Recalling Wang Zhuo's cheerful expression when he first arrived that afternoon, Fatty Long had a hundred percent reason to believe the man had just returned from a pleasurable rendezvous, and at the time, a faint, distinctively feminine scent—unlike Gan Lin’s—had lingered on Wang Zhuo. Oh no, Instructor Wang is finally under suspicion.

Fatty Long rested his double chin in his hands and pondered for a moment, deciding he should inform Wang Zhuo of the situation to give him some mental preparation. But saying anything now would be inappropriate; if Gan Lin saw him tattling, she wouldn't be as amiable to him as she was now. A more indirect approach was better. Never mind that Fatty Long was extremely obese; his intellect was quite sharp. He immediately blurted out, "Damn it, I think I forgot to close the car window! I need to go check!"

Leaving the window open was a serious issue. Not only did it offer an opportunity to thieves, but passersby nearby might also be tempted to take advantage. Thus, after concocting this excuse, he jumped up and rushed out. Turning the corner of the corridor, he immediately pulled out his phone and dialed Wang Zhuo. "Instructor Wang, I just saw your wife sniffing your underpants with a very grave expression. You might want to prepare yourself."

After notifying Wang Zhuo, he ambled downstairs, settled into his car, chewed a stick of gum, and decided he wouldn't go back upstairs for a while. He'd just watch the ** strolling around the complex for a bit first. ... Your body carries her perfume, my nose is the culprit. It shouldn't have sensed her beauty, to wipe it all away just to sleep beside you...

This was a song Gan Lin used to love listening to, but back then, she was just a little girl, drawn only to the melody's elegance and the singer's mournful tone. She understood nothing of the lyrics' meaning. But now, she suddenly grasped the song's meaning. That feeling of "my nose is the culprit"—where you feel you’ve done wrong even when the fault isn't yours—was palpable. For a moment, her state of mind could only be described as "a tangle of thread," a mixture of complex emotions that unexpectedly held a sense of release, tinged with the melancholy of what is coming will inevitably arrive.

Meanwhile, in another room, Wang Zhuo was using his X-ray vision to peer through two layers of walls, observing her reaction. Every furrow of her brow, every strained smile, was meticulously