Ling Chen’s first album had a song called “The Heartbeat You Can’t Hear.”

The first time Zhu Wenshu had listened to it, she’d thought Ling Chen was quite the artistic type, completely unlike what she’d imagined.

Now, looking back, it was nothing more than a man being sentimental.

There was no such thing as a heartbeat you couldn’t hear.

His was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst right out of his chest.

Especially now, with Zhu Wenshu lying on her side, her back pressed against his upper body, she could practically feel his heart beating against her.

Of course, Zhu Wenshu herself was in no better state.

Ling Chen’s breath was as scorching as his body heat, brushing erratically against her neck. When it turned rapid, her own heartbeat sped up to match. When his breathing evened out and slowed, she felt wrapped in a gentle, safe warmth, her whole body relaxing.

But after this happened over and over, with Ling Chen making no further move, Zhu Wenshu started to find it unbearable.

At this rate, she wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.

After a while, Zhu Wenshu, staring at the window, said quietly, “Ling Chen, let’s talk for a bit.”

“Mm.”

Ling Chen’s voice was low and hoarse, sounding at first like drowsy sleepiness, but his uneven breathing gave him away. “About what?”

Zhu Wenshu didn’t really know what to say either, her mind a complete blur, and blurted out, dazed, “What’s your dream?”

“…”

The moment she said it, she squeezed her eyes shut.

What kind of question was that—she sounded like some talk show life coach.

“I’m just asking casually.”

“My dream, huh.”

He shifted position slightly, pulling Zhu Wenshu even closer, murmuring drowsily, “Isn’t it obviously you?”

Her heart skipped a beat, uncontrollably.

What girl wouldn’t be happy to hear something like that.

But happy as she was, Zhu Wenshu still elbowed him.

“Be serious. I didn’t ask you to sweet-talk me.”

“I’m not sweet-talking you.”

Ling Chen opened his eyes, his view blurred by Zhu Wenshu’s hair, though the scent of her shower gel lingered thick around his nose.

He propped himself up on one arm and looked down at her, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her cheek.

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be working some factory job right now.”

“Hm?”

Zhu Wenshu turned, meeting Ling Chen’s eyes in the darkness. “What?”

Ling Chen said, “Actually, after I finished middle school, I thought about dropping out. If I hadn’t gone to college, don’t you think I’d be working some job right now?”

Zhu Wenshu was a teacher, and the word “dropping out” was a sensitive one for her.

She didn’t register the rest of what he’d said, only asking, “Why would you not go to school?”

“Poor.”

Ling Chen twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers, saying it calmly. “Wanted to make money.”

That made sense, in a way.

Zhu Wenshu knew his family had struggled financially in the past, but she hadn’t realized it had been bad enough to consider dropping out.

Something in her chest ached, and she reached out to hug him around the waist.

Good thing things were different now.

Ling Chen went along with the motion, lying back down and pulling Zhu Wenshu into his arms.

“Remember I told you, the first time I saw you was in a bookstore?”

“Mm.”

“Back then, when I heard you say you went to No. 1 High,” Ling Chen laughed softly, “I thought, well, might as well go enroll after all—maybe I’ll get to see that pretty girl again. Just one more look, that’s all.”

“…”

“And then it turned out we were in the same class.”

From then on, every morning he woke up looking at his family’s threadbare living conditions, torn between continuing his studies and dropping out to work, he’d always think—just one more look.

He laughed, lowering his head. “Pretty shallow of me, huh?”

Ling Chen had told the whole thing in just a few sentences, but Zhu Wenshu found it hard to listen to.

It sounded like a story about being blinded by beauty, but between the lines, it was really about a person’s blind struggle while sinking deeper into a swamp.

Zhu Wenshu knew she was good-looking, but just how hopeless did life have to be for Ling Chen to treat a girl he’d only met once as his lifeline.

She wrinkled her nose, saying in a muffled voice, “I didn’t really do anything.”

“You didn’t need to do anything.”

Ling Chen ran his fingers through her long hair, stroking her back. “Just you existing was already a blessing to me.”

Once he said that, silence fell between them.

Zhu Wenshu’s feelings churned in a hundred different directions. On one hand, she ached for Ling Chen’s past. Her own family, while not exactly wealthy, had never wanted for money, and she couldn’t fathom what kind of circumstances would drive a family to make a child drop out of school.

She also felt a kind of quiet dread—that some experience she’d never even given a second thought to could have had such a profound impact on Ling Chen.

At the same time, she felt grateful—grateful that she and Ling Chen had crossed paths at all.

Even if they’d never met again after that, if her unwitting existence back then had somehow helped set him on this brilliant, flourishing path, it would still have been worth it.

“What about you?”

Seeing Zhu Wenshu had gone quiet for a while, Ling Chen turned the question back on her. “You asked me all that, now tell me your dream.”

“My dream’s pretty ordinary.”

She pictured a scene in the darkness. “Just to keep being a teacher, keep teaching students, and when I’m old, have lots of former students come visit me.”

“That’s it?”

“There’s more.” Zhu Wenshu said slowly. “I really like kids. I want to have a cute little one of my own.”

She paused, then added, “Two, actually. One kid alone would be lonely.”

Ling Chen laughed. “That simple?”

“It’s not simple at all.” Zhu Wenshu said seriously. “Raising kids takes a lot of energy, it’s not just about setting out two more pairs of chopsticks.”

“You’re overthinking it.”

He propped himself up again, one hand braced beside her ear, caging her beneath him. “How about we take it one step at a time?”

Zhu Wenshu: “Huh?”

Ling Chen looked straight at her. “Let’s have one right now?”

“?”

Zhu Wenshu froze, her mind blanking for a couple of seconds before she pushed him back in alarm.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have much strength, and he didn’t budge an inch.

“That’s, that’s way too fast.”

Zhu Wenshu’s palm was still pressed against Ling Chen’s chest. “What do you mean, just, just have one—”

Ling Chen’s dark eyes were hidden in the night, and Zhu Wenshu couldn’t quite make out his expression, only felt his chest rising and rising beneath her hand, watching her wordlessly, as if he were tempting her.

The two of them stayed locked like that for a long while, and just as Zhu Wenshu felt her whole body burning up enough to combust.

Ling Chen suddenly burst out laughing, his whole body relaxing as he lay back down, pulling Zhu Wenshu into his arms.

“Just kidding.”

He seemed to genuinely find it hilarious, his shoulders shaking.

“I’m far too valuable to let you take advantage of me that easily.”

“…”

This time, Zhu Wenshu punched him, hard.

Ling Chen caught her hand and pressed it against his own chest.

He took a deep breath and said softly, “Just being able to hold you like this is already enough for me.”

The night lay thick outside, city lights strung together in the distance, traffic flowing on and on, car horns fading from near to far, gradually dissolving into the rhythm of breathing beside her ear.

Zhu Wenshu rested against Ling Chen’s chest, listening to the clear, steady beat of his heart, and slowly closed her eyes.

Actually, she felt just as content—finding, in this unfamiliar city, a sense of security that filled her completely.

—

On this cold night, cradled in Ling Chen’s arms, Zhu Wenshu slept soundly, with no idea what was happening online.

Just after midnight, the marketing account Entertainment Bus, having kept everyone in suspense long enough, finally released the intimate video it had captured of Ye Shaoxing in the car.

Though the footage wasn’t very clear and had been shot late at night, within ten minutes, #YeShaoxingTianYouqing# shot straight to the top of the trending topics, dominating every entertainment discussion board.

As an idol, this was the highest level of buzz Ye Shaoxing had ever generated since his debut.

Fans were shocked and devastated, bystanders eagerly watched the drama unfold, rival fanbases fanned the flames with delight—for a while, it was as chaotic and lively as a televised gala.

Quite a few people also expressed disappointment, having genuinely hoped to finally see what “Classmate Little Silkworm” really looked like.

The next morning, Zhu Wenshu woke up to find her phone flooded with messages, all from friends who knew about her and Ling Chen, eager for gossip.

Since Zhu Wenshu had already heard directly from Ling Chen that it was Ye Shaoxing who’d been photographed, she wasn’t particularly shocked. And she never paid much attention to entertainment industry news to begin with, so she didn’t say much to her friends about it either.

While online discourse raged on in every direction, Zhu Wenshu spent three peaceful, uneventful days in Li City.

Ling Xingyan had returned to Jiang City that afternoon to handle the matter with the grandparents, and Ling Chen stayed busy with work. Zhu Wenshu didn’t know anyone else in the city, and having already gotten to see Ling Chen, with only a few days left before she needed to head home for the New Year, and a few micro-lesson tasks still undone that she didn’t want to bring home with her, she booked a Friday noon flight back to Jiang City.

These past few days, Ling Chen had spent every night in Zhu Wenshu’s room, falling asleep pillowed in his arms every night—the experience was wonderful, but every morning she woke up with a sore neck, too embarrassed to say anything about it.

By the day she was set to return to Jiang City, Zhu Wenshu felt her neck truly couldn’t take it anymore, and got up early to pack her things.

Ling Chen stood by the bed, watching her put her thermos into the suitcase, then crouched down to help her zip it shut.

“There’s still over an hour before we need to head to the airport,” Zhu Wenshu said. “Should we have breakfast sent up to the room?”

Ling Chen nodded out of habit, then suddenly seemed to remember something. “Have you had Li City’s soup dumplings yet?”

Zhu Wenshu shook her head. “What about them?”

“They’re pretty famous.”

He zipped up the suitcase and pulled Zhu Wenshu to her feet. “Want to eat some before heading to the airport?”

“Is it far?”

“Not far. There’s a place near the hotel.”

Zhu Wenshu figured they had time to spare, and agreed.

Li City had, rare for this time of year, come out sunny. Though the temperature hadn’t changed much, at least the whole city no longer felt gloomy.

Unfortunately, the hotel was located in an industrial zone, and there was hardly anyone around with the leisure to come out and enjoy the sunshine.

Ling Chen didn’t even bother with a mask when they went out, just a baseball cap, holding Zhu Wenshu’s hand as they walked slowly.

The distance was just over six hundred meters, and yet the two of them still hadn’t made it there after twenty minutes.

Along the way, Ling Chen suddenly pulled out his phone to check something, then raised the hand holding Zhu Wenshu’s and snapped a photo.

After taking it, he tucked the phone back into his coat pocket as if nothing had happened and kept walking.

“What are you doing?”

Zhu Wenshu asked.

Ling Chen said lazily, “Ling Xingyan’s back, asking where I am.”

Zhu Wenshu muttered under her breath, “Then why take a photo.”

“I can’t just say it outright.”

Ling Chen tilted his head, smiling. “Telling a single guy I’m out with my girlfriend.”

He squeezed her palm. “Wouldn’t that be a bit much?”

“…”

And taking a photo instead wasn’t “a bit much”?

Zhu Wenshu curved her lips into a smile and said nothing more.

After breakfast, Ling Xingyan called to hurry Ling Chen along, and the two of them didn’t linger any longer.

After sending Zhu Wenshu back to the hotel, Ling Chen arranged a driver for her before heading off with Ling Xingyan to their work location.

Her flight was delayed by over an hour that day, and by the time Zhu Wenshu got home, dusk had already fallen.

The living room lights were off, and the moment she stepped inside, Zhu Wenshu caught a strong smell of cheap MSG seasoning. She frowned as she reached for the light switch and scanned the room.

Leftover takeout containers were still sitting on the dining table, and there were quite a few takeout bags piled up by the door as well.

The kitchen trash can was overflowing too, with several instant noodle bags scattered on the floor.

She instinctively glanced toward Ying Fei’s room and, seeing no light through the crack under the door, figured she was still asleep. Sighing, she set her suitcase aside and started cleaning up the trash.

Ying Fei, despite being a homebody, was actually quite tidy—she never let leftover takeout sit overnight, and was usually diligent about cleaning shared spaces too.

As she wiped down the table, Zhu Wenshu wondered whether Ying Fei had been sick these past few days.

But that didn’t add up either.

If she’d been sick, why would she be ordering nothing but spicy hot pot and fried chicken—all that greasy, spicy food.

It took nearly half an hour to tidy up the living room and kitchen. By the time Zhu Wenshu dragged her suitcase back to her room, she ran right into Ying Fei coming out.

She was wearing loose pajamas, her hair a tangled mess, looking like she hadn’t washed it in days.

Her face was shiny with oil, dark circles heavy under her eyes, looking like she’d just escaped some kind of disaster.

“What happened to you?”

Zhu Wenshu looked her up and down, shocked. “Are you sick?”

“…No.”

Ying Fei took a breath, staring at Zhu Wenshu for a couple of seconds before shaking her head. “Year-end deadline, been grinding on a manuscript around the clock.”

She knew Zhu Wenshu well enough to know she genuinely had no idea why she looked like this.

If this had happened a few months ago, she might have confided in Zhu Wenshu about it.

But now that she was certain Zhu Wenshu was Ling Chen’s fan, she obviously couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

“Well, don’t push yourself so hard all the time.”

Zhu Wenshu said softly, relieved. “I thought something had happened to you.”

“Nothing happened.”

Ying Fei lowered her head, about to head to the bathroom, then paused after a couple steps and turned back. “I still haven’t taken out the trash, I’ll get to it in a bit.”

“I already did it.”

Zhu Wenshu said. “Get some rest.”

“Mm.”

Once in the bathroom, Ying Fei splashed cold water on her face and leaned weakly against the sink.

Meanwhile, back in her own room, Zhu Wenshu opened her suitcase and pulled out all the clothes she’d worn over the past few days to wash.

She never used the washing machine for her intimate garments, and with Jiang City’s weather holding up nicely these past few days, she decided to strip the sheets and duvet cover too and toss them straight into the washer.

By the time she got back to her room’s bathroom and started hand-washing clothes, her phone rang from the desk.

Since it was already break, Zhu Wenshu figured it wasn’t likely to be an urgent matter from a student, so she didn’t rush over, finishing wringing out the clothes and setting them aside before wiping her hands dry and going to check.

She only just made it to the phone when the call ended, having gone unanswered.

It was Zhong Ya.

Zhu Wenshu was about to call her back when Shi Xue’er’s incoming call popped up instead.

“Hello?”

Zhu Wenshu answered, tidying up her desk with her free hand.

Shi Xue’er, hearing her voice, took a long moment before managing a complete sentence, shouting “Teacher Zhu, Teacher Zhu” over and over before finally getting out, ecstatic, “Did you see it?! Oh my god! Ling Chen actually got photographed! I swear, I swear! It was just this morning!”

Zhu Wenshu’s hand froze mid-air, staring blankly at the desk.

What—photographed?

Just then, Zhong Ya called again.

If Zhu Wenshu had still been confused a moment ago, by now she understood exactly what Shi Xue’er meant.

Both of them calling her at the same time could only mean one thing—she and Ling Chen had been photographed together.

Even though Zhu Wenshu had long anticipated this day would come eventually, now that it had actually arrived, she still found herself caught off guard.

After a pause, she stammered, “Wait, wait a second, I’ve got another friend calling.”

Without waiting for Shi Xue’er to respond, she switched over to Zhong Ya’s call.

“Holy crap, Zhu Wenshu! Are celebrities all racing to hit their year-end KPIs or something?!”

Zhong Ya’s voice was just as excited, though noticeably more composed than Shi Xue’er’s.

“Give us common folk a break from all this drama, would you?!”

“So.”

Zhu Wenshu said, word by word. “It’s me and Ling Chen. We got. Photographed.”

“Who else would it be?”

Zhong Ya said. “Go look now! I already sent it to you on WeChat!”

Zhu Wenshu didn’t hang up, opening WeChat directly.

It wasn’t just Zhong Ya—many other friends had sent messages too.

She scrolled through a couple of times before finding Zhong Ya’s chat window, opening it to find just three photos, watermarked with a forum logo.

But even so, it was unmistakably clear that the man in the photos was Ling Chen.

Zhu Wenshu recognized the scene in the photos too—it was from that very morning, on their walk to breakfast, hand in hand.

The morning light was bright, lending even the withered trees along the road a touch of life. Ling Chen was turned slightly, looking at the woman beside him, saying something, the corner of his mouth curved in a smile.

The woman was only visible from behind, her face tilted up toward him, her long hair wrapped in a scarf, just a few strands escaping stubbornly at the ends.

Staring at these photos, Zhu Wenshu’s thoughts tangled into a knot she couldn’t begin to untangle.

Strangely enough, she still managed to catch hold of one stray thought amid it all—

Did this count as her and Ling Chen’s very first photo together?