Chapter 4: Yan Zi

That night after getting home, Chu Susu was already so sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open. She quickly washed up and went to bed.

The next day, she was woken by something soft and fuzzy rubbing against her hand. When she opened her eyes, she saw a chubby little yellow dog squatting beside her, waiting.

“Good boy.” Chu Susu, still bleary-eyed, rubbed the dog’s head. “I’ll take you out later.”

Dogs were smart, and the little yellow dog perked up happily and started wagging its tail at the word “out.” It knew it shed fur, so it obediently stayed off the bed, pacing back and forth on the floor instead.

This little guy’s name was Pipi.

Back then, Chu Susu had happened to pass by a pet store with a big sign out front explaining the situation—they were closing soon due to poor business, most of the pets had already been sold off, but there were still a few puppies they couldn’t take with them, so they were selling them dirt cheap and begging kind souls to adopt them.

The cute, well-behaved puppies had all been snapped up, leaving only some scruffy little mutts of questionable breed that didn’t look all that appealing—no one wanted them.

She had just glanced through the glass on a whim and spotted Pipi, who was two months old at the time.

Its fur was a mottled yellow-white, like a botched hair dye job on a human—silly and dopey-looking. It had been kicked into a corner by the other puppies and didn’t dare fight back, looking all bedraggled and pitiful.

But those little eyes had a certain ugly-cute charm, widening roundly the moment they spotted her.

And that little tail wagged like a rattle drum.

With just that one look, Chu Susu knew she was hooked.

That day, despite never having owned a pet before, she brought Pipi home. She spent the whole night calling her dog-owning friends and scouring info online, then frantically ordered everything they might need. And so her dog-owning life officially began.

Luckily, mutts were tough and low-maintenance with sweet tempers—perfect for a newbie. No major issues so far.

When Chu Susu had a falling out with her parents and decided to live on her own, she hadn’t taken anything with her; she’d bought everything new.

Pipi was the sole exception.

After feeding the dog, washing up, and having breakfast, she checked her phone while heading downstairs to walk it—and sure enough, her friends’ messages had blown it up again.

Li Le’er: “I’m gonna expose Zhou Xiaoying that stinky woman! She got drunk last night and insisted on coming home with me, then puked all over me!”

Zhou Xiaoying: “Hehe, what goes around comes around—how many times have you puked on me?”

They were chattering nonstop, with hundreds of messages. Chu Susu skimmed through without reading closely.

As soon as she stepped out, she spotted the person on her mind.

After adding Han Xuan on WeChat last night, the other girl hadn’t said anything, but Chu Susu wasn’t in a rush—she was the type who liked to take the initiative anyway.

Right before driving off, she’d messaged Han Xuan: “You home safe?” Then deliberately ignored her phone after.

Now, eight or so hours later, Han Xuan had of course replied—and thanked her again: “Thanks for bailing me out tonight. I’m home safe. You?”

Just like the girl’s first impression: obedient and serene.

As for why Chu Susu hadn’t checked her phone… replying to last night’s chat the next morning made the follow-up convo feel natural, less abrupt.

It was second nature to her.

“Morning, sorry—fell asleep last night.”

Chu Susu leisurely finished walking the dog, went home to shower and do her makeup before heading out, then lazily typed out that half-hearted line. She focused on driving as she added, “Glad you got home safe.”

By the time she parked in front of the company building, a reply was waiting.

Han Xuan: “Morning. I slept great.”

Chu Susu: “Me too. Up this early for class?”

She wasn’t sure how old Han Xuan was, but she looked like a student.

Han Xuan: “No, I just graduated.”

Her replies were earnest, even the punctuation was proper—no emojis, clean and simple, just like her vibe.

Han Xuan’s Moments were the same: not many posts, mostly photos of her own artwork from the studio.

Sketches, figure drawings, watercolors—stuff Chu Susu recognized or not—even meticulous gongbi traditional Chinese painting. Her fundamentals were solid.

By the time Chu Susu walked into the office with Pipi in her arms, she’d gotten a better sense of the girl.

“Your paintings are amazing—are you an art major?” she asked, though she already knew.

Han Xuan: “Yeah. You saw my paintings?”

The chat naturally shifted to Han Xuan. Chu Susu’s conversational skills were top-notch: apt guidance mixed with attentive listening. Soon she’d gleaned all the basics without spilling anything about herself.

Imperial Capital Academy of Fine Arts, recent grad at 22, job-hunting. Up early today for an interview.

The Imperial Capital Academy of Fine Arts had a big rep, top of the national art schools—should be easy to land a job.

Chu Susu had her own office, so bringing a pet was no issue. Pipi never caused trouble anyway, and everyone loved some paid doggo time.

Plus, after grinding nonstop on a big project, everyone had taken off on vacation once it wrapped. The whole floor was empty and quiet today—no one would care if Pipi ran around.

There was still follow-up client work, so someone had to handle it—hence Chu Susu coming in.

“Ice mocha?” Her colleague pushed open the glass door, winking at her as he dropped off her usual coffee. “No sugar.”

“Thanks.”

He set the mocha on her desk, chatted idly for a bit, then said, “Lao Chen’s interviewing downstairs. Wanna check it out?”

“What position?”

“Those designers who quit en masse to switch careers, remember? Boss has been pushing to hire replacements. He’s screening resumes now.”

“I don’t know design,” Chu Susu laughed, but didn’t say no. “Not scared my taste sucks?”

Pipi was snoozing obediently in its bed in the corner.

“No biggie, just sit in and listen.” The colleague pulled her up and headed for the elevator, griping as they went. “Sigh, if I were in design, I’d switch too. Low pay, tons of crap—clients drive you nuts daily.”

“Could always outsource.”

He rolled his eyes. “Who knows what the boss is thinking. But these girls today have solid resumes.”

“Oh?”

“This one’s got three years at a big firm.” He pulled up his email on his phone. “This too. And this one—from the Imperial Capital Academy of Fine Arts…”

Imperial Capital Academy of Fine Arts?

The term she’d just been chatting about that morning made Chu Susu subtly raise a brow. A strong hunch hit her out of nowhere.

By then, the elevator had reached the second floor.

It had rained lightly in the Imperial Capital at dawn, but now it was clear. The rising sun cast a soft glow with hints of rosy clouds—or maybe it was the window glass refracting a rainbow.

The interviews were underway. Several people sat in the long hallway, waiting quietly for their turns. When their names were called, they could go in.

Chu Susu suddenly tugged her colleague’s sleeve, signaling her to stop.

It was a blind spot here—they couldn’t be seen, but they had a clear view.

Three young women sat a bit stiffly, chatting softly, nerves showing before their interviews.

Chu Susu’s eyes locked on the one at the very end, flickering with interest.

Her long hair and skirt hem were inky black that wouldn’t dissolve; her face was snow that wouldn’t melt. Eyes like shooting stars, lips like vermilion.

It was Han Xuan, of course.

Her colleague noticed the change in her expression and poked her shoulder, mouthing: What’s up?

Chu Susu whispered, “Spotted someone I know.”

“Someone you know?” The colleague didn’t pry into her personal life. “Who?”

Chu Susu shot her a “figure it out” look.

She’d planned to chat a bit longer before asking Han Xuan out, but now the little lamb had delivered herself.

She wouldn’t be Chu Susu if she let this chance slip.

“How come?”

“You go ahead to Lao Chen. I’ll catch up.”

Chu Susu sipped her coffee through the straw and swiped open WeChat with her other hand, clearing out the messages she didn’t want to see—especially the dozens from “Xia Zilu,” which she deleted without a glance.

Her colleague shrugged and left.

Chu Susu waited a moment. When only Han Xuan was left in the hall, she sent: “Interview going well?”

As expected, Han Xuan replied instantly while waiting.

Han Xuan’s phone buzzed. She pulled it from her bag and typed slowly with both hands: “Not my turn yet.”

She’d just sent it when she heard footsteps approaching—crisp heels on the floor.

Han Xuan looked up in a daze and saw that tall, slender figure walking toward her.

Short skirt yesterday; tailored long pants today.

“Han Xuan?” Chu Susu raised her brow, her face showing just the right amount of surprise, before smiling in realization. “How did you…”

Han Xuan was immediately stunned, flustered and at a loss. She tentatively called out her name: “Susu.”

With no one around, Chu Susu naturally picked up her coffee and sat down beside her. “What a coincidence. I didn’t expect the interview you mentioned was at our company.”

Every word from Han Xuan was reserved and restrained, laced with specks of nervousness: “What a coincidence.”

It seemed she really had no idea she would appear here.

Chu Susu took in this reaction, finding it utterly endearing.

Han Xuan’s looks were already her favorite type. Right now, with her soft-spoken words, so obedient and gentle, it made Chu Susu’s heart nearly melt. She almost wanted to reach out and pat her head, properly soothing her.

But as strangers who had only met twice, this thought merely flitted through Chu Susu’s mind. Of course, she wouldn’t actually do it. She simply smiled lightly. “Good luck. Do your best.”

“Mm.” Han Xuan gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

Then came a brief silence.

The two weren’t close yet, and with the interview about to start, chatting too much might affect Han Xuan. Thus, Chu Susu wasn’t in a hurry to say more and planned to talk after the interview.

Unexpectedly, Han Xuan was the one who broke the silence.

“About last time, I want to properly thank you.”

She finally dared to turn her head, cautiously looking at Chu Susu. A faint blush bloomed on her cheeks:

“After you get off work, can we have dinner together?”

In that moment, Han Xuan’s pupils reflected the sunset glow streaming in from the window, exceptionally bright.

Chu Susu vaguely felt a hazy smoky purple drift into her view, only for it to vanish in an instant.

Looking closely again, Han Xuan blinked, her dimples faintly visible. She practically had “innocent and harmless” written all over her face—where was there any trace of demonic allure?

Clearly still that little lamb.