Like officials who become greedier the more they accumulate, merchants who chase greater profits, or first-time criminals spiraling into recidivism, once certain paths are taken, they often become an unstoppable torrent, a fixation from which one cannot easily retreat.

...

After the release, Guan Yingying nestled into Wang Zhuo’s chest, tracing circles lightly on his Adam's apple with her fingertip, and asked softly, "Wang Zhuo, why do you think people are divided into men and women?"

They lay tangled on Guan Yingying’s sheets, their bodies still slick with exertion. The brief moments when their skin separated produced faint, sibilant sounds.

Had someone asked this question before? Wang Zhuo’s mind was still adrift in the euphoria of intense pleasure. He smiled faintly and replied, "That question probably requires tracing back to when Pangu first split the heavens and earth..."

His long fingers stroked the resilient, taut skin beneath him. The story of creation rambled far afield, quickly veering into a crude tale about Nuwa, who, unable to find a man, decided to mold one from clay for her own use.

When Wang Zhuo recounted the part where the little wooden puppet Pinocchio was forced by the princess to repeat 'truth, lie, truth, lie' incessantly, Guan Yingying laughed so hard her body shook, saying, "I really want to pry open your head and see what’s inside."

After half an hour of conversation, Wang Zhuo had regained his vigor. He cupped Guan Yingying’s firm, pert buttocks with both hands and began to move with sudden, high-frequency thrusts, eliciting a choked cry of surprise from her.

Recalling his inexperienced high school years, Wang Zhuo often smiled wryly at his former naïveté. Back then, he often heard people say that a woman’s appearance was all the same once the lights went out, a view he once subscribed to.

But with ample experience now, he knew that those who said "it’s all the same in the dark" were either ignorant or suffering from sour grapes; in reality, there was a profound and immense difference.

Comparing them across every metric—sound, texture, responsiveness, rhythm—each woman was distinct. It was like the four seasons—spring, summer, autumn, winter—or the classic quartet of plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum in painting; one could discern spring from autumn with closed eyes, and guess the bloom by scent alone.

Setting aside everything else, the mere scent was something that could not be masked by darkness. If one of those men who insisted "it’s all the same in the dark" were paired with a woman who smelled of body odor, he would certainly never utter such a phrase again in his life.

Gan Lin’s “size,” Qi Fei’s “fragrance,” Ji Qiong’s “delicacy”—these were their most prominent qualities, impossible to confuse. And Guan Yingying’s defining characteristic, after Wang Zhuo’s repeated deep exploration, had finally begun to emerge: her “wildness.”

Yes, the wildness of the untamed. Her physical condition was superb: high flexibility, abundant energy, and a strong exploratory spirit. As long as Wang Zhuo proposed something, she was game for any novelty, utterly without pretense, and fully invested...

In contrast, Qi Fei offered Wang Zhuo more compliance and doting indulgence; being with her was about enjoying the feeling of being served. Gan Lin was shy, hesitant, and required Wang Zhuo to employ subtle tactics, coaxing and tempting. The night with Ji Qiong was a fresh memory, like finally realizing a deep aspiration.

These women each possessed unique traits; the notion of "all the same in the dark" was utterly, fundamentally wrong.

"Let's play 'Ants Moving House'..."

She rolled over, grabbed a tube of condensed milk from the nightstand, lay back on the bed, and squeezed a fine line in a figure-eight pattern across her chest.

Wang Zhuo's mouth instantly began to water, and he leaned in to taste it.

The itchy, teasing sensation made her giggle, "How does it taste?"

"Sweaty, a little salty..." Wang Zhuo answered honestly.

...

When Wang Zhuo left Guan Yingying’s apartment, he felt utterly light; every pore exuded comfort, a sensation of floating towards immortality.

It had been a while since he felt this way. As he started the car, Wang Zhuo reflected, quickly pinpointing the reason.

It turned out that men genuinely needed novelty. Even the best women, after repeated enjoyment, eventually become routine. Unless the routine was spiced up with a new variation, or a new partner, it was difficult to reach such heights.

Was this the small head dictating the large head? Wang Zhuo pondered this the entire drive, finally concluding that the large head—the brain—ultimately held the reins; the small head was merely the vanguard charging into battle.

He hadn’t even settled in when Fatty Long arrived.

"Da-da-da-da!" The fat man provided his own entrance music, boisterously announcing, "The 180 Man makes his dazzling debut!"

"What 180?" Wang Zhuo asked.

"Three 180s! The three standards for a successful man in contemporary China," Fatty Long flashed a victory sign and chuckled smugly, "I’ve achieved them all!"

Wang Zhuo finally understood; it was that worn-out topic. "Did you get surgery?"

"What surgery?" Fatty Long looked at him in confusion.

"Stretching surgery." Wang Zhuo burst out laughing, pointing at his crotch, "I remember you weren't quite up to size before. How did you hit 180 millimeters without surgery?"

"Damn, you look down on me!" Fatty Long cried out, bending over to pull his shorts down to his ankles, pointing with his finger, "Do you think this won't make 180 millimeters?"

Wang Zhuo was stunned, then roared with laughter. It turned out Fatty Long had gone for the 'bald eagle' trim; without the obscuring shrubbery, his size did appear significantly enhanced. A visual estimate suggested that when fully engorged, the guy might indeed reach eighteen centimeters—the 180 millimeters in the three 180s.

"I meant height, height!" Fatty Long pulled up his pants and emphasized, "Don't you think I’ve gotten taller?"

The three 180 standards were introduced by a female guest on a popular dating show that caused a sensation at the time. That show was highly controversial; it featured actresses, retired prostitutes, and former mistresses as guests. To boost ratings, the director deliberately cast many women in controversial roles, ensuring every episode had a shock factor—a statement designed to leave no stone unturned.

These three 180s were: height 180cm, living space 180m², and his 'little brother' 180mm. Two of the 180s relied on inherent qualities that money couldn't buy.

The 180 square meters of housing wasn't difficult for Fatty Long; he came from a moderately well-off family and could live comfortably just being a landlord. The 180mm for his little brother was private, and Wang Zhuo wasn't entirely sure, but the 180cm height surprised Wang Zhuo somewhat.

"You grew to 1.8 meters?" Wang Zhuo scrutinized him up and down. Perhaps because they saw each other often, he hadn't noticed any change.

"Actually, I'm still one centimeter short," Fatty Long grinned sheepishly. "And I have to measure first thing in the morning when I wake up; by night, it shrinks to 1.77 meters. But with height-increasing insoles, I can definitely surpass 1.8 meters."

"That still barely counts as 180. So you have four 180s now?" Wang Zhuo teased, "We shouldn't ignore weight, should we?"

"You're just jealous of my physique," Fatty Long snorted, puffing out his belly, which was already over the limit.

Wang Zhuo suddenly thought of something and couldn't help but ask, "If even you are almost 1.8 meters, how tall am I now?"

"We'll measure tomorrow and find out," Fatty Long said slyly. "But even if you grew to two meters, you wouldn't meet the three 180 standards for a successful man."

Wang Zhuo certainly had no shortage of 180 square meters of housing; Fatty Long’s remark was clearly jab at his ‘little brother’ not being up to par.

"Tch," Wang Zhuo stretched out his hand, measuring with his thumb and forefinger, and scoffed, "See this? This is my size."

Fatty Long looked unconvinced. "I'll believe it when I see cows flying in the sky."

Wang Zhuo’s fingers were long and slender; this measurement gesture suggested something approaching twenty-five centimeters. While Fatty Long estimated Wang Zhuo was slightly better off than himself, he truly couldn't believe he possessed such innate endowment.

"Don't believe me? Then let's make a bet?" As a man—a dominant, excellent, proud man—Wang Zhuo felt it necessary to make Fatty Long concede defeat.

He hadn't actually reached the dimension he just gestured, but when he measured later, he would simply keep his hand from fully straightening and press his fingertips deeper into the flesh; that would surely produce the desired result...

Fatty Long hesitated, ultimately disbelieving Wang Zhuo's claim. In his view, if his hand were doing the measuring, it might be plausible, but Wang Zhuo’s hands were too long to be reliable.

"A bet it is. But first, we need a ruler to measure how long your hand is," Fatty Long called out.

"Of course," Wang Zhuo said confidently, smiling. "So, what are we betting on?"

Just as they were speaking, there was a knock on the door. Wang Zhuo turned, casually using his X-ray vision to see it was Gan Lin.

He quickly headed toward the bathroom, telling Fatty Long, "Go open the door for me; I'm hopping in for a quick shower."

By the time Fatty Long opened the door, Wang Zhuo was already stripped naked, tossing his clothes into the washing machine. Thanks to Fatty Long’s interruption, he hadn't had time to change when he returned, and his body likely still carried Guan Yingying’s perfume—something he couldn't afford to be careless about.

"Oh, Scholar Monitor, you look very sexy today," Fatty Long commented, sizing up Gan Lin with a harmless joke.

Gan Lin gave his leg a light, non-committal kick. Hearing the sound of water from the bathroom, she asked, "Is Wang Zhuo showering?"

Fatty Long nodded. "Yeah. Should I excuse myself and leave you two some privacy? Maybe a couple’s shower?"

"Keep talking nonsense and I'll rip your mouth off." Gan Lin brandished her delicate fist as a warning, then went into the bedroom to use the computer.

Fatty Long also trooped into the other bedroom, retrieved the ruler he used for drawing from a drawer, roughly marked out the length Wang Zhuo had gestured based on memory, and then compared it against his own body, snorting.

"It almost reaches my knee. How is that possible? Looks like I’ve got this in the bag."

He hurried back to the living room, grabbed his laptop bag from the sofa, returned to the bedroom, opened his computer, and announced his bet with Wang Zhuo in the class QQ group chat.

The QQ group instantly lit up, with even many girls posting emoticons like "just passing by," "watching," "I'll just lurk without commenting," and "poking my head out then sinking back down." Meanwhile, some of the guys were stirring up trouble, posting comments like "claiming this spot waiting for updates," and "no picture, no proof."

A few impatient ones went directly to Gan Lin, who had just logged on, sending private messages—some indirect, some blunt—trying to pump the insider for information on who had the upper hand between Fatty Long and Wang Zhuo.