Zhu Ming had always had a face that seemed to declare, "No delinquents with dyed hair allowed within a ten-mile radius."
Many people claimed that children who were cute when young would likely grow up to be less attractive, but Zhu Ming defied the odds—she grew up proportionally. Her large eyes remained just as big, her plump cheeks stayed just as round, and her full lips retained their fullness.
Yet, her mother still found flaws in her appearance, particularly her single eyelids, which she often criticized as lacking vitality and spirit.
Her occasional habit of slightly parting her lips also drew her mother's disapproval. "You look like a fool," her mother would scold, "like some clueless bumpkin."
Whenever this happened, Zhu Ming would silently press her lips together, though it didn't make her appear any smarter—it only made her already chubby cheeks puff out even more.
Her mother would then shake her head in disdain and walk away.
*
Being mockingly called "Little Pig" was Zhu Ming's first life lesson. When she returned home from kindergarten crying because the other children didn't seem to like her, her mother smiled and told her that the nickname was actually a term of endearment—proof that they liked her.
For a while, she tried to believe this explanation, as it made her feel slightly better. But her willingness to accept the teasing only made others treat her like even more of a fool, creating a vicious cycle.
Fortunately, such malice tended to fade with age. By the time she reached upper elementary school, no one found it amusing to mock her surname anymore, and her beauty began to work in her favor.
She started receiving attention, confessions, and gifts. Her mother taught her not to accept presents from people she didn't like, so she returned every pen and hairpin she received.
*
Middle school was no different. Despite rampant rumors about her love life, her teachers investigated thoroughly but found no evidence of her ever dating.
In high school, she pursued the arts, and her social circle expanded to include a fair number of delinquents with dyed hair. One of them skipped breakfast for an entire month just to save up for her birthday gift.
That day, she sat in the flower shop for a long time, staring at the exquisite music box she'd received, before finally asking her mother, "What should I do if the gift is from someone I like?"
At that moment, her mother seemed to realize something: her daughter wasn't just *looking* foolish—she genuinely *was*.
*
Zhu Ming really wasn't all that clever.
As a child, she poured all her energy into navigating social relationships, exhausting herself just to make friends, leaving little room for paying attention in class. Later, when her social life improved, there always seemed to be a missing connection in her brain—she learned everything slowly.
Her parents, frantic, hired private tutors. But during lessons, she focused more on the tutor's tone and expressions. If the tutor sounded even slightly impatient, her only thought was: *Help—how can I pretend to understand? What should I say to avoid making them angry?*
Unsurprisingly, the tutors' feedback to her parents was always the same: "Her foundation is too weak. It's too late to catch up now. We recommend she avoid the academic route."
Her parents lost sleep over it, but Zhu Ming was secretly relieved. Compared to solving math problems, painting was far more interesting.
Perhaps because she grew up in a flower shop, she had always been sensitive to color. Watching her mother arrange bouquets also gave her a basic appreciation for aesthetics. And the fluid, artistic handwriting her mother used when writing cards? Zhu Ming mastered it perfectly—by elementary school, she was already the go-to person for classroom blackboard announcements.
*
She still remembered the time an art teacher passed by and saw her standing on a stool, painting. The teacher leaned in and asked how long she'd been studying art.
Zhu Ming nervously picked at her fingers. "I haven't."
"You've never studied, yet you can paint like this? Does anyone in your family work in the arts?"
This was a point of pride for Zhu Ming. "My mom owns a flower shop!"
The teacher paused, glanced at the blackboard announcement, and sighed. "Ah, an ounce of heredity is worth a ton of education."
*
Yes, Zhu Ming had always admired her mother.
Building a thriving business from scratch wasn't easy for anyone, yet "Mingpin Florist" had become a well-established flower shop in City A, with orders pouring in nonstop.
Her mother was warm and welcoming to customers, making everyone feel at ease. But when faced with difficult clients, she never shied away from conflict.
The moment Zhu Ming stepped into the shop that day, she knew trouble was brewing. A customer had come to pick up an order and was nitpicking the bouquet her mother had prepared, complaining that some flowers looked wilted or discolored.
Her mother was already pursing her lips. "Sir, you asked to pick it up first thing in the morning, so I wrapped the freshest flowers for you. Of course, by afternoon, they won't look as good as they did earlier. If you point out which ones you're unhappy with, I can replace them."
"They all look a bit wilted. Just wrap me a new one."
"That's not how it works, sir. What am I supposed to do with this bouquet?"
"Well, if I'm buying flowers, I want fresh ones. Oh, so you *know* you can't sell this one—yet you still tried to sell it to me?"
"Enough. This white rose has curled edges—I'll replace it. Will that work?"
*
"Even if you replace it, it's still not worth the original price. Give me a discount, and I'll take it."
Zhu Ming watched as her mother snatched the bouquet from the man's hands, tossed it into the trash, and waved him off impatiently. "Get out—get out! Goodbye! Don't come back!"
*
What followed was a five-minute screaming match.
After driving the customer away, her mother inevitably turned her anger on Zhu Ming. "You just stood there like a statue! Couldn't even back me up in an argument? Your dad keeps saying you can take over the shop if you can't find a job after graduation—has he even *looked* at you? Are you cut out for business? You take after him *way* too much, same blank stare, like two peas in a pod!"
Zhu Ming was usually terrified of raised voices—except when it was her mother yelling at her.
Sure enough, once her mother had vented, she asked, "Why are you back so early? No classes this afternoon?"
"Yeah."
"Tch. Must be nice being in college—free time whenever you want." Her mother washed her hands, as if scrubbing away the bad vibes. "Had lunch yet?"
"Yeah."
"Fine. Here, let me peel you a peach."
*
The honey peach was soft and sweet, melting in her mouth.
But the sticky juice on her hands was irritating, like the unease gnawing at Zhu Ming lately.
She had started dating someone last semester, and her mother knew about it.
Her mother hadn't objected this time because, for once, it *wasn't* a delinquent with dyed hair. On the contrary, he was outstanding—so outstanding that it almost seemed too good to be true for someone like Zhu Ming.
*
The guy was tall, handsome, and clean-cut—the kind of appearance that won over elders effortlessly. He was also incredibly smooth. Knowing Zhu Ming was a local, he showed up at the flower shop during the holidays with armfuls of gifts, handling social interactions with effortless charm.
Upon further inquiry, it turned out his family was well-off—his father was in foreign trade, and his mother was a university professor. The couple dabbled in oil painting collections, so the young man had a keen interest in the arts as well.
His name was Chen Sheng, a graduate student in management at A University—Zhu Ming's senior. According to him, he had been captivated by her talent, mesmerized by the sight of her painting in the studio, and thus launched an ardent pursuit.
Her mother was overjoyed. "Really? Heh, she's not good at much else, but she *can* paint. If she could just become an art teacher after college, I'd be satisfied."
"Auntie, you're underestimating her," Chen Sheng said with a laugh. "Her work? My mother called it genius. Actually, I have a friend whose family owns a gallery. I was planning to introduce them soon. If we can exhibit her paintings there, given the gallery's influence and her talent, I'm confident she could make a name for herself in the art world!"
"Seriously?!" That was the first time her mother truly believed Zhu Ming might—just *might*—have a future in art.
*
So when her mother noticed the rare hint of worry on Zhu Ming's usually blank face, she immediately grew suspicious. "You never come home this early when you have free time. What's going on? Did you and Xiao Chen have a fight?"
"Huh? No." Zhu Ming was, as always, slow to react. "I don't fight with anyone."
"True. Then is the exhibition not going well?"
"Not exactly… I'm still working on the paintings."
"Then why the long face?" Her mother relaxed slightly. "That friend of his—the one with the gallery—has Xiao Chen introduced you yet?"
*
Zhu Ming took another bite of peach. "Yeah."
Her mother was about to lose patience. "And?"
"And… everything's fine."
Silence settled over the flower shop. Her mother took several deep breaths to steady herself before turning up the volume on her iPad.
A popular drama was playing—the female lead looked melancholic, full of "buts" and "maybes," torn between choices.
It was a lot like how Zhu Ming had been feeling lately.
She hesitated, then tried to speak. "Mom, I—"
"Ugh, I've had *enough* of this!" Her mother suddenly erupted at the screen. "What kind of director even *made* this? How is *she* the female lead? The male leads are fine, but this girl—can't accept one, won't reject the other. Face it, she just likes *both*!"
Zhu Ming froze, her heart pounding like a drum.
Her mother turned to glare at her. "What? You had something to say?"
Zhu Ming quickly lowered her head. "N-never mind."
"There you go again! If you have something to say, *say it*! Why can't you be articulate like other kids—"
Just as her temper was about to boil over, Zhu Ming's father suddenly appeared, holding a red plastic bag. "Oh, Xiao Zhu's back."
But Zhu Ming wasn't particularly close to her father either. She just nodded. "...Yeah."
He handed the bag to her mother. "Here, the convenience store next door gave us some ice cream."
"Oh right, I almost forgot—I promised to bring them chili sauce. You two watch the shop, okay? Don't just disappear like last time!" Her mother grabbed a few homemade chili sauce jars from the fridge and left. She probably wouldn't be back anytime soon.
Her father glanced outside, then turned to Zhu Ming. "So? What's going on? Something you can't tell your mom?"
"Really, it's nothing…" Zhu Ming frowned slightly. *If I won't tell Mom, why would I tell you?*
But her father seemed to have guessed. "Let me tell you something, Xiao Zhu. When it comes to relationships, don't be too rigid. Don't think that just because you're dating someone, you owe them some kind of loyalty. That kind of thinking will only trap you in a dead-end relationship. You've got to—what do they call it?—'keep your options open.' Date if you want, but don't stop looking around."
He leaned in conspiratorially. "You're only a sophomore. This is just dating, not marriage. There's no such thing as lifelong devotion at this stage. And here's the thing—"
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Even if *you're* being loyal, who's to say *he* is? For all you know, *he's* the one keeping his options open."