Du Junyuan’s voice was neither loud nor soft, reaching only the two of them.
That warm, resonant breath drifted past her cheek, seeming to seep inward. Hu Ke’er’s heartbeat suspended for a beat, then abruptly accelerated. Warmth crept unbidden up the curve of her ear.
Her hands braced instinctively against his chest, and only then did the pain at her ankle register belatedly. She’d chosen a pair of pointed flats today for the look, and the fall had caught her ankle wrong — it felt twisted, the kind that meant she probably wouldn’t be walking properly for a while.
His features were sharp and striking at close range. With his arm curved around her back and her breathing coming in shallow little stops and starts, Hu Ke’er had her face turned inward, just one pink-tipped ear visible.
Du Junyuan looked down at her for a moment, and tightened his hold: “Put your arms around my neck.”
Hu Ke’er kept her head down and didn’t dare look at him, but did as she was told. The moment her arms settled around the back of his neck, he reached under her knees with his other arm and lifted her entirely, carrying her horizontally.
The scattered shopping bags were also gathered up and arranged over one forearm. Hu Ke’er held her head stiffly against Du Junyuan’s shoulder, both arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and even through the fabric of his sleeve, she could feel the heat radiating from him.
The pounding in her chest felt like a riot.
His steps were steady, his arms strong and sure. Her body was suspended in the air, with no choice but to cling to him for security. They were so close that moving her head even slightly would brush against his cheek, and the sandalwood scent of him wrapped around her entirely. The sounds of the world seemed to recede. She had no mental bandwidth to spare for anyone else’s reaction.
— Behind them, the expressions on two faces were varied in their specific details, but both were thoroughly stunned.
Back in sophomore year Hu Ke’er had mentioned Flashying in passing — and even then it was already beginning to take off, let alone now, when it was one of the most popular social platforms in existence. So Xu Zhuo had recognized Du Junyuan almost immediately.
He had assumed Hu Ke’er was making things up again, completely unprepared for any of it to be real — which made the scene unfolding before him impossible to describe. His emotions were equally difficult to name. He stood rooted to the spot as the tall, handsome man carrying someone walked toward him.
Their eyes met in the air. Xu Zhuo’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
He looked toward Hu Ke’er instinctively, but she had most of her face pressed against the man’s chest, her thick, curling dark hair covering her ears, expression unreadable.
Xu Zhuo wasn’t the only one in a daze — Zhao Yingyao was even more so. She had been holding his arm, and was now clutching the flesh of it in a death grip, until Du Junyuan glanced this way and let his expression register the faintest thing, almost like mild acknowledgment. “Excuse us.”
Both of them snapped back to themselves and stepped aside.
Du Junyuan said nothing more. He nodded once in brief acknowledgment, and walked away with clean, unhurried efficiency.
Hu Ke’er drifted through it all in a haze, understanding little of what had happened. Aware that people were probably looking, she kept herself pressed firmly against Du Junyuan’s shoulder and played dead — until they had arrived back at his six-seater business car, and her heart was still beating entirely too fast.
The fall hadn’t been that bad, and after all this time, the pain in her ankle had eased. There was some scraping, but nothing serious.
The driver opened the rear door. Du Junyuan bent to set her gently down on the seat — and found that Hu Ke’er, with absolutely no awareness that they had stopped, was still clinging on like a koala on a tree, refusing to let go.
The girl’s face was flushed and soft, eyes serenely closed, expression peaceful. The driver looked helpless for a long moment, then asked carefully: “Director Du, has the patient lost consciousness? Should we go to the hospital for emergency treatment?”
An unhurried, low laugh sounded near her ear. The corners of Hu Ke’er’s mouth twitched. She promptly opened her eyes, meeting that pair of gently amused dark eyes watching her.
“No emergency treatment necessary,” he answered the driver with perfect patience. “This is just a habitual ankle injury. It looks worse than it is.”
Hu Ke’er: “…?”
Habitual?!
She was about to object, but then thought about the night in the hotel suite, when the cushion on the floor had caused her to tumble into him and she had twisted her ankle then too — limping all the way out when she escaped. She had actually sprained it that time as well.
Hu Ke’er inhaled, exhaled, and chose to remain peacefully inert.
Du Junyuan went around to the other side and settled in beside her.
Hu Ke’er pulled her collar higher and slumped into the seat, ears red, one pair of very dark eyes shifting with great uncertainty and refusing to land anywhere.
The driver had the good sense to stay silent up front. The car was very quiet except for the sound of breathing — an atmosphere that was hard to name, sticky somehow. Du Junyuan casually shrugged off his dark suit jacket and hung it to one side, revealing the pressed, easy-fitting layers beneath. He then reached up and loosened his tie a bit.
Underneath was a white dress shirt, the lapelled vest over it making his shoulders look particularly broad, his waist trim. His arms showed clean lines of muscle, and his long, well-shaped legs were outlined by the dark trousers, all visible — an excellent physique that required no imagination.
The enclosed space was far too quiet. Hu Ke’er was growing fidgety, and couldn’t stop herself from sneaking sideways glances.
She’d meant it as a test, but one look got her slightly dazed, and then she’d looked two more times before she knew it.
The armrest blocked part of her view — particularly the midsection, where she couldn’t quite make out whether it was six or eight. Hu Ke’er was going a bit mad. She had just leaned forward with slightly more intention, attempting to steal a slightly better look at the details, when the man abruptly and unexpectedly raised his head, catching her gaze dead on.
Those dark eyes were deep and opaque. Hu Ke’er felt something flash through her, and her mouth moved without consent: “Don’t mind me — do your thing—”
The man’s dark, steady eyes narrowed very faintly. Hu Ke’er’s fingertips lost control and dug into her own palm. She turned her head and resumed playing dead.
Her pulse was an unsteady drumbeat. She maintained an outward show of composure, but her peripheral vision still caught his gaze sliding down, lingering on something she couldn’t identify.
Hu Ke’er’s breath caught without her meaning it to. Before she could say anything, her ankle was covered by a warmth.
— He had extended his long, precise fingers, bent slightly forward, and clasped the fine bone of her ankle with careful, measured pressure.
Her mind went blank for an instant. Du Junyuan’s palm was burning, the heat of it seeming to ignite all at once, turning all four of her limbs soft. Hu Ke’er’s eyes flew open wide, her heart rate spiking: “You—”
Du Junyuan pressed her still, his voice very low: “Don’t move. Let me look.”
The tone had a faint quality of soothing coaxing to it.
He lowered his gaze, apparently examining the sprain she’d gotten in the fall. Hu Ke’er sat rigid in her seat, her heartbeat doing unauthorized things, warmth flooding her ear in waves. After quite a long while, she could only look down, grip the hem of her own clothing, and let her face go as red as it pleased.
She’d dressed a little too lightly today, and the cold weather had left her ankle chilled. When his thumb inadvertently grazed the reddened bone of her ankle, the difference in temperature was stark.
Every breath felt precarious. And this man kept looking for an impossibly long time. Hu Ke’er felt like her heart wasn’t going to make it.
Then she heard his voice, quiet and measured: “Was that your ex-boyfriend? Are you close?”
Excuse me!! Was this really the moment to be discussing that?!
His memory was absurdly good. Back in sophomore year, in that restaurant, he had glanced at Xu Zhuo for exactly one second and apparently retained everything. Hu Ke’er’s cheeks were clearly burning — no need to touch them to confirm — and she muttered from somewhere: “No! We haven’t had anything to do with each other in years!”
Du Junyuan looked at her briefly, made a quiet sound, and finally released her.
Hu Ke’er buried her head. She heard him say, in a gentle tone, to the driver: “Could you find a pharmacy nearby and stop for a moment? Then to Jingda.”
“Of course, Director Du.”
The car started and pulled from the underground garage onto the road. The atmosphere in the car settled into that same quiet as before — thick with something that couldn’t quite be named.
The skyscrapers and busy streets of the Guomao district passed outside. For a long stretch, neither of them said a word. Hu Ke’er played dead through most of it, opening the window just a crack, pretending to be absorbed in watching the scenery. Eventually the car found its destination and pulled into a spot along the road.
The driver got out to buy the medicine. While waiting, Du Junyuan opened his laptop, bent over it with lowered eyes, and began typing — it looked like something urgent had come up.
The cool breeze that had come through the window had gradually restored Hu Ke’er to a more functional state of mind. Her heartbeat was still elevated, but she made herself look composed and reached for her phone to check messages.
The Australia graduation trip group chat was erupting in various jokes and jokes about jokes. With New Year’s approaching, Zhang Yuge was in there asking everyone their plans.
This year’s New Year fell in late January, coinciding with the start of the American spring semester — meaning Ning Sui and Xie Yichen couldn’t come back.
Without those two, the group couldn’t really get together. Everyone was scattered across different places, and Lin Shuyu and the others were indulging in various sighs and laments, mourning that happiness seemed to have gradually disappeared since graduation.
In particular, the one among them who had entered the workforce — Cool Senior Lin — seemed to have been most thoroughly crushed by life, and his messages had taken on a particular quality of weathered gloom: 【Friends! Cherish your precious winter break! I cannot stand a single more day of this job! [polite smile]】
Zhang Yuge quickly followed up: 【Oh, that reminds me of something. [grinning face]】
Cool Senior Lin: 【?】
Jin Ge: 【Since you’ve started earning money, sending everyone in the group a heartfelt red packet over New Year’s shouldn’t be too much to ask, right? [grinning face]】
Cool Senior Lin: 【???】
Cool Senior Lin: 【Octopus, do you have any shame at all???】
Jin Ge: 【[kiss][kiss][kiss]】
These two were always the most insufferable members of the group, and everyone was used to it by now — just those two chatting alone could rack up hundreds or thousands of messages in a day. They were genuinely that idle.
There were 99+ unread messages still to scroll through. As Hu Ke’er was working her way through them, her phone buzzed. She saw that Zheng Yang had sent a message: 【Sorry, I’m finally done. I really am sorry about today.】
Paopao Ke: 【It’s okay, it came up suddenly — totally understandable!】
The other side showed “typing” for a moment before replying: 【I did promise to take you out to dinner. I was wondering if next weekend works for you? I’ll look around for another restaurant — somewhere near school or in Guomao, whichever you prefer~】
The dinner was always going to happen eventually — it was a matter of honoring the gesture the elders had made. There was no other implication. But sitting in this quiet, intimate six-seater car, Hu Ke’er felt, inexplicably, like she was doing something she needed to account for: 【Oh, sure, either works for me, thank you~】
The message had barely gone out when the laptop on the other side closed, and a low voice drifted over: “Hu Ke’er.”
Hu Ke’er’s heart jumped: “Hm?”
Du Junyuan turned to look at her with quiet attention: “Are you settling in well at Flashying?”
Hu Ke’er: “Pretty — pretty well.”
He gave a sound of acknowledgment, his tone easy: “If you need anything, you can always go to the division head. He’s very capable — he’ll know how to match you with the right resources efficiently.”
Hu Ke’er swallowed: “Understood.”
A brief quiet fell again. Fortunately the driver returned at just that moment, carrying a small bag that was fairly full — a comprehensive selection: a topical bruise and sprain patch, a pain-relief spray, and an ice pack.
Du Junyuan took the bag and selected the ice pack: “Press this on first.”
Hu Ke’er: “…Okay.”
The ice pack was frozen solid and came with an adjustable strap that could be buckled directly around the ankle — no need to hold it in place by hand.
Hu Ke’er was bent over studying the buckle clasp, but the more urgency she felt, the less she could get it to cooperate. While she was still stumped, the thing was taken from her. A pair of hands with long, articulate knuckles appeared in her field of view, measured in their pressure, and wound the strap carefully, loop by loop, around her ankle.
The cool, icy sensation traveled through her skin. But warm breath, soft as a spring breeze, drifted past her ear at the same moment. Hu Ke’er’s barely-settled heartbeat promptly relapsed and began thudding again, uncontrolled and insistent. She sat frozen, something panicky starting inside her, watching his hands move.
Du Junyuan secured the strap with care, then looked up.
She expected him to say something. But the man only looked at her for a moment, then spoke: “School is far from the company. If it hurts too much, you don’t need to come in for a few days.”
His eyes were lowered, his voice sounding particularly gentle. Hu Ke’er was caught off guard for a moment, and tightened her grip on her own fingers. Her voice came out softer than she intended: “It’s not that bad. I’ll rest over the weekend and I’ll be fine.”
Du Junyuan paused: “Mm. Up to you.”
The two of them were mid-sentence when his phone vibrated. He had been connected to audio through his laptop, so when the call came through, the middle-aged man’s voice momentarily played out loud: “Junyuan, are you really not willing to consider meeting little Shi tomorrow…”
Hu Ke’er’s fingertip stilled.
Du Junyuan promptly disconnected the Bluetooth and switched from speakerphone to handset, so only that one opening line had come through before it went silent.
He lifted the phone to his ear, and whatever was said on the other end wasn’t clear — he only gave a few brief responses, offering no real information either way. It sounded like a polite decline: “Thank you for your kindness, Uncle Wang.”
The two exchanged pleasantries for a moment. The car pulled into the road near the university, and as it drew close to arrival, Du Junyuan finally ended the call.
A silence settled in the car. Hu Ke’er picked at an annoying little fuzz ball on her sleeve with studious concentration, and asked, as though in passing: “Who is little Shi?”
She kept her head down, eyes on the floor, her lips leveling out slightly, lashes giving an almost imperceptible flutter.
Du Junyuan looked at her for quite a while before answering: “Someone the family arranged. A potential match.”
They called it that, but really it was just the elders around him — seeing him remain single — taking it upon themselves to introduce their own favorite young people to him. Given Du Junyuan’s current standing, he was fully able to ignore it, but he had met the person once before out of old sentiment, and hadn’t agreed to anything since.
Hu Ke’er: “Are you — going to meet them?”
Du Junyuan: “I’ve declined.”
Though it confirmed what she’d half expected, something still stirred quietly in her chest. Hu Ke’er said oh, in a very composed tone. Then, after a short beat, she tilted her head slightly and, not quite thinking before speaking, raised her voice: “Why did you decline?”
Small and bright and candid, those eyes looked up at him. Du Junyuan lowered his gaze, looked at her for another moment, and gave a quiet laugh: “What do you think?”
“Hm?” She hadn’t expected him to turn it back on her. Hu Ke’er’s heart lurched. Her pulse started up again in earnest.
She genuinely didn’t know what he meant. She swallowed nervously, her eyes careening in every direction, and answered with considerable sincerity: “I — I really couldn’t say.”
Before the last syllable had landed, that breath, full of something like a smile, came lower and more weighted, landing at her ear like an obscured wave: “It’s not easy to explain either. How do I tell someone that I somehow got back together with the girl who used to want to see my abs.”
Hu Ke’er: “…………”
When the car stopped at the Jingda entrance, Hu Ke’er exited the scene at something approaching the speed of sound, and sprinted into the campus at a full hundred-meter pace.
The next day was fortunately a Sunday, which meant no time at the Flashying office — giving her adequate time to level out her own emotions.
But perhaps misfortune comes in clusters, because Hu Ke’er woke up early that morning to a piece of news that hit like a bolt from a clear sky: her beloved mother and father had teamed up and set off for the northwest to survey, and were planning to spend the New Year there — they would not be back in Huai’an for the holiday.
She found out through a video call. The two of them were dressed simply, their expressions a little tired, worn by the elements and the constant climbing — yet they were smiling broadly. Her mom held up the phone to show her their surroundings: “Radish sweetheart, look at this yak’s milk — it’s so rich and creamy!”
Mom’s enthusiasm was high, and she asked the tour guide beside them: “Can we send a couple of cups home? I’d love my daughter to try some.”
Tour guide: “It’s possible, but buying such a small quantity — the shipping would be quite expensive.”
Dad leaned over, curiously: “How much?”
The wind was blowing on that end, and the guide must have quoted a figure. Dad turned back to the camera and told Hu Ke’er with great warmth: “Forget it, darling. Just look at it. Get the general idea.”
Hu Ke’er: “…”
Without her parents, without her dearest friends — just Lin Shuyu and Zhang Yuge, those two wretched boys. Hu Ke’er had completely lost any desire to go back to Huai’an. Going back meant no one to spend the holiday with — she might as well stay in her cold dormitory, order takeaway, and binge dramas by herself.
— Come to think of it, that actually sounded more miserable out loud.
By the time she showed up for her second week at work, she was visibly low-spirited, and Xing Xing noticed immediately: “Ke Ke, are you alright?”
Hu Ke’er waved it off feebly: “I’m fine.”
Her low energy must have been very apparent, because even the division head came to check on her: “Little Hu, has work been too stressful recently?”
The division head was genuinely a good person — professional, attentive, always coming by to ask if she needed anything.
Hu Ke’er rallied herself: “No, no, everything is fine.”
The boss wasn’t in again this week. The division head observed her for a moment without pressing further.
New Year’s Eve was just around the corner — after this weekend. Hu Ke’er finally accepted the reality that she would be spending the holiday alone, turned her frustration into energy, and threw herself wholeheartedly into work.
The content planning team had drafted a detailed schedule, filling her hours from nine to six with precision.
As her follower count and exposure kept growing, the company was hoping to have Hu Ke’er participate in a rising-creator campaign they were running with external platforms for the year — a series of profile features, with a tilt of resources across multiple categories. An excellent opportunity.
But it also meant showing her face online. So they hadn’t made the decision for her, and were waiting for her opinion.
The submission deadline was fast approaching, though — if she missed this round, it would be a full year before the next one. And plenty of other creators were scrambling to get selected.
Realistically, not showing her face was a workable path — but it would cap the account’s ceiling eventually. People generally connected more with a visible, real person. This was a significant decision, and Hu Ke’er was torn. With the deadline looming, she impulsively posted to her social media: 【HELP!! Stuck on something!! [losing my mind]】
A flood of friends commented immediately: 【What happened, what happened!】
Ning Sui’s was among them, reading the situation with precision: 【Decision paralysis again?!】
Both of them were prone to this — possibly from spending so much time together. Hu Ke’er replied: 【Truly, situations like this are absolutely brutal for people with decision paralysis! Can the heavens not give me some kind of sign or divine instruction — like, if I find fifty yuan on the street I go with A, if I find a hundred I pick B. That sort of thing. [gasping for oxygen.jpg]】
Jin Ge: 【?】
Jin Ge: 【You [respect]】
Hu Ke’er ignored him, continuing to type: 【Crossing a street and the light instantly turns green means C, seeing a rainbow means D, receiving a concert ticket means E, being treated to a meal means F, spotting flowers means G, snagging the new Mixue limited item means H — can everyone please send good vibes and pray the universe sends me a sign [genuinely clasping hands]】
Cui Xian: 【Babe, I’m just going to point out that you seem to have slipped in a personal wish list? [dog grinning face]】
Cool Senior Lin: 【Ke Ke: surface decision paralysis, actual wish list [respect]】
Jin Ge: 【New era begging method — learnt something new, brothers [respect]】
Paopao Ke replied to Jin Ge: 【[polite smile][polite smile][polite smile]】
Ning Sui came at it from a unique angle: 【I heard that new product cake is really good!】
Paopao Ke replied: 【Me too!! I REALLY want to try their new limited item!! But it’s genuinely so hard to get — so many locations already sold out, it’ll be days before there’s stock again [hungry][sobbing]】
The rest was all teasing, and Hu Ke’er stopped replying individually. She had lunch with Xing Xing and the others, worked for several more hours, and then aimlessly refreshed her social media out of boredom. Most of her classmates seemed to have returned home already, settled into the comfortable routine of being doted on, helped with meals and laundry, and were contentedly posting life photos from their easy, leisurely existence.
Hu Ke’er: “…”
Life is hard. Ke Ke sighs.
It was mostly similar content, so she went through liking things mechanically. There were so many posts she hadn’t seen that after a while she was just mindlessly repeating the motion — until a very familiar-looking avatar caught her eye. She had already hit like before she caught herself, and instinctively cancelled it.
She couldn’t say why, but she had never given him a contact name. His display name was still just “Du.”
Hu Ke’er’s gaze drifted. She scrolled down.
— Du Junyuan had posted a photo.
It was taken facing a deep blue coastline. It must have been a different time zone, because dawn had just broken — the sea surface shimmered under faint golden light, and in the hazy, tender glow, a curved rainbow hung in the sky, as though its dreamlike colors were filtering through the screen and reflecting in her eyes.
Hu Ke’er’s gaze stilled. Her lashes flickered.
She stayed with it for quite a long while, then finally put her phone face-down on the desk, closed her eyes, and clutched her own head.
AHHHH!
So annoying!
Hu Ke’er decided she had absolutely no saving herself — her imagination was far too active, linking everything together.
She smoothed down the hair she’d tousled around her face, picked up her phone again, opened the photo, and zoomed in. She stared at it, wordless and absorbed, for a long moment.
Right. He was just on an ordinary business trip. He happened to pass something beautiful, took a photo. That was all.
Coincidence. Just coincidence. Nothing to do with what she’d posted this morning.
Hu Ke’er swallowed, stared for a little longer, and talked herself into believing it.
She exited the social feed and switched to private messages. She found that Zheng Yang had sent her a message: 【Ke’er, sorry to bother you — weren’t we planning to meet up this weekend for dinner?】
This person had a habit of appearing suddenly, and she’d almost forgotten about him. Hu Ke’er pulled herself back together: 【That’s right, that’s right. What’s up?】
Zheng Yang: 【So, my lab has this project I really can’t leave unfinished, and going home to Huai’an for New Year’s isn’t going to work out, so my parents are planning to come to Beijing to be with me this weekend instead. [smile]】
Thinking of her own parents currently having the time of their lives in the northwest, Hu Ke’er felt a metaphorical arrow hit her square in the knee.
On top of that, his phrasing made her uneasy. She braced herself and tested the waters: 【So… does that mean we can’t do the dinner we planned?】
Zheng Yang: 【Oh, no no! What I meant was — if it works for you, all four of us could go together~】
Zheng Yang: 【Or we could adjust — I heard they’ve built a new Ferris wheel on the east side, and on New Year’s Eve there’ll be a market and festivities nearby. We could go in the afternoon and walk around a bit, if you’re interested?】
Dinner with all four was definitely not going to work.
Four people together was also a bit much. Fortunately he’d offered a second option — Hu Ke’er felt marginally better about that.
Though her dad had been casually feeding her information about the boy all week — good grades, decent personality — Hu Ke’er couldn’t entirely put her finger on why, but possibly because of being stood up the first time, her impression of Zheng Yang had remained quite lukewarm. Right now she mostly just wanted to complete the required errand.
That said, there was one small private reason she wouldn’t say out loud: she genuinely hoped for some company during the holiday.
Hu Ke’er took a deep breath and replied: 【Let’s do the market then?】
Zheng Yang sent a location: 【Sounds good, meet there at 3PM?】
Paopao Ke: 【[received]】
And though the time and place were finally properly set, Hu Ke’er put her phone down with a mood that still wasn’t quite right.
On her computer screen, a dense block of video shooting scripts was waiting to be revised. Her thoughts drifted for a moment, and then the real reason hit her with sudden clarity.
— Right. It had to be the little cake. The one she hadn’t been able to get.
The new product had launched a couple of days ago, and the self-styled always-on-trend Who Cares had tried to get it the moment news broke — only for her terrible luck to mean it was sold out right when it got to her. She’d gone back several more days in a row trying to get it through the mini-program with no result.
But this new pandan-cream layer cake had gone absolutely viral — every influencer on social media was talking about it. Hu Ke’er’s appetite had been thoroughly whetted, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
If only, Hu Ke’er thought with great righteousness, the craving could be satisfied. If it could — then whoever managed to make that happen right this moment, she would absolutely be willing to launch herself at them and give them a thorough kissing.
That thought had barely done one loop around her brain when the elevator outside the office gave a chime, and shortly after, a burst of extremely penetrating excited screaming broke out: “AHHH HELP!”
Hu Ke’er: “?”
“I will never regret joining Flashying!” Xing Xing and the others came rushing in with tears in their eyes, arms full of takeaway bags, the Mixue logo on the packaging unmistakably visible. “What kind of divine human is the boss?! He’s abroad, and he still managed to get everyone one of these limited-edition items!”
Hu Ke’er: “…”
…Willing to give them a thorough kissing, was it?
Someone very quickly pulled out a small notebook and wrote it down, then made haste back from abroad.