Auntie Chen had prepared two portions of low-sugar egg custard pudding. Sitting face to face, eating it, Zhou Mi’s face still retained some warmth, her heart trembling slightly, too embarrassed to look directly at Zhang Lian. Like a bird stealing from a grain-drying yard, she would occasionally dart a glance at him.

Zhang Lian finished quickly, propping up half his face while checking emails on his phone. After a while, he raised his eyes to look at Zhou Mi.

He caught her peeking glance, unhurriedly took a sip of water.

Then he raised his lips, his eyes not moving away, watching her quietly.

Zhou Mi immediately lowered her head and continued eating, pretending to be free of distracting thoughts.

Until bedtime, neither of them said another word. Zhou Mi’s mind was in chaos. Before sleeping, she sent Zhang Lian a message: Knock knock.

Zhang Lian replied with a “?”

Zhou Mi typed: I don’t think this is good.

Zhang Lian asked: What isn’t?

Zhou Mi: Tonight, like this.

Zhang Lian perhaps smiled: You tell me it’s not good after it’s over.

Zhou Mi’s face heated up: Have I ever forced you? Every time you suddenly make a move, I have no preparation at all, no time to react.

Zhang Lian replied: Next time, I’ll submit an application report one week in advance.

Zhang Lian: Zhou Mi, please approve my request for a deeper exchange with you next Tuesday.

Zhang Lian: Is that okay?

His three suggestive sentences flowed smoothly, making Zhou Mi feel like her head exploded like caramel popcorn—expanding, burning hot, yet with some inexplicable sweetness.

She raised her phone to her forehead to cool down, unable to hold back a curse: You’re crazy.

Then added: I should post this chat history for your employees to see what kind of person you are.

Zhang Lian replied: It’s enough that one person knows.

Zhou Mi wrinkled her nose and smiled, deliberately taking the opposite approach: I still suggest you find someone else.

Zhang Lian seemed not to understand: What do you mean?

Zhou Mi said: Find other girls to satisfy these needs. After all, we’re just contractually living together; I won’t have any objections. I just feel our continuing like this is too abnormal. Three months will pass quickly, and I don’t want things like before to happen again. Being in the same company is so dangerous; maintaining distance would be more prudent.

She suddenly couldn’t stop herself from this kind of testing that she knew would spoil the mood, seeking certain elusive answers.

Zhang Lian asked: How is it abnormal?

Zhou Mi said: How do you plan to spend these three months? Tell me honestly.

Zhang Lian said: Doing what cohabiting couples should do.

Zhou Mi’s heart seemed to tear open a tiny crack: And after three months?

Zhang Lian was adept at returning difficult questions: What are your plans?

Zhou Mi thought for a moment: I don’t know.

Then added: Most likely I’ll go home, and we won’t see each other again.

Zhang Lian: Here we go again.

Zhou Mi’s heart trembled inexplicably, connecting to what he had said during their walk that evening: This is my true feeling. I’m not like you; I do have aspirations for love. What if I want to find a boyfriend?

Zhang Lian’s reply was casual and ruthless: Then we’ll talk when you have a boyfriend.

Zhou Mi instantly became like a lime being squeezed hard, oozing sourness: What if, in a few days, someone appears whom I like, and I don’t want to continue this with you?

Zhang Lian replied: You already suggested I find other women, of course, I won’t constrain you either.

Zhou Mi’s cheeks inadvertently became exceptionally hot. She took a deep breath: Fine, anyway, no one knows about our relationship.

She began to speak bluntly: Don’t think I’m still as naive as before. I know the ultimate purpose of all your actions is to sleep with me.

As she typed, she felt her emotions rapidly liquefying, surging to her brain, then rolling hot from her right eye socket, sliding to her chin.

Zhou Mi wiped it away forcefully with the back of her hand, continuing to type: This is very simple to achieve. Someone with your conditions could have countless women willing to sleep with you with just a wave of your hand. Why stick with me?

After sending it, the other side didn’t show the typing status for quite a while. The entire chat window was static, deathly silent.

After a while, he finally said: I thought this would be a beautiful evening.

More tears began to flood out. Zhou Mi’s throat choked: Oh, disappointed you, I’ve ruined things again.

Zhang Lian said: Go to sleep, goodnight.

His intention to end the conversation was clear, as if even half a sentence more would be too much.

Zhou Mi didn’t say another word either, burying both her phone and herself under the covers, holding back tears while breathing heavily.

Why?

Why have expectations for such a cold-blooded monster?

Why actively swallow the poisoned apple and believe in glass slippers and pumpkin carriages that would disappear at midnight?

Why couldn’t she separate body and heart, spirit and flesh properly and rationally like he could, to remain indifferent after involvement and enjoyment?

The next day, Zhou Mi got up very early, climbing out of bed after seven, planning to leave before encountering Zhang Lian.

But as soon as she left her room, she ran into the man, also coming out of his bedroom.

He was wearing a gray tracksuit. Glancing at her, he removed his left earbud and said good morning.

Zhou Mi walked past as if she hadn’t heard.

Unbelievable.

His daily rhythm remained unchanged, still in the mood for morning exercise, while she had been dejected until late at night, even rummaging through storage to find her old, rarely-used plain eyeglasses to hide her walnut-like eyes before feeling secure enough to sleep.

Zhou Mi brushed her teeth with the force of scrubbing shoes, and the foam from her facial cleanser flew like snow.

She didn’t eat at home, just got ready and changed her shoes to leave.

When Zhang Lian returned, seeing no one at the dining table and the breakfast dishes untouched, he asked Auntie Chen, “Where’s Zhou Mi?”

Auntie Chen answered: “She said she wanted to eat outside today.”

Zhang Lian nodded slightly.

Auntie Chen didn’t intend to interfere in their affairs, but thinking of her daughter, she expressed concern: “Did you fight with Mimi?”

Zhang Lian’s eyebrows raised slightly: “Sort of, not really.”

Auntie Chen sighed: “Young girls need more coaxing, especially someone as young as Mimi, who can be quite stubborn.”

Zhang Lian said nothing and sat down to eat.

—

After getting a takeout jianbing guozi to the office, Zhou Mi took a fierce bite, feeling a sense of belonging overflow like sauce. She truly loved these common things more than the exquisite cuisine that could be photographed for a food channel at Zhang Lian’s home.

Zhou Mi took a detour to get water, forcing herself not to think too much and focusing on work. Around 10:30, an Account Manager from her department named Xu Mo suddenly came over to inform her about a meeting.

Zhou Mi glanced at the empty neighboring seat: “Did Yan go out today?”

Xu Mo said, “She took a leave.”

“Ah…” Zhou Mi made a surprised sound: “What happened to her?”

Xu Mo said, “She hasn’t been resting well lately and fainted at home last night.”

Zhou Mi widened her eyes, asking urgently: “Is she okay?”

“Nothing serious, just anemia,” Xu Mo instructed methodically: “I’ll lead you for a few days. Tomorrow I’ll prepare a brief for you and the creative team. Remember to check it.”

Zhou Mi nodded, watching her walk away.

Xu Mo wasn’t a client manager for fast-moving consumer goods; she usually handled more automotive brands and dealt almost exclusively with retainer clients. She was probably thrown in as a temporary rescue.

However, she appeared very confident, seemingly able to handle unfamiliar short-term projects calmly. Zhou Mi admired this.

Concerned about Ye Yan’s health, Zhou Mi quickly sent her a WeChat message asking how she was doing.

Ye Yan replied almost instantly: All good, nothing serious.

Zhou Mi said: You must rest well, get plenty of nutrition, and ensure adequate sleep.

Ye Yan said: Child, why do you sound like my mother?

Zhou Mi smiled: I was terrified when I heard you fainted today.

Ye Yan was unconcerned: Is it that dramatic? It was just a little fainting. But now the duck I almost had in hand has flown away—the handsome guy will now be handed to Xu Mo.

Zhou Mi said: So you need to recover quickly, you can contact him again when you return.

Ye Yan wailed in despair.

No wonder they say keeping busy is the best emotional regulator.

Today was a hectic day. With the team leader on sick leave, the three project teams lost their backbone. The previously stable structure began to shake. Everyone temporarily lost rhythm and direction, either discussing arrangements in the group chat or attending meetings all morning and afternoon to adjust individual workloads. Zhou Mi didn’t even have time to drink water, let alone indulge in her artistic sentimentality and girlish fantasies.

It was after 7 p.m. when she finally sipped hot beef noodle soup while simultaneously receiving a call from her mother.

First came inquiries about her living conditions, then concern about how she and Zhang Lian were getting along under the same roof these days.

The mention of him irritated Zhou Mi. Her eyes locked on the charts on her computer as she responded with perfunctory “mmm, yes, okay” sounds.

Seeing her so dismissive, Tang Peili’s enthusiasm dropped sharply. Guessing that Zhou Mi was still working overtime, she didn’t want to disturb her further, just reminding her that some things had been sent via local express delivery, arriving yesterday afternoon, and telling her to remember to pick them up from property management after work.

“Got it,” Zhou Mi finally answered attentively, adding with curiosity: “You didn’t deliver them personally?”

Tang Peili retorted: “I was afraid if I came myself, you’d accuse me of disturbing Zhang Lian and your little couple’s time.”

Zhou Mi was speechless.

Close to 9 p.m., Zhou Mi had time to glance at WeChat. Her conversation with Zhang Lian still ended with that “Go to sleep, goodnight” message from last night that had nearly infuriated her.

Zhou Mi suddenly felt a stifling sense of having messed things up and being annoyed, like being forcibly stuffed into a cramped, sealed can.

She hadn’t seen him all day.

He also hadn’t come looking for her all day.

Their relationship was much more fragile than she had imagined, lacking substance, with an unpredictable future, dropping from boiling point to freezing point in less than twenty-four hours.

Her nasal passages slightly blocked, Zhou Mi inhaled very lightly, swallowing back the melancholy that was welling up. After packing up, she left the building alone as usual.

However, while waiting for the elevator, entering the subway station, and exiting the subway station, she would pause at these locations that had been marked with pink notes in the short term, looking around as if afraid of missing some unexpected encounter or Easter egg, all because of that expectation she was ashamed to express but that arose naturally.

The magic had disappeared again.

Zhou Mi returned to the residential complex alone.

The glass castle of Huajun that soared into the clouds became like several unbreakable curses, the kind from which Rapunzel would never descend.

Perhaps because she had been coming and going here for several days, she had successfully become a familiar face to the security guard. This uniformed man, who looked like AI wearing a wax figure’s skin, finally nodded to her with a trace of humanity.

Zhou Mi nodded back, saying “good evening” as she walked in, then turned back after a thought: “Excuse me, do you know where to pick up express deliveries?”

The guard pointed in a direction, telling her that if she didn’t want to pick them up herself, she could also contact property management for delivery to her door.

Zhou Mi thanked him and walked in that direction. Sure enough, there was a logistics center specially set up for residents—a neat, rectangular, silver-windowed house that looked like a small, brightly lit city hall.

Zhou Mi walked in, showed her ID at the front desk, provided her phone number, waited briefly, and the staff brought several boxes of various sizes.

Zhou Mi hadn’t expected her mother to send such large items, plus some miscellaneous small things she had bought online, stacked like a mountain of cardboard boxes.

The staff might have noticed her horrified, wide-eyed look and kindly asked: “Do you need us to send someone to deliver them back for you?”

Not being a true resident here and not having the habit of inconveniencing others, Zhou Mi shook her head.

Zhou Mi restacked them from small to large, top to bottom, and mustered the courage to carry them high as she walked out.

The somewhat annoying part was that she had brought her computer home for work today, with one arm carrying a 14-inch laptop, inevitably making it more difficult.

Her mother had probably sent her some books and local specialties she had casually mentioned before. One of the middle boxes was unbelievably heavy.

Zhou Mi had to slightly tilt her upper body back, using her abdomen to help support.

When stepping down the first stair, having to watch her feet, her center of gravity shifted, and the smallest, lightest box on top broke free and rolled away.

Zhou Mi made an “ah” sound, her gaze anxiously following it.

The box bounced several times on the remaining stone steps, landing at the bottom in front of a pair of all-white board shoes with contrasting heels.

A hand immediately picked it up.

A very eye-catching hand—the fingers and even the hand shape were extremely slender, fair, slightly bony, seeming appropriate only on the body of a pianist or an esports player.

Zhou Mi was slightly stunned, standing in place, unable to resist looking at the owner of this hand.

Her eyes widened in a circle, with irrepressible astonishment.

The man at the bottom of the stairs looked over, his expression calm: “Did you drop this?”

Zhou Mi came to her senses, quickly placing the other deliveries and laptop bag on the ground, running down to take it: “Yes, thank you.”

The man walked over, his gaze sliding over the deliveries at her feet: “You have quite a lot of things.”

Zhou Mi said: “Ah, a bit.”

Zhou Mi clutched the small box with both hands, looking at him again, recognizing: “You…”

The man was puzzled by her hidden scrutiny and hesitation: “What is it?”

Zhou Mi was inexplicably nervous, stammering: “Are you… From K record?”

The man raised his eyebrows unexpectedly.

Zhou Mi took a breath, a bit afraid to look at his face directly, her gaze lingering on the pattern of his upper garment. Like a child’s random doodle with a red marker, there were flowers, French… the KENZO logo was also humorously integrated.

Their childlike charm made her heartbeat slow down a bit. She continued: “My leader just added you yesterday.”

The man asked: “Who is your leader?”

Zhou Mi said, “The one whose WeChat name is ‘yanyan’.”

Meeting a major client in person for the first time, her face warmed slightly, belatedly remembering she hadn’t introduced herself: “I’m from Aoxing… I’m interning at Aoxing.”

The man understood, thoughtful: “Oh…”

“I yesterday—” This “recognition” seemed somewhat abrupt. Zhou Mi explained with a slight stutter: “Saw your Moments photos, no, I mean our whole team saw them. You were wearing a white T-shirt in the photos too, just like today, so it’s recognizable… um…”

The more she explained, the worse it got. She was becoming incoherent.

He smiled, truly handsome, with the same unrestrained feeling as in the photos, no, even more transparent than in the photos, like autumn morning air.

“Thank you.” Zhou Mi nodded stiffly, almost bowing deeply, then stepped back two paces, stacking the almost weightless small box back on top.

Just as she was about to bend down, the man suddenly asked from above: “Do you live here?”

Zhou Mi looked up, pausing: “Sort of.”

He said: “Wait for me a moment. I only have one item; I’ll help you carry it after.”

—

Zhou Mi could never have imagined that her first direct interaction with a client would involve him helping her carry deliveries.

Walking beside him, she was too nervous to say a word.

The man asked her: “Which building do you live in?”

“Building six,” Zhou Mi glanced at him shyly: “What about you?”

The man said, “Building four.”

Zhou Mi made a soft “oh” sound, then whispered: “Are my packages very heavy…?”

He said: “They’re fine.”

He was very nice, leaving Zhou Mi with only the two smallest items, one of which was the one she had accidentally dropped earlier. Zhou Mi held one in each hand, like holding two hard, awkward lumps with nowhere to put them.

She noticed his own deep blue cardboard delivery box with the Ziwi logo, a pet food brand, and made conversation: “Do you have a beagle? I… saw it in your photos too.”

The man glanced at her: “You recognize beagles?”

Zhou Mi carefully spoke slowly: “Yes, do you know there’s an account on Weibo called the Beagle Victims Alliance?”

The man laughed knowingly: “Of course, I even follow it.”

Zhou Mi said, “That blog is very interesting, a source of my happiness.”

The man made an affirmative sound, asking: “After seeing it, do you think they’re cute or annoying?”

Zhou Mi’s tone rose: “I love watching all kinds of pets, how could I find them annoying?”

He looked at her again: “Do you have pets too?”

Zhou Mi’s tone was regretful: “It’s just that I can’t raise any, so I have to satisfy my cravings elsewhere.”

He smiled: “I have two beagles. I sometimes post them in my Moments. Would you like to see?”

Zhou Mi was stunned: “Is that okay?”

He said: “Of course.”

Zhou Mi couldn’t believe it: “You mean… I can… add you as a WeChat friend?”

He curved his lips at her evident expression: “Why not?”

Zhou Mi uncomfortably knocked the two delivery boxes together: “Well, interns rarely get to interact with clients, so it feels a bit…” She weighed her words, not quite accurately: “Presumptuous.”

The man slightly adjusted the deliveries: “I don’t have a hand free for my phone, let me tell you my ID.”

Zhou Mi immediately crouched down, placing everything she was holding on the ground, then like a minister holding a tablet before the emperor, raised her phone with both hands, stood straight, and respectfully said: “I’m ready, go ahead.”

The man smiled for who knows how many times, saying slowly and clearly an English word, an underscore, and two numbers.

She noticed his online name: season. His profile picture was a close-up photo of his two dogs, with a strong “Silly and Grumpy” CP vibe.

“Is your English name Season?” Zhou Mi began considering what honorific to use for him.

The man replied: “My Chinese name is also Jijie.”

Zhou Mi was confused, letting out a soft: “Hm?”

He said, “My name is Ji Shi.”

Zhou Mi was stunned: “You mean Ji as in season, that Ji?”

He replied: “Yes, Ji as in season, that Ji.”

Zhou Mi suddenly understood, quickly flattering: “Oh, Director Ji.”

“You’re giving me goosebumps.” Ji Shi again displayed that mint soda-like smile: “Just call me Ji Shi or Jijie.”