Their professions were special—one a producer, the other a timepiece restoration consultant. Neither had much free time in daily life.

Add to that being trapped in Wuxi where they couldn’t abandon their duties during work hours, all their dates were confined to the hotel. Every day it was either her going to his room or him coming to hers—no other options available.

The hotel rooms were also small and cramped. When the two were together, besides shameless emotional cultivation, there wasn’t much else they could do.

Over time, every intimate gesture became as natural as if they’d done it hundreds of times.

Shen Qianzhan sat comfortably on his lap, taking a grape between her fingers to feed him: “Qiao Xin bought these downstairs, they’re quite fresh.”

Ji Qinghe bit into it and dragged the video progress bar back to the beginning to start over.

This behind-the-scenes footage was to be published on “Key of Time”‘s official Weibo tonight.

From editing to post-production, it had gone through multiple rounds of review. By the time it reached her hands, it was basically a flawless finished product.

Tonight she was distracted and hadn’t remembered what the footage contained despite watching it several times.

After Ji Qinghe arrived, her restless heart finally settled. She ate grapes while accompanying him to rewatch.

When the video progress reached her close-up shot, Ji Qinghe tapped lightly with his fingertip, commenting flatly: “Delete this part.”

Shen Qianzhan looked sideways, her expression skeptical: “Doesn’t look good?”

Ji Qinghe pondered for several seconds before saying: “I haven’t looked enough myself, why should I let others see?”

He was deliberately trying to make her happy, and the effect was naturally good.

Shen Qianzhan laughed heartily, feeding him grapes while asking: “If I weren’t a producer but instead worked in front of the camera like Song Yan, would we have had no chance from the start?”

It was strange.

Before falling in love, Shen Qianzhan wasn’t someone who liked hypotheticals.

She felt words like “hypothetical” and “what if” were too conceptual, and the scenarios and situations virtualized under such premises were meaningless.

But people spend their whole lives on the path of being slapped in the face, whether slapping others’ faces or their own.

Just counting what she herself remembered, she had asked quite a few stupid questions she had once defined as “meaningless.”

“We might have met earlier.” He adjusted the laptop screen angle, saying: “Many things happen because of specific people. If you weren’t a producer, then we’d have a different story. There’s no such hypothesis as ‘no chance from the start.'”

In fact, Ji Qinghe had also considered this question.

If Shen Qianzhan weren’t “Key of Time”‘s producer, if Ji Qingzhen weren’t a titan in timepiece restoration, if she hadn’t come to Xi’an with that planning proposal to find Old Master Ji, would they have regretfully missed each other in this lifetime?

Rationally, their meeting and reunion would have happened later than this timeline, or there might truly have been crossed timing where they never met, living with lifelong regret.

But emotionally, Ji Qinghe didn’t accept this hypothesis.

Even if she weren’t a producer but a company planner, a coffee shop clerk, or a veterinarian at a pet hospital—regardless of which, he would still have encountered her.

Just a different way of meeting, opening another story.

He suddenly thought of a phrase: “The story that happens when meeting you is called love.” After saying it, he laughed first, self-mockingly: “No wonder so many people’s creative inspiration comes from romance.”

Shen Qianzhan was still savoring this when he had already lowered his head, gently nuzzling her ear: “I rarely consider things that haven’t happened. Meeting is meeting, I even find it natural, feel that this was bound to happen at this time. I don’t quite understand girls’ thoughts—if we really want to be particular about it, shouldn’t I have taken that step when I was first amazed by you years ago and asked for your contact information?”

But cruelly, being amazed isn’t love.

He wasn’t sure if at that age he had the impulse to take responsibility for another person’s life. Later he studied abroad in various places, nearly losing contact. Who could say what might have happened in two years?

In his view, the best arrangement was now—she appeared neither too early nor too late, and he came neither too hastily nor too slowly.

At the same time, what Shen Qianzhan thought of was a letter the male lead wrote to the female lead in the “Key of Time” script—

“At different times, whether you came a second early or late, the story might not have been written this way. I would still fall in love with you as always, but the love the twenty-year-old me and the thirty-year-old me give you might be two different flavors.”

“At twenty I’d give you earth-shattering passion. At thirty I’m calm as water, but I can give you a family and the rest of a lifetime. Which would you want?”

This letter, sealed in an envelope, was never sent due to sudden life changes.

Though not the same life, there was similar resonance in emotional experience.

The video continued playing.

The footage ended with tonight’s torrential rain in Wuxi.

The celebration was halted, the crew by the riverbank evacuated urgently to avoid the rain, the scene in complete chaos.

The editing deliberately overlapped the earlier dreamlike fireworks scene with everyone’s bedraggled appearance like drowned rats, creating a sharp contrast.

The final subtitle was post-production’s playful question—”Director Shao, when making your wish, did you summon Yao Huan to come celebrate your birthday?”

“Yao Huan” was the only ancient fantasy light romantic comedy Shen Qianzhan had produced, which was widely popular. Even years after airing, internet buzzwords related to it were still frequently mentioned.

Post-production using it here had a finishing touch effect.

Quite satisfied, Shen Qianzhan sent Qiao Xin an approval message, closed the laptop, and casually tossed it onto the sofa.

She turned around, sitting face-to-face on his lap, reaching to unbutton his shirt: “Is the door locked?”

Ji Qinghe’s gaze held amusement as he said unhurriedly: “Not sure, want to go check?”

How could Shen Qianzhan not know about his mischievous nature?

Her entryway wardrobe had a built-in full-length mirror. One night, halfway through, someone knocked on the door. Only then did she remember she had merely closed the door without locking it. She was so frightened she lost all interest, pushing him to lock the door first.

If someone actually opened the door and entered, would she even want to live?

Ji Qinghe was already armed and ready for battle—how could he be willing to compromise at such a moment? With her clinging tightly to him, he had no choice but to carry her to the entryway to lock up.

After the door was locked, for safety’s sake, Shen Qianzhan also engaged the door chain.

Turning around, she caught Ji Qinghe’s gaze on the full-length mirror exposed by the improperly closed wardrobe, his eyes dancing.

That night’s battle situation was naturally imaginable…

The next day even Su Zan couldn’t help teasing: “Is your pre-sleep exercise a bit too disturbing to others? The hotel dust has been shaken down two meters thick.”

Shen Qianzhan rolled her eyes.

What nonsense.

She had been biting his shoulder the entire time—where was all this noise coming from?

Thinking of this, she suddenly remembered the trembling numbness that left her mind blank that night. Her gaze shifted as she looked at him quietly, saying: “Come on, let’s go check.”

He laughed lowly, the sound rough and husky—the magnetic depth that belonged only to mature men.

Before she could remove her clothes, his hand slipped under her dress hem, caressing her waist: “Not angry anymore?”

If he hadn’t mentioned it, Shen Qianzhan would have almost forgotten what she was angry about.

She half-knelt on his lap, tilting her head slightly back, offering herself to him, her voice soft and somewhat tender: “Of course I’m angry. How could I not be? Those stinking men all saw me use the room key to open your door.”

Ji Qinghe rubbed her waist, gradually unsatisfied, following her waistline downward to grip her buttocks through the fabric.

Shen Qianzhan looked like she didn’t exercise much, with a slender figure, but only through touching and seeing did one know her skin was firm, not excessively thin, every inch proportioned just right.

The curves of various body parts balanced softness with firmness, like art sculpted by God with not an inch of excess.

“It’s not like it’s an improper relationship.” He bit her lip, kissing passionately. “Let them know—’Key of Time’ is wrapping soon anyway.”

Shen Qianzhan felt all her bones melt from his kisses. She wrapped around his neck, clinging weakly, murmuring softly: “We can’t be like after-school detention, calling them out one by one, then standing hand in hand in front of them to announce we’re in a proper boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, can we?”

How foolish that would be.

Thinking this, she couldn’t help lightly punching him: “Why didn’t you tell me earlier there were people in your room?” Otherwise, how would any of this have happened?

“Forgot.” Ji Qinghe laughed, lifting her up.

Not to the bed, nor to the entryway.

He turned off the lights and carried her to the window sill.

Outside, lightning flashed and thunder roared, rain pounding torrentially. The rain was so heavy that even after two hours there was no sign of weakening.

Ji Qinghe pressed Shen Qianzhan against the cool window, his fingertips hooking down her strap, his lips descending to kiss her shoulder. Inch by inch, the kisses deepened. Lingering at her collarbone, he rolled up her nightgown, his fingers following her leg line, exploring inward.

She tensed up immediately, opening her eyes to look at him.

Lightning happened to streak by outside, the sudden brightness sliding past his eyes like sparks falling on her body, igniting clusters of spreading fire.

The window sill position was too narrow—she only touched half of it, most of her suspended in air. Though he held her securely enough that she wouldn’t fall, every movement he made made her especially sensitive.

She tilted her head back slightly, taking a deep breath, no longer able to be distracted.

Thunder rumbled with flashing lightning.

Yet Shen Qianzhan was like a fish near water, desperate to breathe.

After an unknown time, when her legs went soft and her toes cramped from pointing, he finally withdrew his hand, using those wet fingertips to caress her lips, whispering wickedly: “Want it this badly?”

Shen Qianzhan’s lashes trembled lightly—for a moment she didn’t dare look at him.

He laughed softly, kissing her from brow bone to nose tip, making him all she could see with eyes open or closed.

He entered slowly, inch by inch, like conquering territory, extremely patient.

The slippers on Shen Qianzhan’s feet could no longer stay on, dropping to the floor with a soft “thump.”

Just as thunder pierced through the clouds.

She startled and shuddered, being caught by his laughing embrace, her entire body nearly suspended in air.

It was still early—people were moving about in the corridor in twos and threes, laughing, chatting, passing by the door.

Shen Qianzhan bit her lips, not daring to make a sound, yet her body rose and fell with his rhythm like following waves. Like raindrops falling from high above outside, tumultuous then stopping, continuous and endless.

After an unknown time, the rain gradually lessened.

Ji Qinghe’s raised battle flag also briefly rested. He held Shen Qianzhan as she recovered for a moment, his voice husky when he spoke: “Shall I carry you to bathe?”

Shen Qianzhan embraced him back without speaking.

The room was somewhat stuffy, her body covered in sweat, somewhat sticky. But at this moment she only wanted to nestle in his arms, motionless.

Ji Qinghe sensed her lazy fatigue, patting her back rhythmically as if coaxing her.

After a long while, she said in a muffled voice: “Before we leave Wuxi, accompany me home for a visit.”

She paused briefly for a few seconds, saying: “I want you to meet my parents again.”