Hu Ke’er felt that she was truly far too young. Only now, at last, did she understand what it meant to go from bad to worse.
Who had given her the nerve? How could she have believed that after flipping a small cart, she wouldn’t flip a large one — and after that, wouldn’t flip a truck?
It was difficult for Hu Ke’er to describe just how explosive the atmosphere had been. All she remembered was that her face had gone up in flames, and she had grabbed her purse and phone and fled back to her room, missing the midnight countdown entirely. She had seriously considered packing everything up and vanishing into the night on the spot.
The next day, back in the dormitory, she found herself staring in mutual disbelief at the Flashying revenue-share agreement she had already signed and sitting on her desk.
Per the contract terms, during the winter break period, she was required to be on-site at the company for at least one month.
Hu Ke’er very much wanted to tear the contract in half and call Xing Xing to say she had changed her mind and was out. But then she read more carefully, noticed there was a clause for a penalty fee, and realized she’d signed it without reading that part closely because she’d assumed she would never breach the contract. Now she saw the amount — a figure in the range of one hundred thousand plus — and her eyes went wide.
AHHH! Evil capitalists! Awful scoundrel!
Infuriating!!!
It took Hu Ke’er several days to fully calm down.
As long as she avoided thinking about it, avoided replaying it in her memory, and avoided absent-mindedly scrolling Flashying before bed, the social catastrophe scene would not spontaneously erupt from her brain without invitation.
She also had not, of course, received any messages or calls from him — because after returning from the New Year’s gala, she had blocked Du Junyuan’s contact information entirely.
She called it giving herself space to calm down properly.
As if by doing so, she could rewind time and pretend none of it had ever happened.
The one thing she could not escape was Xing Xing’s enthusiastic voice messages: “Ke Ke, winter break is coming up soon — when do you think you’ll be in?”
Hu Ke’er: “…”
“…What’s the latest I can come?”
“Ooh, mid-January probably.”
“Then mid-January it is.”
“Sure thing.” Xing Xing thought for a moment and added a reminder: “But weren’t you hoping to see the boss? If you come any later, the boss will be gone for the New Year — back to Huai’an to spend it with family.”
“What a terrible shame!” Hu Ke’er’s tone went flat, her expression perking up as she made her decision in an instant. “Can I push it back to after New Year’s?”
Xing Xing: “???”
That late, school would practically be starting again — impossible, obviously.
Hu Ke’er finished her finals right in mid-January, packed roughly, and reported to Flashying.
Before going, she had made discreet inquiries — Du Junyuan had flown back to Australia for a business trip a couple of days prior, and would likely be absent from the office for the next week or two.
Heaven itself was helping her. Hu Ke’er’s spirits settled considerably, and even her posture had straightened by the time she walked through the building entrance.
Her assigned floor was the creator division — various Flashying content creators seated according to their content track. The beauty track, for instance, was dominated by the platform’s top-tier influencers, most of whom didn’t actually come in regularly. So plenty of desks on this floor sat empty, and with Hu Ke’er tucked away in a corner, she rarely had to interact with many people.
That said — and this had to be acknowledged — Flashying’s system for developing creators was genuinely mature and well-developed. Within two days of arriving, Xing Xing had connected her with a professional team covering everything from content ideation and scripting to styling and photography.
Hu Ke’er’s previous posting schedule had been completely casual — sometimes daily, sometimes three or four days passing before she remembered to post at all. Now, the content planning manager laid down a strict minimum: at least one post every other day. The two of them proceeded to wrack their brains and compile roughly dozens of ideas — enough material to last two or three months of filming.
As for her account name, “Who Cares,” the team had debated whether to change it — the initial concern being that an English name might be hard for people to remember. They then reasoned that this was inherently an English-language account, so it wasn’t entirely unwarranted, and came to the unanimous conclusion that:
“Blunt, direct, effortlessly cool. There’s a reckless kind of beauty to it — very modern youth energy.”
Hu Ke’er: “…”
As for live streaming and on-camera content, Hu Ke’er had some reservations. She hadn’t wanted to stray from the original spirit of her account — using fun, entertainment-focused short videos to genuinely share useful English knowledge, rather than letting flashy extras drown out the core content. She also wasn’t particularly keen on showing her face.
The team said they respected her wishes. That plan could be shelved for now, and most of her time would be spent in various settings, filming video.
Hu Ke’er’s first few days at work were a genuinely good experience. She liked the energetic atmosphere — everyone had creative ideas and interesting things to say, and got along well. Given her naturally outgoing personality, she slotted into the team quickly, full of motivation.
Now, at midday, she was quietly stealing a break to scroll through her message backlog.
Zheng Yang: 【Ke’er, are you free for dinner this Saturday?】
She had only just added this person yesterday — her dad’s second attempt at introducing a potential match.
— After the first boy Hu Ke’er had stopped contacting, her dad, undeterred, put even more effort into trawling his own social circle and came up with a boy who was studying science and engineering at Jingda. The father of this boy was an old friend of her dad’s from just after graduation, and also a professor at Huai’an University. He had even come to the house when Hu Ke’er was a month old, though as time passed and both families got busy, they had gradually lost touch. Her dad had always felt a vague regret about this, and had only recently discovered that his old friend’s child was also studying at Jingda — a pleasant surprise.
The two families already knew each other well. Her dad had seen a photo of the boy, who looked clean-cut and studious. Being raised by old Zheng, his upbringing would surely be solid, and getting into Jingda meant good grades. He was around Hu Ke’er’s age, also in graduate school — if they had real chemistry, this could not only bring the families back together, but also give her a proper campus romance before entering the world. The timing was just right.
The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. Her dad was delighted with himself and had promptly ordered Hu Ke’er to add the boy on WeChat and arrange a meeting as soon as possible.
Her dad rarely interfered in her affairs — this was the sun rising in the west — and he seemed genuinely committed to staying on top of developments this time.
Since both of them had been nudged into this by family, refusing even one meal would be rude to the other party, and impossible to explain to her dad. Hu Ke’er decided to agree to this one occasion at least: 【Sure, works for me.】
She had barely sent it when the other side of the room erupted into a surge of voices and excited noise.
Hu Ke’er thought something exciting had happened, and before she could even look up, heard someone at the front call out: “Director Du, you’re back from abroad so soon? Coming straight to see us like this? We’re touched!”
Hu Ke’er’s hand jerked so hard she almost dropped her phone.
— Wait! He was supposed to be in Australia for two weeks!
It had barely been any time at all! How was he already back?! Help!
The surrounding energy had ignited into jubilant chaos. Even Xing Xing was pressing down a squeal beside her: “Ahh! The boss is back! He looks so good today!”
Du Junyuan was wearing a long camel-colored layered wool coat over a coffee-toned turtleneck knit and dark trousers, with black leather shoes. The combination made his frame look especially tall and upright, his legs long, his proportions exceptionally good. Hands tucked casually in his pockets, he swept a relaxed glance around the room — his brow and eyes easy and clear.
Watching Hu Ke’er go absolutely rigid, Xing Xing assumed she had simply been struck dumb by the boss’s looks, and leaned over with excitement to whisper: “The boss comes to do a walkthrough of the creator division every month — calls it ‘visiting the people’ hahaha. You’re really lucky, Ke Ke — you’ve only been here two or three days and you’re already getting to see it!”
Hu Ke’er: “…”
Thank you so much.
As Du Junyuan crossed toward them, everyone pressed forward to gather around him. Only Hu Ke’er stood back among the crowd like a person with a guilty conscience. Xing Xing pulled at her arm trying to drag her to the front, but gave up when she refused to budge, shaking her head at such a complete lack of enthusiasm before abandoning her and dashing off to the front herself.
“You’ve all worked hard this month. We’ve brought some milk tea and snacks — they’re set out on the long table outside. Help yourselves.”
“Wow, thank you, Director! You’re the best!”
The crowd surged toward the hall, and the tide receded like so much water, leaving behind a stone that stood in place — Hu Ke’er, staring around in disbelief as everyone flooded away, and finding herself suddenly the only one left standing there alone.
Du Junyuan walked over at his own unhurried pace, hands in pockets, and came to a stop in front of her, looking down.
The pleasant woody sandalwood scent on him drifted over at the same time. Even if she tried to play deaf and blind, she couldn’t — her fingertips curled of their own accord. She made herself appear calm, swallowed once, and offered a sincere pleasantry: “What a coincidence…haha?”
Those fathomless dark eyes angled straight downward. Somewhat from on high, one corner of his mouth lifted fractionally — his expression not quite readable.
Hu Ke’er heard a low, quiet sound from his chest — almost a laugh, like a feather brushing across something delicate. Her heart clenched. She didn’t know what else to say, and the tips of her ears spiked to a scorching temperature.
Before either of them had said anything, the head of the creator division happened to come back with two cups of milk tea. He spotted the two of them standing face to face and quickly stepped in, calling out: “Boss.”
Du Junyuan’s gaze shifted to the side. The division head, reading the room, set one of the cups down in front of Hu Ke’er and gave a quick report: “Let me introduce you — this is our new English-track creator, Little Hu. Her follower count is growing rapidly right now.”
Du Junyuan looked her over briefly and gave a quiet sound of acknowledgment.
Hu Ke’er kept her head down, refusing to make eye contact. She grabbed the milk tea cup and pretended to squeeze it, when the division head suddenly slapped his forehead in a moment of revelation: “Wait — now that I think about it, isn’t she one of yours, Boss? You were the one who told me to add her to the list for that Creator Awards ceremony.”
Hu Ke’er’s wrist jerked. She nearly crushed the cup.
Du Junyuan’s expression remained neutral. He said, after a considered pause: “Has the handover been smooth?”
The division head, assuming this person was simply a known contact of the boss, stood up perfectly straight: “Very smooth. We’ve already connected her with a professional team. Rest assured.”
Du Junyuan nodded. He said, unhurriedly: “Tell them not to schedule the filming too heavily. Posting every two days is enough.”
“Got it! I’ll let the planning team know as well.”
Hu Ke’er’s brain had completely crashed. Her ears, hidden under her hair, were burning impossibly hot. Every part of her had gone rigid. And then she heard that distinctively low, rich voice drift down from above, unhurried as ever: “One more thing I’d like to ask you.”
The division head was flattered: “Please.”
Du Junyuan: “When you have a moment this week, please arrange a half-day off for her.”
Division head: “Oh? Of course. Is there a reason?”
Hu Ke’er’s heart gave a sudden hard lurch. She looked up instinctively, meeting Du Junyuan’s gaze — dark, unfathomable, and entirely unreadable.
“Ask her to get her phone repaired as soon as possible.” The man’s manner was mild as spring air, his tone completely pleasant. “After all, if WeChat is broken and she can’t receive messages, that does affect her work.”
Even long after he had gone, Hu Ke’er remained in place hugging her milk tea with her head bowed — because every time she let herself think about it, the division head’s voice rang through the floor at a volume that could reach every corner of the room: “We’d like to commend Little Hu for keeping up her work without a word of complaint despite a broken WeChat. Everyone should learn from this dedication! No more slacking, understood?”
Hu Ke’er: “…”
The division head enthusiastically offered to take her to get her phone repaired. Hu Ke’er closed her eyes, removed a certain person from her blocked list, and spent quite a long time clarifying that it had all been a misunderstanding.
For the rest of the day, she drifted somewhere between present and absent at her desk until the end of work. Only after submitting all her materials did she finally have a moment to check her phone.
She found that Zheng Yang had replied: 【I’ll look around for some good restaurants and send you the time and location. [smile]】
It wasn’t long before he sent several options. Hu Ke’er loved trying different kinds of food, and since it was a rare weekend, of course she wanted to eat somewhere nice. She picked a restaurant in the Guomao area, which was also an extremely lively part of the city with plenty to explore nearby.
That evening, in a casual catch-up call with Ning Sui, she mentioned it: “This weekend I have to go film more video, and then go meet this match my parents set up — I’m buried, I want to just lie in my dorm and sleep, waaah!”
Ning Sui was sharp: “What match?”
Hu Ke’er said offhandedly: “Just a son of some colleague of my dad’s — they want us to have dinner or something.”
Ning Sui gave a slow, measured sound of acknowledgment.
Hu Ke’er didn’t notice anything off. Her eyes flickered: “Oh right, I have a question for you.”
“Mm?”
Hu Ke’er made a transparent attempt at nonchalance: “Has Yichen ever mentioned to… you know who… what my Flashying account was called?”
When she first started building the account, she had created a small friends-and-family group specifically to help with likes, so it wasn’t strange that Xie Yichen knew about it. But no matter how Hu Ke’er racked her brain, she couldn’t figure out how Du Junyuan had learned about it — she had never shown her face on the account.
She had been extremely vague about it. Ning Sui played dumb: “Who?”
Hu Ke’er refused to say it out of sheer embarrassment: “Just… that…”
The voice on the other end stretched out languidly: “Oh, your wild rose greenery?”
Hu Ke’er: “…”
She deeply suspected that the Coconut Princess had been spending too much time with Yichen and had been corrupted. She was nearly losing her mind: “Ning Sui!”
“Xie Yichen might have mentioned it at some point in conversation — I’m not entirely sure,” Ning Sui answered her properly at last, with the perceptive directness that only a close friend could manage. “Why? Is there a new development with the two of you?”
The moment she closed her eyes, the hotel social disaster replayed itself in vivid detail. Hu Ke’er could not tolerate even a hint of teasing: “No! Nothing! I’m not talking about it anymore, I’m hanging up!”
Saturday at noon, Hu Ke’er got herself ready in her dorm room and set out for Guomao to keep the appointment.
But by the time she was already on the elevated road, this gentleman sent a belated message saying he couldn’t make it.
— There was a problem with a sample in his lab. He needed to rush back and deal with the fallout, and hoped, if possible, they could find another time for him to take her out.
He apologized, and the reason was sincere enough, but being stood up still left Hu Ke’er’s mood somewhat less than sparkling.
However, since she’d already left, and the table was already booked, there was nothing wrong with treating herself to a solo outing. Hu Ke’er was not one for self-pity, and proceeded as planned — might as well film some video in the office buildings near Guomao while she was at it.
She had a satisfying meal and wandered aimlessly through the enormous shopping mall.
When she used to come here with Ning Sui, the two of them would spend hours trying on clothes in every kind of store. She had time to spare and had made a bit of money from content creation, so she happily browsed, and bought anything she fell in love with.
Before long she was carrying two or three shopping bags, her mood brightening noticeably. She hummed to herself as she meandered forward — until she heard a very familiar female voice ahead: “But I can’t walk anymore~”
A male voice huffed: “We’ve been shopping for ages. I’m tired too.”
The female voice laughed and flung herself forward: “Then a kiss and you won’t be tired anymore, right?”
The male voice surrendered: “Fine, fine, fine, give it all to me then.”
Ahead was a three-step platform. Hu Ke’er had been about to go down it when her feet came to a dead stop. The corner of her mouth twitched.
— Wasn’t that her former boyfriend, currently in blissful, untroubled love with a person she had very mixed feelings about?
Zhao Yingyao was laughing as she transferred all her large and small shopping bags into Xu Zhuo’s already-burdened hands. He was already carrying a lot, and this added considerably more — all things she had bought. Xu Zhuo’s brow rose, looking like he was about to protest. Zhao Yingyao, knowing she was in the wrong, quickly headed it off with practiced innocence: “Should we find a dessert place nearby and take a little break?”
Hu Ke’er could honestly say she hadn’t been to Guomao to shop in a long time. She hadn’t expected that, on a rare visit, she would run into this. What kind of luck was this.
She was just about to roll her eyes and turn back the way she came, when Zhao Yingyao seemed to sense something and looked up. Their eyes met across the distance. “Oh, Ke Ke — what are you doing here? What a coincidence!”
Her expression looked genuinely delighted, and her tone was warm. Hu Ke’er got an immediate case of goosebumps.
Xu Zhuo heard it and glanced over too: “Hu Ke’er?”
Clearly there was no escaping. Hu Ke’er stayed where she was on the platform and looked across at them with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes: “What a coincidence, yes.”
Before she could say anything else, Zhao Yingyao was already volunteering: “We came back from our universities abroad for New Year’s, just visiting Beijing and taking a holiday.”
With practiced subtlety, her gaze swept over the shopping bags in Hu Ke’er’s hands, and she asked, with leisurely ease: “Did you come here alone today?”
She always zeroed in on the vulnerable point. Hu Ke’er’s eye twitched, and she grudgingly confirmed with a sound.
Zhao Yingyao’s eyes did a small calculation: “Didn’t you mention before that you had a wealthy entrepreneur boyfriend? Shouldn’t he be spending time with you?” She paused, then affected a look of surprise: “Don’t tell me — did you break up?”
Xu Zhuo said beside her: “Yingyao.”
Zhao Yingyao softened her voice for him: “I’m just asking.”
Hu Ke’er: “…”
She genuinely didn’t know what she’d done to deserve this. She’d been in a perfectly good mood, and then these two walked into her life.
Put plainly — from sophomore year to now, she was in graduate school and still single, while these two had been going strong the entire time, seemingly growing more inseparable by the day, flaunting their relationship online and in person. It was insufferable to witness. Pride, if nothing else, would not allow Hu Ke’er to admit it now. She raised her chin: “Not at all. We’re doing great.”
“Really?” Zhao Yingyao’s gaze sharpened, pressing in: “Then how come you’ve never once posted anything about him on social media?”
Hu Ke’er smiled pleasantly: “I’m probably just a little different from most people. Being in a relationship doesn’t mean you have to post about it constantly. Whether you’re happy or not — you know in your own heart.”
The “most people” was clearly directed at her, and Zhao Yingyao seemed to catch the implied dig. Her expression darkened slightly: “But if there’s not a single post ever, it does make one wonder whether the whole thing is even real.”
“Wonder all you like,” Hu Ke’er said breezily. “Doubting it doesn’t change the fact that my boyfriend treats me extremely well. He’s considerate, patient, attentive to my every feeling, always putting together little surprises, and honestly — he spoils me like I’m a child.”
Hu Ke’er didn’t care what expressions they made. She rattled it all off, some of it covering ground that Xu Zhuo himself hadn’t exactly managed. Zhao Yingyao’s expression shifted involuntarily, and she gave a hollow little laugh.
“By your description, your boyfriend sounds rather perfect.”
“He is,” Hu Ke’er said with complete shamelessness, improvising with abandon. “Not only is he excellent-looking, his personality is a full score, and his career speaks for itself. Oh — and most importantly, his physique is outstanding, abs included, and no matter how much we kiss it’s never enough.”
She was preparing to sweep down the platform in a cloud of breezy confidence, intending to create the impression of breezing past them — when some prickling sense of alarm stopped her mid-step.
With a certain stiff premonition, Hu Ke’er looked back.
— And there, not far away, stood the man she had just borrowed as a prop for her performance, gazing at her with quiet, unreadable calm, one eyebrow very slightly raised.
Hu Ke’er’s eyes went wide. Before she could make a sound, her foot missed the step entirely, and she tumbled off the platform in a heap, bags and all.
The shock registered equally on the two people across from her and on Hu Ke’er herself.
She had forgotten this was a commercial district — the shopping center was right below an office building, with brokerage and investment firms throughout. It wasn’t strange at all for him to come here on business. Hu Ke’er sat on the cold marble floor with her head bowed, her knee throbbing, but unable to disguise the sensation that her cheeks were on fire. She wanted to peel back a tile and sink into the earth.
Heaven above!
How long had he been standing there?!
After what felt like a long while, Du Junyuan finally moved, walking over to stand beside her, and crouched down on one knee.
His expression was entirely composed. Hu Ke’er’s mind was still blank. She caught a glimpse of him and instinctively looked away, feeling the rapid pounding in her chest threaten to overwhelm her. She closed her eyes and played dead.
Then a steady, warm breath moved closer: “Does it hurt?”
Hu Ke’er’s lashes trembled. Before she could respond, he bent down, reached forward, and pulled her off the floor — exhaling quietly against her ear: “Honestly. You’ll be the death of yourself.”
He had found out she was blocked and come rushing back from Australia, haha haha.
Du Junyuan’s internal journey: from stunned → to understanding → to acceptance → to helpless surrender hahaha
Note: This bonus chapter is not very long — just a small extension of the original storyline~