After ninety-nine online romances, I finally met my ex in person when school started.

Zhu Xun Chuan breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Shen Tianxi happily run into the girls' dormitory with the empty thermos.

The undisguised immoral provocation of Executive Vice Principal Meng Wanqing, coupled with the extreme tug-of-war he endured all day between several heiresses of wealthy families, female celebrities, and counselors, left him with nerves stretched to the limit, even with the support of the system's basic physical enhancement potion.

Zhu Xun Chuan had just turned around, preparing to go back to his dormitory to take a cold shower to cool down.

My phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket.

From: Xinghe Wanli (Fu Xinghe).

Come to my apartment tonight at 10 PM. There are a few parts of the calligraphy practice book that need further discussion.

The message was extremely brief, carrying an air of undeniable authority befitting a superior.

Zhu Xun Chuan raised his wrist and glanced at the Patek Philippe Nautilus, which was worth tens of millions of yuan. The time was exactly 9:45.

A night visit to her boudoir.

For most people, this would be an incredible stroke of luck. But the other person was Fu Xinghe, a 27-year-old specially appointed professor at Peking University and the son of a high-ranking official in Tianjin.

Her aloof and detached demeanor at the opening ceremony during the day contrasted sharply with her act of sending such private text messages late at night.

Zhu Xun Chuan's lips curled into a playful smile as he turned and walked towards the school's faculty and staff single apartment area.

10 o'clock sharp.

Zhu Xunchuan stood outside the door of Room 601, Building 3, and pressed the doorbell.

"Click".

The door opened.

The moment Zhu Xun Chuan saw the woman inside the door, a hint of barely concealed amazement flashed in his eyes.

Fu Xinghe was not wearing the dignified and formal white traditional Chinese cheongsam she had worn during the day. Instead, she was only wrapped in an extremely close-fitting moon-white silk nightgown.

The material was extremely thin, draping naturally along her voluptuous curves. The belt was loosely tied at the waist, and the deep neckline revealed her fair and delicate skin, which shimmered dazzlingly in the warm light of the hallway.

Her long hair, which had been meticulously styled during the day, now cascaded lazily over her rounded shoulders. Her bare face, devoid of makeup, did not appear bland; instead, it exuded a mature and charming domestic allure.

The room was filled with a delicate and refreshing sandalwood scent, mixed with the subtle fragrance of a woman who had just finished bathing.

"Come in." Fu Xinghe's voice was cold as he stepped aside.

Zhu Xun Chuan stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.

The apartment wasn't large, a one-bedroom, one-living room layout, decorated in an extremely rustic style. In the center of the living room stood a large mahogany desk, covered with fine Huizhou Xuan paper, and upon it lay an inkstone and several wolf-hair brushes. A warm yellow floor lamp cast a soft, private glow over the study area.

Zhu Xun Chuan took off his navy blue suit jacket, which smelled of Meng Wan Qing's rose perfume, and casually hung it on the coat rack. Wearing only a white shirt, he walked to his desk.

"Professor Fu, what are you planning to do by calling me here in the middle of the night to discuss calligraphy?" Zhu Xun Chuan leaned on the edge of the table with one hand, his gaze lingering on Fu Xing He's curves, which were wrapped in his bathrobe.

Fu Xinghe ignored his aggressive gaze, walked to the other side of the desk, and picked up a piece of fine Huizhou ink.

"Write two characters for me to see." Fu Xinghe lowered his eyelids and began grinding ink in the inkstone with elegant movements. "Let me see how much you've improved in these three years."

Zhu Xun Chuan chuckled, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and dipped his brush in ink.

My wrist was suspended in the air, just about to put pen to paper.

Fu Xinghe leaned forward slightly as she ground the ink, getting closer to Zhu Xunchuan. The distance between them instantly closed to less than half a foot. Her extremely full breasts, separated by a thin layer of silk, were almost touching Zhu Xunchuan's arm.

Suddenly, Fu Xinghe stopped grinding the ink.

The ink quietly seeped along the edge of the inkstone.

She gently sniffed the cuff of Zhu Xun Chuan's white shirt twice.

"Teacher Gu's taste hasn't changed at all." Fu Xinghe slowly straightened up, his voice still steady, without any hint of hysteria. "It's still that 'After the Rain' tea. It's just that the heat seemed a bit too high this afternoon; the flavor has seeped into the fibers of your shirt."

Zhu Xun Chuan paused in mid-air, his hand holding the calligraphy brush still.

This woman's sense of smell and intuition are terrifying. During the day, Gu Qinghan was pinned down on the solid wood desk in the office and completely lost control. In the struggle, she did leave a very strong scent on his sleeve.

Zhu Xun Chuan was caught red-handed and was about to use the duck soup excuse to smooth things over.

Fu Xinghe didn't give him a chance to speak at all.

She walked around the large mahogany desk and went directly behind Zhu Xun Chuan. She proactively opened her arms and hugged him tightly from behind.

An amazingly soft touch pressed against Zhu Xunchuan's back without any obstruction.

Fu Xinghe rested her chin on his right shoulder, her warm, sandalwood-scented breath hitting his ear. She stretched out her two slender, snow-white hands and forcefully covered Zhu Xun Chuan's right hand, which was holding a calligraphy brush.

"Don't move." Fu Xinghe's voice was hoarse, carrying an unquestionable air of someone who had long held a superior position.

She held Zhu Xun Chuan's hand, and with his strength, she wrote with flowing strokes.

The thick black ink spread violently on the pure white rice paper.

Two bold, unrestrained characters in running script leap off the page:

It belongs to me.

Extreme contrast!

The high-ranking female professor, who was erudite and aloof during the day, unleashed her pent-up possessiveness, which she had suppressed for three years, in the quiet of the night in her private space, using the most primal and direct methods.

There were no questions, no tears, only an absolute declaration of sovereignty.

The evil fire in Zhu Xun Chuan's eyes was instantly ignited.

Screw the calligraphy practice book discussion.

Zhu Xun Chuan threw down the wolf-hair brush with a "smack." He turned around abruptly, grabbed Fu Xinghe's slender waist with both hands like iron clamps, lifted her up, and sat her on the large mahogany desk.

The Xuan paper on the table was wrinkled from being pressed down, and ink smeared onto Fu Xinghe's snow-white calves.

"Professor Fu's handwriting is quite domineering." Zhu Xun Chuan placed his hands on either side of Fu Xing He's body, leaned forward, and completely imprisoned her between himself and the desk.

The moon-white silk robe slid down the smooth curves of her legs to her thighs. Her shapely, long legs, without an ounce of excess fat, gleamed with a breathtakingly delicate luster in the warm light.

Fu Xinghe placed his hands behind his back, raised his long, swan-like neck, and looked directly into Zhu Xun Chuan's extremely aggressive eyes.

"The vibrant colors of spring have faded, leaving only broken wells and crumbling walls." Zhu Xun Chuan lowered his head, his nose almost touching hers, his voice low and drawn-out, "Professor Fu, isn't it a pity to keep such a beautiful view hidden in this cold, lifeless study every day?"

The erotic lyrics of "The Peony Pavilion," spoken by him, carried an extremely lethal allure.

The most deadly thing is when intellectuals flirt with each other.

Fu Xinghe's usually aloof face finally flushed with a peach-blossom-like blush. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she lifted her hands from the table to wrap them around Zhu Xunchuan's neck.

"Such a beautiful day, such a lovely scene, yet what a pity! Such delightful pleasures, yet whose courtyard is this?" Fu Xinghe breathed softly, her red lips almost touching Zhu Xun Chuan's. "No one but you can enter this courtyard."

The moment he finished speaking, Zhu Xun Chuan lowered his head and kissed him.

An extremely domineering and unreserved deep kiss.

Fu Xinghe let out a suppressed nasal sound. She didn't struggle symbolically like Gu Qinghan, nor did she act awkwardly like Shen Tianxi.

She responded with extreme passion, her delicate tongue frantically intertwining with Zhu Xun Chuan's.