K’s Dragon Boat Festival project was brief, lasting just over a month, but Zhou Mi and Jijie didn’t lose contact because of this, even though the man’s unexpected confession that day had indeed left her somewhat flustered.

Jijie wasn’t surprised by her reaction and quickly added, “I’m not asking for an immediate answer.”

Zhou Mi’s shocked emotions subsided a bit, but her expression remained stunned, “Hmm…”

Jijie’s eye corners curved as accommodatingly as ever, “I just hope we can spend time together with intentions beyond client-agency relationship or friendship. I’m worried that after this project ends, I won’t have a strong enough reason to bother you anymore.”

The word he used was “bother,” not “contact.”

Zhou Mi felt a bit flattered, “How could this be bothering? I feel like I’m the one bothering you.”

“Not at all,” Jijie’s face was bright, “Whenever I get on the game, the first thing I do is check if you’re online.”

Zhou Mi fell silent.

After a while, she looked up and asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

Jijie nodded, “Sure.”

Zhou Mi carefully asked, “Do you… Like me?”

Jijie said directly, “Yes, I have strong feelings for you.”

Zhou Mi was momentarily stunned, then asked, “Why?”

She looked at Jijie’s bright face, but her thoughts were somewhat adrift.

Because suddenly she remembered that she had once asked Zhang Lian the same question and received a definite answer, yet she had never dug deeper into the reasons, not even having enough time to discern if it was true or false.

Jijie’s hands came off the steering wheel as he pondered for a moment, “Love at first sight, I guess.”

Zhou Mi stared at him in surprise.

“Your look is making me feel a bit self-conscious,” Jijie smiled and earnestly recalled, “That night, it was probably—when you squatted down to put all the delivery packages on the ground, then held your phone with both hands so seriously wanting to add my WeChat, I had a voice in my head saying, how can there be such an adorable girl, what would it feel like to be her boyfriend.”

He reaffirmed to himself, “Yes, after getting to know you, this thought became stronger and stronger.”

Zhou Mi lowered her eyes, “But I’m probably different from what you imagined.”

Jijie said, “Who is completely the same as what they appear to be?”

In the end, Zhou Mi’s answer to Jijie was that she needed to think about it for a while. Jijie readily agreed and didn’t ask how much time she needed.

Their association was thus established.

He was like a physically superior human navigation system, a meticulously drawn treasure map, who knew every corner of Yi City intimately. He would often take her to visit hole-in-the-wall restaurants, ancient alleys, even a hundred-year-old tree or a wall of roses—places she had never heard of.

This arrogant city appeared reversed in his eyes, like a dim yellow reflection in a puddle after autumn rain, with a poetic alternative side.

Besides raising dogs and gaming, photography was also one of Jijie’s interests.

He had countless camera lenses in his collection and even generously lent Zhou Mi a brand-new Leica Q2.

When Zhou Mi first tried it, she instinctively held her breath, “I’m so afraid of breaking it.”

Jijie was unconcerned.

Zhou Mi’s first shot was of a utility pole against the sky—ordinary, neither good nor bad. Such a camera in her hands was a waste of resources.

She turned her head for help, “Master Jijie, can you share your settings?”

“There are no fixed settings,” Jijie smiled as he took the camera, adjusting it with gaming-like speed, then focusing on the same landscape, “Don’t worry, just shoot boldly. The more you shoot, the better you’ll understand the ratio between ISO, aperture, and shutter speed. Sometimes you don’t have to be limited by fixed frameworks, you just need a familiarization process.”

Zhou Mi looked at his finished product and found the composition indeed more pleasing to the eye than her own.

But her learning ability was strong, and weekend outings together honed her skills, making her increasingly proficient.

By late August, Zhou Mi began using these photos to revive her long-dormant public account. When she had applied for an internship at Aoxing, this public account with over seven thousand followers, registered during her graduate studies, had been a highlight on her resume, specifically mentioned by the interviewer.

As teaching feedback, she also shared the public account with her surname-Jijie photography teacher.

Every Thursday, Zhou Mi would post a carefully formatted article with images, and Jijie would unfailingly like, comment, and tip.

Zhou Mi was startled by the backend amounts and rushed to ask him on WeChat: Aren’t your tip amounts a bit excessive?

Jijie said: The student shows promise; as a teacher, I must be clear with rewards and punishments.

Zhou Mi curved her lips: But I’ve never been punished.

She also shared good news: By the way, I have nine thousand followers now, about to break ten thousand. Time to repay my master.

Jijie asked: So are you busy lately?

Zhou Mi replied: Never not busy, but early next month two projects in our team will end, so things should get better.

Jijie said: Can you take a longer vacation?

Zhou Mi replied: Probably?

Jijie said: How about inviting me on a trip?

Zhou Mi was stunned, thought for a moment, then agreed: That works.

Jijie said: Let’s go on a road trip, to Suzhou or Hangzhou. It’s not far. I’ll bring Na Ke Lu Lu.

Zhou Mi said: Sounds good, we’ll use the money you tipped.

—

The final destination was a forest resort in Hangzhou, with lush greenery, mountain roads like jade ribbons, lakes like jewels, and rustic wooden villas scattered among them like stars on a chessboard.

The resort had comprehensive facilities—a water park, a dreamlike flower valley, rich dining options, and opportunities to feed and interact with gentle, non-aggressive animals.

Zhou Mi and Jijie each led a dog as they checked into a treehouse suite.

The mountain temperature was comfortable; even at noon, the late summer heat wave had no power. Zhou Mi’s room was arranged on the second floor because she particularly loved the terrace above, waking to dense greenery in the morning and gazing up at a river of stars at night.

The most crazy period for travel had been when she was dating Lu Ming. Since starting her internship, Zhou Mi had moved in a fixed triangular pattern between specific areas, like a caged animal in a zoo, inevitably needing release after long suppression.

She took many photos, so many that the camera’s memory card was filled.

The subjects weren’t just poetic scenery but also Jijie and his two little companions.

Jijie was photogenic, every gesture naturally handsome.

Of course, they also took photos together. On the evening before their departure, while walking the dogs and chatting on a shaded path, Jijie stopped an elderly couple and asked if they could help take a photo.

Hearing each other’s accent from Yi City, they inevitably exchanged a few pleasantries.

The white-haired old lady kept praising how good-looking they were, like a golden boy and jade girl.

Zhou Mi curved her lips without revealing her emotions, while Jijie smiled brightly without saying much.

That evening, they had a BBQ on the terrace. After heartily feasting, they sat in wicker chairs to rest, each occupying one, separated by a small round table.

Even without speaking, there was a comfortable ease in their peaceful coexistence.

Zhou Mi selected photos to import to her phone, curled up with her legs, focusing intently on editing the images.

An unknown bird kept singing on a nearby treetop, crisp and melodious. Zhou Mi unconsciously began humming along.

Jijie heard and gave her an amused glance.

Hearing his laughter, Zhou Mi stopped, looking back at him with slight embarrassment, “Sorry for the poor performance.”

Jijie said, “Not at all. You’re not off-key, and your voice is very pleasant.”

Zhou Mi said, “Thank you.”

Jijie glanced at her again, his voice gentle, “Can I post that photo of us together on my Moments?”

Zhou Mi froze, not knowing how to respond.

She put her legs down from the edge of the chair, her posture becoming somewhat formal.

Amidst her intense nervousness, Jijie’s lips curved upward as he also straightened, “How’s your consideration coming along? Has the 40% risen to a passing grade?”

Zhou Mi felt an inexplicable emptiness in her chest, like a black billiard ball thudding into a dark, deep pocket, impossible to trace.

Her first thought was of Zhang Lian.

She hadn’t counted the days since their separation for a long time.

When evenings were filled with work or chatting and gaming with Jijie, she no longer checked his Moments every night before sleep. The duration and depth of her dejection had been easing—

At least now she didn’t need sleep gummies or sprays to fall asleep.

Had it been a hundred days since they separated? Zhou Mi wondered distractedly.

But her gaze remained fixed on Jijie’s handsome face, appearing very attentive.

The terrace lights made the young man’s eyes particularly bright. Zhou Mi read in them an emotion close to anticipation.

This emotion contained no desire, no aggression, so it gave her no sense of constraint or pressure.

Mountain breezes blew, forest waves surged, and Zhou Mi felt that the environment at this moment was somewhat interfering with her judgment of her own heartbeat.

But she could be certain that she wasn’t averse to it.

She was willing to give it a try.

After a few seconds of silence, Zhou Mi tilted her head, her eyes like deft crescent moons, “I’m okay with it, but for the two of us… Don’t we need to avoid suspicion?”

Jijie shrugged with a radiant smile, “It’s fine. We don’t have any collaborative projects for now anyway.”

—

After returning from annual leave, the news of Zhou Mi and Jijie’s relationship rocked the entire company.

Jijie’s official announcement was a nine-grid post, with a photo of him and the girl walking dogs in the center. They had no intimate poses, but the atmosphere was exceptionally harmonious—one in a white T-shirt, one in a white dress, against a background of green wilderness as deep as indigo.

Ye Yan led the commotion in the team group chat: @Aoxing-Minnie! So your vacation was a honeymoon!

Zhou Mi responded with a stiff face: Not really.

Others chimed in meaningfully: Tsk tsk tsk tsk tsk.

The department monitor gossiped while not forgetting business: After Mid-Autumn Festival comes New Year, after New Year comes Spring Festival, you know what I mean, Mimi.

Zhou Mi could only smile bitterly.

Zhang Lian learned of this news from the company management group. At that time, he was in the VIP lounge at the Capital Airport, waiting for his flight back to Yi City.

Yuan Zhen had posted this photo, triggering a lively discussion.

As the small image flashed by, Zhang Lian’s mind went blank for a moment, and he immediately exited the group chat interface.

He sat on the all-white sofa, calmly reading emails from the regional office.

He read the few lines of brief English content over and over, until he could recite them completely.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing.

After a while, he reopened WeChat, found Zhou Mi’s name, and checked her Moments.

There were no photos of them together in her status.

So he revisited the group chat and saw them saying the photo was on Season’s Moments. Opinions were mixed—some praised how well-matched they were, others thought Zhou Mi was a complicated girl.

Zhang Lian opened the image.

His heart felt like a long-cracked nut, needing just a gentle pry to split completely from top to bottom.

Complex emotions immediately surged forth—not just pain, but also burning, heaviness, even tinged with thin anger.

His brain was almost consumed by these emotions, unable to think.

After a good while, Zhang Lian composed himself and recognized among these feelings jealousy—something he had hardly experienced since becoming an adult.

His thumb and index finger swiped across the screen, enlarging only the part showing Zhou Mi’s face. The girl wore a very low, braided pigtail tied with an egg flower hair tie. Her eyebrows curved gently, her smiling lips also curved, and her eyes were as bright and clean as always.

Zhang Lian stared at this smile for a long time, motionless, like an exhibit in a vacuum glass case, completely isolated from the sea of humanity.

Only when the flight announcement sounded did he snap back to awareness, immediately turning off his phone.