Chapter 310 Water Droplets

At 9:30, Zhou Heng came out of the restroom.

He changed into his white short-sleeved shirt that he used to sleep in, with the collar slightly open, revealing a section of his straight collarbone.

My hair wasn't completely dry yet, and water droplets were dripping down the ends of my hair, one landing in the hollow of my shoulder, and another slowly sliding down the side of my neck.

The water droplet moved slowly, passing the curve of his Adam's apple, disappearing into the shadow of his collar, and vanishing where his line of sight could follow.

Xiao Jue's gaze was drawn by that drop of water, like a thread that led from Zhou Heng's wet hair to the patch of skin hidden by his collar, which he couldn't see.

The air smelled of shower gel. It wasn't anything special, just the kind of white tea scent that hotels usually use—light, cool, and subtle, much like Zhou Heng himself—so faint he was almost invisible, yet omnipresent.

Xiao Jue suddenly felt that his nasal cavity was filled with this smell, so strong that he could hardly breathe.

Zhou Heng pulled out a chair and sat down, flipped the textbook to the page with the folded corner, and turned his head to look at him.

Which question do you not know how to answer?

Xiao Jue didn't move. He sat to Zhou Heng's right, with an open textbook between them.

He rested one hand on the table, his thumb unconsciously drawing circles on the surface, his gaze fixed on the curve below Zhou Heng's collarbone, half-hidden by his collar, as if nailed to it by something.

"Xiao Jue".

"Huh?" He snapped back to his senses, looked up, and met Zhou Heng's eyes.

Those eyes were looking at him, clear and bright, with a hint of uncertain inquiry.

Zhou Heng tilted his head slightly, a few strands of still-damp hair hanging down from his ears, gilded with a thin layer of gold by the light of the lamp.

"What are you thinking about?" Zhou Heng asked, his voice not loud, but it sounded particularly clear in the quiet room.

He held a pen in his hand, his knuckles slightly white, the pen tip hovering above the draft paper, ready to fall at any moment.

Xiao Jue blinked, trying to shake the lingering image of the water droplet out of his mind.

"It's nothing," he said, his voice lower than usual, his throat a little tight. He coughed awkwardly and cleared his throat. "I just... spaced out. Which question? Explain it to me."

Zhou Heng looked at him for two seconds, his gaze lingering on his face for a moment, but he didn't ask any further questions. He then lowered his head to flip through the textbooks that Xiao Jue had spread out on the table.

"The marginal utility part?"

"Yeah, it's that... the condition for consumer equilibrium. I calculated it twice, but the answer was wrong both times." Xiao Jue took the draft paper and pointed to it, leaning forward slightly and reaching his arm behind Zhou Heng to point to a line of numbers on the paper. "Look at this step. I used the algorithm you mentioned last time, dividing MUx by Px, and the result is..."

As his arm retracted, it brushed lightly against the skin of Zhou Heng's nape.

The sensation of that instant—cool, soft skin with the lingering scent of shower gel—was like being licked by a tongue of fire. Xiao Jue's fingers trembled slightly, and he pulled his arm back, his movements faster than usual.

Zhou Heng seemed oblivious, looking down at the few lines of calculations on the draft paper.

His profile was less than a foot away from Xiao Jue's, the light falling on his face, illuminating the curve of his brow bone, the height of his nose, and the sharp turn of his jawline. His eyelashes drooped down, casting a small fan-shaped shadow under his eyes.

"You made a mistake here." Zhou Heng pointed to one of the lines with the tip of his pen. "You reversed Px and Py. You should use the data of Py to calculate the MUy column. The numbers in this problem are quite complicated. List all the marginal utilities first, and then match them according to the formula."

"Oh," Xiao Jue responded, but his gaze was not on the draft paper.

He looked at Zhou Heng's profile, from the slightly upturned corners of his eyes to the almost invisible, subtle curve at the corner of his mouth that only appeared when he was focused.

When Zhou Heng was explaining a problem, he had a habit of pursing his lips, a very light and quick movement, as if he was unconsciously checking whether he had said anything wrong.

"Recalculate these numbers," Zhou Heng said, pushing the draft paper back in front of him.

Xiao Jue took the pen, lowered his head and wrote a few strokes on the paper. The numbers were crooked and not much different from usual, but Zhou Heng noticed that he had written a number wrong. He crossed it out and rewrote it. The number he crossed out was the same number as the one he wrote later.

"Concentrate," Zhou Heng said.

"I was focused." Xiao Jue looked up, his face showing an innocent expression.

Zhou Heng glanced at him but didn't say anything more.

Xiao Jue calculated for two steps, then stopped.

His gaze fell on Zhou Heng's hand holding the pen—long, slender fingers with distinct knuckles, neatly trimmed nails, a standard pen-holding posture, and the pen tip moving at a moderate speed on the draft paper, each number written neatly and clearly, as easy to read as printed text.

Zhou Heng finished writing the last line of numbers and looked up.

Their eyes met in a space less than a foot apart.

Zhou Heng frowned slightly. "Did you even look at the question?"

"I've seen it," Xiao Jue said.

"Then why are you staring at me like that?"

Xiao Jue paused for a moment, then laughed, a laugh that seemed perfectly natural. "I'm thinking. When you're thinking, you have to look at something, right? If not, you read a book, right? The answers aren't written in the book."

These sophistry-like arguments were so righteous and confident that Zhou Heng opened his mouth, but for a moment he didn't know from which angle to refute them.

He simply stopped talking, lowered his head, and used his own pen to write down the complete calculation process of the problem line by line on Xiao Jue's draft paper.

The handwriting is neat, the steps are clear, and each step is accompanied by a brief explanation, just like a lesson plan written by a teacher who has prepared lessons carefully.

After finishing writing, he handed over the draft paper and said casually, "Take a look at it first, and ask me if you don't understand anything."

Xiao Jue took it and looked down at the neat handwriting.

Every number, every horizontal line, every equal sign was written meticulously, just like Zhou Heng himself—clean and neat, without a single superfluous stroke.

His gaze slowly moved away from the paper, moving up Zhou Heng's arm, past his wrist, forearm, and elbow, finally landing on his profile as he looked down at the book.

The light from the table lamp enveloped him in a warm yellow halo, and the shadows of his eyelashes trembled slightly as his gaze moved, like the first flutter of a butterfly's wings.