Since we are all reborn, let’s arrest the senior!

The May sunlight, like melting gold leaf, streamed through the gaps in the blinds onto the beige sheets. Half-asleep, Jiang Zimei felt a tingling sensation on her neck. As her eyelashes fluttered, the tip of her nose was first enveloped by the aroma of cedarwood perfume mingled with the roasted scent of coffee beans. Lu Mingze's white hair fell to the hollow of her collarbone, the ends brushing against her skin and sending shivers down her spine. His fingertips, however, gently curled a strand of her chestnut-brown hair as if kneading clay, the remaining gold dust falling softly onto the back of his hand like scattered diamond glaze.

"You little sleepyhead," his voice was hoarse with the morning air, and as the last syllable brushed against her earlobe, the smart bracelet on her wrist vibrated with a slight tingling sensation, "The sunlight is already shining on the glaze rack." Jiang Zimei opened her eyes, her amber pupils reflecting the man's slightly curved eyes—when he smiled, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes would spread out like ice cracks, "What were you dreaming about? Your lips are so sweet they could stick to the glaze."

She deliberately pursed her lips deeper, revealing a mischievous glint in her dimples: "I dreamt that Mr. Lu cracked the 'Starry Frost Glaze,' and in his haste, he used chocolate sauce to patch the cracks, resulting in a starry sky porcelain that oozes out." Before she finished speaking, Lu Mingze's thumb had already gently rubbed against her lower lip, his fingertip brushing against the creases between her lips, where faint red marks from sleep still remained. "Looks like we need to test the glaze on a real person." As he spoke, he leaned down, his nose brushing against hers, the scents of cedar and rose mingling between their lips and teeth.

Jiang Zimei reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingertips brushing against the newly sprouted stubble on the back of his neck, softer than the clay particles in the studio. As their breaths mingled, the latte on the bedside table gradually steamed, the dark chocolate at the rim melting in the sunlight, like gilded glaze flowing in a kiln. Suddenly, she bit the chocolate wrapper with her teeth, gently tearing it open to reveal the deep brown filling. "Brother Lu, would you like to try the glaze first, or me?"

Lu Mingze chuckled softly, the vibrations of his chest resonating in her palm. As he picked up the coffee cup, he deliberately let the rim brush against her collarbone, the warm liquid leaving an ambiguous watermark between the porcelain cup and her skin. "Only children make choices," he said, bringing the coffee to her lips. He then bit off the other half of the chocolate, but as she opened her mouth, he used the tip of his tongue to push the melted chocolate sauce across her lips. The sweet and bitter flavors bloomed on their intertwined tongues, much like the "bittersweet glaze" he had just tried.

The cinema lobby at 11 o'clock was bathed in amber light. Jiang Zimei walked along the burgundy carpet, her stiletto heels clicking rhythmically. The documentary poster Lu Mingze had chosen for her depicted starlight embedded in the cracks of an ancient kiln. She suddenly remembered his words about "emotional exploration" from the previous night, and her fingertips subtly hooked the edge of his suit trouser pocket. When the man turned around, the hem of his light gray trench coat billowed up, revealing the crackled pattern on his lower back brace—the 37th draft she had personally etched into the clay.

"I bought a large caramel popcorn." He shook the bucket in his hand, the body of which was printed with a retro kiln pattern. "And your favorite orange soda." Jiang Zimei raised an eyebrow, watching him stuff the soda into the inner pocket of his trench coat, the bulging bottle pressed against his chest through the fabric. "Didn't Mr. Lu say that carbonated drinks would damage the molecular structure of the glaze?" He took off her sunglasses, his fingertips tracing the gold powder at the corner of her eye—the eyeshadow she had secretly used his gold powder glaze to apply this morning. "But your eyes need sugar more than the glaze."

As the lights in the theater gradually dimmed, Jiang Zimei deliberately leaned towards Lu Mingze, her cashmere shawl slipping onto the armrest between them, revealing the rhinestone enamel patches on her shoulders. The documentary opened with footage of an old craftsman kneading clay; his calloused hands turned the clay, much like Lu Mingze's movements when adjusting glaze. Suddenly, she gently tapped his knee with a popcorn bucket, the popcorn inside making a soft, crackling sound from the vibration.

"It itches," she complained softly, but as he turned his head, she popped a piece of caramel-coated popcorn into his mouth. As Lu Mingze chewed, his Adam's apple bobbed under her gaze. She reached out to wipe the caramel from the corner of his lips, her fingertips deliberately lingering a couple more seconds on his chin, where the stubble she hadn't shaved that morning tickled her fingertips. Suddenly, the man pressed her wrist, placing her hand on his thigh. She could feel the warmth of his muscles through the fabric of his trousers. "Focus on the movie," he said, but at that moment, he gently clamped her calf between his knees.

As the kiln crackled on the screen, Jiang Zimei felt his thumb rubbing against the inside of her wrist, where a pale blue vein pulsed in sync with the smart bracelet on his wrist. She turned to look at him; in the darkness, she could only see his sharply defined profile, his white hair gleaming like mother-of-pearl in the dim light of the emergency lamp. "Lu Mingze," she whispered in his ear, her warm breath brushing against his earlobe, "your heartbeat is louder than the soundtrack to a documentary."

The smart bracelet lit up its pale blue screen in the darkness, and she glimpsed her heart rate jump to 132. Lu Mingze suddenly put the popcorn bucket down, his arm wrapping around her from behind, his lower back brace pressing against her side through the fabric, the cracked pattern perfectly matching her temporary tattoo. Jiang Zimei smelled the lingering scent of laundry detergent on his suit, mixed with a faint whiff of iodine—the unique aroma of his studio.

As Jiang Zimei stepped out of the cinema, the sun was high in the sky. Her high heels clicked crisply on the smooth marble floor of the mall. Passing by luxury boutiques, the diamond necklaces in the windows gleamed coldly under the spotlights, but she was drawn to the window of the pottery shop next door—there was a ceramic doll there, the girl's skirt studded with small diamonds, which looked exactly like the temporary tattoo on the back of her neck.

“Brother Lu,” she tugged at his sleeve, the gold dust in her hair fluttering in the wind and landing on his suit shoulder, “that little doll’s dress looks just like my diamond glaze.” Lu Mingze followed her gaze, and just then, the shop assistant opened the door. The scent of cedar wafting from the shop reminded him of the glaze racks in his studio. Jiang Zimei was already squatting in front of the display case, her fingertips lightly touching the hem of the doll’s skirt, the diamonds refracting rainbow-like light under her fingertips.

“This is a limited edition,” the sales clerk said with a smile. “The designer said the inspiration came from the warmth of a lover’s body.” Jiang Zimei looked up at Lu Mingze and found him staring at the doll’s lower back—there was an ice crack pattern there, exactly the same as the pattern on his protective gear. The man suddenly reached out and bought the doll for her, but as the sales clerk was wrapping it, he said in a voice that only the two of them could hear, “Our diamond glaze is even warmer than this.”

As Jiang Zimei left the shop, a thin chain appeared on her wrist, the pendant a miniature crackled porcelain shard. She pressed the shard against Lu Mingze's Adam's apple, feeling the vibration as he swallowed. "Now we are truly yin and yang blanks," she said, looking up at him. Sunlight filtered through her eyelashes, casting dappled shadows on his face. "Mr. Lu, how do you plan to 'fire' us?"

Lu Mingze suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the fitting room next door. The moment the door closed, his lips landed on the red birthmark on her collarbone, still smeared with milk foam from the coffee they'd had that morning. Jiang Zimei breathed softly, her fingertips hooking around his suit tie, feeling the back brace pressing against her lower abdomen through her clothes, its temperature two degrees lower than her body temperature, like a piece of freshly fired porcelain. "It's not warm enough here," his voice mingled with the warmth of his breath, "It needs a more intimate touch."

The French restaurant was bathed in the rosy glow of the evening sunset. Jiang Zimei sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching Lu Mingze pour her wine. The Burgundy red wine rippled in the crystal glass, reflecting the tiny diamond earrings on her earlobes—made by him from shards of glass from the kiln lamps in his studio, mixed with glaze. The man's white shirt cuffs were rolled up, revealing a smart bracelet on his wrist; the heart rate curve on the screen fluctuated more wildly than it had been in the studio.

“Try this foie gras,” he said, cutting off a small piece with his knife and fork and bringing it to her lips. “It’s served with some caramel sauce, doesn’t it look like your ‘sweet glaze’?” Jiang Zimei opened her mouth and took a bite. The smoothness of the foie gras mixed with the crisp sweetness of the caramel burst on her tongue. She deliberately smeared the sauce on the corner of her lips. “Mr. Lu, would you like me to wipe it off?”

Lu Mingze's pupils suddenly contracted. He gently lifted her chin with his fingertips, and as his thumb brushed against the corner of her lips, he smeared sauce onto the center of her lower lip. "This is more tempting," he said, his voice low and husky like the crackling of firewood in a kiln. Jiang Zimei felt his knee lightly brush against her calf under the table, and a fine shiver ran through the skin beneath her stockings, just like the sensation she felt every time he touched her tattoo with a potter's knife.

When the waiter brought the chocolate lava cake, Jiang Zimei deliberately dropped her fork on the floor. As she bent down to pick it up, a rhinestone embellishment from her collar brushed against Lu Mingze's hand, and the man's fingertips immediately moved to press on the temporary tattoo on the back of her neck. "Be careful not to expose yourself," he said, but when she looked up, his gaze fell on the hollow below her collarbone—where a bead of sweat was sliding down her skin.

Jiang Zimei suddenly dipped her finger in the chocolate sauce on the cake and drew circles on the back of his hand: "Brother Lu said that for the Biennale the day after tomorrow, we'll be using our body temperature to adjust the glaze," her fingertips traced the calluses on his hand, "So, should we try 'body temperature collection' now?" Lu Mingze's Adam's apple bobbed, his smart bracelet vibrated continuously on his wrist, and his heart rate soared to 140. As night fell, the two walked along the neon-lit streets. Jiang Zimei's high heels were a bit uncomfortable, so she quietly slipped her feet between Lu Mingze's shoes and ankles. The man immediately understood and slowed his pace, tightening his grip on her waist. Passing an antique shop, a peep show in the window caught her eye. The mirror reflected rotating porcelain shards, each painted with different kiln-transformation patterns.

"Want to see?" Lu Mingze pushed open the shop door for her, the wooden floor creaking. Inside, the old shopkeeper was polishing a bronze ornament. Jiang Zimei leaned closer to the peephole, and as she turned the handle, two pieces of crackled porcelain suddenly appeared in the mirror, strikingly similar to her and Lu Mingze's tattoos. "This is the 'Lovers' Mirror,'" the shopkeeper said with a smile. "Only when lovers turn it will the complete pattern appear."

Jiang Zimei turned to look at Lu Mingze, who was standing behind her, his white hair glowing honey in the candlelight. She reached out and hooked her finger around his, and together they turned the handle. The porcelain shards in the mirror gradually pieced together, eventually forming a complete kiln-fired starry sky pattern. "Brother Lu," she whispered, "our glazes must be even more beautiful than this."

The man suddenly pinned her against the display case next to the peep show, the porcelain vase inside swaying gently. His lips landed behind her ear, his tongue licking the diamond stud on her earlobe: "I want to see it now." Jiang Zimei felt his hand slide into the opening at the back of her dress, his fingertips touching the temporary tattoo on her lower back, where the skin burned from his touch, like the 1200°C kiln in the studio.

Back at the apartment, the roses on the terrace trembled gently in the moonlight. Jiang Zimei placed the peep show on the glaze stand, and as she turned, Lu Mingze had already unzipped her dress. The silk fabric slipped to the floor, revealing the mandala tattoo on her waist—petals painted with "bone-corroding red" glaze, gleaming alluringly under the night light.

“Lu Mingze,” she turned and hooked her arm around his neck, her fingertips tracing the buttons on his shirt—these were ceramic buttons she had made herself, engraved with the initials of her name. “Your heart rate monitor needs to be moved.” As she spoke, she pressed his hand against her chest, where the shards of glazed ceramic were burning with each heartbeat, much like the ever-burning lamp of a kiln.

The man's breathing suddenly quickened, and the smart bracelet on his wrist emitted a sharp alarm. He abruptly picked her up and carried her toward the bedroom. As they passed the kitchen counter, Jiang Zimei caught a glimpse of the clock on the oven—1:17 a.m., the perfect time for the "second firing."

The moment the bed sank in.

“This ‘symbiotic glaze’,” Lu Mingze’s voice was tinged with panting, “requires two body temperatures to catalyze it alternately.” His words were interrupted by Jiang Zimei’s kiss. Their tongues intertwined in the moonlight. She tasted the lingering chocolate flavor in his mouth, mixed with the aftertaste of cedar perfume, which intoxicated her more than any glaze.

As the first rays of dawn climbed onto the windowsill, Jiang Zimei nestled in Lu Mingze's arms, her fingertips gently stroking the smart brace on his lower back.

After being "fired" all night, the protective gear seemed to have left subtle traces of body heat on its surface, much like the natural crackling that occurs during kiln firing.

The man's bracelet had been removed at some point and placed on the bedside table. The heart rate curve on the screen finally calmed down, remaining at the number 72.

"Awake?" Lu Mingze's voice was hoarse from just waking up. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer. "You must have been exhausted yesterday." Jiang Zimei looked up at him and noticed the silver strands at his temples shimmering like pearls in the morning light. She couldn't help but reach out to smooth his unruly hair. "What do you think?" she said with a smile, her fingertips tracing his collarbone. "The glaze was overfired."

The man chuckled softly. "Then let's continue testing the glaze today," he said, his lips landing below her Adam's apple, his tongue lightly licking the salty residue on her skin. "This time, we'll make sure to control the temperature well."

Jiang Zimei suddenly noticed the peep show on the bedside table. The kiln-fired starry sky reflected in the mirror gradually faded in the morning light, replaced by the overlapping shadows of the two of them. She reached out and hooked her arm around Lu Mingze's neck, whispering in his ear, "Lu Mingze, I think I can't wait to open the kiln."

The man's bracelet vibrated at this moment, and the heart rate curve for the new day began to be drawn again.

He bent down and kissed her.

(End of this chapter)