Inside the photography studio.

The photographer snapped his fingers, signaling that this part of the shoot was over. The stylists standing around immediately hurried forward with their tools to fix up Ling Chen’s look.

To avoid disturbing the lighting setup that had taken so much effort to adjust, the assistant brought over a tall stool for Ling Chen to sit on right where he was.

Today’s shoot was important — the year-end feature for a major domestic fashion magazine — so Ling Xingyan naturally had to be there in person.

He stood behind the computer looking at the sample shots, when his gaze flickered, and he suddenly noticed something different.

Ling Chen, who never brought his phone to work, was actually looking at his phone during a touch-up.

And he had an utterly speechless expression on his face.

Curious, Ling Xingyan walked over and tilted his head to look down at the screen.

“What are you looking at, why’s your face so—”

Before he could finish, Ling Chen, sensing Ling Xingyan’s gaze, immediately turned off the screen.

Ling Xingyan’s movement paused.

If — if he hadn’t seen it wrong just now —

The person on the other end of Ling Chen’s WeChat had a pink cartoon avatar?

Ling Xingyan shrank his neck a little, looking at Ling Chen with obvious curiosity.

“What’s going on? What is it I’m not allowed to see?”

Ling Chen ignored him completely, handed the phone to his assistant, then closed his eyes and tilted his head back, signaling the makeup artist to continue.

“Ow.”

So Ling Xingyan slowly stepped back two paces, looking Ling Chen up and down. “So mysterious. Did your unforgettable goddess come back?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Ling Chen’s brows suddenly furrowed.

“…”

That subtle change in expression struck Ling Xingyan’s head like a bolt of lightning, making him realize something was wrong.

His expression and his words both froze at once, his gaze creeping upward inch by inch, finally settling on Ling Chen’s face.

Could it be… that his joke had actually… hit the mark?

The ripples in Ling Xingyan’s heart began to spread through the entire studio.

By the time he came to his senses and realized he’d let his mouth run away with him, trying to laugh it off, someone had already excitedly asked, “What unforgettable goddess? Ling Chen has an unforgettable goddess?”

And so, with Ling Chen and Ling Xingyan at its center, the whole studio, after three seconds of extreme silence, burst with gossip-hungry curiosity.

No one could blame them for being curious.

The staff in this studio were all industry insiders in one way or another; they’d seen plenty of male celebrities who looked dignified and moonlit on the surface but were filthy underneath.

Ling Chen, on the other hand, had been at the height of his career for years now, yet he was practically immune to scandal — not even the faintest whiff of gossip.

And it wasn’t for lack of exposure, either. They’d worked with him several times, even gone abroad for shoots twice. After all this contact, forget a girlfriend — they hadn’t even seen so much as an ambiguous almost-relationship.

Because of this, more than a few people had privately speculated about Ling Chen’s sexual orientation.

So when they suddenly heard Ling Chen’s manager say he had an unforgettable goddess, of course everyone was curious and excited.

A top male celebrity’s unforgettable goddess — now that was far more interesting than some “emotionally cold” public persona.

The studio grew noisy. Even the editor-in-chief who’d come to supervise squeezed in next to Ling Chen and asked, “Is it true? No wonder your first album had so many bittersweet love songs. Oh my, written with such genuine feeling — must have been puppy love.”

“What does she look like? Got a photo?”

Amid the clamor, Ling Chen slowly opened his eyes and looked coolly at Ling Xingyan.

The instigator scratched his chin guiltily, eyes darting around, and said loudly, “What are you all gossiping about! I was just talking, hurry up and work, we’re on a schedule!”

But no one could miss the guilt in his voice, and no one paid him any attention.

The photographer, A Heng, swaying his impossibly narrow waist, walked up to Ling Chen and leaned in, asking with mock envy, “Oh, so who’s this unforgettable goddess our Ling Chen can’t stop thinking about? Must be gorgeous, huh?”

Ling Chen merely glanced at him coldly.

Everyone understood at once and stopped asking. In the entertainment industry, this kind of question basically never got an answer.

Although Ling Chen had built his career as a serious vocalist rather than a variety star, his female fans were no fewer than those of any trending idol.

The photographer pursed his lips, having realized as much himself, and found the whole thing utterly boring.

Just then, Ling Chen suddenly spoke.

“I already said she’s my unforgettable moonlight.”

He said flatly, “How pretty do you think she is?”

—

Zhu Wenshu suddenly sneezed twice in a row.

Teacher Wang at the next desk over turned around and teased, “Oh, little Zhu, someone must be thinking about you.”

“Please, no.”

Zhu Wenshu buried her head, digging for tissues to wipe her nose, looking thoroughly averse to the idea. “Right now all I want is to survive until Sister Zhong gets back from maternity leave. Nobody needs to be thinking about me otherwise.”

Zhu Wenshu was the only newly hired teacher in the entire Chinese-language office, so upon hearing this, everyone else wore the same knowing smile that said, “Told you not to take on being a substitute homeroom teacher, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s not that serious. I’ve been a homeroom teacher for decades and I’m still alive and well.”

Teacher Wang took a sip from her thermos, then seemed to remember something. She kicked off with both feet, sliding her chair over next to Zhu Wenshu, and asked in a lowered voice, “By the way, little Zhu, you still don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“Ah…”

Zhu Wenshu’s hand froze mid-motion, tissue still pressed to her nose. Her voice came out nasal and muffled. “What about it?”

“What’s going on with you?” Teacher Wang leaned in closer, eyes lighting up, a dark mole at the corner of her mouth flickering in and out of view. “It shouldn’t be like this — you’re not short of suitors, are you? Are your standards too high?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Zhu Wenshu took out her red pen and opened a stack of homework, grading as she spoke. “My standards are a little high.”

Teacher Wang: “Tell me about them? My husband works at First Hospital, he’s got plenty of young doctors on hand — surely one of them fits your criteria.”

Ever since graduating from university, Zhu Wenshu had, on average, run into an enthusiastic matchmaker every month, so she’d gotten quite skilled at handling this — she didn’t even need to think before answering.

“At least a hundred and eighty centimeters tall, not too fat, not too thin. Even without abs, he needs pecs. Looks should be campus-heartthrob level. Age difference no more than three years. Education at least matching mine — a top-985 school for both bachelor’s and master’s. Parents preferably intellectuals too. Income doesn’t have to be impressive, but he needs to own a house and a car. Teacher Wang, do you have anyone who fits?”

Teacher Wang: “…”

She wanted to say that this hardly counted as “a little high” — the “campus heartthrob” bit alone would filter out basically everyone.

But thinking it over carefully, when she matched these conditions against Zhu Wenshu herself, they didn’t seem all that excessive.

No wonder she was still single.

“Fair enough, that’ll be hard to find. Well then, I’ll definitely keep an eye out if someone suitable comes along.”

“Thank you so much, Teacher Wang.”

Having handled the enthusiastic matchmaker, the bell rang right on cue for the end of class.

Zhu Wenshu remembered she’d almost been late that morning and hadn’t had time for breakfast, so she put down her pen and headed to the school store, intending to buy some milk and bread to tide herself over.

She’d barely taken two steps out of the office when she heard someone calling her name.

Turning around, she saw Zhu Qisen striding out of the office in a couple of long steps, flexing his arm muscles to show off.

“I’m a hundred and eighty-five, I’ve got pecs and abs, my looks you already know — people used to call me the campus heartthrob. I’m the same age as you and from the same school, both my parents are doctors. My salary isn’t that high, but I’ve got a house and a car. So — when should we go register our marriage?”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

If it weren’t for the fact that she was supposed to set an example as a teacher, she’d have kicked him without hesitation.

“Weekend, then.” Zhu Wenshu waved her hand for him to get out of the way. “I’ve got classes on weekdays, no time to deal with you.”

Zhu Qisen trotted along behind Zhu Wenshu down the stairs, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“The civil affairs bureau isn’t open on weekends. Tell you what, I’m strong — I’ll just carry the bureau over here myself this afternoon.”

Zhu Wenshu: “Did you land your goddess yet? Teacher Zhu Qisen, you’ll be twenty-six next year, better hurry up. Men go downhill after twenty-five.”

“…”

At the mention of this, Zhu Qisen irritably began yanking at his already-thin hair.

“Isn’t this exactly why I’m asking you for help? A few days ago Xue’er told me if I took her to Ling Chen’s concert, she’d agree to date me. I figured, how hard could that be, and agreed on the spot. Then I went home and checked — turns out you flat-out can’t buy tickets. Sold out in one second. Is that even reasonable? I thought about scalped tickets, but I don’t know how that works, I’m scared of getting scammed, and I saw those scalpers selling them for seven or eight thousand — might as well just rob a bank, right?”

Hearing the name “Ling Chen” from Zhu Qisen’s mouth, Zhu Wenshu felt nothing in particular.

She and Zhu Qisen were university classmates who happened to know each other by chance — maybe because they shared a surname, the two of them got along quite well. Later they both ended up teaching at Jiangcheng Experimental Elementary School, so by now they’d been friends for seven or eight years.

Last year, Zhu Qisen had taken a liking to a music teacher at the middle school next door. He’d tried everything he had and still hadn’t won her over, but he nagged in Zhu Wenshu’s ear every day about how much this music teacher loved Ling Chen, going on about how Ling Chen was some one-of-a-kind heavenly being.

Zhu Wenshu privately thought — well, obviously. There are no two identical leaves in the world; if you could find a second Ling Chen, that really would be something.

But to avoid unnecessary trouble, Zhu Wenshu had never told Zhu Qisen about her relationship with Ling Chen.

“So what use is asking me?”

Zhu Wenshu said, “Even your reflexes can’t snag a ticket. You think mine are faster than yours?”

Zhu Qisen: “You’re supposed to be a model teacher, why does that sound so dirty?”

Zhu Wenshu: “?”

Zhu Qisen: “Reflexes and whatnot.”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

She squinted up at the sky and let out a long sigh. “If you had even half the shamelessness in front of your music teacher that you have in front of me, would you really still not have won her over?”

“Hey, let’s get serious.”

Zhu Qisen said, “Didn’t you say your roommate is really into celebrity fandom? Ask her if there’s some trick to buying tickets. I heard there’s some kind of bot or something, or maybe some other channel?”

“I’ll ask her later.”

“Don’t put it off.”

As they talked, the two of them had reached the school store. Zhu Qisen opened the fridge, took out a bottle of a nutrition drink, and handed it to Zhu Wenshu. “Ask her right now, it’s not like you’ve got anything else to do.”

Zhu Wenshu took the drink and walked toward the shelves, lowering her head to pick out some bread.

“What’s the rush, my roommate isn’t even awake yet.”

“Fine, just don’t forget. I’ve got class.”

After Zhu Qisen left, Zhu Wenshu strolled slowly back to the office, her mind still on his situation.

He might seem unreliable on the surface, but he was serious about this music teacher. As a friend, if Zhu Wenshu could help, she would, with everything she had.

Only — rather than going around asking her roommate indirectly, why not just ask the man himself?

No one would understand his own concert tickets better than Ling Chen would.

With that thought, Zhu Wenshu took out her phone and scrolled to her chat with Ling Chen.

She opened the chat window and suddenly choked.

She’d completely forgotten to reply to his message.

And their conversation was still stuck in a rather unpleasant tone.

“Ugh…”

Zhu Wenshu sighed heavily.

Had she gone too far earlier?

After hesitating a moment, she started typing.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Sorry, I think I said a bit too much.

[Zhu Wenshu]: This is also your first time being a father, no experience, that’s understandable.

After sending it, she kept typing: But I still hope you can in the future—

[c]: No worries. This is also Teacher Zhu’s first time being a teacher, no experience, that’s understandable.

[Zhu Wenshu]: …

After a long, awkward silence between them.

[c]: Teacher Zhu, anything else?

[c]: If not, I’ll go back to work?

Zhu Wenshu snapped back to attention, finally remembering the actual reason she’d messaged him.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Oh! Yes there is!

[c]: ?

[Zhu Wenshu]: I just wanted to ask — besides the official platform, is there any other way to buy tickets for your concert?

[c]: That’s it?

[Zhu Wenshu]: Mm-hm.

[c]: Since when did Teacher Zhu learn to beat around the bush?

[Zhu Wenshu]: ?

[c]: We were old classmates — would I really charge you for a ticket?

[Zhu Wenshu]: No, you’ve got it wrong, I’m asking for a friend.

[c]: This friend of yours — his surname isn’t Zhu, is it?

[Zhu Wenshu]: …………