Zhu Wenshu had once thought that back-to-back classes were the most exhausting thing there was.

It wasn’t until today, organizing a sports day for the first time, that she learned the truly exhausting thing was this kind of labor-intensive, mind-numbing work that barely paid anything.

And as a young Chinese language teacher, she also had the added burden of writing the official WeChat account article about the sports day.

The moment she got home, the teacher from the publicity office sent her a compressed folder, asking her to pick photos to include in the article she was about to write.

[Publicity – Teacher Zhang]: Xiao Zhu, take a look and pick some out—there are quite a few photos of you in there too, feel free to use more of them, since we’re representing the school’s image after all, haha.

With her colleague putting it that way, Zhu Wenshu immediately opened the “Teachers’ Competition” folder and quickly skimmed through it.

Good, thankfully there weren’t many shots of herself, and they were all tucked away in the crowd.

There were a few posed photos that actually looked pretty decent, but Zhu Wenshu thought, for a measly fifty-yuan fee, it wasn’t worth Teacher Zhu personally putting herself in the spotlight.

Pass on all of them.

After picking out three photos, Zhu Wenshu clicked into the “Parent-Child Competition” folder and officially started her overtime work.

She opened the first photo, just glancing at it casually, but her gaze locked onto Ling Chen’s figure in the crowd.

It wasn’t that she was deliberately looking for him—it was just that he was tall, and dressed all in black with black sunglasses and a black mask, making it hard not to notice him.

Flipping through a few more, Zhu Wenshu propped her chin on one hand, clicking her tongue in amazement.

Were celebrities all specially trained to treat every single second of daily life like a runway?

Even though these were all candid shots with no thought put into composition, every single frame with Ling Chen in it looked like something out of a magazine—casual poses, but not a single bad shot among them.

The autumn night was deep and cool, the mouse clicks in the room speeding up and slowing down unpredictably. Before she knew it, Zhu Wenshu had flipped through over four hundred photos.

When the screen displayed “last image,” she suddenly realized she’d wasted over an hour on this.

And her original plan had just been to quickly pick a few photos and be done with it.

Finally, after racking her brain to praise the school and compliment the parents and students, it was already midnight.

Zhu Wenshu checked three times over, confirming there were no shots of her or Ling Chen in the photos, and that it was a perfectly unremarkable assignment piece, before sending it off to the publicity office’s email.

Before falling asleep, Zhu Wenshu was still thinking to herself: truly, a Teacher Zhu so indifferent to fame and fortune—the school really ought to give her an outstanding teacher award this year.

What she hadn’t anticipated was that on this very night while she slept, those photos she hadn’t seen were entering the view of many more people.

The next day, Zhu Wenshu was jolted awake by the phone vibrating beside her pillow.

She opened her eyes, looking at the sunlight shifting outside the window, her thoughts still lingering in the nightmare she’d just woken from.

After a while, she managed to pull her mind back together and lazily reached for her phone.

Three seconds later—

“Huh???”

Zhu Wenshu shot bolt upright, staring in disbelief at over a hundred unread messages on WeChat.

These hundred-plus messages came from roughly twenty-some friends, all sending her several photos—some asking if the person in the photo was her, others not even bothering to ask, just going straight into a frenzy.

Like Shi Xue’er.

[Shi Xue’er]: AHHHH! Teacher Zhu!!! Ling Chen went to your school yesterday!!!

[Shi Xue’er]: His nephew’s in your grade?!!

[Shi Xue’er]: You saw him yesterday too, didn’t you!!!! Ahhhhh!!! What a small world!!!

[Shi Xue’er]: If I’d known, I wouldn’t have skipped it just because I didn’t have class yesterday afternoon! Zhu Qisen even asked me and I said no!!!

[Shi Xue’er]: No, I need to find a way to transfer to your school!!!!

Zhu Wenshu didn’t reply to anyone, just flipping through photo after photo her friends had sent.

Every time she saw herself in a photo, she had to painfully close her eyes and take a moment.

Finally, her face ashen, she opened Weibo.

Sure enough, on the search page floated a trending topic: #LingChenAttendsParentChildSportsDay#. She glanced at the numbers and her vision went dark.

—Today’s read count: 81.65 million, discussion count: 23,000.

She wasn’t surprised by Ling Chen’s popularity—the problem was, this meant thousands upon thousands of people had now seen those unflattering photos of her.

Maybe not that many people actually cared about the background-prop teacher, but Zhu Wenshu herself couldn’t just brush it off.

She didn’t understand—the official school photos barely had any shots of her, yet those parents sneaking pictures of Ling Chen had somehow, without fail, caught her as the backdrop.

Being a background prop was one thing, but on top of that she’d been wearing that ill-fitting tracksuit, sweating buckets, the wind blowing her clothes up so she looked like a soft, puffy loaf of bread.

And she was used to making little exaggerated gestures when talking to the younger kids, which she never thought twice about normally—but seeing herself like that through someone else’s camera lens, she really did look none too bright.

Worst of all, since Ling Chen had been standing right at the front of the crowd during the relay race, the photos clearly captured her running with her features flying all over the place.

So many friends who’d seen the trending topic had come asking if she’d gained weight recently!

Especially one particular photo.

She’d been crouching down at the time, comforting a student who’d fallen, her oversized jacket drooping over her—from the photographer’s angle, she looked just like a Corgi.

And the actual subject of that photo happened to be staring right at her at that moment, pulling down his mask to get some air, the corner of his mouth curved in a smile that was downright glaring.

Below it, a comment read:

Ling Chen’s probably never seen someone with legs this short before, must be quite an eye-opener.

Short my foot!

Zhu Wenshu scrolled through this topic for a long while and found just one somewhat normal-looking photo.

Just one!

And even that one was a candid shot from when she’d been talking to Ling Siyuan, catching only a side profile of her, with Ling Chen standing beside her, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on, looking impossibly cool.

Below it, someone had commented that the teacher actually looked pretty good.

But that one compliment was nowhere near enough to patch up Teacher Zhu’s thoroughly shattered dignity.

After a while, even Ying Fei came knocking on her door.

“Did you see the trending topic?”

Zhu Wenshu sighed. “That’s me. The camera distorted me.”

Ying Fei was silent for a moment. “I meant to ask—Ling Chen’s nephew is actually at your school? He really went to the sports day?”

Zhu Wenshu: “…Oh, yeah, I only found out it was him from the trending topic too.”

“Tch tch.”

Ying Fei didn’t say anything more, turning to mutter under her breath, “The ways people manage their public image sure do vary.”

After Ying Fei closed the door, Zhu Wenshu couldn’t be bothered to reply to messages anymore, and with drooping eyebrows, posted to her Moments feed—

Please stop asking, it’s me. The camera adds ten pounds. I look better in person.

Zhu Wenshu rarely posted to her Moments; this was the only non-work-related post she’d made all year, and the comments came pouring in enthusiastically. Some agreeing, some concerned, some teasing, and even a stranger saying they didn’t believe her and to send an unedited selfie to prove it.

Because of work, she’d added quite a few people she rarely actually talked to. Zhu Wenshu clicked into this person’s profile, confirmed they weren’t a parent from her class, and deleted them.

Only one comment felt out of place.

c: ?

Zhu Wenshu replied to him: The camera really does make people look heavier…

c replied to her: I’m asking about the last line.

Zhu Wenshu: …Get lost, you’re the culprit behind all this.

Around midday, a shopping mall in Jiangcheng’s CBD was packed with people.

The watch brand Ling Chen endorsed was opening its largest store in Asia here today, and had invited him to attend as their spokesperson.

Once it wrapped up, with Ling Xingyan coming to escort him off the scene, the host jokingly asked whether Ling Chen was in a rush to go pick up his nephew from school.

Only after saying it did he remember it was the weekend and already midday—what a dumb question to ask. He had nothing else to say and figured he might as well not say anything else since the segment was already over.

Unexpectedly, Ling Chen didn’t call him out on it, and instead nodded. “Mm, cram school lets out in half an hour. Perfect timing to head over now.”

The host laughed along awkwardly, watching as Ling Chen was escorted through the crowds by his bodyguards and manager and left the mall.

Once in the car, it was quiet around him.

Ling Chen loosened his suit jacket collar, sank into his seat, and took out his phone.

“I really am getting old. Went to one sports day yesterday and I feel like my whole body’s falling apart.”

Ling Xingyan muttered on for a bit, and getting no reply from Ling Chen, turned to look over.

The man beside him was staring at a WeChat chat window, but not doing anything at all.

After a while, Ling Xingyan said out of nowhere, “Casting a spell or something?”

Ling Chen instantly turned off his screen and turned to look at him.

“What are you looking at me for, keep staring at your phone and casting your spell.”

Ling Xingyan said, “As long as you stare without blinking for two whole hours, she’ll definitely message you first. Seriously, trust me, it really works.”

Ling Chen: “…”

“Tch, I really don’t know what to say about you.”

Ling Xingyan crossed his legs, glancing through some materials his staff had sent, flipping past a few photos absentmindedly, then recalling how Ling Chen had darkly delivered that friend-zone verdict on Lu Zibin’s behalf in the car yesterday afternoon. “You’ve got the guts to get jealous but not the guts to make a move—at this rate, ten Yuanyuans couldn’t help you.”

The person beside him stayed silent the whole time, the car moving steadily toward the office.

Just as Ling Xingyan had long forgotten this topic and thrown himself back into work, Ling Chen suddenly spoke. “You really are clever.”

Monday morning.

That trending topic was nothing more than a trivial matter to Ling Chen, but for an ordinary person like Zhu Wenshu, the aftershocks ran deep.

Two full days had passed, and Zhu Wenshu had managed to dodge her friends’ curiosity, but she couldn’t dodge her colleagues’ discussions.

She woke up and checked the work group chat, where someone said there seemed to be a few people—reporters or fans, no one was sure—camped outside the school gate with cameras.

If a phone camera could make her look like that, what would a DSLR do?

Already dressed, Zhu Wenshu immediately went back to dig through her closet, changing into a long skirt over trousers under her coat, and even paired it with a set of high heels.

But when she got to the school gate, Zhu Wenshu looked around and only saw parents dropping off their kids—no sign of the rumored stakeout crew. Maybe security had chased them off.

But Zhu Wenshu didn’t let her guard down.

All day, she stood ramrod straight and sat perfectly upright, keeping constant watch over her every move, confident this posture would be immune to any candid shot.

Unfortunately, by the time school let out in the afternoon and everyone outside had cleared away, Zhu Wenshu hadn’t spotted so much as a single lens cap.

She gradually relaxed, staring at the few students left behind to recite their lessons, feeling rather ridiculous with herself.

Really, what was wrong with her—it wasn’t like Ling Chen was going to show up again and make her suffer all over again.

All that fuss today really had been a waste of energy.

Ruffling her own hair, Zhu Wenshu kicked off her heels, quietly swapping them for a pair of flats she’d stashed nearby without anyone noticing.

“Alright, Zhihao, you’ve passed, you can go home. Your mom’s still waiting for you outside.”

With that, Zhu Wenshu turned to look at the last child left in the office.

Actually, Ling Siyuan had a bit of a rough day too—the moment he’d arrived at school, many classmates had crowded around chattering at him, making him forget the lesson he’d memorized so carefully the night before.

When Zhu Wenshu had him recite it, he’d blurted out: “In the corner, several plum branches, blooming alone in the cold. From afar you’d know it’s not snow—Uncle is Ling Chen.”

Zhu Wenshu was stunned. Ling Siyuan was stunned too.

Then he got kept back to recite the lesson.

“Has Yuanyuan finished memorizing it?”

Zhu Wenshu asked.

“Yes! In the corner, several plum branches!”

Ling Siyuan clasped his hands behind his back, puffing out his chest, “Blooming alone in the cold. From afar you’d know it’s not snow—”

He gazed slowly past Zhu Wenshu, blinking, “…Uncle is Ling Chen.”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

Just as she was about to scold this little muddlehead, she heard him tilt his head, frowning. “Uncle?”

Zhu Wenshu followed his gaze and turned around.

Ling Chen stood in a beam of the setting sun, leaning against the doorframe, wearing only a mask, his gaze fixed distantly on her.

Yet Zhu Wenshu’s first reaction upon seeing Ling Chen was to check whether anyone around was taking photos.

Thankfully, the other teachers had already left the office, and there was no one else in the hallway either.

She let out a breath and asked, “Why did you come?”

Ling Chen strolled over unhurriedly.

“I’m here to pick up my nephew.”

Ling Siyuan: “Huh?”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

Was he really committed to playing the doting-uncle role to the very end?

“Oh… he hasn’t finished reciting his lesson yet.”

Zhu Wenshu murmured.

“That’s fine, take your time.”

Ling Chen found an empty chair and sat down. “I’m not in a hurry.”

Zhu Wenshu turned back to watch Ling Siyuan recite, but ever since Ling Chen had sat down, she found herself unconsciously straightening her back even more.

She kept feeling like a faint, indistinct gaze was resting on her.

Actually, she’d always felt Ling Chen wouldn’t go so far as to specifically come pick Ling Siyuan up from school just for the sake of some useless doting-uncle image.

Maybe she was just overthinking it.

But she felt that Ling Chen had been showing up in her life far too often lately.

The sunlight today was lovely, the evening clouds at the horizon rolling by, the orange glow tinting Ling Siyuan’s small face bright red.

Someone in the office had put out flowers, and their faint fragrance drifted through the air.

Once one poem was finished, Zhu Wenshu nodded, signaling Ling Siyuan to move on to the next.

While he was stuck on a line, Zhu Wenshu brushed her hair back.

Her long hair slid off her shoulder, swaying in the sunset light.

Suddenly, a flash of light passed by her face.

Zhu Wenshu almost reflexively sucked in her stomach and straightened up, glancing around.

Then she turned around slowly and saw Ling Chen holding up his phone, looking just as exasperated as she felt.

He hadn’t touched his phone to take pictures in eight hundred years, but with all the photo-taking at the sports day the other day, and then last night, unable to sleep, he’d taken a photo of the moon outside the window.

And he’d damn well forgotten to turn off the flash.

“…What are you doing.”

Zhu Wenshu asked, deadpan.

“Taking a photo.”

Ling Chen said, “Going to report you to your boss.”

Ling Siyuan: “Huh??”

Zhu Wenshu asked again, “So… am I in it?”

Ling Chen: “A little bit.”

Zhu Wenshu fell back into that state of speechless mortification from being uglified by photos two days ago, and after a pause, held out her hand toward him. “Let me see it.”

Then she added an explanation, “I just want to check if my expression looks fierce or not—otherwise if these photos get seen by people, they’ll think I’m mistreating my students…”

Seeing how much she seemed to care, Ling Chen didn’t think twice and handed the phone over.

Just as Zhu Wenshu took it and tapped open the photo album, he suddenly realized something.

“Wait—”

But it was too late.

Zhu Wenshu had already opened the album, and aside from that fresh new photo and one inexplicable picture of the moon, the entire screen was filled with sports day photos he’d saved from Weibo.

Since Zhu Wenshu had looked through so many of these herself, she had a deep impression of these photos where she’d served as background scenery.

Especially that one side-profile shot—the only good-looking photo of herself—which happened to sit right in the middle of the album, unmissable.

“…”

The office fell silent for several seconds.

Zhu Wenshu held the phone, turning to look at Ling Chen.

Her expression carried both confusion and an uneasiness she couldn’t quite put into words herself.

“Why did you… save these photos?”

Why.

And of all things, they were all photos of the two of them together.

Ling Chen paused, then looked at her and asked, “What do you think?”

Zhu Wenshu didn’t say anything again, just staring blankly at Ling Chen.

But inside, her thoughts churned in a hundred directions, like a trickling stream about to overflow.

Meeting her gaze for a long moment, he saw the bewilderment and helplessness in her eyes.

Ling Chen let out a silent sigh. “Of course it’s because…”

Zhu Wenshu’s heart skipped a beat, and she looked away.

Ling Chen: “I look especially handsome from these angles.”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”