Today, Jiang Ruoqiao had a photoshoot.

The proprietress’s hanfu shop had built a solid reputation in the circle, specializing in original designs with impeccable craftsmanship and quality. This naturally drove up the prices, meaning sales volume was never explosive, but over the years, the customer base had remained remarkably stable. This was precisely what had attracted Jiang Ruoqiao in the first place — if the proprietress had been the type to chase quick profits, she never would have agreed. People mirror each other, and since the proprietress set high standards, Jiang Ruoqiao naturally put in her best effort in return.

Every time she had a shoot, she was at her finest.

In truth, compared to tutoring, this line of work brought in money quite quickly. Especially now that things had stabilized for her — among her classmates who were still asking their parents for living expenses, she had already managed to save a modest sum. But she also knew clearly that she couldn’t stay in this industry too long. She had already captured the reach she needed; now it was time to seriously think about her future.

Her contract with the proprietress was set to expire at the end of the year.

She had no intention of renewing it.

The proprietress seemed to sense what she was thinking. During a break in the shoot, she came over specifically to chat.

“The design team has already started working on winter styles,” the proprietress said with a smile. “Once the first snow falls in Jing Shi, these gardens will be packed with people. I want to book you in advance — your most viral set was the one shot in the snow, remember?”

Jiang Ruoqiao remembered it perfectly.

Last year, for the first snowfall, she had gone out with the main group for the shoot. The world had been a vast expanse of white, and she had been wearing a red cape. The photographer had caught her in a candid moment — she was tilting her head back to watch the drifting snowflakes, and one had landed on her eyelashes before melting into a glistening droplet, clear as crystal.

She had never actually been a hanfu enthusiast.

Before the shoots, she had known nothing about it, having only glimpsed people in ancient-style costumes while strolling through parks and assumed that was what hanfu was. Even now, she hadn’t fallen down the rabbit hole.

“Yes, I remember,” Jiang Ruoqiao said, smiling along. “We were absolutely freezing that day.”

The proprietress said, with an air of casual indifference, “You should know that I have more than just this one shop — I have several brick-and-mortar stores to keep up with, and sometimes I feel like I’m overextended. Ruoqiao, I think you’re genuinely capable. Since you’ve decided to go for your postgraduate degree, you won’t be entering the workforce just yet. Why not consider taking a share in the business? It wouldn’t interfere with your studies.”

Jiang Ruoqiao understood that the proprietress truly wanted to keep her, and it wasn’t so much about business interests as it was personal — the connection the proprietress mentioned was genuine, she believed. After all, she was just a student who hadn’t even graduated yet.

She lowered her head and thought for a moment, then smiled and gave a small shake of her head.

The proprietress was disappointed, though not surprised.

The terms the proprietress had offered were tempting. But Jiang Ruoqiao truly did not want to be tied to this shop. Right now the two of them got along beautifully precisely because there were no conflicting interests. Once they became business partners, it would be all business — the moment their operating philosophies diverged, conflicts would multiply, and she had no confidence she could hold her own against the proprietress.

On the surface, this seemed like a high starting point — say yes and she’d become a co-owner. But in reality, the room to grow was too limited. A co-owner who isn’t the one calling the shots is not really in control. She’d be better off joining a big company after graduation and grinding away as a corporate worker, at least accumulating real professional experience. What could she possibly learn here as a silent partner?

And if the proprietress lost interest one day and decided to close the shop, she’d be completely stranded with nowhere to turn. But most importantly, she knew deep down that this wasn’t the direction she wanted her life to go.

“I’ve always wanted to work in something related to my field of study,” Jiang Ruoqiao offered as her reason, and it was a sound one. “Otherwise it feels like all those years of school were wasted.”

The proprietress had already made the offer several times now, and Jiang Ruoqiao’s position was clear. Better to part on good terms.

The proprietress was characteristically gracious about it. “Alright, but we can’t lose touch — we have to stay in contact. You don’t have any relatives in Jing Shi, so just think of me as your older sister. If you ever need anything, don’t you dare be polite about it, you hear me?”

Jiang Ruoqiao couldn’t help but feel grateful for her own good fortune — and quietly proud of her eye for people. The very first time she had met the proprietress, she had sensed she was a generous, big-hearted person.

By the time Jiang Ruoqiao wrapped up the shoot, the sky had deepened into dusk.

When she got back to the apartment, she was exhausted to the bone. She didn’t even have the energy to remove her makeup, collapsing onto the couch. Just then, her phone rang — it was Lu Siyan calling.

When the call connected, Lu Siyan’s bright, clear voice came through: “Xiao Qiao, Xiao Qiao~”

Jiang Ruoqiao’s lips curved upward. “Siyan, Siyan~”

“Off work?” Lu Siyan asked.

“Just wrapped up.” Jiang Ruoqiao glanced out the floor-to-ceiling window. It was already seven o’clock, but the summer sky was still light. She asked idly, “Have you eaten?”

“Lu Yicheng is cooking,” Lu Siyan replied.

Jiang Ruoqiao was mildly surprised. She’d always assumed students their age lived on takeout for every meal. But thinking about it — this was Lu Yicheng, so it actually made sense.

“Why do you just call him by his full name?”

“I’ve decided I’ll only call him ‘Dad’ in front of pretty sisters,” Lu Siyan replied.

“Hm?”

The five-year-old’s survival instincts were strong. He immediately added, “Of course, nobody is as pretty as my mom.”

Jiang Ruoqiao burst out laughing. “You don’t have to go that far. What’s this ‘pretty sister’ business?”

“This afternoon Dad took me to the supermarket to buy groceries, and two sisters asked Dad for his contact,” Lu Siyan said, happily throwing his father under the bus. “Actually, I wouldn’t even call them sisters — Mom looks younger than them.”

Lu Siyan had called other women “auntie” before, but those “aunties” hadn’t been very pleased. His mom had later explained that some women preferred being called “sister.”

“I see,” Jiang Ruoqiao said.

Lu Siyan turned it back on her. “Aren’t you curious?”

Curious whether Dad had the nerve to actually give it to them.

Jiang Ruoqiao replied with complete disinterest, “No need to be curious — he definitely didn’t give it.”

Lu Siyan: “Wow~”

Lu Yicheng was something of a campus legend. Search for him on the school forum and you’d find no shortage of posts. The reason he was even more sought-after than Jiang Yan came down to one thing: his… self-discipline. That word didn’t quite fit, but it had been confirmed from multiple sources — Lu Yicheng had absolutely no interest in romance and no time for it either. No matter which department’s top beauty made a move, he would gently decline. If he were the type to hand out his contact to a stranger at a supermarket, he simply wouldn’t be Lu Yicheng.

“Lu Yicheng’s done cooking~” Lu Siyan announced, then asked, “Xiao Qiao, what are you eating tonight?”

Since accepting the nickname, Lu Siyan had been using it more and more naturally.

Jiang Ruoqiao noticed it too — little Lu Siyan was somewhat mature for his age. He and Lu Yicheng were truly father and son, both more grown-up than their peers. Perhaps that was exactly why she could communicate with him so easily. Lu Siyan could keep up with her pace, and she didn’t need to consciously treat him like a small child.

“I just picked at a takeout box — didn’t have much of an appetite,” Jiang Ruoqiao said, then decided to set a good example for the kid. “But I’ll eat more fruit later.”

“Let me look—” On the other end, Lu Siyan hopped off the couch and ran to the dining table. “There’s tomato and egg stir-fry and chicken wings!”

“That sounds great — good balance of meat and vegetables,” Jiang Ruoqiao said. “Eat plenty.”

“I will! Can I call you tomorrow?” Lu Siyan asked.

“Of course you can.”

“Yay!”

A child’s joy really was that simple.

He was sad and hurt, yes — Mom hadn’t given him any kisses, hadn’t told him a bedtime story. But Mom was still his mom, and that was enough.

There would be kisses in the future!

Bedtime stories too — no need to rush!

After dinner, Lu Yicheng needed to prepare lessons for the next day.

The TV at home had poor reception, so Lu Yicheng simply handed his phone to Lu Siyan — but set a timer. “Today you get twenty minutes because you behaved very well. Twenty minutes only.”

This was one of the things Lu Siyan loved about his young dad. Dad let him use his phone, even if not for too long.

Lu Yicheng had no experience as a father — he wasn’t the version of himself who had spent five years raising this child. Parenting was something he was figuring out as he went.

Lu Siyan scrolled through the phone. Even though he couldn’t read many characters, he knew his way around a phone just fine. He spotted a game icon and tapped it decisively. The game was set to auto-login, and the moment he got in, a dialog box popped up — someone was inviting him to join a squad. Tap accept or decline.

He tapped randomly and accepted the invite.

After a burst of noise, a mildly lazy male voice came through: “Well, that’s rare — Lord Lu has actually come online.”

Lu Yicheng, who had been preparing his lessons, snapped his head up.

He set down his fountain pen and came over to sit beside Lu Siyan. Sure enough — Lu Siyan had somehow gotten into a game.

Fortunately, the speaker hadn’t been turned on. “You can’t just play games,” Lu Yicheng said, not harshly.

Lu Siyan blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “I clicked on it by accident.”

Sure he did.

Lu Yicheng rarely played games. His roommates had made him download it, and occasionally when he had a moment and his roommates wouldn’t leave him in peace, he’d play a round or two.

Just when he was hoping to get it over with quickly and exit the game, a soft female voice came through: “Hello everyone — Jiang Yan’s older brother brought me in. I’m not very good at this, please don’t mind me.”

Lu Yicheng went very still.

The other two roommates exploded —

“Wait — a girl??”

“Am I hearing things? Jiang Yan, you brought a girl??”

Jiang Yan remained lazily unhurried. “Mm, a little sister.”

Lu Siyan, noticing his father hadn’t moved for a while, tugged at him curiously.

Lu Yicheng came back to himself, focused on the phone screen, and typed a message: 【I’m only playing one round. Hurry up, I have things to do.】

The girl Jiang Yan had invited — Lin Kexing — didn’t say much. She was mostly quiet, and only near the end asked, “Jiang Yan, Auntie and the others are going out for seafood — are you coming?”

Jiang Yan replied, “I’m not going. You all go ahead, I’m staying in, too lazy to move.”

“Oh, should I bring you something?”

“No need.”

Lu Yicheng and the other two roommates said nothing.

Once the round ended and Lin Kexing went offline, one of the roommates finally said, “Damn, Jiang Yan, you’re bold — bringing a girl to play games. From what I just heard, are you two both on the island?”

Jiang Yan replied, “Mm, she really is my little sister.”

“Get out of here — nobody’s ever heard you have a sister. Is she a cousin or something?”

“No, she’s just my sister.”

“Jiang Yan, you really have some nerve — aren’t you afraid of Jiang Ruoqiao coming after you?”

Jiang Yan laughed and retorted, “Get lost — she’s genuinely my little sister. I’m just helping her rank up, she’s just a kid.”

—