the mirrors inside the elevator reflected nine figures carrying shopping bags, creating a strangely shaped line.

As soon as the door opened, a light gray carpet was laid in the corridor, and warm yellow wall lamps hung on the walls. A pot of green ivy was placed at the door of each household.

Wang Xiaoying lives in room 1806. The room number is made of matte stainless steel, with a doormat underneath that says "Welcome".

Lin Ye raised his hand and pressed the doorbell.

The door opened almost instantly.

Wang Xiaoying stood at the door.

She changed out of the black suit she wore at the mall today and put on a beige cardigan and light gray wide-leg pants, with sandals on her feet.

Most of her makeup had been removed, leaving only a thin layer of foundation and her signature dusty rose lipstick, a color that had clearly been reapplied.

Her hair was down and draped over her shoulders, the ends still fluffy from being blow-dried.

She looked at Lin Ye, then at the row of brightly colored girls behind him. Her lips moved, but before she could think of an opening line, a man with a tattooed arm peeked out from behind Lin Ye and waved at her: "Hello, Manager Wang! We're just here to use the coffee machine!"

Wang Xiaoying's home is the kind of exquisite space rarely seen in studio apartments—a complete set of hand-drip coffee equipment is neatly arranged on the marble island counter in the open kitchen.

The silver spout of the temperature-controlled electric kettle reflected the light under the spotlight. A few unground coffee beans remained in the grinder. Next to it stood a semi-automatic Italian espresso machine, an Italian brand, the model of which Lin Ye had seen in a video by a coffee blogger.

A row of green ivy hangs by the window, and several Scandinavian-style geometric cushions are placed on the sofa.

Shen Qing walked to the front of the central island, his eyes lit up as he glanced at the row of equipment.

She reached out and touched the dial of the grinder, and after getting permission, picked up the latte art pitcher and spun it around in her hand to feel its weight. Then she turned to Shen Na and said, "Sister, this machine is the same brand as the one we use in the milk tea shop."

Shen Na had already put on the spare apron hanging next to the bar and was tying her hair into a low ponytail. Her movements were so practiced that it seemed she had been standing behind the bar for several years.

She turned on the thermostat kettle, set it to 88 degrees Celsius, then rummaged through the cabinet under the island counter and pulled out a bag of Ethiopian Yegacheffe. She opened it, smelled it, and hummed with satisfaction.

"Sis, you're showing off your skills again," Shen Qing said with a smile.

"This isn't showing off. Showing off is about latte art."

Shen Na tightened the apron straps behind her back, making the lines of her body under her shirt even more defined.

She filled the coffee grounds into the filter cup, picked up the pour-over kettle, and gently turned her wrist. A thin stream of water fell from the spout, evenly wetting the coffee grounds. Blooming and pouring were done with precision and ease.

As coffee drips into the sharing pot, the distinctive citrus and floral aromas of Yirgacheffe fill the air.

The living room suddenly fell silent. Even the tattooed man put down his phone. Everyone watched Shen Na holding the hand-pouring kettle—calm, precise, and focused.

This is a stark contrast to his hearty eating of five skewers of grilled lamb chops at a barbecue stand and his commentary on the malt content of beer.

Wang Xiaoying leaned against the other side of the bar, arms crossed, looking at Shen Na. Then she turned to look at Lin Ye, her expression showing surprise and a hint of unconscious admiration.