Ling Chen’s expression froze, as if he hadn’t expected Zhu Wenshu to give this answer.

“Is it the concert…” He paused for a long moment before asking the next question. “Or me?”

Zhu Wenshu’s heart was racing, but her words came out clearly.

“Both.”

Suddenly, Zhu Wenshu felt the hand holding hers tighten, and the look in Ling Chen’s eyes before her deepened.

He said nothing for a long while, his dark eyes seeming to churn like ocean waves.

Zhu Wenshu didn’t notice when he pulled her into his arms.

By the time she came back to herself, she felt as though her shoulders might be crushed.

Unlike the two previous embraces, tonight Ling Chen seemed to have lost all ability to control his own strength.

Within his warmth, Zhu Wenshu gradually found a sense of reality in this night.

She was like a drifting snowflake, falling into a gentle palm.

Then, slowly melting within that palm—

She didn’t know how long had passed before her legs began to feel numb and sore.

Zhu Wenshu adjusted her breathing over and over, wanting to say something, yet afraid of breaking the mood.

Just then, accompanied by an abrupt ringtone, Ling Xingyan’s voice rang out from beyond the door.

“Sorry, I meant to call you.” His tone was listless. “Turns out I forgot your phone was with me.”

“…”

The motion-sensor light in the emergency stairwell had gone dark at some point; in the darkness, Zhu Wenshu could only feel Ling Chen’s embrace gradually pulling away.

He turned and pulled the door open, but didn’t rush out, instead leaning against the doorframe, blocking Zhu Wenshu from view inside.

“Something wrong?”

Ling Xingyan: “?”

He laughed in exasperation, running a hand through his hair to calm himself, then leaned against the other side of the doorframe, looking at Ling Chen with a mix of weariness and helplessness.

He hesitated as if about to say something, then just shook his head, and looked up at the person inside.

“Teacher Zhu, good evening.”

Zhu Wenshu’s voice came from behind Ling Chen’s shoulder.

“Good evening, Mr. Ling.”

Guessing the two of them had something to discuss, likely related to her, Zhu Wenshu spoke up first. “You two go ahead, I’ll head home now.”

She stepped forward, meaning to leave, but found Ling Chen still firmly blocking the doorway, showing no sign of stepping aside.

The man’s body blocked her view of the outside completely.

She reached out and tugged at Ling Chen’s cuff, saying softly, “I need to get home.”

Her voice brushed gently against his ear.

After a long moment, he turned around, his gaze sliding slowly from her hair down to her face, inch by inch.

“I’ll have someone see you home.”

Before Zhu Wenshu could say anything, she heard him call out to Lu Manman down the hall.

Lu Manman, who had been standing quietly to the side the whole time, hurried over and gestured for Zhu Wenshu to follow her.

“Be smart about this,” Ling Xingyan reminded Lu Manman.

“Got it.” Lu Manman gave an OK sign. “I won’t use our car—I’ll borrow Teacher Wang’s.”

Zhu Wenshu didn’t quite understand what the two of them meant.

Squeezing through the door and brushing past Ling Chen, the bracelet on her wrist caught on his fingertip.

She felt her steps falter for a moment.

Whether intentional or not, as his fingertip traced along the bracelet across her palm, Zhu Wenshu heard him say, in a voice meant only for the two of them to hear, “Happy birthday.”

“I heard you the first time.”—

The two brothers each leaned against a door, watching Zhu Wenshu leave.

Once her figure had completely vanished down the corridor, Ling Chen and Ling Xingyan exchanged a glance, then walked one after the other toward the dressing room.

The staff who had been busy packing up equipment all stopped what they were doing at once when they saw Ling Chen approaching.

Ling Chen kept his eyes forward, his pace unbroken, and everywhere he passed, people’s necks turned like sunflowers tracking him.

The scene was more than a little surreal.

The dressing room was a temporary space, cluttered with makeup and props.

Ling Xingyan shut the door, refusing to let the stylist back in, then dropped into the only empty chair, not caring that Ling Chen, exhausted from the whole day, was still standing.

Ling Xingyan had spent the entire day backstage, run off his feet. Only near the end of the concert had he finally caught his breath, wandering down to find a quiet corner from which to watch.

Little did he know, just as he pulled out his phone to snap a few photos for his social media, Ling Chen handed him a huge surprise.

Before he could even process what had happened, the roar from the audience nearly knocked him out cold on the spot.

Even now, his ears were still ringing, and he wasn’t sure if his hearing had been affected.

“You could’ve at least given me a heads-up.” He sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t have been caught so off guard.”

Ling Chen stood with his back to him, saying nothing.

The phone in his bag kept ringing nonstop; Ling Xingyan wasn’t in the mood to answer, his eyes fixed intently on Ling Chen’s back.

“Do you know that today wasn’t just a concert, it was also being livestreamed?”

“I know.”

Hearing Ling Chen’s unusually calm voice, Ling Xingyan found himself at a loss for words, the speech he’d prepared entirely blocked up.

After a long moment, he pointed at the door and said sharply, “Then do you know how many people are still crowded outside right now, refusing to leave?”

Ling Chen’s answer was still the same.

“I know.” He turned around and looked calmly at Ling Xingyan. “But I don’t care.”

“…”

Ling Chen’s voice was as clear and even as ever, but right now it landed like a bucket of cold water, dousing Ling Xingyan’s agitation.

In truth, over the years, Ling Xingyan had long grown used to Ling Chen’s habit of doing exactly as he pleased.

The two of them had reached an understanding long ago—as a serious musician, Ling Chen wouldn’t chase the influencer route, and had never cultivated a boyfriend-material public persona.

That approach was a flash in the pan, unsustainable, and not the direction Ling Chen wanted to go anyway.

Ling Xingyan had never intended to stop his younger brother from having a normal romantic life and eventual marriage; even with the artists he’d recently signed, he hadn’t interfered much in their private lives either.

But that was just their own way of thinking—it couldn’t control the wishes of certain fan communities.

On top of that, Ling Chen had never had a single romance rumor over the years, and even the rare ones that did surface were only one-sided attempts at publicity by the other party that never gained traction.

Ling Chen himself never even needed to step out and clarify anything—his mere attitude was enough to make any rumor collapse on its own.

As a result, the proportion of fans who specifically shipped him as single or as their “girlfriend” had only ever grown over the years.

So Ling Xingyan understood exactly what kind of upheaval today’s actions would cause.

He wasn’t worried that tonight’s events would hurt Ling Chen’s career—in terms of buzz, this kind of thing would only earn Ling Chen an unprecedented level of attention.

It was just that no one could predict how this explosive wave of public discussion would ultimately unfold.

He also wondered how the programmers at every social media platform were holding up—whether they were cursing Ling Chen’s name behind the scenes on this beautiful snowy night.

“This was too sudden…”

Ling Xingyan rubbed his face hard. “Seriously, too damn sudden. What’s with you, doing things on a whim like this?”

Ling Chen looked at Ling Xingyan, his tone light. “It’s not that I suddenly decided to do this today—it’s that today, I couldn’t hold back from doing it any longer.”

Ling Xingyan: “…”

He took a deep breath, stood up, and walked out—

On the way home, the snow still hadn’t stopped.

Zhu Wenshu walked along the road, feeling like a snowflake swirling and drifting in the beam of a streetlamp.

Her footsteps were light, each step as if treading on empty air.

Not until she pushed open the door and saw the familiar apartment did she feel her feet finally touch solid ground again.

The light in Ying Fei’s room wasn’t on, and Zhu Wenshu didn’t hear any sound, so she quietly took off her coat and shook off the snow clinging to it.

“You’re back?”

After a moment, Ying Fei’s door suddenly opened. “I just woke up—saw you called me so many times, and was about to call you back when I heard the door. What happened?”

“Oh, nothing. I forgot something.” Zhu Wenshu hung up her coat and said, “It’s fine now.”

“Good, you scared me. I thought something urgent had happened.”

Then, noticing tiny white specks in Zhu Wenshu’s hair, Ying Fei said in surprise, “Is it snowing?”

Zhu Wenshu smiled as she passed by her, carrying a trace of cold, crisp fragrance.

“You really can sleep through anything—you don’t even know what’s happening outside.”

Ying Fei was a southerner, born and raised, and rarely saw snow. Hearing this, she looked toward the window and, sure enough, saw snow drifting softly down.

She immediately pulled out her phone, wanting to take some photos.

But the moment she unlocked her screen and saw the trending topics on Weibo, she couldn’t help blurting out, “No way!”

This night was destined to be anything but calm.

During the time Zhu Wenshu had left the stadium, returned home, and was now showering, social media platforms were experiencing an unprecedented frenzy.

Perhaps everyone had simply been bored of the entertainment world for too long—that night, fans of Ling Chen, people who disliked him, those connected to the story and those with nothing to do with it, people who knew him and people who’d never heard of him, all flooded into the discussion.

Forum threads sprang up one after another, the entire screen filled with the words “Ling Chen” and “Classmate Little Silkworm,” so densely packed it was hard to even tell them apart at a glance.

Every time Weibo refreshed, marketing accounts and self-media outlets kept posting freshly edited video clips. Hashtags like #LingChenClassmateLittleSilkworm# and #ClassmateLittleSilkwormAppearsAtLingChenConcert# rocketed straight to the top of the trending list and stayed there.

The video platform that had partnered with tonight’s livestream benefited the most—viewership shot up in a straight vertical line, and the official team hastily changed the pre-scheduled title “Ling Chen Christmas Concert” to “Ling Chen Confesses His Love to Classmate Little Silkworm Live at Concert.”

Unfortunately, before they could even roll out more ads, the platform crashed and couldn’t even load its homepage.

Various short-video platforms were pushing out related clips one after another as well. The song “Classmate Little Silkworm” instantly shot to number one on the trending charts, the search rankings, and the hot songs list.

Even people who only used WeChat could see the endless stream of posts flooding their Moments feed.

In this internet age, anyone with a phone had essentially been swept up in this topic.

Reactions varied wildly—shock, curiosity, excitement, sorrow, anger, envy, people just watching for the drama…

Of course, some questioned whether this was a publicity stunt on Ling Chen’s part. Perhaps in coordination with the video platform, or perhaps to build hype for a new album.

The main reason for the skepticism was that Ling Chen had gone years without a single confirmed romance rumor since his debut—even fans with personal connections to people on his team couldn’t dig up any information, as if he’d firmly decided to maintain a single, unattached image for life. For him to suddenly do something like this really didn’t fit his usual style at all.

And more than an hour after the concert had ended, large numbers of fans still lingered at the venue.

But the so-called “Classmate Little Silkworm,” supposedly present that night, never once actually showed her face.

Zhu Wenshu had anticipated this on her way home, which was why she’d barely looked at her phone the entire trip.

But even so, the phone sitting on her table hadn’t stopped buzzing.

By the time she finished her shower, the number of messages on her WeChat had reached a scale she’d never experienced before in all these years.

Some were completely oblivious friends wanting to gossip; some were work messages from colleagues and parents. The most common ones were from friends who had spotted her on the giant screen at tonight’s Ling Chen concert.

Beyond that, most of the discussion was happening in various group chats, including her high school class group.

Actually, Zhu Wenshu didn’t need to look to know what everyone was talking about, but since someone had tagged her in the class group, she opened it to take a look.

There were too many messages for her to read them all; the topic, of course, revolved around what had happened tonight.

At first, people tagged Zhu Wenshu because they wanted her, as someone who’d actually been there, to fill them in on what happened.

When she didn’t respond, everyone started wildly speculating about who “Classmate Little Silkworm” might be.

After many messages, someone said: Didn’t Zhu Wenshu go to the concert tonight? Could it be her?

Someone replied immediately: Probably not, they don’t even know each other well.

Amid the chatter, someone else popped up: Not necessarily—when I was sweeping trash in the back rows, I saw Ling Chen staring straight at Zhu Wenshu, haha.

After that message, the class group suddenly went silent.

Then Zhu Wenshu was tagged relentlessly.

Zhu Wenshu sighed and didn’t respond.

As for the rest of the messages, she figured if she tried to reply to every single one, she wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.

So she dealt with her work messages first, then replied briefly to a few close friends.

Among them, only Zhong Ya’s style of messaging was different from everyone else’s.

Zhong Ya, usually loud and boisterous, had been fiercely debating in the group chat, but this time she only sent a single question mark.

Sensing something odd, Zhu Wenshu cautiously sent back a question mark of her own.

【Zhong Ya】: It’s you, isn’t it?

【Zhu Wenshu】: What do you mean?

【Zhong Ya】: Don’t play dumb.

【Zhu Wenshu】: .

【Zhong Ya】: …

【Zhong Ya】: Why are you so calm about this?

【Zhu Wenshu】: Probably because things reach their opposite when taken to the extreme.

After sending that message, Zhu Wenshu lowered her head and glanced at the bracelet on her wrist.

Actually, she didn’t know herself why she could stay so calm. There was clearly a raging fire burning inside her heart, but the moment she thought of Ling Chen, that fire turned into a fireplace burning in a room on a winter’s day.

Scorching, yet it never burned her.

It was as if she were slowly sinking into a room that was unusually warm.

【Zhong Ya】: …So what’s the situation between you two now?

【Zhong Ya】: Are you together?

【Zhu Wenshu】: Choose your words more carefully.

What did she mean, “together”?

But even Zhu Wenshu wasn’t sure—had she and Ling Chen officially confirmed things between them now?—

It rarely snowed in Jiang City, and after several hours of accumulation, the roadside greenery was already covered with a layer of snow.

Many adults and children in the neighborhood had come downstairs to play in the snow and take pictures, laughter drifting through the air from time to time.

Zhu Wenshu’s phone kept receiving new messages, and because it was work-related, she didn’t dare put it on Do Not Disturb, so she simply let it buzz on the table.

Listening to the sounds outside her window, Zhu Wenshu sat quietly at her desk, thoughts swirling in her mind.

After a while, she picked up her phone again and glanced at it.

A message from Ling Chen popped up.

【c】: Asleep yet?

Zhu Wenshu sat with her feet propped up on the chair, cheek resting on her knee, tilting her head as she typed.

【Zhu Wenshu】: Not yet.

【c】: What are you doing?

【Zhu Wenshu】: Thinking about things.

Zhu Wenshu let out a soft huff.

Checking up on me?

【Zhu Wenshu】: What are you doing?

【c】: Watching a movie.

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

Real slow on the uptake—couldn’t even tell she was answering his question.

Two seconds later, she stared at the screen, puzzled again.

【Zhu Wenshu】: Huh?

【Zhu Wenshu】: At a time like this, you’re watching a movie?

【c】: On the way home.

【c】: Ling Xingyan’s busy.

【Zhu Wenshu】: Oh…

【Zhu Wenshu】: What movie are you watching?

【c】: “Summer Full Moon and You.”

【Zhu Wenshu】: You actually watch that kind of pure romance movie?

【c】: I have a cameo in this one.

Zhu Wenshu opened her laptop and looked up the movie.

A moment later.

Ling Chen seemed to guess exactly what Zhu Wenshu was doing.

【c】: Found it yet?

【Zhu Wenshu】: …Oh, where are you in it?

【c】: 52 minutes, 1 second.

Zhu Wenshu immediately dragged the progress bar precisely to that mark.

Where was Ling Chen supposed to be? This was clearly a scene between the male and female leads.

The two of them were walking down a bustling street, the background filled with a chaotic crowd of extras.

Zhu Wenshu watched carefully for a few seconds, thinking Ling Chen surely couldn’t be playing some random street vendor.

She was about to send a message asking if he’d gotten the timestamp wrong.

Then she heard the male lead in the movie say—

“I like you too.”