After a long, tense night, Ms. Qing Fang stretched languidly in her small apartment as the cool remnants of spring gave way to a lingering chill in the night air. Wearing only a thin T-shirt—a bargain from a street stall—she couldn't help but notice how her skin felt sticky in places, and certain areas burned with a persistent warmth. All of it made her feel oddly uncomfortable, as if she were marked by the heat of the ordeal from earlier. Deciding that a proper shower was long overdue, she sighed and resolved to wash it all off.
"Teacher, you should go ahead and take your shower first," Doug Feng offered hesitantly from the living room. He flicked on the TV, choosing a random channel as a feeble excuse to distract himself. His own heart pounded with restless anxiety, though his eyes kept darting toward the frosted glass door of the bathroom.
"It's alright," Ms. Qing Fang replied with a gentle smile over the phone from the kitchen, "if you're too tired, just get some sleep. I'll be fine without another shower right away."
After a brief exchange, she set aside her things and made her way toward the bathroom. Doug watched as she grabbed a change of clothes and disappeared behind the bathroom's milky frosted glass door. Soon the steady sound of running water, punctuated by soft swishing and the unmistakable rhythmic sound of scrubbing, filled the quiet apartment.
Doug leaned forward on the sofa, straining to catch any movement through the foggy glass. In that half-lit, humid haze, the silhouette of Ms. Qing Fang became almost hypnotic. With each deliberate motion as she lathered her skin with fragrant shampoo and body wash, he couldn't help but notice how her form hinted at curves and contours that defied even his wildest daydreams.
Ms. Fang… she's so stunning. Those curves—so graceful, so enticing— he thought, his imagination running dangerously free. Despite his best efforts, he found it hard to tear his eyes away from the vague outline drifting behind the glass. The mélange of warm water and aromatic shampoo created an ambiance that stirred something deep within him.
His mind tumbled with forbidden daydreams—a superhero saving the world, a secret romance blooming unexpectedly, a life rewritten where the walls of discipline gave way to tender passion. Yet, even as his heart raced with both excitement and guilt, he knew he must control himself.
After about half an hour, the water's splashing subsided. Through the misty veil of the frosted door, Doug glimpsed Ms. Qing Fang reaching for a towel. Slowly, she began to dry herself, methodically patting away droplets until only a faint sheen of moisture remained on her skin. Even the subtle motion of her gloved hand, smooth as silk, was a sight that sent a shiver down his spine.
At that moment, the bathroom door creaked open, and Ms. Qing Fang stepped out. Her long, damp hair clung to her shoulders, and a loosely tied bathrobe—now delicately contrasting with her porcelain skin—revealed just enough to kindle a forbidden curiosity in Doug's mind. The fragrance of her shampoo, mingled with the freshness of her recently bathed skin, filled the entryway with irresistible allure.
"Excuse me, Doug Feng," Ms. Qing Fang said kindly, noticing his lingering gaze, "I've been in there too long. Please, go on ahead if you'd like. And if you need to wash up, you're welcome to use anything in there."
Her tone was gentle yet pragmatic. She sat down on the sofa and promptly plugged in the hairdryer, its steady hum filling the quiet living room. Doug's heart hammered loudly in his ears as he remained seated a moment longer, gathering his thoughts.
"Ms. Fang, you… you really look beautiful tonight," he blurted out, a tad too loudly, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and excitement.
The whir of the dryer momentarily drowned out his compliment. Ms. Qing Fang smiled indulgently and replied, "Thank you, Doug. But you must lower your voice—I wouldn't want you to accidentally break my ears."
His impulsive declaration, though crude, was met with a soft chuckle from her. In that brief exchange, something intangible shifted. His internal affection system chimed gently—as if registering a bonus point for his audacity.
"Listen," she continued, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, "I know your mind wanders. But right now, it's important you focus on heading home safely. Let me call your parents, so they know you're still with me. What's your home phone number?"
"37831592," he recited, his voice a mix of earnestness and reluctance.
After the call ended, Ms. Qing Fang picked up the landline and spoke with Doug's mother briefly. Her tone was caring, full of the gentle firmness a teacher might display while coaxing a misbehaving student. Doug listened, half in awe, as the conversation offered him a glimpse into the compassionate side of his teacher—one who juggled her responsibilities with dignity even after a long, trying day.
Left alone, Doug slowly closed the bathroom door, his mind swirling. Although he felt a pang of guilt and warmth from the encounter, his body—still damp with perspiration—began to demand its own relief. A deep hunger for cleansing overcame him, and he decided that he, too, would take a shower.
He stepped into the bathroom, stripping off his clothes. Almost immediately, his eyes caught sight of something unexpected: hanging on a row of hooks were a pair of delicate black lace-trimmed underwear and red lace panties, accompanied by a pair of seductive black stockings. They clearly belonged to Ms. Qing Fang—items she had forgotten to retrieve after her bath.
Doug's breath caught. "This is… way too enticing," he murmured under his breath. For a split second, his hand hovered in midair as if to reach out—but he quickly chastised himself. The bathroom's frosted glass would reveal his every movement, and he wasn't about to risk further exposure of his furtive desire.
Instead, he shook his head, forcing himself to focus. "I'm just going to wash. No funny business," he whispered, grabbing a brand-new toothbrush and a bottle of floral-scented body wash. As he scrubbed away the remnants of the day, his mind was a cacophony of guilty fantasies and stern self-reproach.
Outside the bathroom, the steady hum of the TV continued as Ms. Qing Fang sat on the sofa. But as Doug worked on his personal cleanup, she grew aware that something was off. Glancing toward the frosted door, she remembered leaving behind a personal item—or did she? Her eyes widened when she realized that the lace undergarments were still hanging there, exposed.
Her face flushed a deeper shade of red, and she hurriedly excused herself from the living room to her bedroom. "Oh, dear…" she whispered under her breath, mortified.
Meanwhile, Doug finished his shower and wrapped himself in a towel. His thoughts drifted back to the tantalizing scene he'd just imagined through the frosted glass. Deep inside, a mixture of guilt and excitement churned—he knew every glance and every inadvertent touch could earn him valuable favor points, but at what cost?
As he stepped out, towel clutched around him, the sound of his own heartbeat seemed to hammer in his ears. He nearly bumped into Ms. Qing Fang coming out of her bedroom, now quickly dressing. Her eyes met his for a split second—hers filled with a quiet reprimand, and his a tumult of bashful longing and uncertainty.
"Ms. Fang," Doug started hesitantly, "I—uh, I'm sorry if I…"
She held up a hand, silencing him softly. "Doug, there's nothing to apologize for. I'm aware that sometimes a student's admiration can run high. Just promise me you keep your feelings in check, okay? Remember, I'm your teacher, and there's a professional line we mustn't cross."
Her words, gentle yet firm, stoked something deep within him. As he nodded, he dared to steal a glance, noticing once again that glowing number above her head. Earlier, it had flashed in gray then red—now, impressively, it had risen to eleven.
So, our little intimacy does earn points… he mused inwardly, a small, guilty smile tugging at his lips.
The night grew deeper, and the cramped apartment seemed to recede into a quiet cocoon. Ms. Qing Fang busied herself tidying up, while Doug, still wrapped in his own thoughts, drifted toward the small hallway.
Her casual request echoed in his mind: "Call your parents, let them know you're safe." It was a gesture of care, and despite everything, Doug felt thankful. The quiet domesticity stood in stark contrast to the chaos and conspiracies swirling in the world outside—providing him a momentary reprieve and a subtle reminder of his own secret obligations.
As they prepared for bed, Doug's internal system ticked softly in the background, registering every shared look and gentle touch. Each new favor point was a reminder that he was, in some strange cosmic way, changing the dynamics of their relationship—his feelings mingled with the power of his abilities, pushing him to question where the line between admiration and something more might blur.
"Get some sleep, Doug," Ms. Qing Fang said as she headed for the bathroom for a quick shower. "Tomorrow's a new day."
Doug exhaled slowly, watching her retreat into the dim light. He sank onto the sofa, the warmth from the room mingling with the chill of his thoughts. His eyes drifted upward—once again catching sight of that magical, shifting favor score, now glimmering softly at twelve points. A silent promise echoed in his mind: if he could harness this power and keep his emotions in balance, maybe he could save not only himself but also those he cared about.
And perhaps, one day, he'd understand exactly what it all meant…