By half-past four in the afternoon, nearly every desk in the creator division had a beautifully packaged little cream cake sitting on it.

Pale pink boxes. Enormous ribbon bows. Enough to make anyone’s inner romantic stir. The content creators over in the beauty track were excitedly exclaiming and pressing together, phones out, photographing the logo from every angle.

“It’s so good, it’s so good, it’s SO GOOD! I’m posting this right now for the world to know!”

“Same, same — my friend and I both missed out yesterday, I’m sending this photo to make her die of envy hahaha!”

“Director Du is truly gorgeous AND incredible — the pinnacle of men, the apex of bosses!!”

Hu Ke’er sat amid the surrounding commotion and noise, staring at the now completely empty, spotlessly licked-clean packaging in front of her — a small antenna of hair sticking straight up, expression dazed.

How could it be this good…

— Actually, wait. What exactly was this man trying to say?

His rainbow photo and the cake’s arrival had happened practically back-to-back. You could still explain that away as coincidence — but now that felt like willful self-deception.

Hu Ke’er pressed both hands against her clearly warming cheeks, brain running at maximum speed. After two solid minutes, logic failed her.

She could only see the two dark pupils of her own eyes over the top of her hands, gaze racing in every direction, feeling like someone had stirred her thoughts into a complete bowl of porridge.

Could it be that the black-hearted capitalist believed she currently had significant money-making potential as an employee, and was therefore using this sophisticated, refreshingly original method to provide her with some workplace motivation?

Hu Ke’er stayed in a stupor for ages and couldn’t arrive at a coherent answer. She finally descended into full chaos and grabbed her own hair: AHHHH HELP! Who knows what he’s thinking?! Old man, how are you still THIS much of a problem even while on a business trip abroad?! And ALSO! She never said anything about thorough kissing! Take it back! Take it ALL back!!!

That evening, during her usual catch-up call with Ning Sui, Hu Ke’er’s mind was scattered and restless. She very dishonestly skipped past that entire portion of events.

As it happened, Ning Sui’s birthday was coming up. She asked excitedly: “I’ve already got your birthday present ready! Give me an address and I’ll ship it to you?”

Ning Sui first gave a delighted gasp, then said thoughtfully: “But international shipping is really expensive — how about instead…”

Hu Ke’er quickly cut in: “No no, you can’t do that — don’t try to spare me the cost.”

A pause, then earnestly: “You misunderstood — what I was going to say was, could you ship it to my mom’s place first? Thank you.”

Hu Ke’er: “…”

The two of them talked aimlessly for a long stretch. Then Hu Ke’er heard a voice call out Ning Sui’s name from somewhere in the background: “Ning Coconut.”

“Hmm?”

Hard to make out — he had probably just come in from outside. His voice was low and contained a quiet warmth.

Hu Ke’er asked: “Yichen’s back?”

Ning Sui answered briefly, then the sound of quick, cheerful footsteps came, followed by a curious voice: “What’s this? Did you buy a pastry from outside?”

Xie Yichen: “No.”

Ning Sui blinked.

Then, after a brief moment, Hu Ke’er heard that familiar, unhurried voice carry a lazy warmth: “Didn’t you want that little cake? They don’t have it here, so I joined a baking workshop tonight and made you one to try first.”

A moment of quiet. Then, through the call, came a sound — soft and brief, as if someone had received a press to the cheek.

Having been blindsided by a devastating strike from halfway across the Pacific Ocean, Hu Ke’er said with a blank expression: “I’ll let you go then, you two talk?”

On the other end, Ning Sui agreed without a heartbeat’s delay, earnestly: “I’ll call you back in a bit, babe!”

Hu Ke’er: “…”

About two hours later, she’d finished her shower and was lying in bed nearly asleep, when Ning Sui finally called back — very transparently acting as though nothing had happened: “Babe, where were we?”

Hu Ke’er decided she probably didn’t need to ask what had happened in the meantime. She closed her eyes, and finally remembered what she’d been meaning to bring up: “Oh right — I set something up with that match my dad introduced. We’re meeting on New Year’s Eve to wander around a market, near that new Ferris wheel they built.”

Ning Sui: “You’re really meeting him on New Year’s Eve?”

Hu Ke’er touched her nose, something vague in her voice: “Well, there’s no one around, I figured I’d go walk around in the afternoon, then come back to the dorm in the evening and watch the Spring Festival Gala.”

“Oh.” A pause, then a shift in direction: “So you’re not tending to your wild rose greenery anymore?”

Hu Ke’er: “— What?”

Her reaction was far too obvious. Ning Sui didn’t let her off the hook, slowly: “You know what I mean.”

Hu Ke’er flipped over and pulled the covers around herself completely, leaving only her slightly-too-warm cheeks visible. She tried for a moment and then gave up, managing a very half-hearted: “Something with eight characters that hasn’t even started yet — don’t just make things up!”

“I don’t think it looks like eight characters that haven’t started,” Ning Sui said.

“Hm?”

Hu Ke’er didn’t catch the deeper meaning in her tone. She was still writhing in embarrassment under the covers, declaring with great solemnity: “Even if I am technically at Flashying, I’m just a freelancer who gets paid for specific work — even if the capitalist tries to bribe me with cake, I’m not going to work one second more than required—”

On the other end, a sharp ear immediately caught the key detail: “Du Junyuan bought you that little cake?!”

Hu Ke’er, having let that slip out, nearly bit her own tongue. Before they’d said more than a few words, she was already on her feet again: “Just get some rest! I’m hanging up!”

Hu Ke’er had never experienced New Year’s in Beijing before — it was a surprisingly fresh kind of experience. The campus was all lanterns and decorations, and the streets outside bustled along. Passing by those informal flower markets, she could spot small trees laden with ripe oranges and butterfly orchids swaying in the breeze, elderly residents picking through the stalls with care, everyone’s face warm with celebration. The winter wind in Beijing cut sharply, but something in the atmosphere still felt warm — perhaps that was the particular quality of the Chinese New Year’s spirit.

Given the occasion, Hu Ke’er made a point of dressing up before going out to keep her appointment — working her naturally wavy hair into looser, bouncier curls with a small-barrel curling iron, and putting on a fresh, bright look with her makeup.

She tended toward high-saturation colors in her everyday clothes, and today she pulled on an orange puff-sleeved wool knit, pale cream wide-leg velvet trousers, a fluffy fringe scarf, and a small crossbody bag.

The person in the mirror had naturally rosy cheeks, clear lips, white teeth, and a healthy glow. Hu Ke’er gave herself an approving pat on the hands and walked out the door feeling very pleased.

It was her first time venturing east of Guomao, and apparently not only had they built a new Ferris wheel landmark there, but also opened a temporary pop-up fairground — open throughout the holiday period, with a pirate ship, carousel, bumper cars, and the like. After the Lantern Festival, all the equipment would be dismantled and removed.

So the area was quite large. Hu Ke’er first spotted the Ferris wheel from a distance, then spent quite a while wandering in search of the specific location, nearly getting lost. Following the message Zheng Yang had sent with the address until she finally reached the entrance of the “Sunshine Market,” she spotted someone standing at the front who looked unfamiliar, and tentatively said: “Zheng Yang?”

The person reacted quickly, turning and calling back, waving with a smile: “That’s me.”

The moment she saw his face, Hu Ke’er’s steps slowed slightly.

Well — her dad hadn’t been too far off, she had to admit. Zheng Yang was genuinely clean-featured and attractive in a gentle way, tidy-looking. The first impression, at least, was fine.

Hu Ke’er jogged over with her bag: “Sorry about that — I was trying to find my way, I’m five minutes late.”

Zheng Yang laughed easily: “No worries, I haven’t been waiting long.”

Though it was still only afternoon, the market had already been drawing a slow trickle of visitors. The layout was essentially one main street you walked from end to end — the front section all food and drink, with various beverage and snack vendors, and further back, artisanal goods, handmade products, and a variety of quirky, charming little things.

The two of them strolled along together, chatting: “So you’re spending the evening with your parents?”

“Right, we made a reservation at a restaurant. Plan is to have New Year’s Eve dinner together and watch the Spring Festival Gala.”

“Oh, that sounds nice.” Hu Ke’er let out a small sigh, then thought for a moment. “You’ll probably hit traffic later on, so should we wrap up around five?”

“Sure, that works.”

Zheng Yang glanced at her and, reading the room, tactfully didn’t suggest she join them. He asked: “I heard from my dad that you’re studying English? Is that right?”

“Mm, right.” Chatting with him was a relaxed enough experience. Hu Ke’er smiled and sighed: “Though I kind of regret it.”

“Why?”

“It’s not really the direction I’m most naturally suited for.”

Zheng Yang, curious: “What are you most suited for?”

“Lying flat and being a sea slug.”

Her conversational style had a quality of coming at things from unexpected angles. Zheng Yang made a good-faith effort to keep up, and the two of them drifted forward with the crowd. Hu Ke’er kept talking while her eyes stayed very busy taking in the shops on either side — she stopped to buy a box of steaming-hot takoyaki octopus balls and a taro milk tea first, under the dignified banner of a modest appetizer.

Zheng Yang was rather gentlemanly. Before she’d even gotten her phone out, he’d already said: “I’ll get it.”

Everything she’d bought was things she personally wanted to try — she hadn’t pushed him to eat any of it — but he picked up a portion of everything alongside her each time and tried them with her, which was very obliging.

Cup of warm milk tea in hand, Hu Ke’er asked him: “So why did you decide to study biology?”

“When I was little, I thought the process of developing new drugs was really cool — that became the dream.” Zheng Yang laughed a little, with a somewhat wry edge. “But I’m a bit like you in that respect. Once I actually started, I found the process was a lot more complex than I’d imagined. Some regrets there too.”

Hu Ke’er made a sympathetic sound — she genuinely understood. Sciences and engineering were serious intellectual demands. Ning Sui’s math problems were the kind where Hu Ke’er couldn’t even parse the question after reading it several times.

As they were talking, a burst of noise broke out up ahead, and the crowd seemed to surge enthusiastically toward one shop in particular. Hu Ke’er, an enthusiastic spectator of anything lively, immediately nudged Zheng Yang: “Come on, come on, let’s go see!”

It turned out to be a new creative cocktail shop, having a grand opening promotion — four cocktails for only eighty-eight yuan.

And they were beautiful cocktails — elegantly presented, served with transparent tote bags, the glasses included. Each bag also came with a small card explaining the drink’s name, base ingredients, and meaning.

For example, the one in front of her now was called “Winter Night’s Warmth” — a warm orange-red color, made from black tea, apple juice, and gin tonic. The first sip had a sweet, burning quality.

Hu Ke’er enthusiastically pulled Zheng Yang into the queue, and after a twenty-minute wait they emerged with four cocktails. He mentioned he didn’t drink, so she didn’t feel bad about going through them herself, one by one.

And they really were good — each one well-balanced, the alcohol blooming across the tongue in a warm, rich finish.

Because she’d picked up several small purchases while browsing, she worried about carrying four glasses alongside everything else. She finished all four while still inside the shop, leaving Zheng Yang watching in undisguised astonishment: “Your tolerance is quite impressive.”

“Not really,” said Hu Ke’er, who had been hit by the wave of it and spent a good while recovering, swaying her head slightly. “It’s more about immersing myself in the New Year’s spirit.”

There was a cake shop next door, doing brisk business. In any other mood, Hu Ke’er would absolutely have gone to try it. But she’d genuinely had enough of queuing.

The two of them had been walking for a while. They sat down inside the cocktail shop and each took out their phones for a bit.

The various group chats had erupted into red packet season, and Hu Ke’er claimed a few with quick reflexes. She glanced up absently, and through the shop window across the way she could see a display of small neatly arranged, appealingly pretty cakes.

Her gaze lingered. Her mind drifted, sliding sideways to somewhere it probably shouldn’t—

Whoever-it-was should be back in Huai’an by now, right?

She had no idea what he was doing. She’d scrolled her social media that morning and hadn’t seen him post anything — he was probably busy spending time with family and friends.

Her finger hovered over the search bar, about to look for the chat window. She caught herself, held still, and then deliberately locked her screen. She looked elsewhere with great determination: “Should we go walk around some more?”

Zheng Yang nodded: “Sure.”

It was a bit cold outside. The two of them had just turned a corner when they spotted a roasted sweet potato cart ahead, the smell carrying from far away. Hu Ke’er’s nose was sharp enough to catch it first. Her eyes lit up. The uncle running the cart was observant: “A sweet potato for you, young lady?”

Naturally she bought one. Zheng Yang had treated her to the milk tea and snacks, so this time Hu Ke’er insisted on paying — but she could see the sweet potato was impressively large and let out a small noise of hesitation. “I don’t think I can eat the whole thing.”

Zheng Yang: “I don’t mind splitting it, if that works.”

Hu Ke’er thought it was fine: “Sure, yes.”

The uncle split it neatly in half on the spot, wrapped each half in a plastic bag, and handed them over. Hu Ke’er cradled the warm potato, took a bite of the sweet, yielding filling, and felt something quietly satisfied settle in her.

The sky was slowly darkening. The streets were thick with people. The orange streetlamps were coming on one by one. The old paving stones had been worn smooth and still held a scattering of white from the snowfall two days ago, gleaming faintly in the crevices. It was nearly time. Hu Ke’er was walking along with light steps, about to say something, when her phone suddenly buzzed.

It was a WeChat voice call. Her hand moved before her brain did — she picked up in a reflex before glancing at the caller ID.

Zheng Yang sensed the sudden rigidity in the person beside him: “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing—” Hu Ke’er covered the receiver in a rush, dropped her voice: “Taking a call.”

“Oh, sure.”

Before he’d even finished, the familiar voice on the other end came through: “What are you doing?”

Standing in a lively street market, surrounded by noise, Hu Ke’er’s conscience was giving her a complete crisis. She pressed the phone to her ear and squeezed out: “Just…wandering around campus.”

Du Junyuan: “Alone?”

Her eyes flickered involuntarily toward Zheng Yang, standing patiently nearby. Her fingers twisted: “Mm, yeah…”

He asked: “Campus is this noisy?”

“It’s the holiday — naturally lively.” Hu Ke’er’s gaze was darting everywhere. “Do you — did you call for something?”

The man’s voice was low and unhurried, settling close to her ear: “Can’t I call without a reason?”

Hu Ke’er’s stomach flipped. Before she’d quite recovered, the voice on the other end asked warmly: “Have you eaten?”

Zheng Yang was still standing right there. Hu Ke’er’s heart rate was in overdrive. She was completely unprepared, and the state she was in right now was not suited to maintaining a long call: “— Not — not yet.”

A quiet sound of acknowledgment from the other end, and then nothing.

Help! What did it mean when the old man called and then said nothing?!

Hu Ke’er’s eyes went wide, staring into the middle distance, and finally landed on a plausible excuse: “The canteen’s going to be packed — I’m genuinely starving, so I’ll talk to you later—”

She hadn’t even finished before time seemed to slow around her, and the crowd ahead of them opened apart.

In a cascade of colored lights, a tall, upright figure in a light-colored wool coat was standing not far away, phone raised, looking at her steadily without expression.

Then that dark, still gaze swept evenly across her and Zheng Yang — and the two sweet potato halves they were happily holding up, one each. Something like a low, private laugh. He spoke, calm as anything: “Seems like you’re eating just fine, though.”

Du Someone: Hmm.