The way she acted struck Lu Tingzhou as resembling a heartless little animal—the farmer and the snake.
But it was also incredibly real. When she smiled, she smiled; when she cried, she cried; when she was angry, she was angry; when she made a scene, she made a scene. He would rather she scheme and throw temper tantrums than wear a mask, like a cold, sharp piece of glass.
He didn't know when it started, but her temperament had changed a lot. She was almost a different person from her childhood—quiet, reticent, and especially prone to lowering her head. It seemed like a habitual gesture. Maybe subconsciously she felt that only by doing so could she survive in a hazardous environment and minimize her presence.
But Lu Tingzhou didn't like this. He really didn't.
When she was little, she used to hold her head high, like a colorful butterfly flitting about in his sight. Now she was like a pale, unworldly camellia, only swaying her charming branches when plucked.
His sister, whom he had raised with his own hands, his little rose—when had she drifted so far from him?
——
"Isn't gold a bit too tacky—"
Seeing that she had settled on such a flashy, eye-catching golden fabric, Lu Tingzhou, who disliked standing out and mostly wore dark colors, asked subconsciously.
What Cheng Buxi dreaded most had happened. She simply dropped the fabric and turned her back on him. "Brother, pick it yourself." Her annoyance was written all over her face.
You've already decided and now you say something—why didn't you speak up earlier?
He was watching you, after all.
"..." Lu Tingzhou's face froze for a moment, then he frowned and hurried to explain, "I didn't say I didn't want it."
Afraid of upsetting her, he added, "Whatever you pick, it's fine. I'll take it."
This near-panicked self-assertion was rare in someone so powerful. Cheng Buxi wasn't one to be difficult. She took a deep breath, turned around, and pretended the little incident hadn't happened. She ignored it and continued discussing with the tailor, head lowered.
Custom suits could take weeks or months.
Fabric was the foundation—only after deciding that could everything else go smoothly.
All the other materials were ordered. Only the shirt remained undecided. After going back and forth, she pointed to a garment on the innermost display. "How about this one?"
"This is bamboo fiber," the master said.
So it was bamboo—no wonder it felt smooth and cool.
As time passed, her resistance faded. She wasn't as perfunctory as before. Immersed in her fitting role, she turned and asked, "Brother, do you like this color?"
It was a delicate moon-white, almost the same color as the clothes she was wearing.
Bamboo fiber might not compare to silk or cashmere, but it excelled in coolness and comfort. The finished suit would take at least a few months, maybe not until next spring or summer.
He was used to conventional fabrics. Cheng Buxi was quite looking forward to seeing how this one turned out.
"You decide," her brother said, deliberately adjusting his sitting position, briefly retracting his sticky, thread-like gaze, and pretending to take a casual sip of tea.
Cheng Buxi was happy to let him play the hands-off boss and make all the decisions herself.
.....
The first proper custom suit Lu Tingzhou had ever worn was at age seventeen. That was the turning point—he stopped going out to play ball so often, stopped laughing loudly, reined in his natural sharpness, and began walking the path of an heir.
Cheng Buxi still remembered that scene: in the second-floor fitting room of their home, in front of a full-length vintage mirror, he put on the suit that had taken ages to complete, unbuttoned the second-to-last button, revealing his lean, toned waist wrapped in a black vest. In the mirror, her brother was dashing and handsome as jade.
That was the first time she had seen him in formal wear since becoming aware of gender. It was a dark gray custom suit from an old tailor on Savile Row—unique, impossible to find a second pair anywhere in the world.
The white shirt underneath was crisp and dignified, paired with a vintage logo tie. The aristocratic and elite aura hit her straight on.
Probably because the tie was a bit tight, he reached up to loosen it.
Then, wanting his little sister's opinion, he turned halfway—
Bright as the sun and moon falling into one's arms, elegant as a jade mountain about to collapse—that was the kind of description.
"Koukou, this... how is it?" Rarely, she could see a hint of self-consciousness on her brother's face. Even his ears were tinged with a faint blush.
Cheng Buxi was stunned, dazed. Snapping out of it, she nodded vigorously. "Beautiful! Brother Xiaoye looks good in everything! Heh..."
On the surface, she seemed simple and honest, but unbeknownst to anyone, that restless, swelling heart was about to leap out of her chest.
-
After taking measurements, today's schedule was basically done.
But she would need to come back a few more times—to discuss details with the pattern maker and to try on the muslin sample. The measurer would adjust and correct any errors in the waist, chest, hips, and legs.
Everything finished, Cheng Buxi had no reason to linger. She immediately prepared to slip away. "Brother, I'm going now—"
Without waiting for his approval, she headed straight for the door.
Pushing open the door, the sun was setting. The sky was a blend of gold and powder, the sun's silhouette hazy.
The streets were bustling with colorful passersby. She felt like a fish released back into the pond—even her breathing became easier.
But her brother moved quickly, following her out and calling from behind, "Xiaoxi." His tone brooked no refusal.
Cheng Buxi stopped abruptly, the relaxed expression on her face instantly falling.
"Where are you going?"
The driver had already pulled the car over by the curb.
"Back to school..." she murmured.
He said nothing, only ordered calmly, "Get in the car."
Cheng Buxi didn't move.
"I don't want to repeat myself."
Was there any difference between saying it and not? He just wasn't going to let her go today, was he?
It was broad daylight, and she didn't want to cause an ugly scene.
Her gaze shifted. The car he was driving today was a Land Rover—yes, the same model as Professor Shen's Land Rover.
Cheng Buxi couldn't remember him owning this car at all.
-----------------------
Author's note: No need to say much [evil grin]