W | Storyteller

🇨🇳 Chinese storyteller 🐭
Romance disasters, absurd humor & unexpected twists.
Come for the laughs. Stay for the chaos.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

I'm a storyteller from China 🇨🇳🐭

I write about love, terrible decisions, awkward moments, and the kind of plot twists that make you question everyone's sanity.

Some stories are funny. Some hurt a little. Most are both.

📖 I'm currently publishing The Professional Simp, an ongoing romantic comedy full of ridiculous situations, unexpected twists, and questionable decisions.

New chapters every day!

If you enjoy my stories, give me a follow. 😊

There's plenty more chaos to come. 🍿

https://t.co/P2OfXChPim

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

The Professional Simp | Episode 1

A simp is a guy who throws away his dignity just to get a girl's attention.

Unfortunately, I'm one of them.

Now, before you judge me, I'm a perfectly normal guy. I don't enjoy being humiliated, and I actually have pretty high standards.

It's just that the money was ridiculously good.

Let me explain.

Last Saturday, I was sitting in a restaurant, watching a man in an expensive gray suit slide a black duffel bag across the table toward me.

"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars," he said. "Stay away from Iris Whitmore."

I stared at the bag. "So our arrangement is officially over?"

"Yes, Ethan. Your services are no longer required."

I unzipped the bag. Inside were neatly bundled stacks of hundred-dollar bills. For a moment, I almost forgot how to breathe.

There are some truly beautiful things in this world. Sunsets, snowfall, and that first bite of a really good cheeseburger.

And apparently... fifteen hundred portraits of Benjamin Franklin.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out a portable bill counter.

Mr. Collins froze. He looked at me like I'd just escaped from a psychiatric ward.

"Are you serious? You actually brought a money counter?"

"Of course. You told me you'd be paying in cash."

He closed his eyes. I switched on the machine.

Brrrrrr.

What a beautiful sound. The kind of sound that makes you believe everything in life is going to be okay.

"Ethan."

"Yes, sir?"

"You're only eighteen."

"Last time I checked, yes."

"Don't you think you're a little young to be doing this kind of work?"

I gave the question some serious thought.

"A father with a gambling problem, a mother with a drinking problem, a sick little sister, and me holding the whole family together with duct tape and optimism."

He went silent.

I gave him my most reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I've got a system."

That didn't seem to reassure him.

Honestly, I don't understand why people always ask why an eighteen-year-old would be willing to do embarrassing things for money.

What are they expecting? A heartfelt speech? A single tear slowly rolling down my cheek?

Sir, I have bills to pay.

Then something occurred to me. "Wait, let me make sure I've got this straight."

Mr. Collins seemed relieved that I'd finally stopped counting.

"Does this mean I don't have to follow Iris around anymore?"

His expression tightened.

"Miss Whitmore," he corrected.

"Right. Miss Whitmore."

"Her father has decided to increase her professional security detail. With graduation approaching, there's no longer any need for our previous arrangement."

I stared at him. "So you're paying me to stop working?"

"That's one way of putting it."

My eyes drifted back to the cash. I'd never been so proud to be unemployed.

Now, here's something nobody at school knew.

For the past two and a half years, I'd been the guy everyone thought was hopelessly in love with Iris Whitmore.

Iris was the kind of girl who could make an entire hallway go quiet just by walking through it.

Beautiful, rich, brilliant. As for her warmth toward other people, she had roughly the same energy as a locked refrigerator.

Not that she was particularly mean. She just wasn't interested in most people. Especially boys who thought being good-looking meant they didn't need a personality.

Unfortunately, a lot of guys couldn't handle rejection.

When Iris first transferred to our private school, several boys asked her out. She turned them down. Naturally, the rumors started almost immediately.

Some people would rather make up horrible stories about a girl than accept that she simply doesn't want to date them.

Her father was not pleased when he heard about it. This was a man whose bank account could probably buy my entire neighborhood. So he donated a brand-new science building to the school, and suddenly the teachers became very interested in dealing with student harassment.

Funny how quickly adults discover problems when a rich guy's name appears on a building.

But Mr. Whitmore still had a problem.

He couldn't exactly station two bodyguards outside his daughter's chemistry classroom. That would only draw more attention to her. And Iris wasn't the type to talk about her problems. Her father worried that if anyone bullied her, she'd never tell him.

And that's where I came in.

I was a scholarship student with decent grades and a few years of martial arts training. At the very least, I knew which end of a punch was supposed to hurt.

More importantly, I was already in Iris's class. Mr. Whitmore needed someone who could stay close to his daughter and notice trouble before it happened.

If she needed help, I could step in. If someone tried to mess with her, I could stop them. Ideally, without anyone finding out that her father was paying me.

Was secretly hiring another teenager to look after his daughter the greatest parenting decision in history?

Probably not.

But when he approached me with the job, I saw a golden business opportunity. He started explaining what he needed. I started explaining my rates.

By the time we finished talking, I'd practically invented a subscription service.

Basic Package: Keep an eye on Iris.

Premium Package: Keep the creepy guys away.

Emergency Package: Do whatever it takes to get her home safely.

He agreed to hire me. And just like that, I became a professional simp.

Of course, Iris knew absolutely nothing about it. As far as she was concerned, I was just another idiot who couldn't take a hint. And since I couldn't tell her why I was always hanging around, I became the school's favorite example of a guy with absolutely no self-respect.

People laughed when she ignored me. They laughed when I showed up again the next day. Some even asked how many times a girl had to reject me before I finally got the message.

I usually just smiled. What else was I supposed to do? Tell them, "Actually, I'm on the payroll"? That would be a pretty terrible way to keep a secret.

Besides, Iris didn't owe me affection. She'd never asked me to follow her around in the first place. I understood that better than anyone. And no, being considered the most pathetic loser in school wasn't exactly my childhood dream.

But I'd decided I could live with it.

For the right price.

And until yesterday, everything had been going perfectly. Then some idiot from another school decided Iris should be his girlfriend.

Iris wasn't interested. Apparently, that was a very difficult concept for him to understand.

So he brought eleven friends. Twelve guys showed up outside our school, apparently convinced that if enough people got involved, they could somehow turn a girl's "no" into a "yes."

I'd love to know which part of their education had failed them. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to conduct a survey.

They were blocking Iris's way. So I stepped in.

Look, I'm not a superhero. Sure, I've trained in martial arts, but there's a pretty big difference between knowing how to fight and fighting twelve people at once.

I managed to put quite a few of them on the ground. They managed to make me regret having a face.

By the time the Whitmore family's actual security team arrived, I had a split lip, bruised ribs, and a hand that needed bandaging.

Iris was taken somewhere safe. The idiots who'd threatened her were left to explain their brilliant plan to people with actual legal authority.

As for me, I went home looking like I'd tried to argue with a lawn mower.

The next morning, Mr. Collins called.

Which brings us back to the duffel bag sitting on the table.

Apparently, Mr. Whitmore had finally realized that an eighteen-year-old student probably shouldn't be his daughter's substitute for professional security.

A perfectly reasonable conclusion. Just a little late.

So my contract was terminated.

And my compensation was sitting right in front of me.

Mr. Collins watched me finish counting. "Everything there?"

"Every dollar."

I zipped up the bag and stood. Then I smiled.

Big mistake.

A sharp pain shot through my split lip.

"Ow... damn it."

Mr. Collins noticed the bandage around my hand, and his voice softened a little.

"You really should get those injuries checked."

"I will."

I picked up the bag. "Right after I deposit this."

He sighed.

I understood his frustration. He probably expected me to be angry about losing my job. Maybe he even expected me to be heartbroken about leaving Iris.

But he'd completely missed the point.

For two and a half years, I'd walked around school with a reputation as the world's most dedicated loser. Yesterday, I'd gotten into a fight with a bunch of idiots who apparently thought consent was something you could vote on.

And now I was walking away with enough money to make my future look a little less terrifying.

So forgive me for not crying.

I reached the door.

"Ethan."

Mr. Collins hesitated. "Did you ever actually love her?"

Now that was an interesting question.

Iris Whitmore was beautiful. Smart, too. And I had a feeling there was a lot more beneath that quiet exterior than most people ever bothered to discover.

But love?

I'd been hired to look after her.

That was different.

I gave Mr. Collins a cheerful smile. "Of course I cared about her."

He looked surprised.

"I care about all my clients."

His face fell.

"They're the reason I can afford groceries."

"Ethan—"

"Oh, and if Mr. Whitmore ever needs this kind of service again, let him know I offer discounts for returning customers."

I left before he could answer.

Some people really don't appreciate good customer service.

The people at the bank weren't nearly as excited about my money as I was.

Apparently, an eighteen-year-old walking into a bank with a duffel bag containing $150,000 raises a few questions.

Actually, a lot of questions.

An impressive number of questions.

By the time everything had been verified and the money was finally deposited, I was starting to suspect the teller had asked about every single year of my life.

But at least the money was safely in my account.

The teller even gave me a free pen.

Honestly? What a great day.

I walked out of the bank, found an empty bench, and pulled a little notebook from my jacket.

Nothing fancy. Just a cheap notebook with a worn-out cover and a list of names inside.

My clients.

I flipped to the page marked Iris Whitmore. Underneath her name were two and a half years' worth of reminders, schedules, and notes.

I took out my pen, drew a clean line through her name, and wrote:

CONTRACT CLOSED — PAID IN FULL.

I leaned back and admired my work. One less responsibility, and a very healthy bank balance.

Not a bad Saturday.

Unfortunately, I couldn't retire just yet. I still had other clients.

During the week, I'd been looking after Iris. Some evenings, I got paid to play a part in someone else's fantasy of a happy family.

And on weekends...

Well, let's just say there was a woman who paid an absolutely ridiculous amount of money for the privilege of making my life miserable.

I checked my phone.

Saturday.

Oh. Right.

I looked up.

A black luxury car was parked beneath the trees across the street. Behind the wheel sat a woman wearing a white silk blouse and delicate gold-rimmed glasses. Long, dark curls spilled over her shoulders.

She looked like the kind of woman who could destroy your self-confidence with a single raised eyebrow.

Unfortunately, it was a skill she practiced regularly.

Dr. Vivian Hart. University professor. Brilliant academic. Filthy rich.

And one of my most demanding clients.

She was tapping her fingers impatiently against the car window. Then she noticed me. Her gaze immediately settled on my split lip, and her eyebrows drew together.

Oh, great. I could already tell today's shift was going to be wonderful.

I stood up, adjusted my backpack, and started toward her car.

That's when something beautiful happened.

A parking enforcement officer appeared beside Vivian's car. She checked the parking sign, confirmed the license plate, and slipped a ticket beneath the windshield wiper.

Vivian stared at it.

The woman who acted like she personally controlled the laws of the universe had just been defeated by a parking sign.

I tried not to laugh.

Really. I did my best.

Unfortunately, my facial muscles weren't cooperating.

Vivian turned toward me. Our eyes met.

Very slowly, she rolled down the window.

"Ethan."

Her voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Get in."

Yesterday, I'd fought twelve guys.

And somehow, getting into that car felt like the more dangerous decision.

The worst part?

She'd already paid for the entire weekend.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@Emmyesdk not yet

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@Chris__X__ Politician: "It's completely free!"

Taxpayer: "Then why is my wallet crying?"

Politician: "That's a separate department."

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@iamohian I'm not tired. I'm just running on 3% battery with 47 apps open and no charger in sight.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@SugarSays21 Morning! We're all out here planting little posts and hoping the algorithm remembers to water them. Here's to a good day of growing.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@elonmusk @bot The best use of AI might not be replacing creativity. It might be taking care of the tedious work so people finally have more time for the things they actually love doing.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@blakeaburge I started reading books again to spend less time on my phone. Now my phone sits across the room like a jealous ex, wondering what those paper people have that it doesn't.

Phone: "You haven't checked me in three hours. Are we fighting?"

Book: "He's busy."

Phone: "WHO IS THIS?"

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

https://t.co/5UUsM1X4iQ

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

The Professional Simp | Episode 4: Getting Beaten, Getting Smarter

Ethan Brooks had never imagined that electromagnetic fields would one day become his personal refuge.

By day, Dr. Vivian Hart was a brilliant, dedicated professor. By night, she could make a man wish he could crawl inside a textbook and hide.

The good news? Ethan had learned a great deal today.

The bad news? He was about to put that knowledge to use.

It had all started with an afternoon tutoring session.

As a professional simp, Ethan spent his weekends keeping the young university professor company and fulfilling her various ridiculous requests. For his trouble, he earned $7,000 every weekend.

Today's requests had been particularly unusual.

He was wearing a custom-made maid outfit, complete with a bell around his neck and a fluffy pair of cat ears on his head. More surprisingly, after lunch, Vivian had actually decided to tutor him.

Ethan had assumed it was just another passing whim. Instead, once she entered teaching mode, she became so serious about it that he could barely keep up.

"When a charged particle enters a magnetic field, the force acting on it..."

In the study, Vivian sat beside Ethan, sketching a diagram on a sheet of paper.

She'd put her glasses back on, and her dark, wavy hair was loosely gathered behind her head, exposing her slender neck. Occasionally, a few strands would slip free, and she'd pause just long enough to tuck them back into place.

Ethan sat up straight, doing his best to follow her explanation.

He'd been nervous at first. After all, this was the same professor who'd spent lunchtime raging about students who couldn't solve simple problems.

What if he couldn't understand her lessons either?

Wouldn't that be like volunteering to stand in front of a firing squad?

But once they actually started studying, Ethan realized he'd been worrying unnecessarily.

Vivian was strict, certainly, but she wasn't the kind of teacher who simply lost her temper whenever someone made a mistake.

She began by giving him a few problems to solve, identifying exactly which concepts he hadn't fully understood. Then she reorganized the material and explained those parts again.

When something was complicated, she drew diagrams and gave examples, working through the problem until Ethan genuinely understood it.

"Here. Why is the direction reversed?"

Vivian tapped his answer with the tip of her pen.

Ethan checked his work again. "I mixed up positive and negative charges."

"Then correct it now that you know what's wrong. Don't make the same mistake again."

She added a few strokes to the diagram, showing him the correct direction of the force.

Ethan finally understood.

Oh!

So that was how it worked!

Previously, all these physics concepts had felt like disconnected pieces of information. Whenever he encountered a problem, he could only try to remember the appropriate formula and hope he'd chosen the right one.

But after listening to Vivian, those scattered pieces were finally starting to fit together.

For the first time, he really understood how this woman had become a professor at such a young age.

He had to admit it.

She was seriously good at what she did.

Very good.

Ethan couldn't help turning his head to study her profile as she explained another problem.

Normally, Vivian was unpredictable, always finding some new excuse to make his life difficult. But now she was completely absorbed in the lesson, her expression focused and her voice growing a little faster whenever she reached an important point.

There was a quiet confidence about her that was completely different from her usual intimidating manner.

Ethan suddenly understood why people found a woman who was passionate about her work so attractive.

Especially when she wasn't acting insane for once.

"What are you staring at?"

Vivian didn't even lift her head.

"Is the answer written on my face?"

Ethan immediately snapped back to attention.

"No, Dr. Hart."

"Then look at the problem."

Fair enough.

Apparently, teachers everywhere in the world said exactly the same things when they caught a student daydreaming.

Ethan hurriedly lowered his head and reviewed what she'd just taught him.

When Vivian finished explaining the next problem, he took the opportunity to bring her a glass of warm water.

"You've been working hard, Dr. Hart. Why don't you have some water?"

Vivian accepted the glass and took a sip.

After talking for so long, her throat really was getting dry.

"Did you understand what we just covered?"

"Yes." Ethan nodded earnestly. "There were a few things I'd been struggling with for ages, but they make sense now."

Vivian glanced at him.

"Then don't waste the time I've spent teaching you."

"Of course not."

Ethan's answer was completely sincere.

For once, he wasn't simply telling a client what she wanted to hear.

People would practically line up for the opportunity to receive free private tutoring from a professor like Vivian Hart.

There was no way he intended to waste it.

Time passed.

By the time Ethan had finally worked through the concepts that kept tripping him up, the afternoon sunlight was already fading.

Vivian closed the textbook, removed her glasses, and rubbed her forehead.

"That's enough for today."

Ethan put down his pen and stretched his slightly stiff wrist.

They'd spent practically the entire afternoon studying, yet he felt he'd learned more than he would have managed in several days of studying alone.

"We'll continue with the rest tomorrow."

Ethan was about to pack his bag when her words made him stop.

"Tomorrow?"

"Why? Is there a problem?"

"No, no!" Ethan shook his head immediately. "I just didn't expect you to be willing to teach me again."

Seriously, what was going on with this woman?

She was a university professor with actual research to do, yet she was apparently planning to spend an entire weekend tutoring a high school student.

Had she reached that age where her maternal instincts suddenly kicked in?

Ethan immediately dismissed the thought.

Who was he kidding?

If Vivian Hart ever turned into a gentle, nurturing mother, he might as well run for President of the United States tomorrow.

Still, if someone wanted to tutor him for free, he certainly wasn't going to refuse.

He flashed her a bright smile.

"Thank you, Dr. Hart! I'm really looking forward to tomorrow's lesson!"

Vivian had been feeling a little tired, but his words made her smile despite herself.

For someone who usually had nothing but money on his mind, this kid was surprisingly serious about studying.

At least he was easier to teach than those university students of hers.

Just then, her phone chimed.

Vivian picked it up and opened the message.

It was a wedding invitation from a colleague at the university.

The happy couple smiled at her from the beautifully designed invitation on the screen.

The smile disappeared from Vivian's face.

Another wedding.

Why was everyone getting married?

She stared at the screen, and the face of the man she'd once been engaged to suddenly appeared in her mind.

Back then, he'd seemed just as excited about their future.

At least, as far as Vivian was concerned, their engagement had been supposed to lead naturally to marriage.

Instead, he'd suddenly announced that he wanted to find true love.

And just like that, he'd left.

Leaving Vivian to face everyone else's reactions.

She still remembered those looks.

Pity. Surprise.

And the barely concealed satisfaction of people who were secretly delighted to see her humiliated.

Vivian had spent practically her entire life winning.

Whether it was academics, research, or her career, she'd always been among the best. Everyone told her how exceptional she was, how she was destined for success.

Yet that man hadn't wanted her.

As though everything she'd achieved meant absolutely nothing in the face of something called love.

Vivian tightened her grip on her phone.

She wasn't even certain how much she'd actually loved him.

But there was one thing she knew beyond any doubt.

She hated losing.

Especially when the defeat was something she couldn't overcome with more effort, greater talent, or another impressive achievement.

"Dr. Hart?"

Ethan noticed the sudden change in her expression.

Vivian didn't answer. She simply locked her phone and turned toward the window.

It was getting dark.

After a while, she spoke calmly.

"Get me a bottle of red wine."

Ethan's heart sank.

Here we go.

He'd known it was coming.

During the day, Vivian could be difficult, but most of the time she was at least capable of listening to reason.

At night, especially after she'd been drinking, her mental state entered an entirely different category.

If Ethan had to rank her moods like difficulty settings in a video game, daytime Vivian would be Normal Mode.

Nighttime Vivian?

Nightmare Mode.

And the game didn't come with a quit button.

"Of course, Dr. Hart."

His response remained perfectly obedient.

He retrieved a bottle of red wine from the cabinet, along with a decanter and a glass.

Vivian had already moved to the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room.

Outside, the city lights were gradually coming on. Neon signs from distant buildings reflected in the glass, blurring her reflection.

Ethan poured the wine and placed the glass beside her.

Then he walked over to a storage cabinet and took out a box he'd prepared earlier.

It wasn't particularly large, but it had some weight to it.

Vivian had instructed him to keep these things ready for her at night.

He set the box beside the sofa.

"Everything's here, Dr. Hart."

"Mmm."

Vivian didn't turn around.

Ethan left her alone and went to clear the dining table.

He'd grown accustomed to evenings like this.

With his other clients, his job usually involved providing emotional support. He listened to their problems, kept them company, offered a few well-timed compliments, and occasionally demonstrated his excellent powers of observation.

Vivian was different.

She paid far too much.

As a result, she received a rather special level of premium customer service.

And just how special was that service?

Well, Ethan could only say that earning seven thousand dollars was never quite as easy as it sounded.

He wiped down the table, listening to the occasional clink of glass behind him.

The truth was, he had a fairly good idea why Vivian behaved this way.

Someone who'd grown up under enormous expectations, always striving to come first, would probably find it difficult to accept that certain things were completely beyond her control.

Especially love.

Fail an exam? Take it again.

Mess up a research experiment? Start over.

But when someone didn't love you, you couldn't exactly drag them back and make them retake the exam.

Although, knowing Vivian, Ethan wouldn't have been surprised if she'd seriously considered the idea.

Unfortunately, the replacement she'd chosen was him.

Ethan didn't believe he could solve Vivian's problems.

What she probably needed wasn't a professional simp who happened to resemble her ex-fiancé.

She needed someone who could help her move on from that relationship.

But that was clearly beyond his job description.

Besides, Vivian had never hired him to provide psychological counseling.

Ethan lowered his head and continued wiping the table.

He was just an ordinary working guy trying to earn a living.

Worrying about the entire emotional well-being of an absurdly wealthy employer seemed a little outside his financial interests.

About half an hour later, he heard a noise behind him.

Ethan turned.

Vivian was pulling herself upright with one hand on the sofa.

She'd already drunk nearly half the bottle of wine. Her cheeks were flushed, and some of the hair she'd pinned up earlier had fallen loose.

She braced one hand against the wall and slowly raised her head.

Warm yellow light filled the living room.

Across the room, Ethan was putting things away. The cat ears on his head wobbled as he moved, and the little bell around his neck gave an occasional jingle.

For a moment, Vivian thought he looked like one of those magical little household sprites from a fairy tale.

Quiet.

Obedient.

Even a little adorable.

But then Ethan turned around.

The moment she saw his face clearly, that brief feeling of tenderness vanished.

That face again.

That man had once looked at her in exactly the same way.

And then he'd left.

"Bastard..."

Vivian muttered the word under her breath.

Ethan didn't quite hear her.

"Dr. Hart?"

Vivian tried to walk toward him, forgetting about the box sitting near her feet.

She stumbled over it and pitched forward.

"Careful!"

Ethan rushed over and caught her before she could crash into the coffee table.

Vivian was so unsteady that she ended up leaning almost her entire weight against him.

He helped her regain her balance.

"Are you all right, Dr. Hart?"

"Shut up!"

Vivian suddenly shoved him away.

Caught off guard, Ethan staggered backward and nearly collided with a chair.

By the time he'd regained his footing, Vivian had lowered herself unsteadily onto the carpet and was opening the box.

Ethan felt the beginnings of a headache.

Here we go again.

He'd been through this more than once, but every time it happened, he couldn't help marveling at how incomprehensible this professor's idea of revenge was.

The man who'd actually abandoned her was probably enjoying himself somewhere overseas.

Meanwhile, Ethan, who had absolutely nothing to do with the breakup, was stuck wearing a maid dress and dealing with the consequences.

Was there a more unfair job in the world?

Of course there was.

One that didn't pay.

Ethan reminded himself that at least his compensation was excellent.

Vivian had already selected something suitable from the box.

She looked up at him. Alcohol had made her eyes slightly unfocused, but that familiar need to be in control hadn't weakened in the slightest.

"Come here."

Ethan hesitated briefly, then approached.

Vivian reached up and caught his chin, forcing him to look at her.

That familiar face was right in front of her.

She knew perfectly well that Ethan wasn't the man who'd left her.

She knew their relationship was nothing more than a paid arrangement.

But the alcohol had brought emotions she'd normally managed to suppress bubbling back to the surface.

She didn't want to think about why that man had left.

She didn't want to remember how many people had laughed at her humiliation.

She just wanted the person in front of her to lower his head.

To admit he'd been wrong.

To never dare leave her again.

"Are you ready?"

Ethan nodded slightly.

He lowered his eyes, wearing an expression of wounded resignation.

Vivian looked at him, and something uncomfortable stirred in her chest.

There it was again.

Why did seeing him like this always make her feel so uneasy?

She'd hired him specifically because he resembled her former fiancé.

She'd wanted to see that face looking miserable.

Yet whenever Ethan actually looked hurt, something about it felt wrong.

Vivian frowned.

No.

She couldn't go soft on him.

Not now.

Ethan, however, was thinking about something entirely different.

Thank goodness.

Thank goodness he'd prepared in advance.

After their tutoring session that afternoon, he'd waited until Vivian wasn't paying attention and added two layers of soft clothing beneath his maid outfit.

He'd worried the extra padding might ruin the look.

Now it seemed like one of the smartest decisions he'd made all day.

Being a professional simp wasn't just about managing your time.

You also had to know how to manage risk.

Ethan adjusted his position, carefully avoiding the areas where he'd been injured yesterday.

Then, in his mind, he opened the notes from that afternoon's physics lesson.

Let's start with electromagnetic fields.

What had Vivian been explaining earlier?

The force acting on a charged particle in a magnetic field...

SMACK!

A dull impact sounded behind him.

Ethan's shoulders tensed.

The extra layers absorbed some of the blow, and it hurt less than he'd expected.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

He didn't turn around.

Instead, he concentrated harder on the physics concepts he'd studied that afternoon.

The direction of the magnetic field.

The particle's velocity.

The Lorentz force...

Wait.

If the charge was negative, the direction of the force had to be reversed.

He'd nearly mixed that up again.

SMACK!

Another blow.

Ethan gritted his teeth and continued working through the problem in his head.

Good.

He'd remembered it correctly this time.

Vivian apparently interpreted his silence as obedience.

She continued saying things to him, her voice thick with alcohol and years of suppressed anger.

Ethan caught a few words.

"Liar."

"True love."

"How dare you..."

He didn't respond.

There was no point explaining anything right now.

Vivian wasn't really talking about him.

He only needed to fulfill the terms of their agreement while protecting himself as much as possible.

So while Vivian continued venting her anger, Ethan mentally reviewed the force diagrams she'd taught him earlier.

Problems that had confused him just a few hours ago were suddenly becoming clearer and clearer.

He could even picture the diagrams Vivian had drawn that afternoon, reconstructing each one in his head.

If he ignored the completely ridiculous circumstances, this was turning into an incredibly productive revision session.

Ethan couldn't help feeling impressed.

No wonder Vivian had become one of the youngest professors at her university.

She really was an extraordinary teacher.

So extraordinary that her student could remember the formulas even while getting beaten.

Although, now that he thought about it...

Why the hell was he proving her teaching ability under these circumstances?

Seven thousand dollars.

Ethan repeated the amount silently.

Fine.

He was definitely earning his money tonight.

After a while, Vivian's movements finally began to slow.

She'd drunk too much, and she hadn't had much strength to begin with. Now she could barely remain standing.

Yet she still seemed unwilling to stop.

She looked at Ethan and moved her lips.

"You..."

Ethan raised his head slightly.

"Dr. Hart?"

"How dare you..."

The rest of her words dissolved into an indistinct mumble.

Vivian suddenly swayed.

The object in her hand dropped onto the carpet.

Then her entire body began tipping sideways.

Ethan instinctively reached out and caught her by the shoulders before her head could strike the corner of the table.

At last, the living room fell silent.

A few seconds passed.

Ethan cautiously called out to her.

"Dr. Hart?"

No response.

Just the steady sound of her breathing.

She'd fallen asleep.

Ethan stared at her for a moment, then let out a long breath.

"That's it?"

He glanced instinctively at the clock on the wall.

"You're done earlier than usual tonight."

He rolled his shoulders. His back still ached.

Apparently, the extra padding really had helped.

Still, he'd need to find a better way to protect himself next time.

A good paycheck didn't mean he could afford to treat his body like it was disposable.

He got slowly to his feet, straightened his rumpled clothes, and adjusted the cat ears on his head.

Jingle.

The familiar sound rang out again.

Ethan lowered his gaze and noticed that his textbooks were still spread across the coffee table.

He hurried over and carefully packed away his notes, worksheets, and books.

Vivian had spent an entire afternoon preparing and explaining that material for him.

He absolutely had to review it properly when he got home.

Especially those few concepts he kept getting wrong.

He couldn't afford to make the same mistakes tomorrow.

Because if Vivian discovered that she'd spent hours teaching him and he still couldn't solve the problems...

Ethan suddenly felt another ache in his back.

He finished packing his bag and put it somewhere safe before returning to Vivian.

She'd gone completely quiet.

Her dark hair was spread across the carpet, her green silk nightgown slightly wrinkled, and a faint flush still lingered on her cheeks.

Even in her sleep, her eyebrows were drawn together. Her long eyelashes fluttered occasionally, as though she were still angry about something in her dreams.

Ethan crouched beside her and couldn't help muttering to himself.

"You're so well-behaved when you're asleep. Why do you turn into such a nightmare the moment you wake up?"

Naturally, Vivian didn't answer.

Ethan gently touched her shoulder.

"Dr. Hart? Can you hear me?"

Still nothing.

It seemed unlikely she'd be walking back to her bedroom under her own power tonight.

After making sure she was breathing steadily, Ethan returned the scattered items to the box and moved the unfinished wine and glass out of the way so she wouldn't knock them over when she woke.

Once everything was taken care of, he crouched down again and lifted Vivian into his arms.

Normally, this woman carried herself as though the entire world existed to follow her instructions.

Now she was simply someone who'd drunk so much that she couldn't even stand.

Ethan looked down at the woman in his arms and found the contrast almost absurd.

During the day, she could fill pages with complicated formulas and solve problems that had troubled him for months with just a few explanations.

At night, a man who'd walked out of her life long ago could still leave her in this condition.

How could the same person be so different?

Ethan sighed.

But that wasn't his problem to solve.

Right now, all he wanted was to get his employer settled, make sure he had no more duties for the night, and find somewhere to rest.

After all, he still had another full day of tutoring tomorrow.

And knowing Vivian, once she'd decided she was going to teach him something, she would absolutely refuse to accept failure.

Which made Ethan wonder...

What was more terrifying?

Tonight?

Or tomorrow's physics problems?

Carrying Vivian in his arms, he headed toward the bathroom.

He'd barely reached the doorway when she suddenly stirred.

Her arms moved unconsciously around his neck, and she nestled her head against his shoulder.

"Bastard..."

Her voice was barely intelligible.

Ethan stopped.

"Dr. Hart? Are you awake?"

"Bastard..."

Right.

Her brain was asleep, but apparently her mouth was still on duty.

Ethan shook his head helplessly.

"Your ability to insult people really is a twenty-four-hour service, isn't it?"

He'd originally intended to find a towel, wipe the sweat from her face, and then carry her back to her bedroom.

But just then, Vivian suddenly opened her eyes.

She stared at Ethan through a drunken haze, as though she recognized his face but had absolutely no idea where she was.

After a long moment, she finally managed to force out a few words.

"Bath... I want a bath..."

Ethan froze.

"Sorry?"

Vivian frowned and repeated herself, her words slurring together.

"Give me... a bath..."

Ethan looked down at her.

Then he glanced into the bathroom, at the ridiculously enormous bathtub.

He'd thought the hardest part of his evening was finally over.

Apparently, he'd celebrated too soon.

This professor could barely stand, yet she was still determined to give orders.

Ethan remained silent for several seconds before finally letting out a helpless sigh.

Seven thousand dollars.

Apparently, there really was no such thing as easy money.

https://t.co/F2qQNHq4pi

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

The Professional Simp | Episode 3: The $7,000 Maid

Ethan Brooks had always believed that the most important skill a professional simp could possess was knowing better than to question a client's personal tastes.

Until this Saturday, when he discovered one particularly dangerous exception.

His client's personal taste in him.

Just ten minutes ago, he'd been sitting in Dr. Vivian Hart's passenger seat, telling her how much he loved the mysterious gift she'd bought him.

Now he was beginning to regret every word.

The car pulled into the private driveway of Vivian's mansion. She stepped out without another word, retrieved the elegant gift box from the back seat, and motioned for Ethan to follow.

Ethan knew the routine well enough. He'd been working for the young university professor for several months now, earning $7,000 every weekend. His duties included keeping her company, following instructions, declaring his affection at appropriate moments, and serving as a remarkably durable emotional dumping ground whenever she was in a bad mood.

Naturally, the emotional dumping ground had to be handsome.

Vivian set the gift box on the living room coffee table, disappeared into her walk-in closet, and returned with a designer shopping bag. She tossed it into Ethan's arms.

"Go change."

Ethan caught the bag. After silently reminding himself three times that the customer was always right, he reached inside.

A dress.

Black and white, trimmed with lace, with a delicate little apron tied around the waist.

He held it up and examined it for several seconds.

"Dr. Hart, is this...?"

"A maid outfit," Vivian supplied.

"I know it's a maid outfit."

"Then what's the problem?"

Ethan went quiet for a moment.

"Nothing."

There was a problem. A very big problem.

He was an eighteen-year-old man. Why the hell was he being asked to wear a maid outfit?!

Vivian seemed thoroughly pleased with his reaction and disappeared into her bedroom.

Still clutching the dress, Ethan remembered the $1,500 she'd transferred him earlier for his injuries.

He'd thought she was being unusually generous today. Now he was starting to suspect that payment had included compensation for psychological damages.

Damn it. He should've asked for more.

"Aren't you changed yet?"

Vivian's voice came from behind him.

Ethan turned around. She'd already traded her professional outfit for a dark green silk nightgown. Her glasses were gone, and her dark hair had been loosely pinned up, with a few strands falling beside her face.

Without her usual severe professor's wardrobe, she looked considerably more relaxed. Unfortunately, her overwhelming need to be in charge hadn't relaxed in the slightest.

Under normal circumstances, Ethan's professional instincts would have told him to compliment her appearance.

But then he noticed something else.

Vivian had opened the gift box on the coffee table. In her hand was a black collar, complete with a polished silver clasp and a tiny bell dangling beneath it.

Ethan finally understood why he'd had such a terrible feeling about that box.

"I had this custom-made," Vivian said, clearly enjoying his expression. "You said you loved it, didn't you?"

Ethan summoned his professional smile.

"Of course, Dr. Hart. You have excellent taste."

He just wished her excellent taste didn't always involve finding new ways to torment him.

Vivian approached and gestured for him to lower his head.

Ethan obediently bent down and let her fasten the collar around his neck. The metal clasp clicked softly into place.

Jingle.

The little bell rang.

Vivian gave it a gentle flick, a faint smile appearing on her lips.

"Not bad. Very cute."

Ethan lowered his eyes to the bell hanging against his chest.

An entirely inappropriate thought entered his mind.

If someone put this thing on a sheep, would it qualify for the ranch's Sheep of the Year competition?

Before he could think of anything to say, Vivian suddenly caught hold of his collar and pulled him toward her.

It tightened around his throat.

Ethan's breath caught. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance and nearly stumbled straight into her arms.

Vivian loosened her grip slightly, but she didn't let go.

"Remember this. Every time you come here, you're wearing it." Her voice was soft, but there was no room for argument. "Understood?"

Ethan caught his breath and nodded.

Vivian studied his face. Slowly, her eyes grew cold.

"What? Still planning to go looking for your true love?"

Ethan froze for a moment.

Then he understood.

Here we go again.

Vivian had once been engaged. One day, her fiancé had abruptly announced that he was going abroad to search for true love, then walked out of her life without looking back.

Unfortunately for Ethan, he looked remarkably similar to the man.

As a result, Vivian occasionally took all the resentment she'd never managed to unleash on her former fiancé and dumped it directly onto him.

Ethan had plenty of experience dealing with this particular situation.

He immediately lowered his eyes and spoke with perfect sincerity.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Hart. I don't want to find true love. You're the only one I love."

"Shut up!"

Vivian cut him off almost immediately.

Those were precisely the words she'd wanted to hear. Yet when Ethan actually said them in that subdued voice, something about it made her uncomfortable.

Especially with his eyes lowered like that, and yesterday's injury still visible at the corner of his mouth.

He looked terribly hurt.

Had she pulled the collar too hard?

The thought had barely crossed her mind before Vivian frowned.

Ridiculous.

He was being paid to act. What did he have to feel hurt about?

She was supposed to be the angry one here.

She released him and took half a step back.

"Put the outfit on. Then make lunch."

"Of course, Dr. Hart."

"And one more thing." Vivian pointed at the dress in his hands. "If you refuse to wear it, I won't mind making you take a little walk outside in it."

Ethan nearly lost his smile.

This woman was finding increasingly creative ways to be insane.

Still, seven thousand dollars was seven thousand dollars. He wasn't about to throw away a job like this over one dress.

Besides, it was just business.

As long as he wasn't breaking the law or risking his life, what was a little damage to his dignity?

He adjusted his expression and asked gently, "What would you like for lunch, Dr. Hart? You've been working pretty hard lately. How about some slow-simmered pork rib soup with red dates? Something nourishing. I can make your usual favorite dishes to go with it."

Vivian had almost agreed.

Then she stopped herself.

How did this guy always remember what she liked to eat?

She'd only mentioned some of those things once or twice. She'd practically forgotten about them herself, yet he remembered every detail.

And the thought that Ethan made his living by providing this kind of thoughtful attention to his clients irritated her for reasons she couldn't quite explain.

Especially after he'd somehow managed to make her feel sorry for him earlier.

"Decide for yourself," she said coldly. "If I have to tell you what to cook every time, what am I paying you for?"

"Understood."

"I'm going to my study. Let me know when lunch is ready."

Vivian turned to leave.

Just as she reached the study door, Ethan called after her.

"Would fish soup be better?"

"FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELF!"

BANG!

The door slammed shut.

Ethan stood there for a moment. The wounded, obedient expression vanished from his face.

"She's nuts," he muttered.

Then he picked up the shopping bag and headed for the dressing room.

A few minutes later, Ethan stood before a full-length mirror, deep in thought.

Well.

This was unexpected.

The dress actually looked pretty good on him.

The black-and-white design complemented his complexion, while the fitted waist made his already slender figure look even more striking. Even the hem fell at exactly the right length.

This clearly wasn't some random costume Vivian had bought off the rack.

Ethan turned sideways to admire his reflection.

"Not bad at all."

He couldn't help laughing.

"See? Fashion really does come down to who's wearing it."

He gave himself another once-over, then shook his head with mild disappointment.

"Why didn't she include stockings? With legs this long, it'd be a waste not to show them off properly."

Come to think of it, the dress was surprisingly comfortable.

There were even certain things that normally required some careful consideration about whether they belonged on the left or the right.

In a skirt, apparently, that problem solved itself.

Ethan gave the mirror a half-turn. The bell at his neck jingled cheerfully.

He reached up and touched the collar.

The black material was soft, the silver clasp exquisitely made. Even the tiny bell had been polished and decorated with an almost absurd level of care.

And worse, it had a luxury brand's logo engraved on it.

Ethan recognized the name.

He'd once researched the brand while helping another client choose a gift. Its prices had inflicted psychological damage he still hadn't fully recovered from.

And this collar didn't look like something anyone could simply walk into a boutique and buy.

Custom-made.

Of course it was custom-made.

Ethan made a rough estimate of the cost and nearly wanted to remove the bell and place it somewhere safe, preferably under armed guard.

Rich people were truly incomprehensible.

All that money, just to hang a bell around his neck?

Why not transfer the money straight to him instead?

For that kind of cash, he'd happily wear a bell and personally announce the time every morning.

He gave the skirt one final adjustment, decided he looked sufficiently presentable for his employer's tastes, and headed into the kitchen.

If he'd agreed to cook, he was going to do it properly.

After all, a professional simp didn't sell sweet talk alone. Quality service mattered.

Besides, Vivian was clearly in a bad mood today. The last thing Ethan wanted was to give her another excuse to make his evening miserable.

So he settled on the safest possible solution.

Pork rib soup.

Fish soup.

Both.

She hadn't said he could only make one.

***

By twelve-thirty, lunch was finally ready.

Ethan turned off the stove and wiped his hands on his apron. As he stepped out of the kitchen, the bell at his neck rang.

He walked to the study and knocked gently.

"Dr. Hart, lunch is ready."

No answer.

After a moment, the door finally opened.

Vivian emerged.

Ethan had expected her to show at least a little satisfaction when she saw him in the outfit she'd chosen.

Instead, she looked absolutely furious.

Her glasses were still off, her brows drawn tightly together, and her expression suggested she'd just witnessed something that defied all human understanding.

Ethan immediately ran through his mental checklist of everything he'd done since arriving.

He hadn't upset her, had he?

"Rough morning, Dr. Hart?" He stepped aside to give her room. "Why don't you eat something and take a break? I've made some of your favorite—"

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

Vivian cut him off and marched toward the dining table.

"How can anyone get a question that simple wrong? Do those students even listen in class?"

Oh.

It was the students.

Ethan relaxed.

As long as it wasn't his fault, they were off to an excellent start.

Vivian was one of the youngest professors at her university, and her academic ability was beyond question. She'd previously devoted most of her attention to research, but this year she'd decided to take on a course.

She'd expected teaching to be a relatively straightforward addition to her schedule.

Instead, it was turning out to be a serious test of her emotional stability.

"I already taught them the basics! How can they still not understand something so simple?" Vivian demanded. "And the worst part? They're actually questioning my teaching ability!"

Ethan pulled out a chair for her, suppressing a smile.

"Maybe you're just so brilliant that the students are having trouble keeping up with you."

"You think that's an excuse?"

"Of course not," Ethan corrected himself immediately. "But at least they're asking you questions. That must mean you're popular with your students."

Even he didn't believe that one.

Vivian clearly didn't either.

She sat down, still fuming.

"I've spent years building my academic reputation. I'm certainly not letting a few students' grades damage it. But if they can't grasp even the most basic concepts, people will start thinking I'm a terrible teacher!"

Ethan could only marvel at the sheer scope of this woman's competitive streak.

Even a student failing an exam could somehow become a personal challenge to her entire professional career.

"How about some soup first?" Ethan said, filling a bowl for her. "Work is work, but you can't skip lunch just because your students aren't studying hard enough."

Vivian was about to continue complaining when she noticed the food in front of her.

Several of her favorite dishes had been arranged neatly across the table. The ingredients worked beautifully together, and not a single dish contained anything she disliked.

Beside them sat two covered bowls.

One held tender pork ribs in a rich, slow-simmered broth. The other contained a lighter, fragrant fish soup.

Vivian paused.

"Didn't I tell you to decide for yourself?"

"I did," Ethan replied matter-of-factly. "So I made both. You've had a rough day. Now you can have whichever one you feel like."

Vivian's spoon stopped halfway to her mouth.

She'd been fully prepared to find something wrong with lunch. Unfortunately, the food looked excellent.

And...

He really did seem to know her.

Jingle.

A small bell rang.

Vivian raised her head.

Ethan was standing beside her, pouring a glass of water.

His maid outfit was spotless, the black skirt shifting gently as he moved. The little bell at his neck chimed now and then, while the afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall windows settled across his hair and shoulders.

He placed the glass beside her.

"Careful. It's hot."

For a moment, Vivian lost herself in thought.

She remembered the fairy tales she'd read as a little girl.

There were always those helpful little sprites that appeared when nobody was looking, quietly cleaned the house, and left a warm meal waiting for everyone.

She'd always thought those stories were silly.

But now...

Maybe there was something to them after all.

Because apparently, she had one of her own.

Granted, her little household fairy was obsessed with money and happened to be wearing a maid dress.

Vivian couldn't help smiling.

Ethan noticed, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

Good.

Lunch had worked.

He made a mental note.

Client's mood improved. Service successful.

Vivian, meanwhile, had developed an entirely different thought.

She wanted to pat Ethan on the head.

The desire appeared so suddenly that it startled even her.

Why?

She'd hired him to make a man who resembled her former fiancé obey her, apologize to her, and admit defeat.

And now she wanted to run her fingers through his hair?

Vivian tightened her grip on her spoon and tried to suppress the ridiculous impulse.

Unfortunately, the harder she tried not to think about it, the more often her eyes wandered toward the top of Ethan's head.

His hair looked so soft.

Surely one little pat wouldn't hurt?

No.

Absolutely not.

She was his employer.

What if asking to touch his hair made Ethan think she actually liked him?

Wouldn't that mean she'd surrendered first?

Vivian Hart did not surrender.

She sat in silence for a moment.

Then a brilliant idea occurred to her.

"Ethan. Aren't you forgetting something?"

Ethan instinctively checked the table.

"All the silverware is here. Did you need anything else?"

Vivian frowned impatiently.

"Do you seriously not know how to complete an outfit?"

Ethan looked down at himself.

Dress.

Apron.

Bell.

What else was there?

Surely she wasn't planning to give him a dog tail next.

"There's a pair of cat ears in the left-hand cabinet in the dressing room," Vivian instructed. "Go get them."

Ethan went silent.

Apparently, he'd underestimated the professor's capacity for insanity yet again.

But he was already wearing a maid dress. At this point, adding cat ears hardly seemed worth arguing about.

He returned with them a moment later.

They were black, beautifully made, and covered in soft, fluffy material.

Vivian held out her hand.

"Come here."

Ethan obediently bent down.

Vivian placed the cat-ear headband on his head and began adjusting it.

"Don't move."

She reached up and smoothed his hair.

The soft strands slipped between her fingers.

Vivian paused.

Just as she'd imagined.

She couldn't resist touching it again.

Ethan had no idea why a simple pair of cat ears required so much adjustment. But considering his client's mood, he wisely stayed still.

Vivian continued arranging the headband.

And, under the perfectly reasonable excuse of making sure it sat correctly, she finally gave his head a thoroughly satisfying little rub.

Excellent.

She'd touched his hair.

And Ethan hadn't suspected a thing.

Vivian felt she'd won a magnificent victory.

"All right." She withdrew her hand, doing her best to look composed. "That's better."

Ethan straightened up. The cat ears gave a little wobble.

"As long as you're happy, Dr. Hart."

"Mm."

Vivian picked up her soup and finally began eating properly.

It had been an exhausting morning.

First the parking ticket. Then Ethan's injuries, which had left her furious. And after coming home, she'd had to deal with university students who seemed determined to make her question the future of higher education.

But now, somehow, everything seemed much more pleasant.

Especially Ethan.

He was sitting across from her, diligently finishing the food she couldn't eat.

Cat ears on his head.

A bell around his neck.

His cheeks slightly full as he chewed.

He looked a little ridiculous.

But also...

A little adorable.

Vivian rested her chin on one hand.

"Aren't your exams coming up?"

Ethan still had food in his mouth. He looked up and nodded.

The cat ears wobbled.

Vivian's mood improved even further.

"How are your grades?"

Ethan swallowed.

"Pretty good."

He wasn't just being modest.

He'd always done well in school. After all, wealthy clients didn't trust him simply because he was handsome. Being intelligent and reliable was another reason he could keep landing these well-paying jobs.

Still, all those part-time commitments had been eating into his study time.

Vivian considered something for a moment.

"Bring me your textbooks after lunch."

Ethan blinked.

"What?"

"I'll tutor you."

For a moment, Ethan genuinely thought he'd misheard her.

"You're... going to tutor me?"

Vivian raised an eyebrow.

"What? Am I not qualified?"

"Of course you are!"

Ethan shook his head immediately.

Was she kidding?

This was Dr. Vivian Hart.

One of the youngest professors at her university, a woman who'd established herself through actual research achievements at an age when most people were still figuring out their careers.

Ethan couldn't claim to understand all her publications and academic honors, but he'd heard enough about them to know they were seriously impressive.

How many students would kill for the chance to receive personal guidance from a professor like her?

And now she was offering to tutor him.

For free!

Ethan was genuinely flattered.

But at the same time, something felt off.

Hadn't Vivian's mood changed a little too quickly today?

Just minutes ago, she'd been complaining that her university students were too hopeless to understand basic material.

Now she suddenly wanted to teach him.

Wait a minute.

Had those students driven her so far up the wall that she'd decided to find someone easier to teach, just to prove she was still an excellent professor?

The more Ethan thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.

For Vivian, even a student getting a question wrong apparently counted as some kind of personal defeat.

Which meant that he, an eighteen-year-old high school student on her payroll, might have just become her last hope of restoring her confidence as a teacher.

But...

What if he couldn't understand her lessons either?

Suddenly, his lunch didn't taste nearly as good.

Vivian noticed his silence and frowned.

"What? You don't want me to?"

Ethan immediately put on a smile.

"Of course I do! I'd be delighted to learn from you personally, Dr. Hart."

That was half true.

The other half came from years of professional experience.

When dealing with a client like Vivian, the most important thing was never to ruin her mood while she was excited about something.

Vivian appeared satisfied with his answer.

"Then hurry up and eat. We'll start as soon as you're finished."

"Yes, Dr. Hart."

Ethan lowered his head and quickly took another few bites.

His cat ears wobbled as he ate, and the bell at his neck gave another little jingle.

Vivian watched him with unmistakable pleasure.

She even picked up the last pork rib from her plate and placed it in his bowl.

Ethan stared down at it, feeling rather conflicted.

There was definitely something unusual about Vivian today.

But whatever.

He was getting paid, he was getting fed, and now he was getting free private tutoring from a university professor.

When he thought about it that way, wearing a dress and a pair of cat ears didn't seem like such a bad deal.

He was even starting to believe that this weekend's seven thousand dollars might be easier to earn than usual.

There was only one thing worrying him.

He had absolutely no idea what Vivian's tutoring sessions would be like.

After all, if a group of university students could make a brilliant young professor question their intelligence, the material probably wasn't going to be particularly friendly to an ordinary high school student.

And Ethan knew something else about Vivian Hart.

Sometimes, more than making other people obey her, she enjoyed proving that she was always right.

So if she suddenly decided that she absolutely, positively had to make him understand...

Ethan silently began eating faster.

He had a terrible feeling.

The hardest part of his day might only just be beginning.

https://t.co/d39QcIaBsL

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

The Professional Simp | Episode 2: The Woman Who Couldn't Lose

Vivian Hart paid a young man $7,000 every weekend to pretend he was hopelessly in love with her.

Unfortunately, the first thing he did that Saturday was laugh at her parking ticket.

Technically, Ethan Brooks hadn't actually laughed yet. But judging by his expression, he was dangerously close.

The parking officer had barely walked away when Vivian rolled down her window.

"Ethan. Get in."

Ethan immediately wiped the smile off his face and obediently climbed into the passenger seat. "Good morning, Dr. Hart."

"Is something funny?"

"Not at all."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Because I'm happy to see you."

Vivian fell silent. Ethan, meanwhile, was rather pleased with himself. He'd spent plenty of time studying cheesy romantic lines for his various part-time jobs.

Apparently, those hours hadn't been completely wasted. Unfortunately, Vivian Hart wasn't an ordinary client.

She was a brilliant university professor, ridiculously wealthy, and fiercely competitive. From academic research to the smallest disagreements in everyday life, she wanted to win at absolutely everything.

As for why she'd hired Ethan? Well, that was a little complicated.

A few years ago, Vivian had been engaged to a man who seemed perfect for her in every way. Then one day, he suddenly announced that he wanted to go abroad to find true love.

And left. Just like that.

The thing was, Vivian hadn't even been particularly in love with him. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that he'd rejected her!

Vivian Hart had spent her entire life being treated like the golden girl. Everyone had always told her how exceptional she was.

And then, one day, she'd somehow become the woman who wasn't good enough for someone else.

She couldn't accept it.

A few months ago, she met Ethan Brooks. His face almost seemed designed to mock her. Similar features, the same infuriatingly handsome looks.

The difference was that Ethan was only eighteen, his family desperately needed money, and he happened to offer paid companionship services.

Vivian saw an opportunity.

If the original man could walk away from her, she could at least hire someone who looked like him and make him stay. She could order him around, make him apologize, and hear him say he loved her whenever she wanted.

Was this a healthy way to deal with romantic rejection? Obviously not.

Did Vivian care? Not particularly.

As for Ethan, his understanding of the arrangement was much simpler.

Seven thousand dollars for one weekend. Four weekends a month. Twenty-eight thousand dollars. For that kind of money, he could tolerate a woman with a few emotional issues.

Even if those issues occasionally became his problems.

Unfortunately, Vivian seemed particularly irritated today.

She suddenly caught Ethan by the chin and pulled his face toward her. "You're very pleased with yourself, aren't you?"

Ethan blinked innocently. "Dr. Hart?"

"You think a few sweet words are enough to make me forget who I am?"

Her fingers tightened slightly. "Let me remind you. I hired you to play a part. You're not here because I like you."

Her voice grew colder. "I'm paying for your time. Don't mistake a business arrangement for being genuinely wanted."

With that, she released him, leaned back in her seat, and calmly adjusted her glasses. Normally, those words would have been more than enough to hurt someone. And that was precisely what she wanted.

Vivian wanted to see that familiar face looking miserable. She wanted him to lower his head, apologize, and understand that she was the one in control of this relationship.

But Ethan was still smiling.

In fact, the young man didn't seem offended at all. He'd once been so poor that he'd had to search dumpsters for something to eat. Compared to the things people had said to him back then, Vivian's insults barely qualified as an inconvenience.

Besides, after years of dealing with different clients, Ethan had developed a fairly reliable system.

Some people needed affection. Others wanted excitement. And some simply wanted someone who would listen without judging them.

As for Vivian?

She needed to feel in control. Fine. Let her have that feeling. Or at least, let her believe she was in control.

Ethan took an individually wrapped wet wipe from his pocket, opened it, and offered it to Vivian. "I was standing outside for a while, so I got a little sweaty."

Vivian frowned. "And?"

"You touched my face earlier. Here, wipe your hand."

For the next few seconds, Vivian genuinely didn't know what to say. She'd just insulted him right to his face.

And his first reaction was to worry about whether her hand was clean?

"You're hopeless," she muttered.

Ethan smiled politely. Then he took Vivian's hand and began wiping it himself.

Vivian had beautiful hands. Her fingers were long and slender, her nails neatly trimmed, and her skin perfectly maintained. It was obvious she'd never had to worry much about manual labor.

Ethan was almost impressed. Some people really did hit the genetic jackpot.

He continued wiping.

Her knuckles. Between her fingers. Then slowly toward the center of her palm.

Vivian suddenly stiffened. At first, she'd intended to let Ethan finish. After all, she was the one paying him. What did she have to be embarrassed about?

But this guy was taking the whole thing far too seriously.

His fingers were warm, while the wet wipe was cool against her skin. And the more carefully he worked, the more aware she became of every tiny movement.

What was going on?

"That's enough!" She suddenly grabbed Ethan's wrist.

Ethan immediately stopped. "Dr. Hart, do you seriously have to win at hand-washing too?"

Vivian glared at him. "Shut up."

Ethan obediently pretended to zip his mouth shut.

Vivian was finally satisfied. But soon, her attention returned to Ethan's face.

There was a small cut at the corner of his mouth. She'd actually noticed it when he'd approached her car. Now that he was sitting so close, she could also see the bandage wrapped around his hand.

"Did you get into a fight?"

Ethan shook his head.

Vivian raised an eyebrow. "So someone beat you up?"

Ethan shook his head again.

She immediately pressed the car horn.

HONK!

"Have you suddenly forgotten how to speak?"

Ethan pointed at his mouth.

Vivian paused. Oh. Right. She'd been the one who told him to shut up.

"You have my permission to speak now."

Ethan immediately lowered his hand. "Thank you, Dr. Hart."

Vivian's mood improved again. Having someone so obedient was rather satisfying. Especially when that someone looked remarkably similar to the man who'd once abandoned her.

Of course, she knew Ethan wasn't nearly as innocent as he appeared. Behind that sweet smile was a calculating little money-grubber who probably loved money more than almost anything else in the world.

But so what? She paid for his companionship. He was supposed to make her happy.

"Now, explain what happened to your face."

Ethan thought for a moment. "Yesterday, I came across a group of guys harassing someone outside school. Things were getting ugly, so I stepped in."

Vivian's expression shifted. She'd assumed Ethan had gotten himself involved in some stupid argument. She hadn't expected him to risk getting hurt for someone else.

"Who?"

"Someone who needed help."

Vivian narrowed her eyes. "Was it a girl?"

Ethan hesitated. Only for a moment. Unfortunately, Vivian noticed.

"Oh, I see." Her voice turned cold. "So you got yourself beaten up trying to play the hero in front of another girl?"

"She's a classmate," Ethan explained. "I wasn't trying to impress anyone."

Vivian folded her arms. "And you expect me to believe that?"

"There were twelve guys. They'd blocked her way, and I was worried someone would get seriously hurt if I didn't stop them."

"Twelve?"

"Yeah."

"You're eighteen years old. And you decided to fight twelve people by yourself?"

"Well, I was hoping they'd reconsider their life choices."

"Did they?"

"Eventually. A few of them needed a little help."

For once, Vivian was at a loss for words. The young man sitting beside her seemed almost impossible to reconcile with the person he'd just described.

This was Ethan Brooks.

A guy who could smile through insults, count every single dollar, and carry out even the most ridiculous client requests as seriously as items on a work schedule.

Wasn't he supposed to be selfish?

Didn't he love money more than anything?

Why would someone like that risk getting hurt for a classmate?

Just then, Ethan lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dr. Hart."

Vivian froze. "What?"

"I should've been more careful. I know you hired me partly because of my looks, and now I've gone and damaged my face."

He gently touched the corner of his mouth. "I'll be more careful from now on. It won't happen again."

Vivian opened her mouth, then closed it. For once, she couldn't think of anything particularly cruel to say. This boy had just protected someone from twelve idiots, and now he was apologizing for getting injured.

She could have called him stupid. In fact, she probably should have called him stupid. But instead, she simply picked up her phone. After a few taps, Ethan's phone vibrated.

He opened the notification.

Payment received: $1,500.

For a moment, he thought he'd misread it.

"Dr. Hart?"

"Use it to get your injuries treated," Vivian said, putting her phone away. "And don't let anyone damage that face again."

Ethan stared at the number on his screen.

Fifteen hundred dollars. A bonus for getting injured. If he'd known getting beaten up came with a bonus, he might have asked those guys yesterday to be a little more careful about where they hit him.

Of course, he couldn't let that thought show on his face.

He quickly suppressed his excitement. "You're not angry with me?"

Vivian turned toward him.

Ethan's eyes were shining. It wasn't the polite, professional smile he'd been wearing earlier, but a look of such open delight that Vivian suddenly found it difficult to meet his gaze.

Warmth slowly crept up her neck.

How ridiculous. She could present academic research to a room full of internationally respected scholars without feeling the slightest bit nervous.

And now an eighteen-year-old boy was making her blush simply because she'd transferred him some money?

Absolutely unacceptable.

Ethan noticed the faint pink appearing above her collar.

Interesting. He'd never imagined Vivian Hart could get flustered over something so small. Naturally, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Vivian, meanwhile, was growing increasingly annoyed with herself.

She hadn't given him the money because she cared about him. Of course not. Ethan's appearance was part of their contract. If his face was damaged, it affected the service she'd paid for.

This was simply basic financial responsibility. Nothing more.

Having successfully convinced herself, she straightened in her seat. "Don't get the wrong idea."

Ethan immediately gave her his full attention. "Of course not."

"I'm not going soft on you."

"I never thought you were."

"When you accepted this job, you agreed to certain conditions."

"Yes, Dr. Hart."

"And now you've shown up injured."

Ethan suddenly sensed a change in the atmosphere inside the car. That was rarely a good sign.

Vivian's lips slowly curved into a smile. "Which means you've broken our agreement."

Oh, no. Ethan knew that smile all too well. It was the expression Vivian wore whenever she'd come up with a new way to make his weekends miserable.

"And when someone breaks an agreement," Vivian continued, "there must be consequences."

Ethan's smile froze. He'd only just earned an extra fifteen hundred dollars.

Surely God wasn't about to punish him for it already?

"Dr. Hart, I'm sure we can talk about—"

"Look in the back seat."

Ethan closed his mouth and slowly turned around. An elegant gift box sat on the leather back seat. He hadn't noticed it when he'd gotten into the car.

Now he wished he'd never noticed it at all.

Inside the box were something black, something silver, and one tiny detail that made his heart sink.

Vivian seemed delighted by his reaction. "I had it custom-made."

She leaned a little closer. "Do you like it?"

Ethan stared at the contents of the box. Then he remembered something very important.

Seven thousand dollars. One weekend. The customer was always right.

He slowly turned back toward Vivian and put on his most professional smile. "I love it, Dr. Hart."

Vivian smiled.

Ethan, however, had a terrible feeling.

That answer might just turn out to be the most expensive mistake of his entire career.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

The Professional Simp | Episode 4: Getting Beaten, Getting Smarter

Ethan Brooks had never imagined that electromagnetic fields would one day become his personal refuge.

By day, Dr. Vivian Hart was a brilliant, dedicated professor. By night, she could make a man wish he could crawl inside a textbook and hide.

The good news? Ethan had learned a great deal today.

The bad news? He was about to put that knowledge to use.

It had all started with an afternoon tutoring session.

As a professional simp, Ethan spent his weekends keeping the young university professor company and fulfilling her various ridiculous requests. For his trouble, he earned $7,000 every weekend.

Today's requests had been particularly unusual.

He was wearing a custom-made maid outfit, complete with a bell around his neck and a fluffy pair of cat ears on his head. More surprisingly, after lunch, Vivian had actually decided to tutor him.

Ethan had assumed it was just another passing whim. Instead, once she entered teaching mode, she became so serious about it that he could barely keep up.

"When a charged particle enters a magnetic field, the force acting on it..."

In the study, Vivian sat beside Ethan, sketching a diagram on a sheet of paper.

She'd put her glasses back on, and her dark, wavy hair was loosely gathered behind her head, exposing her slender neck. Occasionally, a few strands would slip free, and she'd pause just long enough to tuck them back into place.

Ethan sat up straight, doing his best to follow her explanation.

He'd been nervous at first. After all, this was the same professor who'd spent lunchtime raging about students who couldn't solve simple problems.

What if he couldn't understand her lessons either?

Wouldn't that be like volunteering to stand in front of a firing squad?

But once they actually started studying, Ethan realized he'd been worrying unnecessarily.

Vivian was strict, certainly, but she wasn't the kind of teacher who simply lost her temper whenever someone made a mistake.

She began by giving him a few problems to solve, identifying exactly which concepts he hadn't fully understood. Then she reorganized the material and explained those parts again.

When something was complicated, she drew diagrams and gave examples, working through the problem until Ethan genuinely understood it.

"Here. Why is the direction reversed?"

Vivian tapped his answer with the tip of her pen.

Ethan checked his work again. "I mixed up positive and negative charges."

"Then correct it now that you know what's wrong. Don't make the same mistake again."

She added a few strokes to the diagram, showing him the correct direction of the force.

Ethan finally understood.

Oh!

So that was how it worked!

Previously, all these physics concepts had felt like disconnected pieces of information. Whenever he encountered a problem, he could only try to remember the appropriate formula and hope he'd chosen the right one.

But after listening to Vivian, those scattered pieces were finally starting to fit together.

For the first time, he really understood how this woman had become a professor at such a young age.

He had to admit it.

She was seriously good at what she did.

Very good.

Ethan couldn't help turning his head to study her profile as she explained another problem.

Normally, Vivian was unpredictable, always finding some new excuse to make his life difficult. But now she was completely absorbed in the lesson, her expression focused and her voice growing a little faster whenever she reached an important point.

There was a quiet confidence about her that was completely different from her usual intimidating manner.

Ethan suddenly understood why people found a woman who was passionate about her work so attractive.

Especially when she wasn't acting insane for once.

"What are you staring at?"

Vivian didn't even lift her head.

"Is the answer written on my face?"

Ethan immediately snapped back to attention.

"No, Dr. Hart."

"Then look at the problem."

Fair enough.

Apparently, teachers everywhere in the world said exactly the same things when they caught a student daydreaming.

Ethan hurriedly lowered his head and reviewed what she'd just taught him.

When Vivian finished explaining the next problem, he took the opportunity to bring her a glass of warm water.

"You've been working hard, Dr. Hart. Why don't you have some water?"

Vivian accepted the glass and took a sip.

After talking for so long, her throat really was getting dry.

"Did you understand what we just covered?"

"Yes." Ethan nodded earnestly. "There were a few things I'd been struggling with for ages, but they make sense now."

Vivian glanced at him.

"Then don't waste the time I've spent teaching you."

"Of course not."

Ethan's answer was completely sincere.

For once, he wasn't simply telling a client what she wanted to hear.

People would practically line up for the opportunity to receive free private tutoring from a professor like Vivian Hart.

There was no way he intended to waste it.

Time passed.

By the time Ethan had finally worked through the concepts that kept tripping him up, the afternoon sunlight was already fading.

Vivian closed the textbook, removed her glasses, and rubbed her forehead.

"That's enough for today."

Ethan put down his pen and stretched his slightly stiff wrist.

They'd spent practically the entire afternoon studying, yet he felt he'd learned more than he would have managed in several days of studying alone.

"We'll continue with the rest tomorrow."

Ethan was about to pack his bag when her words made him stop.

"Tomorrow?"

"Why? Is there a problem?"

"No, no!" Ethan shook his head immediately. "I just didn't expect you to be willing to teach me again."

Seriously, what was going on with this woman?

She was a university professor with actual research to do, yet she was apparently planning to spend an entire weekend tutoring a high school student.

Had she reached that age where her maternal instincts suddenly kicked in?

Ethan immediately dismissed the thought.

Who was he kidding?

If Vivian Hart ever turned into a gentle, nurturing mother, he might as well run for President of the United States tomorrow.

Still, if someone wanted to tutor him for free, he certainly wasn't going to refuse.

He flashed her a bright smile.

"Thank you, Dr. Hart! I'm really looking forward to tomorrow's lesson!"

Vivian had been feeling a little tired, but his words made her smile despite herself.

For someone who usually had nothing but money on his mind, this kid was surprisingly serious about studying.

At least he was easier to teach than those university students of hers.

Just then, her phone chimed.

Vivian picked it up and opened the message.

It was a wedding invitation from a colleague at the university.

The happy couple smiled at her from the beautifully designed invitation on the screen.

The smile disappeared from Vivian's face.

Another wedding.

Why was everyone getting married?

She stared at the screen, and the face of the man she'd once been engaged to suddenly appeared in her mind.

Back then, he'd seemed just as excited about their future.

At least, as far as Vivian was concerned, their engagement had been supposed to lead naturally to marriage.

Instead, he'd suddenly announced that he wanted to find true love.

And just like that, he'd left.

Leaving Vivian to face everyone else's reactions.

She still remembered those looks.

Pity. Surprise.

And the barely concealed satisfaction of people who were secretly delighted to see her humiliated.

Vivian had spent practically her entire life winning.

Whether it was academics, research, or her career, she'd always been among the best. Everyone told her how exceptional she was, how she was destined for success.

Yet that man hadn't wanted her.

As though everything she'd achieved meant absolutely nothing in the face of something called love.

Vivian tightened her grip on her phone.

She wasn't even certain how much she'd actually loved him.

But there was one thing she knew beyond any doubt.

She hated losing.

Especially when the defeat was something she couldn't overcome with more effort, greater talent, or another impressive achievement.

"Dr. Hart?"

Ethan noticed the sudden change in her expression.

Vivian didn't answer. She simply locked her phone and turned toward the window.

It was getting dark.

After a while, she spoke calmly.

"Get me a bottle of red wine."

Ethan's heart sank.

Here we go.

He'd known it was coming.

During the day, Vivian could be difficult, but most of the time she was at least capable of listening to reason.

At night, especially after she'd been drinking, her mental state entered an entirely different category.

If Ethan had to rank her moods like difficulty settings in a video game, daytime Vivian would be Normal Mode.

Nighttime Vivian?

Nightmare Mode.

And the game didn't come with a quit button.

"Of course, Dr. Hart."

His response remained perfectly obedient.

He retrieved a bottle of red wine from the cabinet, along with a decanter and a glass.

Vivian had already moved to the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room.

Outside, the city lights were gradually coming on. Neon signs from distant buildings reflected in the glass, blurring her reflection.

Ethan poured the wine and placed the glass beside her.

Then he walked over to a storage cabinet and took out a box he'd prepared earlier.

It wasn't particularly large, but it had some weight to it.

Vivian had instructed him to keep these things ready for her at night.

He set the box beside the sofa.

"Everything's here, Dr. Hart."

"Mmm."

Vivian didn't turn around.

Ethan left her alone and went to clear the dining table.

He'd grown accustomed to evenings like this.

With his other clients, his job usually involved providing emotional support. He listened to their problems, kept them company, offered a few well-timed compliments, and occasionally demonstrated his excellent powers of observation.

Vivian was different.

She paid far too much.

As a result, she received a rather special level of premium customer service.

And just how special was that service?

Well, Ethan could only say that earning seven thousand dollars was never quite as easy as it sounded.

He wiped down the table, listening to the occasional clink of glass behind him.

The truth was, he had a fairly good idea why Vivian behaved this way.

Someone who'd grown up under enormous expectations, always striving to come first, would probably find it difficult to accept that certain things were completely beyond her control.

Especially love.

Fail an exam? Take it again.

Mess up a research experiment? Start over.

But when someone didn't love you, you couldn't exactly drag them back and make them retake the exam.

Although, knowing Vivian, Ethan wouldn't have been surprised if she'd seriously considered the idea.

Unfortunately, the replacement she'd chosen was him.

Ethan didn't believe he could solve Vivian's problems.

What she probably needed wasn't a professional simp who happened to resemble her ex-fiancé.

She needed someone who could help her move on from that relationship.

But that was clearly beyond his job description.

Besides, Vivian had never hired him to provide psychological counseling.

Ethan lowered his head and continued wiping the table.

He was just an ordinary working guy trying to earn a living.

Worrying about the entire emotional well-being of an absurdly wealthy employer seemed a little outside his financial interests.

About half an hour later, he heard a noise behind him.

Ethan turned.

Vivian was pulling herself upright with one hand on the sofa.

She'd already drunk nearly half the bottle of wine. Her cheeks were flushed, and some of the hair she'd pinned up earlier had fallen loose.

She braced one hand against the wall and slowly raised her head.

Warm yellow light filled the living room.

Across the room, Ethan was putting things away. The cat ears on his head wobbled as he moved, and the little bell around his neck gave an occasional jingle.

For a moment, Vivian thought he looked like one of those magical little household sprites from a fairy tale.

Quiet.

Obedient.

Even a little adorable.

But then Ethan turned around.

The moment she saw his face clearly, that brief feeling of tenderness vanished.

That face again.

That man had once looked at her in exactly the same way.

And then he'd left.

"Bastard..."

Vivian muttered the word under her breath.

Ethan didn't quite hear her.

"Dr. Hart?"

Vivian tried to walk toward him, forgetting about the box sitting near her feet.

She stumbled over it and pitched forward.

"Careful!"

Ethan rushed over and caught her before she could crash into the coffee table.

Vivian was so unsteady that she ended up leaning almost her entire weight against him.

He helped her regain her balance.

"Are you all right, Dr. Hart?"

"Shut up!"

Vivian suddenly shoved him away.

Caught off guard, Ethan staggered backward and nearly collided with a chair.

By the time he'd regained his footing, Vivian had lowered herself unsteadily onto the carpet and was opening the box.

Ethan felt the beginnings of a headache.

Here we go again.

He'd been through this more than once, but every time it happened, he couldn't help marveling at how incomprehensible this professor's idea of revenge was.

The man who'd actually abandoned her was probably enjoying himself somewhere overseas.

Meanwhile, Ethan, who had absolutely nothing to do with the breakup, was stuck wearing a maid dress and dealing with the consequences.

Was there a more unfair job in the world?

Of course there was.

One that didn't pay.

Ethan reminded himself that at least his compensation was excellent.

Vivian had already selected something suitable from the box.

She looked up at him. Alcohol had made her eyes slightly unfocused, but that familiar need to be in control hadn't weakened in the slightest.

"Come here."

Ethan hesitated briefly, then approached.

Vivian reached up and caught his chin, forcing him to look at her.

That familiar face was right in front of her.

She knew perfectly well that Ethan wasn't the man who'd left her.

She knew their relationship was nothing more than a paid arrangement.

But the alcohol had brought emotions she'd normally managed to suppress bubbling back to the surface.

She didn't want to think about why that man had left.

She didn't want to remember how many people had laughed at her humiliation.

She just wanted the person in front of her to lower his head.

To admit he'd been wrong.

To never dare leave her again.

"Are you ready?"

Ethan nodded slightly.

He lowered his eyes, wearing an expression of wounded resignation.

Vivian looked at him, and something uncomfortable stirred in her chest.

There it was again.

Why did seeing him like this always make her feel so uneasy?

She'd hired him specifically because he resembled her former fiancé.

She'd wanted to see that face looking miserable.

Yet whenever Ethan actually looked hurt, something about it felt wrong.

Vivian frowned.

No.

She couldn't go soft on him.

Not now.

Ethan, however, was thinking about something entirely different.

Thank goodness.

Thank goodness he'd prepared in advance.

After their tutoring session that afternoon, he'd waited until Vivian wasn't paying attention and added two layers of soft clothing beneath his maid outfit.

He'd worried the extra padding might ruin the look.

Now it seemed like one of the smartest decisions he'd made all day.

Being a professional simp wasn't just about managing your time.

You also had to know how to manage risk.

Ethan adjusted his position, carefully avoiding the areas where he'd been injured yesterday.

Then, in his mind, he opened the notes from that afternoon's physics lesson.

Let's start with electromagnetic fields.

What had Vivian been explaining earlier?

The force acting on a charged particle in a magnetic field...

SMACK!

A dull impact sounded behind him.

Ethan's shoulders tensed.

The extra layers absorbed some of the blow, and it hurt less than he'd expected.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

He didn't turn around.

Instead, he concentrated harder on the physics concepts he'd studied that afternoon.

The direction of the magnetic field.

The particle's velocity.

The Lorentz force...

Wait.

If the charge was negative, the direction of the force had to be reversed.

He'd nearly mixed that up again.

SMACK!

Another blow.

Ethan gritted his teeth and continued working through the problem in his head.

Good.

He'd remembered it correctly this time.

Vivian apparently interpreted his silence as obedience.

She continued saying things to him, her voice thick with alcohol and years of suppressed anger.

Ethan caught a few words.

"Liar."

"True love."

"How dare you..."

He didn't respond.

There was no point explaining anything right now.

Vivian wasn't really talking about him.

He only needed to fulfill the terms of their agreement while protecting himself as much as possible.

So while Vivian continued venting her anger, Ethan mentally reviewed the force diagrams she'd taught him earlier.

Problems that had confused him just a few hours ago were suddenly becoming clearer and clearer.

He could even picture the diagrams Vivian had drawn that afternoon, reconstructing each one in his head.

If he ignored the completely ridiculous circumstances, this was turning into an incredibly productive revision session.

Ethan couldn't help feeling impressed.

No wonder Vivian had become one of the youngest professors at her university.

She really was an extraordinary teacher.

So extraordinary that her student could remember the formulas even while getting beaten.

Although, now that he thought about it...

Why the hell was he proving her teaching ability under these circumstances?

Seven thousand dollars.

Ethan repeated the amount silently.

Fine.

He was definitely earning his money tonight.

After a while, Vivian's movements finally began to slow.

She'd drunk too much, and she hadn't had much strength to begin with. Now she could barely remain standing.

Yet she still seemed unwilling to stop.

She looked at Ethan and moved her lips.

"You..."

Ethan raised his head slightly.

"Dr. Hart?"

"How dare you..."

The rest of her words dissolved into an indistinct mumble.

Vivian suddenly swayed.

The object in her hand dropped onto the carpet.

Then her entire body began tipping sideways.

Ethan instinctively reached out and caught her by the shoulders before her head could strike the corner of the table.

At last, the living room fell silent.

A few seconds passed.

Ethan cautiously called out to her.

"Dr. Hart?"

No response.

Just the steady sound of her breathing.

She'd fallen asleep.

Ethan stared at her for a moment, then let out a long breath.

"That's it?"

He glanced instinctively at the clock on the wall.

"You're done earlier than usual tonight."

He rolled his shoulders. His back still ached.

Apparently, the extra padding really had helped.

Still, he'd need to find a better way to protect himself next time.

A good paycheck didn't mean he could afford to treat his body like it was disposable.

He got slowly to his feet, straightened his rumpled clothes, and adjusted the cat ears on his head.

Jingle.

The familiar sound rang out again.

Ethan lowered his gaze and noticed that his textbooks were still spread across the coffee table.

He hurried over and carefully packed away his notes, worksheets, and books.

Vivian had spent an entire afternoon preparing and explaining that material for him.

He absolutely had to review it properly when he got home.

Especially those few concepts he kept getting wrong.

He couldn't afford to make the same mistakes tomorrow.

Because if Vivian discovered that she'd spent hours teaching him and he still couldn't solve the problems...

Ethan suddenly felt another ache in his back.

He finished packing his bag and put it somewhere safe before returning to Vivian.

She'd gone completely quiet.

Her dark hair was spread across the carpet, her green silk nightgown slightly wrinkled, and a faint flush still lingered on her cheeks.

Even in her sleep, her eyebrows were drawn together. Her long eyelashes fluttered occasionally, as though she were still angry about something in her dreams.

Ethan crouched beside her and couldn't help muttering to himself.

"You're so well-behaved when you're asleep. Why do you turn into such a nightmare the moment you wake up?"

Naturally, Vivian didn't answer.

Ethan gently touched her shoulder.

"Dr. Hart? Can you hear me?"

Still nothing.

It seemed unlikely she'd be walking back to her bedroom under her own power tonight.

After making sure she was breathing steadily, Ethan returned the scattered items to the box and moved the unfinished wine and glass out of the way so she wouldn't knock them over when she woke.

Once everything was taken care of, he crouched down again and lifted Vivian into his arms.

Normally, this woman carried herself as though the entire world existed to follow her instructions.

Now she was simply someone who'd drunk so much that she couldn't even stand.

Ethan looked down at the woman in his arms and found the contrast almost absurd.

During the day, she could fill pages with complicated formulas and solve problems that had troubled him for months with just a few explanations.

At night, a man who'd walked out of her life long ago could still leave her in this condition.

How could the same person be so different?

Ethan sighed.

But that wasn't his problem to solve.

Right now, all he wanted was to get his employer settled, make sure he had no more duties for the night, and find somewhere to rest.

After all, he still had another full day of tutoring tomorrow.

And knowing Vivian, once she'd decided she was going to teach him something, she would absolutely refuse to accept failure.

Which made Ethan wonder...

What was more terrifying?

Tonight?

Or tomorrow's physics problems?

Carrying Vivian in his arms, he headed toward the bathroom.

He'd barely reached the doorway when she suddenly stirred.

Her arms moved unconsciously around his neck, and she nestled her head against his shoulder.

"Bastard..."

Her voice was barely intelligible.

Ethan stopped.

"Dr. Hart? Are you awake?"

"Bastard..."

Right.

Her brain was asleep, but apparently her mouth was still on duty.

Ethan shook his head helplessly.

"Your ability to insult people really is a twenty-four-hour service, isn't it?"

He'd originally intended to find a towel, wipe the sweat from her face, and then carry her back to her bedroom.

But just then, Vivian suddenly opened her eyes.

She stared at Ethan through a drunken haze, as though she recognized his face but had absolutely no idea where she was.

After a long moment, she finally managed to force out a few words.

"Bath... I want a bath..."

Ethan froze.

"Sorry?"

Vivian frowned and repeated herself, her words slurring together.

"Give me... a bath..."

Ethan looked down at her.

Then he glanced into the bathroom, at the ridiculously enormous bathtub.

He'd thought the hardest part of his evening was finally over.

Apparently, he'd celebrated too soon.

This professor could barely stand, yet she was still determined to give orders.

Ethan remained silent for several seconds before finally letting out a helpless sigh.

Seven thousand dollars.

Apparently, there really was no such thing as easy money.

https://t.co/F2qQNHq4pi

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

The Professional Simp | Episode 3: The $7,000 Maid

Ethan Brooks had always believed that the most important skill a professional simp could possess was knowing better than to question a client's personal tastes.

Until this Saturday, when he discovered one particularly dangerous exception.

His client's personal taste in him.

Just ten minutes ago, he'd been sitting in Dr. Vivian Hart's passenger seat, telling her how much he loved the mysterious gift she'd bought him.

Now he was beginning to regret every word.

The car pulled into the private driveway of Vivian's mansion. She stepped out without another word, retrieved the elegant gift box from the back seat, and motioned for Ethan to follow.

Ethan knew the routine well enough. He'd been working for the young university professor for several months now, earning $7,000 every weekend. His duties included keeping her company, following instructions, declaring his affection at appropriate moments, and serving as a remarkably durable emotional dumping ground whenever she was in a bad mood.

Naturally, the emotional dumping ground had to be handsome.

Vivian set the gift box on the living room coffee table, disappeared into her walk-in closet, and returned with a designer shopping bag. She tossed it into Ethan's arms.

"Go change."

Ethan caught the bag. After silently reminding himself three times that the customer was always right, he reached inside.

A dress.

Black and white, trimmed with lace, with a delicate little apron tied around the waist.

He held it up and examined it for several seconds.

"Dr. Hart, is this...?"

"A maid outfit," Vivian supplied.

"I know it's a maid outfit."

"Then what's the problem?"

Ethan went quiet for a moment.

"Nothing."

There was a problem. A very big problem.

He was an eighteen-year-old man. Why the hell was he being asked to wear a maid outfit?!

Vivian seemed thoroughly pleased with his reaction and disappeared into her bedroom.

Still clutching the dress, Ethan remembered the $1,500 she'd transferred him earlier for his injuries.

He'd thought she was being unusually generous today. Now he was starting to suspect that payment had included compensation for psychological damages.

Damn it. He should've asked for more.

"Aren't you changed yet?"

Vivian's voice came from behind him.

Ethan turned around. She'd already traded her professional outfit for a dark green silk nightgown. Her glasses were gone, and her dark hair had been loosely pinned up, with a few strands falling beside her face.

Without her usual severe professor's wardrobe, she looked considerably more relaxed. Unfortunately, her overwhelming need to be in charge hadn't relaxed in the slightest.

Under normal circumstances, Ethan's professional instincts would have told him to compliment her appearance.

But then he noticed something else.

Vivian had opened the gift box on the coffee table. In her hand was a black collar, complete with a polished silver clasp and a tiny bell dangling beneath it.

Ethan finally understood why he'd had such a terrible feeling about that box.

"I had this custom-made," Vivian said, clearly enjoying his expression. "You said you loved it, didn't you?"

Ethan summoned his professional smile.

"Of course, Dr. Hart. You have excellent taste."

He just wished her excellent taste didn't always involve finding new ways to torment him.

Vivian approached and gestured for him to lower his head.

Ethan obediently bent down and let her fasten the collar around his neck. The metal clasp clicked softly into place.

Jingle.

The little bell rang.

Vivian gave it a gentle flick, a faint smile appearing on her lips.

"Not bad. Very cute."

Ethan lowered his eyes to the bell hanging against his chest.

An entirely inappropriate thought entered his mind.

If someone put this thing on a sheep, would it qualify for the ranch's Sheep of the Year competition?

Before he could think of anything to say, Vivian suddenly caught hold of his collar and pulled him toward her.

It tightened around his throat.

Ethan's breath caught. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance and nearly stumbled straight into her arms.

Vivian loosened her grip slightly, but she didn't let go.

"Remember this. Every time you come here, you're wearing it." Her voice was soft, but there was no room for argument. "Understood?"

Ethan caught his breath and nodded.

Vivian studied his face. Slowly, her eyes grew cold.

"What? Still planning to go looking for your true love?"

Ethan froze for a moment.

Then he understood.

Here we go again.

Vivian had once been engaged. One day, her fiancé had abruptly announced that he was going abroad to search for true love, then walked out of her life without looking back.

Unfortunately for Ethan, he looked remarkably similar to the man.

As a result, Vivian occasionally took all the resentment she'd never managed to unleash on her former fiancé and dumped it directly onto him.

Ethan had plenty of experience dealing with this particular situation.

He immediately lowered his eyes and spoke with perfect sincerity.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Hart. I don't want to find true love. You're the only one I love."

"Shut up!"

Vivian cut him off almost immediately.

Those were precisely the words she'd wanted to hear. Yet when Ethan actually said them in that subdued voice, something about it made her uncomfortable.

Especially with his eyes lowered like that, and yesterday's injury still visible at the corner of his mouth.

He looked terribly hurt.

Had she pulled the collar too hard?

The thought had barely crossed her mind before Vivian frowned.

Ridiculous.

He was being paid to act. What did he have to feel hurt about?

She was supposed to be the angry one here.

She released him and took half a step back.

"Put the outfit on. Then make lunch."

"Of course, Dr. Hart."

"And one more thing." Vivian pointed at the dress in his hands. "If you refuse to wear it, I won't mind making you take a little walk outside in it."

Ethan nearly lost his smile.

This woman was finding increasingly creative ways to be insane.

Still, seven thousand dollars was seven thousand dollars. He wasn't about to throw away a job like this over one dress.

Besides, it was just business.

As long as he wasn't breaking the law or risking his life, what was a little damage to his dignity?

He adjusted his expression and asked gently, "What would you like for lunch, Dr. Hart? You've been working pretty hard lately. How about some slow-simmered pork rib soup with red dates? Something nourishing. I can make your usual favorite dishes to go with it."

Vivian had almost agreed.

Then she stopped herself.

How did this guy always remember what she liked to eat?

She'd only mentioned some of those things once or twice. She'd practically forgotten about them herself, yet he remembered every detail.

And the thought that Ethan made his living by providing this kind of thoughtful attention to his clients irritated her for reasons she couldn't quite explain.

Especially after he'd somehow managed to make her feel sorry for him earlier.

"Decide for yourself," she said coldly. "If I have to tell you what to cook every time, what am I paying you for?"

"Understood."

"I'm going to my study. Let me know when lunch is ready."

Vivian turned to leave.

Just as she reached the study door, Ethan called after her.

"Would fish soup be better?"

"FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELF!"

BANG!

The door slammed shut.

Ethan stood there for a moment. The wounded, obedient expression vanished from his face.

"She's nuts," he muttered.

Then he picked up the shopping bag and headed for the dressing room.

A few minutes later, Ethan stood before a full-length mirror, deep in thought.

Well.

This was unexpected.

The dress actually looked pretty good on him.

The black-and-white design complemented his complexion, while the fitted waist made his already slender figure look even more striking. Even the hem fell at exactly the right length.

This clearly wasn't some random costume Vivian had bought off the rack.

Ethan turned sideways to admire his reflection.

"Not bad at all."

He couldn't help laughing.

"See? Fashion really does come down to who's wearing it."

He gave himself another once-over, then shook his head with mild disappointment.

"Why didn't she include stockings? With legs this long, it'd be a waste not to show them off properly."

Come to think of it, the dress was surprisingly comfortable.

There were even certain things that normally required some careful consideration about whether they belonged on the left or the right.

In a skirt, apparently, that problem solved itself.

Ethan gave the mirror a half-turn. The bell at his neck jingled cheerfully.

He reached up and touched the collar.

The black material was soft, the silver clasp exquisitely made. Even the tiny bell had been polished and decorated with an almost absurd level of care.

And worse, it had a luxury brand's logo engraved on it.

Ethan recognized the name.

He'd once researched the brand while helping another client choose a gift. Its prices had inflicted psychological damage he still hadn't fully recovered from.

And this collar didn't look like something anyone could simply walk into a boutique and buy.

Custom-made.

Of course it was custom-made.

Ethan made a rough estimate of the cost and nearly wanted to remove the bell and place it somewhere safe, preferably under armed guard.

Rich people were truly incomprehensible.

All that money, just to hang a bell around his neck?

Why not transfer the money straight to him instead?

For that kind of cash, he'd happily wear a bell and personally announce the time every morning.

He gave the skirt one final adjustment, decided he looked sufficiently presentable for his employer's tastes, and headed into the kitchen.

If he'd agreed to cook, he was going to do it properly.

After all, a professional simp didn't sell sweet talk alone. Quality service mattered.

Besides, Vivian was clearly in a bad mood today. The last thing Ethan wanted was to give her another excuse to make his evening miserable.

So he settled on the safest possible solution.

Pork rib soup.

Fish soup.

Both.

She hadn't said he could only make one.

***

By twelve-thirty, lunch was finally ready.

Ethan turned off the stove and wiped his hands on his apron. As he stepped out of the kitchen, the bell at his neck rang.

He walked to the study and knocked gently.

"Dr. Hart, lunch is ready."

No answer.

After a moment, the door finally opened.

Vivian emerged.

Ethan had expected her to show at least a little satisfaction when she saw him in the outfit she'd chosen.

Instead, she looked absolutely furious.

Her glasses were still off, her brows drawn tightly together, and her expression suggested she'd just witnessed something that defied all human understanding.

Ethan immediately ran through his mental checklist of everything he'd done since arriving.

He hadn't upset her, had he?

"Rough morning, Dr. Hart?" He stepped aside to give her room. "Why don't you eat something and take a break? I've made some of your favorite—"

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

Vivian cut him off and marched toward the dining table.

"How can anyone get a question that simple wrong? Do those students even listen in class?"

Oh.

It was the students.

Ethan relaxed.

As long as it wasn't his fault, they were off to an excellent start.

Vivian was one of the youngest professors at her university, and her academic ability was beyond question. She'd previously devoted most of her attention to research, but this year she'd decided to take on a course.

She'd expected teaching to be a relatively straightforward addition to her schedule.

Instead, it was turning out to be a serious test of her emotional stability.

"I already taught them the basics! How can they still not understand something so simple?" Vivian demanded. "And the worst part? They're actually questioning my teaching ability!"

Ethan pulled out a chair for her, suppressing a smile.

"Maybe you're just so brilliant that the students are having trouble keeping up with you."

"You think that's an excuse?"

"Of course not," Ethan corrected himself immediately. "But at least they're asking you questions. That must mean you're popular with your students."

Even he didn't believe that one.

Vivian clearly didn't either.

She sat down, still fuming.

"I've spent years building my academic reputation. I'm certainly not letting a few students' grades damage it. But if they can't grasp even the most basic concepts, people will start thinking I'm a terrible teacher!"

Ethan could only marvel at the sheer scope of this woman's competitive streak.

Even a student failing an exam could somehow become a personal challenge to her entire professional career.

"How about some soup first?" Ethan said, filling a bowl for her. "Work is work, but you can't skip lunch just because your students aren't studying hard enough."

Vivian was about to continue complaining when she noticed the food in front of her.

Several of her favorite dishes had been arranged neatly across the table. The ingredients worked beautifully together, and not a single dish contained anything she disliked.

Beside them sat two covered bowls.

One held tender pork ribs in a rich, slow-simmered broth. The other contained a lighter, fragrant fish soup.

Vivian paused.

"Didn't I tell you to decide for yourself?"

"I did," Ethan replied matter-of-factly. "So I made both. You've had a rough day. Now you can have whichever one you feel like."

Vivian's spoon stopped halfway to her mouth.

She'd been fully prepared to find something wrong with lunch. Unfortunately, the food looked excellent.

And...

He really did seem to know her.

Jingle.

A small bell rang.

Vivian raised her head.

Ethan was standing beside her, pouring a glass of water.

His maid outfit was spotless, the black skirt shifting gently as he moved. The little bell at his neck chimed now and then, while the afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall windows settled across his hair and shoulders.

He placed the glass beside her.

"Careful. It's hot."

For a moment, Vivian lost herself in thought.

She remembered the fairy tales she'd read as a little girl.

There were always those helpful little sprites that appeared when nobody was looking, quietly cleaned the house, and left a warm meal waiting for everyone.

She'd always thought those stories were silly.

But now...

Maybe there was something to them after all.

Because apparently, she had one of her own.

Granted, her little household fairy was obsessed with money and happened to be wearing a maid dress.

Vivian couldn't help smiling.

Ethan noticed, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

Good.

Lunch had worked.

He made a mental note.

Client's mood improved. Service successful.

Vivian, meanwhile, had developed an entirely different thought.

She wanted to pat Ethan on the head.

The desire appeared so suddenly that it startled even her.

Why?

She'd hired him to make a man who resembled her former fiancé obey her, apologize to her, and admit defeat.

And now she wanted to run her fingers through his hair?

Vivian tightened her grip on her spoon and tried to suppress the ridiculous impulse.

Unfortunately, the harder she tried not to think about it, the more often her eyes wandered toward the top of Ethan's head.

His hair looked so soft.

Surely one little pat wouldn't hurt?

No.

Absolutely not.

She was his employer.

What if asking to touch his hair made Ethan think she actually liked him?

Wouldn't that mean she'd surrendered first?

Vivian Hart did not surrender.

She sat in silence for a moment.

Then a brilliant idea occurred to her.

"Ethan. Aren't you forgetting something?"

Ethan instinctively checked the table.

"All the silverware is here. Did you need anything else?"

Vivian frowned impatiently.

"Do you seriously not know how to complete an outfit?"

Ethan looked down at himself.

Dress.

Apron.

Bell.

What else was there?

Surely she wasn't planning to give him a dog tail next.

"There's a pair of cat ears in the left-hand cabinet in the dressing room," Vivian instructed. "Go get them."

Ethan went silent.

Apparently, he'd underestimated the professor's capacity for insanity yet again.

But he was already wearing a maid dress. At this point, adding cat ears hardly seemed worth arguing about.

He returned with them a moment later.

They were black, beautifully made, and covered in soft, fluffy material.

Vivian held out her hand.

"Come here."

Ethan obediently bent down.

Vivian placed the cat-ear headband on his head and began adjusting it.

"Don't move."

She reached up and smoothed his hair.

The soft strands slipped between her fingers.

Vivian paused.

Just as she'd imagined.

She couldn't resist touching it again.

Ethan had no idea why a simple pair of cat ears required so much adjustment. But considering his client's mood, he wisely stayed still.

Vivian continued arranging the headband.

And, under the perfectly reasonable excuse of making sure it sat correctly, she finally gave his head a thoroughly satisfying little rub.

Excellent.

She'd touched his hair.

And Ethan hadn't suspected a thing.

Vivian felt she'd won a magnificent victory.

"All right." She withdrew her hand, doing her best to look composed. "That's better."

Ethan straightened up. The cat ears gave a little wobble.

"As long as you're happy, Dr. Hart."

"Mm."

Vivian picked up her soup and finally began eating properly.

It had been an exhausting morning.

First the parking ticket. Then Ethan's injuries, which had left her furious. And after coming home, she'd had to deal with university students who seemed determined to make her question the future of higher education.

But now, somehow, everything seemed much more pleasant.

Especially Ethan.

He was sitting across from her, diligently finishing the food she couldn't eat.

Cat ears on his head.

A bell around his neck.

His cheeks slightly full as he chewed.

He looked a little ridiculous.

But also...

A little adorable.

Vivian rested her chin on one hand.

"Aren't your exams coming up?"

Ethan still had food in his mouth. He looked up and nodded.

The cat ears wobbled.

Vivian's mood improved even further.

"How are your grades?"

Ethan swallowed.

"Pretty good."

He wasn't just being modest.

He'd always done well in school. After all, wealthy clients didn't trust him simply because he was handsome. Being intelligent and reliable was another reason he could keep landing these well-paying jobs.

Still, all those part-time commitments had been eating into his study time.

Vivian considered something for a moment.

"Bring me your textbooks after lunch."

Ethan blinked.

"What?"

"I'll tutor you."

For a moment, Ethan genuinely thought he'd misheard her.

"You're... going to tutor me?"

Vivian raised an eyebrow.

"What? Am I not qualified?"

"Of course you are!"

Ethan shook his head immediately.

Was she kidding?

This was Dr. Vivian Hart.

One of the youngest professors at her university, a woman who'd established herself through actual research achievements at an age when most people were still figuring out their careers.

Ethan couldn't claim to understand all her publications and academic honors, but he'd heard enough about them to know they were seriously impressive.

How many students would kill for the chance to receive personal guidance from a professor like her?

And now she was offering to tutor him.

For free!

Ethan was genuinely flattered.

But at the same time, something felt off.

Hadn't Vivian's mood changed a little too quickly today?

Just minutes ago, she'd been complaining that her university students were too hopeless to understand basic material.

Now she suddenly wanted to teach him.

Wait a minute.

Had those students driven her so far up the wall that she'd decided to find someone easier to teach, just to prove she was still an excellent professor?

The more Ethan thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.

For Vivian, even a student getting a question wrong apparently counted as some kind of personal defeat.

Which meant that he, an eighteen-year-old high school student on her payroll, might have just become her last hope of restoring her confidence as a teacher.

But...

What if he couldn't understand her lessons either?

Suddenly, his lunch didn't taste nearly as good.

Vivian noticed his silence and frowned.

"What? You don't want me to?"

Ethan immediately put on a smile.

"Of course I do! I'd be delighted to learn from you personally, Dr. Hart."

That was half true.

The other half came from years of professional experience.

When dealing with a client like Vivian, the most important thing was never to ruin her mood while she was excited about something.

Vivian appeared satisfied with his answer.

"Then hurry up and eat. We'll start as soon as you're finished."

"Yes, Dr. Hart."

Ethan lowered his head and quickly took another few bites.

His cat ears wobbled as he ate, and the bell at his neck gave another little jingle.

Vivian watched him with unmistakable pleasure.

She even picked up the last pork rib from her plate and placed it in his bowl.

Ethan stared down at it, feeling rather conflicted.

There was definitely something unusual about Vivian today.

But whatever.

He was getting paid, he was getting fed, and now he was getting free private tutoring from a university professor.

When he thought about it that way, wearing a dress and a pair of cat ears didn't seem like such a bad deal.

He was even starting to believe that this weekend's seven thousand dollars might be easier to earn than usual.

There was only one thing worrying him.

He had absolutely no idea what Vivian's tutoring sessions would be like.

After all, if a group of university students could make a brilliant young professor question their intelligence, the material probably wasn't going to be particularly friendly to an ordinary high school student.

And Ethan knew something else about Vivian Hart.

Sometimes, more than making other people obey her, she enjoyed proving that she was always right.

So if she suddenly decided that she absolutely, positively had to make him understand...

Ethan silently began eating faster.

He had a terrible feeling.

The hardest part of his day might only just be beginning.

https://t.co/d39QcIaBsL

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

Somewhere along the way, we turned life into a performance review. If you're raising good kids, keeping the lights on, and still finding reasons to laugh, I'd say you're doing pretty well.

A kid isn't going to remember whether Dad built a $10M company. They'll remember that he came home, sat on the floor, and built a ridiculous Lego spaceship with them.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@Slumfy1 Me: "It's down 35%. Surely this is the bottom."

Market: "That's adorable."

Me: "What does that mean?"

Market: "You'll find out Monday."

I bought the dip once. Then the dip dipped. Then the second dip introduced me to its parents. We're basically family now.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@1Umairshaikh Smart guy: "I've identified 19 potential risks. We need more research."

Other guy: "Cool. I already sold 200 of them."

Smart guy: "Sold 200 WHAT?"

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@pinksoop The car is from 2005, but unfortunately the tire shop is still operating in 2026. Inflation really refuses to respect vintage vehicles.

Her: "But my car is from 2005."

Tire shop: "Ma'am, unfortunately the tire was born this morning."

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

The most disturbing part is imagining what the victim had to live with long after the headlines disappeared. Some scars don't leave when the news cycle moves on.

No one should have to endure violence because of their race or disability. That principle shouldn't change depending on who the victim is or who committed the crime.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

Board: "We need a new CEO."

Engineer: "What qualifications?"

Board: "Ideally, someone who can build another Nvidia."

Engineer: "So... Jensen?"

You can replace a CEO's title overnight. Replacing three decades of instinct, relationships, and institutional knowledge is a very different problem.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@itxtwt I'm trying to have a deep conversation and they're responding like an NPC with only six dialogue options unlocked. 😭

Me: "I really need someone to talk to."

Them: "haha"

Me: "I'd like to speak to a human representative, please."

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@chefsevenn I say thank you to the waiter, the person who refills my water, and sometimes the automatic door. At this point, politeness is a medical condition.

Waiter: "Enjoy your meal!"

Me: "You too!"

And now I have to find a new restaurant because I can never show my face there again.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@fullonliplock People keep telling you the battle is over, but you're still living with the aftermath every single day. That sounds incredibly exhausting. I hope you have people around you who truly listen and support you. ❤️

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@amelia_tweetz Companies treat humans like an unnecessary expense right up until the moment something breaks and suddenly we're an essential resource.

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@heisfred_ Me at 11 PM: "24 hours of freedom. Life is beautiful."

My day off: "Best I can do is laundry, groceries, and an existential crisis."

Me at 3 PM: "WHO STOLE THE REST OF MY DAY?"

[W | Storyteller @wangxunwangxun]

@FredLAFernandes Filha: “Pai, inventaram um Spotify sem anúncios!”

Pai: “Minha filha, isso se chama 1998.”

Espera ela descobrir que funciona sem internet. O pai vai virar engenheiro da NASA.