Cheng Zhanya had almost forgotten how long it had been since she last straightened Lin Hanbing’s collar like this and watched her head out the door.
The freshly boiled porridge was scalding hot, wafting a fresh, sweet aroma.
As if in a hurry, Lin Hanbing shoveled it down one spoonful after another. Before long, a sheen of thin sweat beaded on her makeup-free face, and the tip of her nose flushed pink.
“Will you come back tonight?”
Standing in the entryway, Cheng Zhanya asked her.
Lin Hanbing hesitated for a moment. “I’ll be back late.”
Cheng Zhanya stared off into the distance. After a long pause, she nodded. “Be careful out there.”
Lin Hanbing murmured in assent. Before opening the door, she turned back and planted a kiss on Cheng Zhanya’s forehead. “If you get too bored at home, go hang out with Fan Yaobai.”
“I’ll pay you for it.”
Cheng Zhanya’s lips quirked in a strained smile. “Got it.”
Lin Hanbing’s mind was wholly consumed by work. She had no idea that even someone as patient and understanding as Cheng Zhanya could feel worn down now and then.
After sending Lin Hanbing off, Cheng Zhanya crawled back into bed.
The sky was paling with the approach of dawn.
Cheng Zhanya grabbed her phone and circled the 19th on the calendar.
That was her birthday—Lin Hanbing had promised to spend the whole day with her.
The thought eased her heart a little.
Lin Hanbing was rearranging her schedule to carve out that full day on the 19th.
As dawn drew nearer, the sounds from outside grew louder.
Cheng Zhanya wasn’t tired anymore. After tossing and turning without sleep, she finally got up.
She booted up her computer, logged into her account, and checked the comments out of habit.
They were nothing but pleas for updates.
She had finished the rough draft yesterday and completed half the line art.
Before signing with the studio, she handled every detail herself: composition, paneling, inking, coloring, and posting.
Drawing every day, she could manage only one chapter a week.
Once she sped up and joined the studio, she hit two chapters weekly—but she still did most of the work personally.
Her QQ icon blinked.
Her editor had messaged her.
—Baby, you working on the draft today?
Cheng Zhanya rarely took days off. Her art style was distinctive, and without a full script, any break meant halting updates entirely.
The little side stories she had been posting daily for two straight weeks had readers clamoring for more. They had finally gotten their fix, only for the author to vanish again.
The comments were predictably full of gripes.
Cheng Zhanya messaged her editor back and dove into the line art.
She lost herself completely in her own little world, oblivious to any outside noise. Her phone buzzed on the bedside table for ages before falling silent, but she never noticed.
A rare hot gust slipped through the half-open window, stirring the curtain’s hem.
Compared to yesterday, the air today felt even more oppressive—hotter, stickier, more suffocating.
Cheng Zhanya stretched lazily, thoroughly pleased. She slid the mouse up and down a few times to double-check, saved the file, and sent it off to her editor.
Once colored, it would be ready to post.
Her account was deeply personal, but after signing the contract, she had no choice but to hand the password to the studio.
With her style and pen name attached, it couldn’t go anywhere.
Ding.
—Got it.
Cheng Zhanya powered down the computer. Her shoulders slumped as she sat with her hands clasped between her thighs.
She stared into space for a while.
Sleepiness finally crept in. Cheng Zhanya crossed to the window, sealed it shut, cranked the AC, and settled comfortably into bed.
She didn’t even bother glancing at her phone before drifting off.
Summer in the south meant frequent rains.
One moment the sun blazed overhead; the next, a furious downpour hammered down, sputtering on and off like a mischievous brat.
After the rain, though, the air turned refreshingly comfortable.
Cheng Zhanya slept like the dead.
She didn’t stir until afternoon, when hunger gnawed at her empty stomach.
The AC must have been set too low—her feet were blocks of ice, and the chill creeping up her legs made her shiver.
She switched it off, but the room’s cold clung stubbornly.
Cheng Zhanya threw open the window. A cool, damp breeze rushed in.
Rain was falling.
She spotted the fresh water droplets on the sill, not yet evaporated, and it all made sense.
Inhaling deeply of the crisp air, she decided to tackle her growling stomach first.
Some porridge remained from breakfast, along with leftovers from two nights ago in the fridge. She zapped them in the microwave and ate a quiet, solitary meal that was neither lunch nor dinner.
She rinsed a bunch of green grapes, flicked on the TV, and selected a hot variety show.
Laughter rang out nonstop.
Cheng Zhanya lounged on the sofa, one arm pillowed behind her head. Her long, pale legs draped crossed over the armrest, while she cradled a clear bowl of grapes on her stomach. She nibbled them while half-listening to the guests goof around with games.
Dramas held no appeal for her, and the celebrities didn’t matter. It was the nonstop giggles and banter that lent some life to the empty apartment, making the hours drag a little less.
Her mind wandered aimlessly until a shadow suddenly eclipsed her vision.
“Why didn’t you pick up the phone?”
