Actually, the students in his class are quite enthusiastic. Eric Clark doesn’t keep a stern face while teaching; he throws in a few jokes from time to time and is pretty humorous. Students all like teachers like this, especially since Eric Clark is still young, so the generation gap is relatively small. The students even dare to joke around with him, and Mr. Clark doesn’t mind at all.

There are very few teachers as young as Eric Clark in their department. Usually, newly graduated PhDs here can’t teach classes yet. Even now, Eric Clark only has a few classes a week; most of his time is spent in the lab, working on projects and research. He started teaching relatively early—after just a year off, the department leaders assigned him classes. Even though he’s only teaching elective courses, it’s still pretty good. At the very least, his salary can go up by over two thousand.

After class, Eric Clark stepped from the stuffy hallway into the office where the air conditioning had been running all day, and immediately felt all his pores relax. He sat in his chair, leaned back, and let out a long sigh of relief.

“Mr. Clark, finished with class?” There were still two or three teachers in the office; the others had either gone to teach or left for home early. Little Grant’s desk was right next to Eric Clark’s. They started at the school the same year and have always gotten along well.

“Yeah, if I’d taught any longer, I might have passed out from dehydration.” Eric Clark said with a wry smile.

“Every year our school talks about installing air conditioning, and every year it gets put off. Guess we’ll have to wait till next year.” Little Grant poured a glass of water for Eric Clark and set it on his desk.

“Thanks.” Eric Clark drank half the glass and said, “I’m not counting on air conditioning. I’d be happy if the semester just started a few days later.”

Little Grant smiled. She doesn’t have to teach yet, so she hasn’t really experienced this herself.

Eric Clark still had two hours before getting off work, and he spent the rest of the time preparing the slides for tomorrow’s class. When he was almost done with a set of PPTs, his phone buzzed on the desk. Eric Clark likes to finish his work in one go and isn’t easily distracted, so he just glanced at his phone casually. When he saw the number, his typing fingers paused for a moment, but only for a moment.

He didn’t check the message until he’d finished all his work. Then he picked up his phone and opened the text, which read: It’s just a gift, it’s not a big deal.

Eric Clark replied: Thanks, but it’s not necessary.

He was actually quite familiar with this number. Ethan Harris has always used this one and never changed it. After they broke up, Eric Clark deleted the contact, but he could still recognize the number.

He figured his mom had already contacted Ethan Harris, asking him to return the watch and other things.

“Time to go, Mr. Clark.” Little Grant called out to him.

“Yeah, you go ahead. I just need to save my slides.” Eric Clark said.

Once everyone else had left, Eric Clark didn’t have time to dwell on the past. He’d been too hot at noon to eat much, but now he was really hungry and eager to finish up and go get some food.

He put the USB drive in his pocket and shut down the computer. Eric Clark stood up, ready to lock the door and leave, when his phone rang again at just the wrong moment. He frowned and glanced at it—it was Ethan Harris again.

Eric Clark hung up without answering, and without any hesitation, blocked the number.

Chapter 6

On Friday night, Samuel Reed sent Eric Clark a location on his phone—it was the address of Zhou Zui’s studio. Eric Clark checked it; it wasn’t too far from where he was.

Samuel Reed sent a voice message: “I’ll drive over tomorrow. When I call you, just come downstairs.”

Eric Clark replied: Okay.

Samuel Reed’s tone was still cheeky: “You’re about to meet for the second time. Nervous, Grandpa Clark?”

Eric Clark: Nervous my ass.

Samuel Reed sent two mischievous memes, but Eric Clark ignored him. Honestly, he couldn’t really say he was nervous. He’d only met the guy once, but to say he felt nothing at all would be a lie.

After all, that guy really fit Eric Clark’s aesthetic, and he couldn’t help but look forward to seeing him again.

The next day, they went over after lunch. Eric Clark wore a pair of washed jeans and a simple black hoodie. He looked young and full of energy, more like a student. Samuel Reed said he was pretending to be innocent, deliberately trying to look younger.

Eric Clark shot him a sidelong glance and smirked: “Not pretending, I really am young.”

Samuel Reed snickered for a while and said, “Yeah, Mr. Clark, thirty-one and still fresh as a flower—so tender you could squeeze water out of him.”

When they arrived, there was only a young girl in the shop, probably just over twenty, painting something on her nails with one hand. When she saw them, she said, “Good afternoon.”

“Hey, pretty girl.” Samuel Reed was always enthusiastic at times like this. “We’re in the right place, right? Is this a tattoo shop or a nail salon?”

The girl laughed and pointed to a door on the side: “Tattoo shop. But the tattoo artists are all in there. I’m just watching the shop. If you want your nails done, I can do it for you for free.”

“Who are you talking to?” A guy came out from the small door—shaved head, wearing a baseball cap backwards, with a pen in his mouth.

“Two guys,” the girl called back to him, “two handsome guys.”

“Hello.” The shaved-head guy greeted them.

Samuel Reed said, “Hey, handsome, we talked on WeChat before.”

“Oh, you’re the one who wanted the dog head, right?” The shaved-head guy took the pen out of his mouth and glanced at Samuel Reed. “Which one of you wants it?”