“I’m not blushing,” Ji Zhenshi protested slyly.
Li Yunli was feeling a little drowsy. She lay back down and tugged Ji Zhenshi down with her. “Alright, we’re both worn out tonight. Let’s get some early sleep. Do you need me to wake you in the morning?”
“No need. I can head out after nine.” Ji Zhenshi obediently nestled against Li Yunli’s chest, gazing at the elegant lines of her face. A sudden whim struck her. “Sister A-Yun, it’s been ages since you told me to drink some milk.”
It was only much later that Ji Zhenshi belatedly realized her former greatest annoyance had vanished.
“………”
In the next instant, Li Yunli reached over and switched off the bedside lamp—a clear signal that she had no intention of signing a response to this particular topic.
The question fizzled out inconclusively, and Ji Zhenshi smacked her lips in mild disappointment.
Her fluffy head nuzzled around on Li Yunli’s chest until it found a cozy spot, and she finally drifted off to sleep.
“Good night, Xiao Zhen,” Li Yunli mouthed silently to her.
Before the words in her heart could fully fade, Ji Zhenshi’s voice rang out in the darkness. “Good night, Sis.”
It wasn’t some mystical telepathy—just two hearts beating in sync.
She slept deeply that night.
“Ah!” Ji Zhenshi bolted upright in bed, snatching her phone from the nightstand. She’d thought she’d overslept and that Li Yunli hadn’t woken her, but the time hadn’t even arrived yet.
The covers were still toasty warm, but the spot beside her pillow was empty.
She rubbed her eyes and took a few minutes to fully wake up. Glancing down, she noticed her pajamas were buttoned up tight—though she had no idea when she’d put them on. And there, on the nightstand, sat a thermos cup of milk.
Recalling the topic from the night before that had gone nowhere, a flutter stirred in Ji Zhenshi’s heart.
With plenty of time, she changed clothes at a leisurely pace, freshened up in the bathroom, and headed downstairs.
“Morning, Sister A-Yun.” She ambled over to the counter and draped herself across it, blinking up with the expectant look of a puppy waiting to be fed.
Her eyes had been scanning nonstop for Li Yunli from the moment she’d come down, and now she made a beeline straight for her.
Li Yunli’s delicate brows curved in a gentle smile. She retrieved a plate of freshly heated sandwiches from the microwave and slid it across to Ji Zhenshi. “Enjoy your meal, Good Child.”
“Roger that.” Ji Zhenshi took a big bite and flashed Li Yunli a thumbs-up.
“Manager Li, breakfast scores top marks. I’ll definitely be back.”
A sandwich was a sandwich, no matter how you dressed it up—it wasn’t going to be gourmet. This was just their little lovers’ game.
Li Yunli’s lips curved softly. “Wonderful. Thank you for your patronage, dear customer.”
“Then, Manager Li, could I trouble you for a good morning kiss before I go? Customers are gods, after all.” Ji Zhenshi gazed up at her with starry-eyed adoration.
Little Xiao Zhen, always pushing her luck.
Li Yunli’s smile held steady, but she ruthlessly shoved Ji Zhenshi’s face away, putting an end to their impeccably coordinated role-play. “Hurry off to the office. It’s rush hour now—if I drive you, we’ll hit gridlock. Take the subway.”
“Manager Liii… Customers are gods,” Ji Zhenshi whined, laser-focused on securing that kiss.
“You’ll be late. If you’re coming back tonight, give me a heads-up call so I can make extra dinner.”
With that, Li Yunli picked up a cute little pig-shaped handbag and stuffed it with some prepared juice and snacks before pressing it into Ji Zhenshi’s hands. “Don’t go hungry. I whipped up these mini buns while making the sandwiches. And don’t hoard them—share with any friends.”
It felt exactly like sending a twenty-two-year-old off to kindergarten.
Ji Zhenshi had one little quirk: she was generous to a fault in every other area of life, but when it came to food—especially food made by Li Yunli—she turned fiercely protective.
Clutching her care package, Ji Zhenshi nodded with wide, pleading eyes. “I don’t do that.”
“Xia Siyuan’s mentioned it plenty of times—says my family education failed. That’s why I’m reminding you,” Li Yunli said with perfect seriousness.
Ji Zhenshi was struck speechless. “Don’t buy her nonsense. She’s just jealous.”
“Alright, off you go.”
“Fine, I’m heading out.”
Li Yunli’s attention had already shifted to grinding coffee beans. Having issued her instructions, she turned back to her work.
Ji Zhenshi was the only one left looking back every few steps like a fool.
The moment she stepped out of the coffee shop, her aversion to work hit an all-time high. Her mind was entirely consumed with thoughts of clocking out and racing home to cling to Sister A-Yun.
She rode the subway all the way to the company’s year-end event venue. Arriving fairly early, she ran into Xia Siyuan in the makeup room.
“Hey, Ji Genius, you’re actually on time for once. Heard you snagged first place again?” Xia Siyuan was in the middle of doing her makeup. Her head stayed put while her eyes rolled enthusiastically toward Ji Zhenshi.
Ji Zhenshi set her backpack down in front of the mirror. “Yeah. How’d you hear?”
“Zheng Siqi, obviously. I overheard him chatting about it with Tang Xien today—couldn’t catch the details.” Her peripheral vision caught the adorable little pig bag in Ji Zhenshi’s hand, and she couldn’t resist reaching out to pinch its plump pink nose. “Aw, how precious. Your style’s veering cute these days.”
Ji Zhenshi rarely bought anything so childish.
At the mention of Tang Xien and Zheng Siqi talking, Ji Zhenshi’s gaze sharpened briefly. She recalled the tense standoff between them yesterday.
Back to being bosom buddies overnight?
She shook her head, feeling like she couldn’t keep up with the drama. Snapping out of her daze, she spotted Xia Siyuan manhandling her little pink pig and gave her hand a light swat. “Hands off.”
“What’s that? So stingy. What happened to blood-sister solidarity?” Xia Siyuan pulled her hand back with mock outrage.
Ji Zhenshi shot her a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She hadn’t planned to bring it up, but… “What nonsense did you feed Sister A-Yun? You even ratted me out for hoarding food? This is how you treat your bloodless sister?”
It had even cost her a good morning kiss, with talk of Li Yunli’s failed family education.
Xia Siyuan stuck out her tongue guiltily. “I didn’t say anything bad! She’s always texting me for updates on you—I just reported the facts. Besides, you totally hoard food. No one’s allowed to touch your snacks.”
During that half-year when Ji Zhenshi and Li Yunli weren’t together—and were locked in a cold war—Li Yunli had politely inquired after Ji Zhenshi’s well-being through texts. Even though Xia Siyuan hadn’t lifted a finger, Li Yunli had sent over mountains of takeout as thanks.
“Why’s she texting you? She could just ask me! You two have been in touch?” Ji Zhenshi penciled in her brows with deft strokes, then twirled the pencil like a baton once she’d nailed the line she wanted.
She eyed Xia Siyuan through the mirror.
“Of course it’s from before,” Xia Siyuan replied. “Otherwise, did you really think all those meals you mooched off me the past half-year were my treat? Yunli Sis always felt bad for imposing. It was her way of thanking me—and making sure a certain starving ghoul didn’t waste away—that she ordered extras.”
No way would Xia Siyuan have footed the bill otherwise.
Snap…
The eyebrow pencil slipped from Ji Zhenshi’s fingers and clattered onto the table. Only then did she belatedly register all those subtle details from Li Yunli.
In fact, if Xia Siyuan hadn’t let it slip by accident, Ji Zhenshi might have gone on believing they’d had zero contact—that Li Yunli had truly been so heartless as to ignore her completely.
A fine mesh of dull ache mingled with sweetness washed over her. Ji Zhenshi let out a sigh and stood up.
“Where are you off to?”
“I’m the opening act. Time to prep.”
Ji Zhenshi appeared calm as she picked up her violin and hooked it up to the equipment.
By rights, hers was supposed to be a light interlude to liven up the mood. But for some reason—likely her fresh award from yesterday—Tang Xien had notified her that morning that she’d been bumped to the first slot.
The opening spot drew the most eyes. No doubt Tang Xien had pulled strings to make it happen.
Even as she prepared to leave, Tang Xien was still going out of her way for her.
Ji Zhenshi discreetly rubbed her faintly aching arm. Thankfully, she was wearing long sleeves today. With a pain-relief patch slapped on, she put it out of her mind.
“Ji Zhenshi, there’s a ton of media here today. Stick with me for an interview afterward—you know that, right?” Tang Xien strolled over at an unhurried pace and patted her shoulder.
Ji Zhenshi nodded. “Got it. Thanks, Teacher Tang.”
“No trouble at all.”
Tang Xien remained as impassive as ever, her emotions a locked vault. Today she wore an elegant gown, light makeup softening her features. Without her glasses, her deep gaze fixed intently on Ji Zhenshi.
It had only been one night, but Tang Xien had reverted to her impenetrable self—an aura of cool detachment that warded off anything superfluous.
She bounced back fast.
Ji Zhenshi inwardly marveled at her resilience.
“What are you staring at?” Tang Xien asked flatly.
“Nothing.” Ji Zhenshi averted her eyes and focused on fine-tuning her violin.
Tang Xien took the seat beside her. The venue was filling up with chatter, though their forward spot wasn’t ideal for viewing.
Tang Xien paid no mind to the dry, platitude-filled opening remarks droning from the stage. She tilted her chin ever so slightly and said abruptly to Ji Zhenshi, “I’ve handed off all my company duties. After today, I’m no longer your teacher. Ji Zhenshi, going it alone from here… it won’t be easy.”
Ji Zhenshi’s hands stilled. Reluctance tugged at her, but she forced out the words. “Like those cheesy internet quotes say—no path is a walk in the park. Whatever I need to face, I will, tough or not. Still, I’m truly grateful for everything you’ve done these past months, Teacher Tang. I learned so much.”
Tang Xien let out a soft chuckle, eyeing her with keen interest.
The reluctance in her eyes at parting felt utterly genuine, yet her words came out so poised and mature.
How intriguing.
“Just verbal thanks?”
“What do you mean?”
Tang Xien wanted for nothing—money, fame, none of it.
Why would she care about thanks from someone like Ji Zhenshi, who lacked it all?
“Didn’t you say you’d treat me to coffee? Going back on your word, Ji Zhenshi?” Tang Xien prompted.
Ji Zhenshi blinked. Oh, right—she’d assumed it was a passing fancy that a busy VIP like Tang Xien would forget.
She nodded promptly. “Of course not. You’re welcome anytime you’re free, Teacher Tang.”
Only then did Tang Xien look satisfied. She recalled that the contract revisions would take time—a day or two at least—and added, “Next week, then. Does Miss Li have an opening?”
“Sure, that works.”
“Time to take the stage.”
“Oh.”
Ji Zhenshi grabbed her violin and stepped out from the wings.
A row of cameras loomed before her. She drew a deep breath, composed herself, and flashed a polished smile. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Tang Xien, still the picture of unflappable calm.
At the very least, she had to make Tang Xien’s final lesson a flawless send-off.
Her fingers clenched involuntarily. An inexplicable tension gripped her.
It wasn’t nerves from the cameras or the crowd below. No—this was a profound unease that left her subtly off-kilter.
Fortunately, she nailed the opening by muscle memory. But halfway through the piece, her left hand began to falter, unable to deliver the precision she’d planned.
In her fluster, a mistake crept in toward the end.
Her left hand trembled nonstop, faint blue veins pulsing on the back. Gritting her teeth, Ji Zhenshi powered through to the finish.
For the first time, she didn’t plant a kiss on her violin at the end. Her bow was hasty, and before she could even exit the stage, she spotted Zheng Siqi waiting below, his face thunderous.
“Ji Zhenshi! How could you botch it with such a rookie mistake?”
“Do you have any idea how many reporters are here? With a performance like that, you’ve got the nerve to do interviews?”
“The boss’s face is pitch-black. You’ve humiliated the company. And to think Tang Xien pushed you to open the show—you repay her by embarrassing us like this?”
“Are you deliberately trying to sabotage the event?”
Whether he was genuinely furious over the slip-up or settling yesterday’s score, Zheng Siqi was now ripping into her mercilessly in front of everyone.
His voice boomed, drawing glances from those nearby. Even Xia Siyuan rose from her seat, hiking up her skirt to hurry over from across the room.
Ji Zhenshi kept her head bowed, her left hand clenched into a fist. She had never felt this ashamed.
The shame didn’t stem from the public scolding—it came from failing to perfectly execute a piece she’d rehearsed countless times, especially under Tang Xien’s personal tutelage.
She gripped her violin like a lifeline, tore off the pain patch, her eyes reddening with frustration. Still, she managed, “I’m sorry. It was my fault.”
She hadn’t realized her hand was this bad off.
“Ji Zhenshi! Don’t let a bit of success go to your head and think you’re some genius. Does the world lack for ‘geniuses’? You’re nothing.”
Zheng Siqi kept venting the resentment he’d nursed from clashing with Tang Xien.
After all, with Tang Xien as Ji Zhenshi’s coach, tearing into her student was tantamount to slapping the teacher.
“Finished?” Tang Xien pulled Ji Zhenshi back a step, her voice laced with frost. “Ji Zhenshi nailed that piece at one hundred percent. Those so-called ‘errors’ you’re on about? A layperson wouldn’t even clock them. They’re nowhere near ‘tanking the show,’ as you claim.”
In plain terms, Zheng Siqi was mixing business with personal grudges—not just blowing off steam, but indirectly slapping Tang Xien’s face.
Tang Xien hated wasting energy on irrelevancies, but she wouldn’t swallow a public humiliation.
Zheng Siqi’s rage threatened to engulf Tang Xien next. Spotting her, he bellowed even louder. “Mind your business! I’m disciplining my own employee—since when does an outsider get to butt in? Tang Xien, need I remind you that you’re done with this company?”
“What if I told you she won’t be your employee much longer? If she wants out, think you can stop her? Zheng Siqi, she’s my protégé. I haven’t even weighed in on her performance yet—do you claim more expertise than me? If you hadn’t blown this up, who would’ve noticed the slip? What’s with the shouting?” Tang Xien’s protectiveness was blatant enough to silence any would-be peacemakers in the crowd.
She had the clout to square off against him like this; anyone else would’ve just taken the public shaming.
Even without terminating her contract yet, the backing behind Tang Xien made Zheng Siqi irrelevant. Rumor had it that as she’d begun fading from domestic stages abroad, her closest friend had founded a management firm years back—and whispers pegged Tang Xien as a silent partner, true or not.
Money? She had it. Status? Check. Fame? In spades. She could pursue whatever she wanted within her reach, no fear of backlash.
Tang Xien had options. Ji Zhenshi did not.
Was that why she’d taken a shine to her?
The words stunned both Zheng Siqi and Ji Zhenshi, needing a beat to process the implication.
“What?” Ji Zhenshi blurted first.
Tang Xien turned to her. “Exactly what I said. If you’re willing, I could continue as your teacher.”
