In the moment their eyes met, everything between them seemed to separate from the surrounding noise and fall into a dense, airless stillness.

The instant she saw him, Hu Ke’er felt her scalp go cold all over. Meeting Du Junyuan’s calm, downward gaze, her whole body went rigid, like a shot of electricity through stiff joints. It was exactly the feeling of a kindergartner caught skipping school by the teacher — guilt so acute she wanted to run.

And yet under that very present gaze, her feet seemed bolted to the ground. Beside her, Zheng Yang had clearly sensed her panic too. He looked at her quickly, then looked up toward the man standing several meters away, and asked instinctively: “What’s wrong, Ke’er? Who is that?”

Hu Ke’er had absolutely no idea what this person, who should by all logic be back in Huai’an, was doing here. She felt like even her eartips were burning, and struggled for some way to account for it: “He’s…sort of my boss, I think.”

But this boy was genuinely a little too straightforward, and repeated it out loud in bewildered clarification: “Hm? Your boss?”

At a volume that would carry ten blocks in every direction.

She watched Du Junyuan’s eyebrow lift, very faintly, and something of uncertain nature come into his eyes. Hu Ke’er felt a hard, uncontrollable lurch in her chest, and the feeling of having done something wrong only intensified.

A moment later, he simply stepped forward and walked toward them.

Watching the distance close between them, Hu Ke’er gripped her phone, breath lifting to her throat, ears under her hair already going warm.

Zheng Yang still didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know about Hu Ke’er’s high-follower Flashying account, and assumed she had mentioned a regular internship. He just thought Hu Ke’er’s boss was fairly good-looking — there was a settled, quality confidence to his bearing, the kind of assurance that came with age.

Du Junyuan came to a stop in front of them. He didn’t look at Zheng Yang. He only lowered his gaze, the darkness of his pupils a direct and slightly elevated angle, looking down at the person who had, once again, buried her head and was doing her best ostrich impression.

She was wearing a small cotton knit puffer jacket, crossbody bag slung across one shoulder, cheeks soft with blush. However you looked at it, this was dating clothes.

Hu Ke’er’s heartbeat was fast, and being caught out like this was impossible to hide. She dug her fingers into her own palm and, not daring to look at him, launched a preemptive strike in a stammer: “You — you weren’t you back in Huai’an for the holiday?”

That very low voice dropped from overhead, close enough that her lashes involuntarily trembled: “When did I ever say that?”

He hadn’t. She’d only heard Xing Xing mention it once and assumed. “Then you—”

Du Junyuan: “Work came up.”

“…Oh.”

In this crisp, cold air, the faint, inescapable woody sandalwood scent still drifted over. Hu Ke’er’s chest was burning, something tightening across her breathing. She felt like she couldn’t get quite enough air.

Zheng Yang was still standing directly beside them. She was still wringing out excuses, when the man’s gaze shifted slightly and landed, neutral and unhurried, on Zheng Yang: “Are you not going to introduce us?”

Zheng Yang met Du Junyuan’s eyes.

He had actually felt for a while that something was off, but couldn’t quite pin it down. With no particular conclusion to draw, he scratched his head and decided to be proactive, introducing himself warmly: “Hi. I’m a classmate of Ke’er’s from Jingda — we made plans to come wander the market together. You must be her boss? What a coincidence, running into you here. Happy New Year.”

Before Hu Ke’er could say a word—

“Happy New Year.”

Something above her gave the faint sound of a quiet, pressed-down laugh. She felt her eyelids jump, looked up instinctively, and met a pair of elegant, composed, warmly obscure dark eyes.

He said: “It’s not that much of a coincidence.”

Zheng Yang: “Oh?”

“I came specifically to find someone.”

Hu Ke’er had been quietly swallowing and pretending to maintain composure. Her chest gave an unguarded lurch, and she came back to herself. He hadn’t told her he was coming. She stared at him in a daze for a brief moment — her lashes trembling just slightly — and then deliberately looked away: “Find who?”

A business partner? A friend? Someone important enough to see on New Year’s Eve?

The small, fuzzy crossbody bag clutched between her fingers, her head turned away, the picture of someone who did not want to be engaged with.

He hadn’t even started asking questions, and she was already in a temper.

Du Junyuan lowered his gaze, those dark eyes resting on her steadily for a long moment, and then gave a quiet laugh.

What was he laughing at?

Hu Ke’er couldn’t help looking back, a faint sting underneath it. Before she could say a word, the man pressed his voice low, a private murmur close to her ear: “Looking for a fool who ate someone else’s cake and still couldn’t figure out what they meant by it.”

The sweet potato in Hu Ke’er’s hand hit the ground with a soft thud.

By the time Hu Ke’er came back to herself, Zheng Yang had already taken his leave.

It was nearly five anyway, and she’d been meaning to say it was probably time to wrap up. But it seemed she hadn’t gotten the chance to bring it up.

Whether or not Zheng Yang had felt awkward, she didn’t know. Either way, once he was gone, only the two of them were left, standing face to face at very close range. Hu Ke’er genuinely wanted to pry up a random paving stone and slip beneath it.

The cocktails from earlier had hit too fast, and now she felt their belated effect — a slightly unreal, floaty sensation. Her face was red and warm. The ear he’d spoken into still carried a trace of that burning feeling.

Like — did this man even know what he’d just said?!

He seemed genuinely unaware of himself, watching her with patient ease: “Are you cold?”

Before Hu Ke’er could answer, he reached out and straightened the scarf that had slid crooked around her neck. He then bent to collect the plastic bag from the ground and dropped it into a nearby bin: “That can’t be eaten now.”

Hu Ke’er was empty-handed. But she was so flooded with warmth from the inside out that nothing external registered. Her mind had essentially stopped working, and she looked up in a somewhat dazed stupor.

Their gazes tangled in the air between them — like something thick and slow — and then seemed to lock on each other. Several seconds passed before Hu Ke’er broke away with a small flinch, as if she’d been shocked.

Still, that very present gaze came down: “You arranged to spend New Year’s Eve at a market with a male classmate?”

His voice was unhurried, but it landed somewhere inside her: “…No.”

That warm, weighted breath: “Mm?”

“It’s just — family knows each other.” Hu Ke’er made a heroic effort at composure, though it was fairly transparent: “Our families introduced us. We were just — getting acquainted. Not very familiar.”

“Mm.” Du Junyuan’s eyes were lowered. “Sharing a sweet potato does seem fairly unfamiliar.”

“We didn’t share it — we just split it by hand…”

Hu Ke’er’s toe scuffed at the ground, offering a weak objection.

Du Junyuan said nothing, just held his downward gaze on her.

Hu Ke’er was finding it very difficult to bear, and squeezed out another sentence: “And I was already about to head back anyway…”

The small face was red from brow to ear. He let his gaze move over it, and something in him gave another quiet, almost inaudible laugh.

What was he laughing at again?!

Hu Ke’er was confused for a brief instant, and stumbled into speech: “You — you…”

He closed the distance abruptly: “What about me?”

Hu Ke’er’s heart gave a hard slam. Every carefully composed sentence collapsed in her throat, her mind going blank. She was left looking at that exceptionally handsome face, entirely too close.

She couldn’t land on a single thing to say. Her eartips were blazing. She made up her mind and just — committed: “You’re not entirely without fault either—”

The man’s eyebrow went up, as if finding this novel: “What did I do wrong?”

“You — you came back and didn’t tell me.” He was bent slightly to look at her levelly. Hu Ke’er could not make herself look away. She forced out each stumbling word: “So I didn’t know. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have — I wouldn’t have come…”

His expression was unreadable: “So it’s my fault?”

“Mm.” Hu Ke’er committed to this with absolute shamelessness, lashes betraying a flutter of guilt. She swallowed against a very dry throat, and made a sincere effort at a summative argument: “So we’re both equally at fault. It all evens out.”

For a moment, both their gazes seemed to wind around each other in the air.

Du Junyuan laughed first, and then with unhurried ease straightened up.

Hu Ke’er braced herself, every defense prepared, waiting for him to land something else that would devastate her. But a warm breath drifted low across her, and all he said, quiet and measured, was: “Are you hungry?”

“Hm?” She blinked, wrong-footed.

“The sweet potato — you barely had any before it fell.” Du Junyuan looked at her steadily, his voice settling into a warm, even pace. “I made a reservation at a restaurant nearby. You can see the Ferris wheel from there.”

She didn’t respond, and he gave a small smile: “Or would you rather have the sweet potato?”

Hu Ke’er’s lashes moved. Du Junyuan said, easy: “We can also go back and get another one.”

The streets were full of people moving past them. Shopfronts glowed with lights, doorways busy with the holiday crowd. The smell of good food and wine drifted out invitingly, all the noise and warmth of New Year’s spread out in every direction.

But Hu Ke’er felt, in this moment, that nothing in the surrounding clamor could drown out the clear, steady beat in her chest.

Warm orange light drifted from the lamp overhead. The person in front of her had deep, sharp features, and was looking at her with the particular patience of someone who would wait as long as it took. As if, if she wanted, he would be willing to come with her to every corner of the world, to be as reckless and as loud as she liked.

Hu Ke’er buried the tip of her nose into the soft material of her scarf. A pair of dark, bright eyes scattered with small reflections of light looked down at the ground.

“…I don’t really want the sweet potato that much.”

Du Junyuan: “Restaurant, then?”

Hu Ke’er: “…Oh.”

She drifted through the walk back in a bit of a haze. It seemed they retraced their route, and she simply fell into step beside him — not speaking, not thinking, just taking one slow step at a time, face quietly red, lips pressed together.

The person beside her didn’t appear to be in any hurry either. Hu Ke’er’s feet dragged, but she found she could just keep up with him.

The scenery on either side receded behind them. The alcohol settled in and spread, slow and thorough. Hu Ke’er pressed her fingers together, and then, without quite intending to, caught a trace of that unhurried sandalwood in the air.

She felt almost drunk.

Those drinks couldn’t have been fake, could they…

Her heart gave another involuntary lurch, and she couldn’t help looking sideways at him.

His jawline was clean and defined. Even with the lamp behind him, his profile was striking. Long lashes, sparse and fine in their fall. Hu Ke’er dropped back half a step behind him. She watched him steadily for a long moment, and before she’d quite decided anything, she had quietly and discreetly reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and began filming several seconds of him from behind.

The lamp light was long and warm. The fresh snow on the ground reflected faint light. Hu Ke’er was still working to adjust the focus when she sensed Du Junyuan might be about to turn around.

Her heart leapt. She hid the phone away in a split second, shoved it back in her pocket.

“What?” He seemed faintly amused.

“…Nothing.” Hu Ke’er looked ahead with great innocence.

There happened to be a sugar figure stall on the side of the street — two or three parents with small children gathered around it. Du Junyuan glanced over, then asked her: “Would you like some?”

Hu Ke’er rose up on her toes to see: “Yes.”

When it came to food, she was always honest.

The vendor was drawing sugar figures — he’d just made a small rabbit for the child at the front, delicate and lifelike. The child was thrilled, bouncing away with it.

The queue was short. Du Junyuan, with one hand in his coat pocket, strolled over with complete ease. Tall and long-limbed, he was conspicuous even among the lively cluster of children — and somehow, rather than looking out of place, he looked oddly at home. He waited for everyone else to finish, then bent to say something to the vendor.

He seemed to say a few words with a small smile, then looked back and called to her: “Come here.”

The artist was a warm-mannered old man. Watching Hu Ke’er come thudding over with her small bag swinging, he asked with kind indulgence: “What does the young lady want?”

Hu Ke’er glanced to one side on instinct. Du Junyuan lowered his lashes, the corner of his mouth curved slightly, indicating she should say it herself.

Hu Ke’er turned back, eyes bright: “Can I get anything?”

The old man was fully confident. He patted his chest: “Generations of craft behind me — nothing I can’t make.”

Hu Ke’er thought it over, and answered with great sincerity: “I’d like a very complex dragon…”

“Easy! Coming right up!”

“…And one that looks like the characters for ‘sudden windfall.'”

The old man was stubborn.

Despite never having received a request of such unabashed ambition, he took up his ladle, poured, and moved with practiced fluid ease — drawing in maltose syrup. A few clean strokes already suggested the spirit of the creature. Hu Ke’er watched, caught: “That’s incredible.”

“Well, it should be.”

The old man smiled with satisfied pride, and glanced over at the man standing quietly beside her, watching Hu Ke’er: “That boyfriend of yours has the right face for it, you know.”

Hu Ke’er froze: “Hm?”

The old man nodded cheerfully: “I’m saying ‘sudden windfall!'”

Hu Ke’er’s fingertips clenched, her brain going completely offline. She looked sideways, against her will.

In the surrounding chaos of noise, Du Junyuan’s expression remained unchanged — he seemed not to have heard. He stood beside her with his unhurried, easy air, took out his phone, and calmly scanned the payment code.

That faint, pulling trace of sandalwood seemed to drift over again. Hu Ke’er pressed her lips firmly together, and looked away with studied lack of interest, heart still refusing to stop its irregular rhythm.

— It was only now, nearly at this moment, that something belatedly occurred to her.

She hadn’t mentioned to anyone that she was going out today, let alone where. So how had he known?

Hu Ke’er’s thoughts drifted for a moment, light and unmoored. The tips of her ears felt warm. And then she thought of a certain best friend currently on the other side of the ocean.

…Right. She would deal with her later!

Ten minutes later, Hu Ke’er sat down at a table cradling the warm sugar figure, glancing around the room with curiosity.

The restaurant he’d made a reservation at was tucked down an alley — a small three-floor private creative cuisine spot. The atmosphere wasn’t exactly tranquil, but the decor was tasteful. Their seats were beside floor-to-ceiling windows with a clear view of the Ferris wheel not far away, lit and glowing against the evening.

The attendant pulled out their chairs. Hu Ke’er looked at the small candle flickering on the table, then let her gaze pass over the man across from her — sitting there in that idle, composed way of his, the edge of a smile at his mouth — and felt heat rising from her chest outward. She looked down and took a lick of the sugar figure.

Du Junyuan had ordered in advance, and the main dishes arrived quickly — beautiful plating, excellent everything. Hu Ke’er turned and looked at the Ferris wheel, just leaning in with bright, shining eyes to admire it, when she heard him ask: “Do you want to go on it?”

Hu Ke’er’s lashes fluttered: “…Really?”

Du Junyuan smiled: “Why not?”

Since the sweet potato fell, Hu Ke’er had felt like this man kept smiling, and she didn’t know how to handle it. Her fingers curled involuntarily, and she looked down for another lick of the sugar dragon’s head: “Then…kind of.”

Du Junyuan gave a low sound of acknowledgment, took out his phone, and a moment later said: “Booked.”

“Oh.”

He looked up again: “I have a call from a business partner — can I step out for a minute?”

Warm and consulting in his tone. Hu Ke’er felt herself going somewhat adrift again, the only word she seemed able to produce: “Oh.”

The long coat was draped over his chair, and he was wearing a deep gray turtleneck knit underneath, phone raised as he headed for the balcony. She watched him until his back disappeared, then floated back to herself.

Hu Ke’er was fairly certain those cocktails had been fake.

It was the only explanation for why her head felt hazy and her heart rate and temperature were both operating outside their normal range.

She decided to scroll some funny Flashying videos, to bring her emotions back down to a manageable level.

But the moment she opened the app, Du Junyuan’s interview jumped into the first slot.

Hu Ke’er: “…”

A little out of control! This account is clearly beyond saving!

What happened to the algorithm? False advertising, is what this is!!

She thought this with great indignation, then righteously and vindictively gave it a like.

After filming enough video, Hu Ke’er had gradually developed something of an eye for it. Looking left and right, she felt the cinematographer here wasn’t even as good as her — the angle, at least, could be better.

Hu Ke’er thought of the short clip she’d secretly filmed. She opened her photo album.

Because they’d been walking, the footage was a little unsteady. The ground below was coated in fine, pale snow. The man’s eyes were deep-set and sharp, his nose prominent. His throat showed clearly above his collar. At one moment he had turned and looked directly into the camera, the corner of his mouth lazily curving.

Then the video cut off.

Hu Ke’er sat with the screen’s light quietly reflected in her eyes, and watched it loop several times in a row. Her finger hovered, and then she opened it in Flashying, found an atmospheric audio track, and synced it.

It wasn’t like anyone would see it.

It was her small account.

…Just posting it casually. Should be fine, right?

Maybe it was everyone being online for the holiday, but the video uploaded slowly. Hu Ke’er stared at it for a long while before it finally confirmed as sent. She dusted off her hands with satisfaction and put the phone away.

After another stretch of time, Du Junyuan came back.

He looked at the untouched arrangement of dishes in front of her, pressed his brow slightly: “Why haven’t you eaten?” He paused, his tone softening: “Is there something that doesn’t suit your taste?”

Hu Ke’er: “No—”

She touched her stomach, and said without thinking: “The octopus balls and milk tea from earlier were a bit filling.”

The moment it was out, something felt off. Hu Ke’er’s breath caught, and she looked up cautiously — and met the man’s dark, steady gaze coming straight at her.

“Besides the sweet potato, you had all of that too?”

Hu Ke’er: “No — I didn’t—”

Du Junyuan looked at her for a moment, gave a quiet sound that might have been a laugh, and said, lightly: “You had quite a full afternoon.”

Hu Ke’er closed her eyes and chose to play dead.

Mercifully, at that moment, the phone resting by his elbow started vibrating again. It looked like another call coming in.

Du Junyuan glanced at her with something unreadable, and picked up: “Hello?”

On the other end, it was the creator division head — voice distinctly rattled, sounding like something had happened.

“What’s going on?”

Because the distance was close, Hu Ke’er clearly heard the division head’s very loud alarm: “Little Hu seems to be trending on Flashying — what do we do…”

Hu Ke’er: “?”

Du Junyuan glanced at her: “What happened?”

The other end went somewhat evasive: “Well — it might be easier if you just check yourself, Director Du, ha ha…”

Hu Ke’er’s eyelid twitched. She grabbed her phone and, following a gut instinct, opened Flashying at speed.

At exactly the same moment, Du Junyuan’s eyes moved without hesitation in the same direction.

Hu Ke’er bowed her head. She looked at the video she had just posted under the large “Who Cares” profile icon, and felt something at the back of her eyes go very dark.

The caption was the previous saved draft:

【Want to kiss】

And below it, the most recent text:

【Want to kiss him a lot】

By the time she had fled the restaurant and was making her way toward the Ferris wheel, Hu Ke’er’s expression had settled into a state of extreme serenity.

The man beside her was on the phone. Whoever was on the other end said something, and he responded a few times with calm composure, finishing with: “Got it, thank you. Please have it taken down as soon as possible.”

Drawing close, the Ferris wheel turned out to be enormous. The queue below was vast and snaking. Hu Ke’er, head buried, was about to wade in, when Du Junyuan — still mid-call — calmly reached out and redirected her toward the fast-track lane to one side.

He had arranged the top-tier tickets, which bypassed most of the wait. Hu Ke’er followed him through the ticket scan, up the stairs, through security — silent the entire way, lips sealed.

After some indeterminate amount of time, when the two of them finally stepped into the gondola, Du Junyuan ended the call.

The Ferris wheel was right before them, the central axle itself blazing with shifting colored lights, flickering across their faces in turns. The elegant interior of the gondola was small — just enough for four — and the two of them sat facing each other. Du Junyuan’s warm, dark, unreadable gaze swept over to her.

Hu Ke’er could not handle being looked at like that, and went red in the face: “I was drunk!”

Du Junyuan, with unhurried ease: “Mm.”

What do you mean, mm?!

She hadn’t said anything untrue! Even if the holiday meant the technical team had to work overtime on account of her, she genuinely, truly had NOT meant for that to happen!!

Hu Ke’er was so mortified she would not lift her head. But the gaze above her had a presence stronger than anyone else’s in the room, and she finally pressed her eyes shut, opened them again, and said, with great shame: “…Can you stop looking at me?”

Du Junyuan’s eyes dropped, and after a moment he gave a quiet laugh: “Weren’t you the one looking at me first?”

Their eyes met, in the dim, shifting light between them, holding for a beat. Hu Ke’er’s already-unsteady heartbeat went even more uncertain. She stumbled into denial: “I was not—”

“You weren’t?”

Du Junyuan settled back against the chair, perfectly at ease: “Then who was it, sitting on the grass at the music festival in freshman year, looking at me on the sly?”

He remembered THAT?!

The gondola was enclosed and did not breathe, and right now the air felt charged with something heavy and moving, like unseen currents. Below them, all the lights of the city were spread out, and they were slowly rising, leaving the bright, crowded streets behind on the ground.

Hu Ke’er: “Your memory is always so terrible around me. Can’t you just go blank for a moment, like before?”

“No,” Du Junyuan said. “My memory is fine.”

And then: “When did I ever fail to remember you?”

Hu Ke’er: “Sophomore year, in the restaurant — you sent me a WeChat asking if I was Xie Yichen’s classmate—”

“You misunderstood.”

“What?”

The man gave a small laugh, perfectly composed: “Do you know why you were invited to the first Flashying Creator Awards?”

Hu Ke’er’s face went red all the way up. She felt she might melt if she stayed in this seat much longer — especially across from him, because he kept looking at her.

“I’m done talking to you!”

She pushed up to go sit beside him instead. But in crossing over, she failed to notice the long leg stretched out in front of her, and tripped directly over it.

— And then sat firmly, squarely, in Du Junyuan’s lap.

She felt instantly as if she’d been scorched by his body heat. She shrank back to flee, but a hand closed around her wrist and pressed her, without negotiation, back into place.

Warm breath cascaded down. His grip had some weight to it. Hu Ke’er felt her heartbeat might actually escape her chest. She was still struggling: “You — what are you—”

“Hu Ke’er.” Du Junyuan held her from behind, firmly.

The person who had been flailing instantly went still and silent.

Du Junyuan looked down at the tips of her ears, almost scarlet: “Settled down?”

Hu Ke’er had her head bowed, her back pressed against the solid warmth of his chest, her calves dangling with nowhere to land.

“If you’re still, listen to a few things I want to say.”

Her fingers closed around his clothing involuntarily, tightly. She felt a measured breath fall against the back of her neck. Her spine shivered with something she couldn’t name.

The air was quiet. After a moment, Du Junyuan said, steady and unhurried: “I’m twenty-nine right now. My personal history is fairly simple — I started my company straight out of university. You know what kind of company it is.”

“My social circle isn’t entirely transparent. I meet all kinds of people. But I can tell you — no bad habits. My social life is clean.”

Hu Ke’er’s lashes trembled. After a long beat, she managed: “Why are you telling me this?”

The breath at her ear paused, then grew warmer, more weighted — along with the heat of his palm, both of them seeming to seep inward through her wrist.

“Originally, I planned to give you time. Let you figure things out on your own.” The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he gave a quiet laugh. “But then I realized someone was genuinely incapable of getting there themselves.”

“By the time you’ve figured it out, I’d probably already be past thirty.”

“There was someone I was worried about — if I didn’t say something plainly, they might just never understand what I meant.”

His voice was so close, low enough to drown in, and Hu Ke’er could hardly breathe. She sat sideways in his lap, refusing to look at him.

Her chest was chaos — a small animal charging in every direction, and also a surging tide pulling her under, and she said, barely audible: “…So what do you mean then?”

Du Junyuan’s gaze deepened. He held her shoulder and turned her, slightly, toward him. One face high and one lower — Hu Ke’er’s hands braced on his chest, her gaze falling naturally to those well-shaped, slightly thin lips.

For a moment, she looked. Then, as if burned, started to look away.

Du Junyuan watched her, every detail of her reaction, not moving an inch.

The next second, something just slightly rough in his voice landed in her ear: “Fool.”

Hu Ke’er had no time to react before warm hands cupped her face, gently. Her heart nearly stopped. The Ferris wheel reached its highest point at that moment, and with a burst of sound, fireworks bloomed open in the night sky.

At the same time, warmth pressed down against her lips, and she heard the man’s low, unhurried laugh: “I like you. That’s what I mean.”

Confetti everywhere!! This side-story is done! There’s one more big main-couple bonus chapter coming~