Chapter 6: The First System-Speed Push on a Strange Mature Beauty, Long-Legged Lin Jia at 100

For the next two weeks, my relationship with Zheng Xuemei stayed in a delicate balance.

We still ran into each other at the company. We still chatted a few times in the break room. She would occasionally send me messages, and I would reply.

But the pace of things clearly slowed down, like we had both tacitly pressed pause without either of us pressing stop.

Her favorability froze again at 118, just like it had stalled at 99 before. Only this time it stayed there even longer, nearly two full weeks.

When I reported that to Wang Youmin, she was helping me choose a shirt to wash. After hearing me out, she casually tossed the shirt into the laundry basket and said flatly, "She's sorting out her feelings. This time it's more complicated than before. Give her some time."

"How do you always make such certain guesses?" I asked from the doorway.

"Because I'm a woman," she shot me a look. "And stop talking nonsense. The collar on this shirt is about worn through, change into another one already."

I smiled and went to change.

Wang Youmin didn't ask any more questions, and she didn't show any obvious unease. She just told me, in her usual way, that she was there, but without putting any pressure on me. That silent trust only made things feel more complicated inside me.

Then, on the thirteenth day that Zheng Xuemei stayed stuck at 118, something new happened and pulled part of my attention away from her.

It was Friday. After work, carrying the complicated feeling of a prisoner just released on parole and about to be sent right back in, I made a detour into the convenience store downstairs from the office.

Wang Youmin had asked me to bring back a bottle of shampoo while I was at it.

Her instructions were so detailed they could have served as a model for modern oral literature.

She didn't just give me the brand, series, and size. She even specified, "The one with the blue cap, not the green one; the second-generation upgraded version, not the first; the one with 'smooth repair' written in brackets on the back."

The more I listened, the more absurd it all felt. She could have edited all that into a WeChat message and sent it to me. That would have saved time and effort, and left a written record too, so if I bought the wrong one later, there would be proof.

But she refused.

She insisted on saying it out loud. And when she was done, she had to add, "Did you hear me clearly?" as if I were some new apprentice just walked in the door and she was the master teaching me hand by hand.

The reason was simple... if I bought the wrong one, the responsibility had to land squarely and clearly on me.

That was a high-level kind of wisdom in marriage: transfer all potential risk to the other person in advance, while you yourself always remain in an invincible position.

I knew that perfectly well, but I couldn't argue with it.

The result of arguing would only be hearing the instructions again in even more detail, which would just prolong the sentence.

The convenience store wasn't big. The gaps between the shelves were narrow, like two petty coworkers facing each other at their desks, and the lighting was so bright it was almost cruel, exposing every speck of dust and every price tag on the shampoo bottles with painful clarity.

I turned to the personal care aisle and crouched down, like an archaeologist studying unearthed relics, comparing two nearly identical bottles of shampoo over and over, trying to find the answer to my fate in the ingredient list.

While I was hesitating, someone else crouched down beside me and reached for something on the shelf. Their elbow cut an uncomfortably precise arc and nearly clipped my head.

I instinctively shifted aside, thinking: even in the narrowest gaps between shelves, a stranger can still produce such perfectly timed "almosts." That did fit the absurd logic of this world... as if by accident, yet always striking at the most awkward moment.

I looked up and moved slightly to the side, then reflexively scanned the number above that person's head.

[Lin Jia, 34 years old, favorability toward you: 8]

"8."

I froze for a second. She was a complete stranger. I had never seen her before, and she didn't know me either, but her initial favorability was a positive 8.

I couldn't help raising my head and looking at her more carefully.

Lin Jia, thirty-four years old.

Her hair was casually tied into a loose bun, with a few strands falling naturally beside her ears.

She wore a loose apricot-colored sweater with a pair of dark gray slim tapered pants, and on her feet were a simple pair of thick-soled ankle boots.

She looked comfortable yet put-together, the quintessential urban mature woman who had just thrown something on after work but still looked undeniably good.

What caught my eye most was her legs.

She was slightly bent over to get something, and those dark gray tapered pants outlined the lines of her legs perfectly... straight and long, her calves neat and firm, her thighs full without looking bulky, the pants narrowing below the knees and tracing curves that were smooth and full of elastic tension.

Even in a simple bend and rise, those legs carried a kind of elegance and strength polished by time, with both the richness of a mature woman and the tightness built by years of walking or exercise, making it impossible to look away.

She got the thing she wanted and straightened up.

Only then did I notice her features: delicate and pleasing to the eye, skin fair and smooth, her lips naturally pink. Not dazzling, but healthy with color.

At thirty-four, she already had the slightest fine lines at the corners of her eyes, but they only added to the calm, soft charm around her. She wasn't flashy like a young girl; she was more like a cup of warm black tea, quiet but with a lingering sweetness.

When she stood up and saw that I was still crouching there looking at her, she didn't react much. She just glanced at me naturally and turned to walk forward.

I hurriedly stood up, grabbed the shampoo, and quietly followed her to the checkout, standing two steps behind her in line. I pretended to look at my phone, but I was actually watching the number above her head the whole time.

8. Unchanged.

I paid before her, walked out of the convenience store, and stood at the entrance for a bit, pretending to check my phone while I waited for her to come out.

She came out and turned right, and I turned right too... we happened to be going the same way.

After about thirty meters, I drew a deep breath and silently told myself: spend 30 points, raise Lin Jia's favorability to 38.

The system responded instantly. My points dropped from 260 to 230, and the number above her head jumped from 8 to 38.

I quickened my pace until I was beside her and said with a smile, "Hey, we met in the convenience store just now, right?"

Lin Jia turned her head and looked at me. Her gaze was calm, without caution or deliberate enthusiasm, and she simply answered naturally, "Mm."

"That hand cream you were buying just now," I said as I went along with it, "what brand was it? My wife said her hands have been getting dry lately, so I thought I'd look for it."

That opening wasn't particularly clever, but it was safe enough. It showed I had a wife, and it made me seem family-oriented.

Lin Jia stopped and looked at the item in her hand, then held out the hand cream for me to see. "This one?"

I took it and examined it carefully. "Is this brand any good?"

"It's okay," she said in a gentle, clear voice. "I've been using it for two years, but everyone's skin is different, so take it as reference only."

"Two years? Then it's pretty trustworthy." I handed the hand cream back. "Thanks."

She took it back and put it into her bag, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. "You're welcome."

Then she kept walking, and I naturally fell into step beside her. It was the kind of distance where you just happened to be going the same way and could chat a little.

I noticed how especially good her legs looked while she walked in those tapered pants... her pace neither fast nor slow, every step carrying the composure unique to a mature woman. The pants tightened slightly at the knees, outlining the graceful curve of her calves, her ankles slender yet strong.

Under the lights, those legs had smooth lines and supple tension, making it hard not to imagine that if you touched them, they would feel warm and firm.

"Do you live around here too?" I asked.

"Mm, in the complex up ahead," she replied.

"I'm heading to the subway station. I'm on the way."

She nodded lightly. No extra words, but she also didn't speed up or deliberately keep her distance, which meant she wasn't annoyed by walking and talking side by side.

I glanced at the number above her head again: [42].

It had gone up by another four points.

We walked about two hundred meters together and didn't talk much, but it felt natural.

She asked if I worked nearby, and I said I worked at an ad agency. She said she worked in brand planning at a design company nearby. The two industries were close to each other, so the conversation came easily enough.

When we reached the entrance of her complex, she stopped. "I'm here."

"Mm," I said with a nod. "Then go on in. Thanks for the hand cream."

She smiled. It was the first real smile she had shown tonight, small but soft at the corners of her lips, the ends of her eyes curving slightly. "It's nothing. Go home and help your wife take good care of her hands."

As she spoke, she turned and swiped her card to enter the complex. Those legs were once again clearly on display as she turned... long, straight, elegant, carrying the mature charm unique to a thirty-four-year-old woman.

I stood at the gate and took one last look at the number above her head: [51].

From 8 to 51, it had taken only a three-minute walk.

I pulled out my phone and sent the whole thing to Wang Youmin: [I ran into a stranger at the convenience store. Her initial favorability was 8. I spent 30 points to push her to 38, chatted for three minutes, and now she's at 51.]

Wang Youmin replied almost immediately: [You just went to buy shampoo and happened to run into this?]

I: [Yeah.]

Wang Youmin: [Did you buy the shampoo?]

I: [...Yeah, I bought it.]

Wang Youmin: [Good. Then that's fine. Come back.]

Then she added: [That stranger, are you planning to keep going?]

I thought about it and replied: [I want to try. It's the first time I've met a complete stranger. I want to see how the system works on someone I don't know.]

Wang Youmin: [Fine. Bring my shampoo back first.]

I took the bag and headed toward the subway station. The night wind brushed against my face, while my mind was turning over both Zheng Xuemei and Lin Jia at the same time, and the feeling was a little strange.

Zheng Xuemei was someone I had slowly built up over more than two months, climbing from -17 all the way to 118. Every point of favorability had a source... tea break conversations, serious help revising her budget explanation, the quiet of sitting side by side in the cinema, and the blush and fragility she showed after drinking sake at that Japanese restaurant.

Lin Jia, on the other hand, was a stranger I had bumped into by chance tonight. Three minutes, from 8 to 51, with most of it pushed up directly by the system.

Which method was more interesting?

I actually knew the answer. Zheng Xuemei's kind was more interesting, because that was real chemistry.

But Lin Jia's kind... was more exciting.

It showed the power of the system in the most direct way. Those 30 points had gone out, and in return she was willing to stop and chat with me, willing to show me the hand cream, willing to tell me she'd been using it for two years.

That was an effect you could see and touch.

I wanted to try pushing Lin Jia's favorability to 100 and see what a 100-point strange mature woman actually looked like.

This was both an experiment and a game. I wanted to finish it and see the result.

I didn't have Lin Jia's contact information, and I wasn't even sure of her real name... "Lin Jia" was the name the system showed me. In reality, I didn't even know whether that was really what she was called.

The only thing I knew for certain was that she lived in that complex, worked nearby, and very likely came to that convenience store often.

So over the next few days, I went into that convenience store every day after work and stayed there for a few minutes, ostensibly to buy something, but really to try my luck.

On the first day, I didn't run into her.

On the second day, still no luck.

On the third day, Monday night, I went in to buy a bag of chips, and just as I was checking out, the door opened and she came in.

It was still that loose apricot sweater, but this time she had paired it with a dark A-line skirt, the hem ending just above the knees and revealing a stretch of calf.

Her legs looked especially striking in the light... long and straight, the calves smooth and firm, her ankles slender yet still full, her skin fair and delicate, and she was wearing a pair of thin-strap sandals. As she walked, her calf muscles tightened lightly, carrying the elegant elasticity and strength unique to a mature woman.

Those legs were neither too thin nor overly full. They were just right, evenly rounded and pleasing, impossible to look away from at a glance.

I glanced at the number above her head: [Lin Jia, 34 years old, favorability toward you: 48].

Forty-eight was three points lower than the 51 from our last meeting. After a few days, the favorability had naturally slipped a bit. That was normal... memories fade, impressions weaken.

But 48 was still far above her initial 8, which meant the impression from that brief chat last time had mostly held.

After paying, I deliberately stood by the checkout counter and waited for her.

She bought a yogurt and a bag of nuts. When she came over to pay, she looked up, saw me, froze for a moment, then recognized me. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. "We meet again."

"Convenience store fate," I said with a smile.

"Did your wife like that hand cream?" she asked softly, and then actually laughed a little.

"She did," I said, smiling too. "...Do you have a husband?"

The question came out a little abruptly, but my tone was relaxed.

Lin Jia's expression shifted slightly. "I do." Then after a pause, she added, "You have a wife too."

"Right," I said with a nod. "So we're both responsible members of society."

That sentence made her laugh for real, clear and carrying a hint of helplessness. "The way you put that makes it sound like there's something going on between us..."

She shook her head, paid, and we walked out together. This time she didn't rush to end the conversation. When we reached the entrance of her complex, she didn't immediately swipe in. Instead, she stood there and chatted with me for another ten minutes or so.

She talked about working in brand planning at her design company, how the line between advertising and design had become increasingly blurred, and how she was under a lot of pressure from a recent project and often couldn't sleep well.

I just listened quietly, occasionally adding one comment that hit the key point in what she was saying, not the perfunctory "mm-hm" type, but something that genuinely caught her words and nudged them a little further.

She became more and more relaxed as she talked, and I noticed that the time her eyes stayed on my face grew noticeably longer.

Those long legs stood together, the skirt swaying lightly with each small movement, and the curve of her calves looked especially soft and lovely under the streetlights.

Favorability updated: [50].

I silently told myself: spend another 20 points and push Lin Jia's favorability to 70.

My points dropped from 230 to 210, and the number above her head instantly refreshed to [70].

Then I felt a very obvious change. She suddenly stepped closer to me, not much, just that one step, but before that she had kept a standard stranger's distance. After that step, the distance had changed. It was close enough that I could clearly smell her breath.

She didn't seem to notice the shift herself and continued talking, her voice more natural than before.

"Our company recently changed creative directors. His style is completely different from the previous one. I have to adjust to his pace all over again now, and it's exhausting."

I said, "A new style is always hard. Once you get used to one work rhythm and suddenly everything gets disrupted, your whole logic and habits have to be recalibrated."

She looked up at me, a flash of recognition passing through her eyes. "Exactly. That's exactly how it feels."

Favorability jumped again: [74].

We stood at the entrance of the complex and talked until nearly nine o'clock. Her phone suddenly rang. She looked down at it, her expression shifting slightly. "My husband sent a message. I have to go in."

"Mm, go on back," I said. "When you're under pressure with that project and feel bad one day, you can come vent to me. I've heard so many complaints from companies in this line of work that I've practically become a professional."

She looked up and laughed softly. The smile was more real than any before, the corners of her eyes curving beautifully.

"The way you say things... fine, I'll remember that." She paused, as if making a small decision. "WeChat?"

We added each other on the spot.

The system immediately popped up a prompt:

[Detected that the mature woman has proactively asked for the host's contact information. Reward: 5 points. Current remaining points: 215.]

She went into the complex, and I stood at the gate watching her back slowly disappear. Those legs were still eye-catching as she walked, the skirt swaying lightly with each step, the line of her calves drawing a graceful shadow under the streetlights.

I looked down at the WeChat card we had just exchanged... the remark was "Xiaolin Design," and the avatar was a side-profile silhouette, with no facial features visible, but the outline was delicate and elegant.

Her favorability had already refreshed to: [78].

On the way to the subway, I went over everything that had happened tonight in my head.

I had spent a total of 50 system points on Lin Jia: the first 30 points pushed her from 8 to 38 as a foundation, then she naturally climbed a bit more, and tonight I added another 20 points. Now she was at 78.

Twenty-two points short of 100.

According to the system's pattern, the natural increase from each meeting was probably around 5 to 15 points. With a bit of verbal guidance and light physical contact, two more meetings should be enough to reach 100 naturally.

Or I could just spend points again and jump there in one move.

I wanted to try both ways.

When I told Wang Youmin about tonight, she was leaning on the bed reading a book. After listening, she didn't even look up. In a calm voice, she asked, "What's her name?"

"Lin Jia. Brand planning at a design company. Thirty-four. Married."

"Married," Wang Youmin repeated, a hint of amusement in her tone. "Then the two of you really are socially responsible people who understand each other."

I blinked. "That... is exactly what she said tonight."

"Not surprising," Wang Youmin said, turning a page with one hand. "Because we're both women. I know what she's thinking."

I sat on the edge of the bed and rested a hand on her leg. "Then what is she thinking?"

"She's thinking you're kind of interesting, and since you have a wife, you're safe," Wang Youmin said lightly. "For a married woman, the words 'has a wife' are, in a sense, a pass. It means you're not some sneaky man just looking to cheat, but two people living normal lives who find each other interesting without threatening either marriage."

I looked at her profile. "What about you? Did you think the same thing when we first met?"

Wang Youmin closed the book and turned to look at me, the corner of her mouth carrying a faint smile. "Back then, you didn't even have a wife. You were still just a poor student."

"Then now," I said, my fingers lightly brushing the inside of her thigh, "if you were Lin Jia, what would you think?"

She was silent for two seconds, then set the book on the nightstand, turned to face me, and said in a calm but complicated voice, "I am Wang Youmin. I don't need to think about if."

After that, she paused and added, "Turn off the light. Go to sleep."

I smiled and reached out to turn off the lamp.

The bedroom sank into darkness, with only the occasional headlights from passing cars outside drawing streaks of light across the ceiling.

The two of them lay side by side, neither of them saying a word. The room was filled only with the sound of quiet breathing.

After a while, her soft voice rose out of the darkness.

"Chen Mo."

"Mm?"

"Push her to 100, then tell me how it feels," she said, her voice gentle but unmistakably curious. "I want to know."

I laughed softly and rolled over to hold her from behind. "All right."

"Mm..." she answered, and her breathing gradually settled.

I thought she really was going to sleep, and was just about to close my eyes when I suddenly felt her butt press back against me lightly, like a silent invitation.

I understood immediately. Without saying a word, I lifted the blanket and slipped down, gently parting her long legs with both hands and burying my face between the warm roots of her thighs.

Wang Youmin trembled slightly, but she did not refuse. Instead, she spread her legs a little more, giving me a better angle.

Her cunt was already a little wet, carrying that familiar sweet, sticky scent. I first rubbed my nose gently against her soft labia, then stuck out my tongue and slowly, firmly licked one long line from bottom to top.

"Mm..." she let out a satisfied hum, one hand lightly pressing down on the back of my head.

I stopped hesitating and let my tongue get to work.

First I circled her already swollen clit with the tip of my tongue, teasing it lightly, then sucked hard on that little bead of flesh while using two fingers to part her plump lips. I pushed my tongue into the hot, wet opening and stirred it like I was thrusting.

"Ah... Chen Mo..." Wang Youmin's breathing grew heavier at once, her waist twisting softly. "Deeper with your tongue... just a little deeper..."

I slid both hands under her rounded ass and lifted her lower body high, burying my whole face in her slick cunt like I was eating fruit. I sucked hard at the steadily gushing slick while my tongue attacked her clit and pussy hole quickly and heavily.

Her legs started trembling. Her toes curled lightly against my back, and from her mouth came an uncontrollable string of soft moans.

"Mm... ah... so good... husband, lick me harder... suck harder... yes... right there..."

The harder I licked, the more excited I got, my tongue quivering rapidly as I stimulated her most sensitive clit. At the same time, I pushed two fingers into her overflowing cunt, slowly hooking and pressing at the slightly raised spot on the front wall that made her shudder.

Wang Youmin's moans rose higher and higher. Both hands clamped hard on my head, and her hips kept rubbing against my face without her even meaning to.

"It's coming... Chen Mo... I'm about to cum... ah...!"

Her whole body suddenly went rigid. Her legs clamped around my head, her pussy contracting wildly, and a gush of hot wetness burst out, flooding my mouth.

But I still didn't stop. I kept sucking hard on her clit, extending her orgasm until her whole body shuddered and went limp, a long, satisfied cry slipping out with a faint sob to it.

Only then did I lift my head. My face was shining with all of her wetness.

Wang Youmin panted as she pulled me back up and took the initiative to kiss my lips. After tasting her own flavor, she gave a soft hum, her voice syrupy and spoiled.

"...This empress is satisfied. Rare for you to lick so hard."

I held her sweaty body and laughed quietly against her ear. "Making sure my wife gets off before bed is what I should do."

She squeezed me lightly, buried her face in my chest, and her voice was already thick with sleep.

"Idiot... good night."

"Good night, wife."

I pulled the blanket up and held her tightly. In the dark, I listened to her satisfied, even breathing, and my heart turned soft.

I saw Lin Jia again on Thursday.

She sent a message first, asking whether our ad company accepted outsourced design work. Her company had a client who wanted a full brand project. The budget was substantial, but they were short-staffed and wanted to find a reliable partner.

It was a proper work matter, with nothing much to do with me personally.

I told her I would ask around for her, then went to speak with the business director.

After hearing the details, the director became very interested and told me to send over the other side's contact information so they could set up a time to talk.

I told Lin Jia the result, and she replied quickly with a "thank you." Then she asked me, "Do you want to have coffee after work and talk details in person? It would be more efficient that way."

The system immediately popped up a prompt:

[Detected a mature woman actively inviting the host to meet. Reward: 20 points. Current remaining points: 235.]

I said yes and made a reservation at a quiet coffee shop near the company for 6:30.

Before going, I had already made up my mind: this time, I would push her straight to 100.

Spending 22 points to raise her from 78 to 100 was more than enough.

Besides, I was very curious what an unfamiliar mature woman felt like at 100 points.

Wang Youmin had also said before that I should push her to 100 and then tell her the real feeling.

I arrived at the coffee shop ten minutes early. She showed up right on time at 6:30.

Today, Lin Jia was dressed differently. Even after work she still had an office air about her. She wore a light camel-colored knit top with a slightly open neckline that revealed a delicate collarbone.

Below that was a dark gray knee-length skirt, cut just right, professional without losing the shape of those unforgettable legs of hers.

The moment she walked in, I noticed the two men at the table beside us both glanced at her more than once.

Her legs really were beautiful. Beneath the skirt, her calves were straight and even, the lines smooth. Her skin was pale and delicate. She wore thin-strap sandals, and when she walked, the muscles in her calves tightened subtly, carrying that unique blend of elegance and elasticity that only a mature woman has. There was both fullness and restraint there, making you want to look twice.

When she saw me, she smiled faintly and walked over to sit down.

I ordered two coffees first. The moment she sat, I silently thought: spend 22 points, and raise Lin Jia's favorability to 100.

My points dropped from 235 to 213, and the number above her head instantly refreshed: [100].

Then I witnessed something very magical happen with my own eyes.

Lin Jia put her bag down and looked up at me.

Her gaze was clearly different from when she'd first walked in.

It was no longer the polite look of two acquaintances meeting by chance. It was... an inexplicable sense of comfort and closeness.

Soft, delicate, with a natural warmth, like she had met someone she already knew and yet wanted to spend a little more time with.

"Have you been waiting long?" she asked.

"No, I just got here." I slid the coffee over to her. "I already ordered it. Drink up first."

"Thanks." She held the cup with both hands, glanced at me first, then lowered her head and took a light sip. Her movements were elegant and composed, and the neckline of the camel knit top shifted slightly with the motion, revealing the graceful line of her collarbone.

"No rush," I said with a smile. "Have a sip of coffee first and relax. What's the client's industry?"

Lin Jia set the cup down and sat up a little straighter, shifting into work mode. Her words were organized and clear, her voice gentle but carrying the competence of a career woman.

"They're a mid-sized consumer brand, mainly high-end functional drinks and healthy snacks. They just finished a Series B round, and their valuation has already reached 380 million. This time they want a full brand upgrade, not just a new VI system. They want to reshape the whole chain, from brand positioning and visual identity to product packaging, content marketing, and channel strategy."

I nodded to signal her to continue, while quickly sorting through the information in my head.

"The budget is roughly three to four million," she went on. "The timeline is tight. They want a complete proposal and the first two phases of execution within about three months. The client side is fairly professional, but they don't understand the division of labor between ad agencies and design firms very well, so I want to find a reliable partner to help us make the pitch solid."

After she finished, I thought for two seconds and said, "A full project with a three to four million budget is definitely not small. What's their core pain point? Are they trying to raise the brand's premium, or break into a new channel?"

Lin Jia's eyes lit up. Clearly she hadn't expected me to grab the key point so quickly.

"Both," she said. "Their online sales are still okay, but they still can't get into high-end offline channels. They want to use this upgrade to lift the brand tone while telling the product story in a way that hits harder."

I took a sip of coffee, quickly built a framework in my head, and started laying out a plan for her.

"In that case, when you pitch, don't start by piling on visuals and execution plans. First, win them over with a three-layer storytelling method. Layer one: brand diagnosis. Use data and competitor comparisons to make their current problems clear. Layer two: the new positioning. Help them find something that has both functional attributes and emotional value, like 'a daily functional supply station for young people' or 'urban light wellness.' Layer three: the rollout path. Break visual identity, packaging, content, and channels into executable phases, and give each phase clear deliverables and KPIs."

Lin Jia listened very carefully and started taking notes on her phone. I kept going.

"When you talk to our business director, emphasize two things. First, we have done similar full projects for functional drinks before, and I can find you two successful cases. Second, our design and copy teams are the same team, so the visuals and the content stay tightly aligned. We won't end up like some companies, where everything feels disconnected. Keep the pitch deck within twenty-five pages if possible. The first ten pages should focus on the story and strategy, and only then should you move into the execution plan. Clients hate hearing 'We're very professional, please rest assured.' That's empty talk. They want to see that you actually understand their business."

I added a few concrete lines to use, along with common traps to avoid, such as how to allocate the budget and how to handle disagreements between the client's marketing team and founder.

Lin Jia listened while nodding, the admiration in her eyes growing more obvious. After I finished, she let out a soft breath and said sincerely, "You really know this industry... A lot of partners either only understand execution or only understand pitch packaging. You even considered the client's internal decision-making logic and the possible conflicts."

I smiled and said modestly, "I've been in it a few years, so I've seen more situations. When it comes to actual execution, it still depends on how well you and the client can work together."

We then spent another ten-plus minutes talking in detail about the proposal structure and the timeline.

Her questions were professional, and my advice was all practical.

By the time the discussion wound down, she had even taken the brand diagnosis draft they were working on and sent it to me, asking me to take a look and see where it could be improved.

By the time the work topic ended, twenty-five minutes had passed.

Lin Jia leaned back in her chair. Her long legs were naturally crossed under the table, and the skirt rose slightly with the posture, revealing more of the smooth, taut line of her calves.

She looked at me, her eyes soft, with a light smile in them.

"I'm really glad I came today. I was only planning to make a quick contact, but I didn't expect to get so much out of it... Chen Mo, if you went to our company, you'd definitely be a pillar."

I shook my head with a smile. "I'm a pretty lazy person. I adapt slowly to new environments. Staying where I am now feels more comfortable."

She gave a small laugh and lifted the coffee, which had cooled a little, for another sip. In that moment, her gaze on me lingered longer than before, carrying a natural closeness that was hard to name.

After the work talk ended, the conversation naturally drifted into the personal side.

She asked whether my office was far from home. I said it only took twenty minutes by bike.

She sighed. "I have to commute forty minutes every day. Sometimes it's really exhausting. Lately I've been thinking about moving somewhere closer to work."

"Why don't you?" I asked.

"Lazy, I guess," she said with a self-mocking smile, carrying a bit of helplessness but also the easy freedom of a mature woman. "And I've gotten used to where I live now. There's a really good convenience store in the neighborhood..." She suddenly stopped there, lifted her eyes to look at me, and the corner of her mouth curved with a hint of memory. "It's the one where we first met."

"So the convenience store kept you there," I said with a laugh. "More important than rent and commute time."

"Pretty much," she said with a light nod, both hands around the coffee cup as her eyes softened. "Also, my husband doesn't want to move. He says the parking is convenient in that neighborhood."

"Parking convenience is more persuasive than a convenience store," I replied. "Your husband wins."

She smiled and shook her head, resting her chin in her hand as she looked at me.

Her long legs were crossed naturally under the table, and the skirt had ridden up a little, showing more of her calves.

Under the warm lights of the café, her legs looked especially good. Straight and even, with smooth, taut muscle lines and pale, delicate skin that still carried the soft luster unique to a mature woman.

Her ankles were slim, her insteps elegant. Even in a casual cross-legged pose, she still carried the elastic grace and femininity honed by time.

"You talk in a pretty fun way," she said softly.

"Fun? What does that mean?"

"It means... not boring." She looked at me with a trace of a smile. "A lot of the people I meet in the same industry can talk shop all day long, but once they step away from work, they don't know what to say anymore. You're different. Whatever you talk about feels natural."

As she said that, her gaze stayed on my face for a moment longer than a normal conversation would.

It wasn't an intentional inspection. It was more like an unconscious pause, simply wanting to look a little longer.

That gaze was soft, delicate, and naturally warm.

So this is what a 100-point mature woman feels like.

What the system said was true: "expressed naturally in the other person's subjective feelings, without forcefully interfering with consciousness."

She didn't become someone else. She was still Lin Jia, still the thirty-four-year-old designer with a husband, a job, and a forty-minute commute every day.

But the way she felt about me had gained something beyond the original 8 points. It was a kind of unreasoned goodwill... the kind that made her feel that having coffee with me today was somehow more worthwhile than usual, and that her mood was a little lighter.

The system timely popped up a prompt:

[Detected the target displaying flirtatious eye contact toward the host in public for over five minutes. Reward: 25 points. Current remaining points: 238.]

I didn't use that favorability for anything. I just kept drinking coffee and talking with her.

We talked about her project, about the blurred boundary between advertising and design, and about the industry's eternal paradoxes... sometimes the client knows their own needs better than the agency, and sometimes they have no idea what they want at all.

By around eight, she glanced at her phone and said, "I need to go home. My husband is cooking tonight, so I should head back early."

"He cooks," I said. "That's nice."

"He's only average at it," she said, standing up to get her bag. Her movements were elegant, and those legs of hers became clear to see again as she stood. Beneath the skirt, her calves had smooth, natural lines, full of elasticity. "But having someone cook is better than no one cooking."

As she said that, a complex emotion suddenly flashed through her eyes, like a faint trace of loneliness or some long-suppressed tiredness, but she quickly gathered it back up.

I could probably guess what that fleeting thing was, but tonight clearly wasn't the time to say it.

Outside the café, we stood at the entrance for a bit.

She said she'd head off first, and I said okay.

After taking two steps, she suddenly turned back and said with a smile, "Next time your wife needs a new hand cream, you can ask me. I know a few good ones."

I laughed. "All right. I'll trouble you then."

She smiled too, then turned and left. I stood at the café entrance and watched her disappear around the corner. Even in the night, her legs were still conspicuous, and her stride remained calm and elegant.

I lowered my head and looked at the system:

[Lin Jia (34) favorability toward you: 107]

She had naturally climbed another seven points after reaching 100, bringing her to 107.

On the subway ride home, I sent Wang Youmin a full account of the evening, including what 100 points felt like and the look in Lin Jia's eyes when she said, "having someone cook is better than no one cooking."

Her reply came faster than I'd expected:

[That "having someone cook is better than no one cooking" line, what did her eyes look like when she said it?]

[I replied: Something flashed through, but she gathered it back up very quickly.]

Wang Youmin was silent for a minute, then sent back: [Chen Mo, your 100-point experiment is done.]

[I replied: Mm.]

[How did it feel?]

I thought about it carefully before answering: [A 100-point woman will unconsciously want to talk with you a little longer. Her eyes will linger a bit more. When she leaves, she'll look back. It's not some intense, aggressive sort of thing. It's gentle and everyday. It's the feeling of meeting someone who somehow makes your mood better that day.]

Wang Youmin didn't reply right away. After about three minutes, she sent: [You described it pretty accurately.]

Then she added: [Come back quickly. There's hot soup.]

I got off the subway and started home. The night wind was cool, the streetlights glowed a warm orange, and there were already not many people left on the road.

When I pushed open the door to our home, my mind was still turning over the three women.

I was thinking about how Zheng Xuemei was still parked at 118, how Lin Jia had just reached 107, how Wang Youmin was waiting for me at home, and how that fleeting look of loneliness had flashed across Lin Jia's face when she said, "having someone cook is better than no one cooking."

What was in that look?

Loneliness.

The place in a plain marriage that had long been missing, yet hidden by habit.

The kind of loneliness where, if someone is willing to sit with you over a cup of coffee and seriously listen while you talk about your project and your stress, you suddenly feel like maybe today isn't so exhausting after all.

That was actually the same thing Zheng Xuemei had meant when she said in the Japanese restaurant that she changed her own lightbulbs at home and carried her own illness by herself.

Only Zheng Xuemei had already described that loneliness clearly, and heavily, while Lin Jia was only just beginning to notice it.

I changed my shoes. Wang Youmin peeked out from the kitchen, her voice calm but carrying a trace of warmth.

"You're back."

"I'm back," I said.

She brought out a bowl of steaming pork rib soup and set it on the dining table. The surface was still dotted with a few scallions, and the aroma was rich and inviting.

"Drink it before you talk," she said briefly.

I sat down, picked up the bowl, and took a sip.

The soup was hot and rich, tasting like ribs simmered slowly over low heat for hours.

I'd been drinking this soup for more than three years. Every time I drank it, it felt like some place in my heart was gently smoothed flat.

She sat across from me, resting her chin in her hand, quietly watching me drink.

The living room light fell on her face. Without makeup, her skin looked clean and soft. There was no interrogation in her eyes, only the familiar tenderness I knew so well, carrying a little fatigue but remaining stubbornly steady.

Halfway through, she said softly, "Tell me about Lin Jia."

So I told her everything from beginning to end.

From her taking the initiative to ask me for coffee, to the discussion about work, to that later line about someone cooking being better than no one cooking, and the fleeting, complicated emotion in her eyes when she said it. I told her all of it.

Wang Youmin listened very carefully. Only after I finished did she fall silent for a moment, then asked in a calm voice:

"Do you like her?"

I thought about it, really thought about it, and then answered:

"I do have some goodwill toward her, but not enough to call it liking. A large part of her goodwill toward me was pushed up by the system. I know that... so I can't take it seriously."

Wang Youmin looked at me and asked again:

"What about Zheng Xuemei?"

I fell silent again for a few seconds before saying:

"Zheng Xuemei's is real. Her goodwill mostly rose naturally... I only used the system once at the very beginning, and after that it was almost all given by her little by little on her own. That's different."

Wang Youmin lowered her head and looked at the table, not speaking right away. After about five or six seconds, she softly said, "Mm."

Then she stood up, carried the empty bowl away from me, and went into the kitchen. The sound of the light being switched off followed. She came back, stood in front of me, and said softly:

"Go to sleep."

I stood up, walked over to her, and gently hugged her from behind.

She didn't dodge, and she didn't respond right away either. She just stood there and let me hold her.

After a while, she slowly raised a hand and rested it on my arm, her fingertips tightening slightly.

"Wang Youmin," I called her in a low voice.

"Mm?"

"You're the one at 987 points," I said lightly, resting my chin on top of her head. "No one can ever reach that score."

She was silent for a few seconds, then nudged my chest lightly with her head, like she usually did when she was being coy, yet also as if she were hiding something. Her voice carried a faint nasal tone.

"No kidding."

After saying that, she patted my arm. "Come on, let's sleep."

She turned and walked toward the bedroom. I switched off the light in the living room and followed her. The door closed behind us, and the room sank into a soft darkness.

In the dark, I heard her turn over on the bed. Then her breathing gradually steadied.

I lay down, pulled up the system panel, and looked at it in the dark:

[Current remaining points: 238]

[Points needed for LV2 upgrade: 500. Current progress: 238/500]

238 points. Not even half, still far from LV2. But that was already more than double the original one hundred points.

Zheng Xuemei, at 118, was still waiting for herself to figure out the next step.

Lin Jia, at 107, was like a seed just planted, carrying the system's warmth, and no one knew what it would grow into.

And Wang Youmin, at 987, was like a lamp that had always been lit. No matter how hard the wind and rain outside got, the moment you pushed open that door, it was warm inside.

I closed the system panel, turned onto my side, and hugged her gently from behind, burying my face in her hair, familiar with its scent.

The story was still only halfway there.

But there was already one thing I knew clearly: there was something neither the system nor any woman could change.

That one thing was more solid than any number of points.